Page 41 of Heart on the Line

He was speaking of his sister again. Protecting her from a man who would restrain him and whip him to try to gain information.

Helen strode forward. She had to get him out of those bonds. No doubt they were fueling his fever-induced memories. No one should be locked in such an ugly, cruel past. His body would never heal if his mind stayed focused on the source of his greatest hurt.

“Wait, Helen.” Claire grabbed for her arm, but Helen sidestepped her. “He could strike ye. A man in the grip o’ fever is unpredictable. It might be better to leave him tied.”

“I can’t. It’s hurting him.” She crossed the few steps to the bed and immediately reached for the closest restraint.

“No, it isna,” Claire said from behind her, making no move to follow. “Ye did a fine job with the cotton. ’Tis barely tight enough to hold him.”

“It’s not his arms I’m worried about,” she murmured. It was his mind.

Her stranger continued glaring at Claire, barely paying Helen any heed until she started tugging on the knot at his right wrist.

He turned his head then, and in a flash his defiance melted under a wave of confusion and fear. “Rachel!” His frantic whisper broke Helen’s heart. “You’ve got to run. Hurry. Before he sees you.” He bucked his hips and increased his struggles against his bindings, tearing the knot from her fingertips. His movements were so violent, she feared he’d damage his leg with all his flailing. “He’s got me tied up again. I won’t be able to stop him this time. Please. You’ve got to run!” His voice broke, and his eyes misted.

Helen nearly crumpled to the floor. What this man had endured. And some of it was at her hand. Well, no more!

“Shh,” she pleaded as she reached out to stroke his face. “It’s all right. We’re safe. No one’s going to hurt either of us. It’s just a memory. He can’t hurt us anymore. We’re safe. You kept us safe.”

She repeated the litany of safety over and over, stroking his stubbled jaw and smoothing the hair from his forehead until he calmed. Her heart hiccupped at the contact. She’d never imagined touching a man so—with tenderness, caring, comfort. Emotions she wasn’t accustomed to feeling flared in her chest, making it hard to breathe, yet she kept up her ministrations, his well-being outweighing her upheaval.

His forehead singed her fingers. Fever raged inside him. Yet as she reached for the knot at his wrist once again, his gaze followed the movement, and some of the fogginess cleared from his eyes.

“Helen?”

He remembered her! She nodded, a tremulous smile twitching her lips. “Yes, I’m here.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I brought help. This is Claire. She’s a nurse.”

“I told you not to tell anyone.” He scowled at her, the expression transitioning into one of confusion as if he were trying to hold onto thoughts that kept slipping away from him. “There are . . . lives at risk.”

Helen frowned right back at him. “I know. And one of those lives is yours, fool man. You’ve got a hole in your leg, your veins are nearly empty, and you’ve got an infection driving you into delirium. You need more help than I know how to give.”

He grumbled something under his breath about contrary females, but Helen ignored it as she freed the first knot. She unwrapped his wrist and threw the offending scrap of petticoat to the ground. The chafing marks were light but still stabbed guilt into her heart. For a crazy moment, she considered lifting the man’s arm to her mouth so she could kiss away the soreness. Thankfully, her wits sharpened in time to check the ridiculous impulse. But not quickly enough to keep her from holding onto his wrist longer than a sufficiently detached person would have.

Which he noticed.

At least she assumed that was the reason his gaze locked with hers and something . . . personal passed between them. An awareness. A pleasant awareness. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d actually experienced pleasant sensations during an interaction with a man. A few males had developed neutral sensations—the marshal and Benjamin Porter came to mind. They’d proven trustworthy, thereby dulling her negative reaction thanks to increased exposure.

But these tiny tingles dancing along her nape and the lightheadedness that made her feel as if she were floating an inch above the floorboards? That was new. And disturbing. Yet . . . enticing.

“Claire can be trusted,” she blurted, desperate to break the charged moment. “She’s vowed to keep our secret.” She stretched across him to untie the second arm.

“Can you be trusted?” The soft words drew her eyes back to him. “You tied me up.”

Helen’s hands fumbled with the knot. Shame made her voice quiver. “I’m sorry.”

She ducked her head away from his accusing eyes and yanked on the cotton strip until it finally gave way and pulled free. She straightened, gaining some much needed distance from this man who seemed able to pluck her emotions with the ease of a child plucking the petals from a daisy.

She cleared her throat as she lifted her chin. “You’re a stranger,” she reminded him, while the intimate pull between them belied her words. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re here. I couldn’t take the chance that you’d slip away while I was gone and hurt someone I care about.” She made herself hold his gaze. “I have people to protect, too.”

“I’m not here to hurt anyone. I swear.” His green eyes bored into her, and the well-honed instincts she’d developed from years of watching her hypocrite of a father smooth-talk everyone he met failed to detect even a hint of insincerity.

“I believe you,” she whispered. She tossed the second binding into the corner next to the first. “I won’t tie you again.”

She stood there, staring at him, until Claire moved up alongside the bed and entered Helen’s field of vision.

“While he’s coherent,” Claire murmured, “you might ask him if he has any injuries besides the gunshot to the leg. Even a small wound, if overlooked, can hinder the healing process.”

Helen nodded, but before she could ask, her stranger responded.