she closed her eyes and concentrated, trying to form the vague images careening through her mind into something coherent.
A stone tower, surrounded by crumbling walls. A gunshot. A black horse rearing. Austin, falling, injured. Bleeding.
Death.
A deafening clap of thunder followed immediately by a flash of lightning jerked her from her thoughts. She had to find him. She sensed he was not too far away-but where? Yanking off her night rail with shaking hands, she dressed as quickly as possible. Grabbing her medical bag, she dashed down the back stairs and ran toward the stables.
James Kinney paced in the shadows near the crumbling ruins, awaiting the duke's arrival, anxious to tell him the incredible, staggering information he'd discovered. Footsteps crunched on the rocks directly behind him, and he spun around.
'Your grace, I-' He froze, frowning at the man emerging from the shadows. 'Who are you?'
For an answer the stranger aimed a pistol at James's temple. 'You are good at asking questions, especially about me,
'You're Gaspard.'
The Frenchman advanced another step. 'The duke is a fool. He should have known better than to hire a Runner to find me. I ask you again,
And James knew that even if he talked his time on earth had come to an end.
Chapter 8
Thunder cracked as loudly and suddenly as a gunshot.
Breathless and close to panic, Elizabeth arrived at the stables just past midnight. Mortlin had obviously retired as he was nowhere to be found. Without hesitation, she lifted the first saddle she saw, grunting under its weight, and quickly outfitted Rosamunde. It wasn't until she'd led the mare outside that she realized she'd used a gentleman's saddle. Without a thought to the impropriety of her actions, she employed a move she hadn't used since arriving in England. Hitching her skirts up to her thighs, she mounted the horse, sitting astride. Her muscles creaked in protest, but she ignored the discomfort.
Turning Rosamunde, she studied the series of paths leading into the forest. Which one would lead her to Austin? Closing her eyes, she emptied her mind forcing herself to concentrate.
Without hesitation, she headed down the left path, her eyes searching the darkness, her pulse pounding. Rosamunde followed the dirt trail, and Elizabeth kept concentrating, forcing the image of Austin into her mind's eye. They were getting closer… she knew it. But would she be too late?
Another roar of thunder split the silence. A lightning bolt streaked across the black sky, briefly illuminating the gloomy surroundings.
And she saw it in the distance.
The stone tower she'd envisioned. Urging Rosamunde into a brisk gallop, she headed directly toward it. Twigs snapped at her arms, and a branch whipped against her shoulder, but the stinging pain barely registered. Raindrops began falling, gently at first, but within moments they turned into a cold needlelike spray that pelted her unmercifully. She emerged from the fringes of the forest and galloped full bent across the meadow. The outline of the tower flashed before her with every slash of lightning.
When the tower loomed no more than thirty feet away, she reined Rosamunde to a halt and squinted into the darkness.
A figure lay sprawled facedown on the ground.
'Austin!' Her heart leapt with both relief and fear. Thank God she'd found him… but was she too late?
She slid from the saddle and ran to him, stumbling across the slippery ground. Heedless of the mud, she dropped to her knees beside him. With her heart lodged in her throat and a prayer on her lips, she pressed her fingers to his neck.
His pulse throbbed against her fingertips.
A relieved sob bubbled inside her, but she firmly pushed it aside. Now was not the time to allow her emotions to get the better of her. She had to determine the extent of his injuries.
As gently as possible, she turned him over, shielding him as best she could with her body from the driving rain. The metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils and her stomach knotted with fear. Blinking the rain from her eyes, she peered into his face. His eyes were closed and blood oozed from a nasty gash on his temple.
She ran her hands quickly down his body, searching for additional injuries, praying he hadn't fallen victim to the gunshot she'd heard in her vision. She soon determined that he hadn't been shot, but her fingers discovered an egg-sized lump on the back of his head.
She gently patted his face. 'Austin, can you hear me?'
He remained perfectly still and frighteningly silent.
Lightning flashed again. Glancing up, she saw an arched opening in the base of the tower. She had to get him out of this weather to treat him. Rising, she grasped him under his arms and pulled. Dear God the man weighed a veritable ton. Thank goodness she only had to move him a short distance.
Her heart pinched when he moaned. Although she tried desperately not to hurt him, she knew the sharp rocks scraped him. Her back ached from the heavy weight, and she slipped once, landing hard on her bottom. Gritting her teeth, she dragged him the last few feet into the shelter of the tower. Then she dashed back into the rain and snatched her medical bag from Rosamunde's saddle. Rosamunde and Myst had moved close to the tower. She didn't tether them in case they grew frightened and wanted to bolt, in which case she suspected they would simply head back toward the stables.
Back inside the tower, Elizabeth dropped to her knees next to Austin's inert form, then immediately opened her bag and set to work.
First she removed a small lantern and lit it. Holding it close to his head she examined his wound. She could see at once that he required stitches, but she was more concerned by the fact that he hadn't regained consciousness. If he was bleeding inside-
She ruthlessly cut off the thought and concentrated on the matter at hand. Controlled calm settled over her. She knew exactly what needed to be done for his wound. And it needed to be done immediately.
Pulling two small wooden bowls from her bag, she ran outside and quickly filled them with rainwater. Again kneeling next to Austin, she mixed roots and herbs together with quiet concentration.
After washing the wound she closed it with a series of tiny, precise stitches, then snugly wrapped his head with a long strip of fresh gauze.
Resting her hand on his face, she was relieved that his skin remained cool and his breathing was slow and steady, good signs that his lungs were clear and his ribs uninjured.
All she could do now was wait for him to awaken.
And pray that he did.
After carefully replacing her supplies, she stood to rub her tense, aching back muscles. Fatigue washed over her with a vengeance and she stretched her hands over her head to relieve the strain in her lower back.
'Elizabeth.'
Austin's voice was barely more than a hoarse rasp, but her heart jumped when she heard it.
