Page 20 of In Honor’s Defense

“I’m back, Mr. Davenport,” Nathaniel said as he drew near and set the lantern down next to what she’d thought was a large rock. “I brought Aunt Maris with me. She’ll take care of you. Don’t worry.”

If only she shared his confidence.

The large rock slowly took on the shape of a man as she drew near. Her heart ached at the sight of such a valiant warrior curled on his side like a child, his features almost indecipherable. She blinked back tears as she positioned the travois behind his back. He’d taken on four men to save Nathaniel. His courage deserved to be met in matching measure. Damaris steeled her stomach and stiffened her spine as she moved around to his front and reached inside her linen sling for her basket of medical supplies.

“Hold the light up,” she instructed. “I need to see what we’re dealing with.”

Nathaniel obeyed, and Damaris nearly stumbled at the sight of the battered, bloody body at her feet.

Lord, help us. For only a miracle would save Luke Davenport’s life this night.

CHAPTER

NINE

Everything hurt.

That was the first thing that registered in Luke’s mind when something jarred him back into awareness. The second was the feeling of falling—or sliding, more accurately. Down some kind of ladder. The rungs bumped against every sore place on his body.

“Catch him!”

Someone sprawled across his front, pressing him hard against the uneven rungs. He moaned.

“Sorry.” The feminine voice reached inside the darkness and stirred him. Drew him upward out of oblivion’s pit.

The smothering force on top of him shifted. Steadied him. Halted his slide.

“I’ve got you,” she said.

His senses began to register sensations other than pain. Like the delicate scent of lilies. The warm breath against his cheek when she spoke. The closeness of her body pressed atop his. The smothering sensation dissipated, replaced by an odd type of comfort.

“Hold down his top half while I lift his legs.”

She slipped away. Leaving him. “No,” he protested in a weak murmur.

“I’m here,” she soothed, as if knowing exactly what he needed. “Right here.”

And he felt her, leaning crosswise over his chest. Holding him secure as his body tipped into a more horizontal position.

“Almost there, Mr. Davenport. As soon as we get you in the wagon, we’ll head for home.”

Home. He’d never really had one of those. Had always wondered what it would be like. A place with a woman’s touch. Curtains at the window. Handmade quilts on the bed. Those white doily things on the dressers. Maybe a sampler or two hanging on the wall. His father had burned his mother’s remaining belongings after she left, and the army had no room for anything beyond stark practicality. The bunkhouse at Gringolet wasn’t much different. He had a bed, a trunk for his personal belongings, and access to a washstand. Everything a man needed. Yet nothing that made it feel like home.

A loud grunt echoed from somewhere near his feet. That was all the warning he received before the contraption he lay upon was shoved backward. The woman beside him lost her balance and tumbled off him, her soft gasp of surprise awakening his protective instincts. He reached for her, but pain exploded across his side, demanding he retract his arm.

“Don’t try to move,” she said, quickly righting herself. Her hand gently touched his shoulder, soothing him in a way he couldn’t quite comprehend. “We’ll get you home, and I’ll send for a doctor.”

“Madisonville ain’t got no doctor.” That sounded like the kid. “Just the undertaker.”

The hand on his shoulder trembled, but her voice held firm. “Don’t worry,” she murmured close to his ear as the wagon started to move. “We will not be calling the undertaker. We’ll figure something out. You are not going to die, Luke Davenport, so just put that idea straight out of your head.”

Luke wanted to smile but couldn’t manage it. Instead, he focused all his effort on opening his eyes. He wanted to see her. Unfortunately, his eyelids proved obstinate. Heavy and swollen. But he was a cavalryman, and a soldier didn’t quit just because something was hard. So he pressed on, and finally his eyes obeyed, cracking open. Night shrouded his vision, and the blows he’d taken to the face and head left his perception blurry, but he could see her. One long braid dangled over her shoulder, making her look young and vulnerable. Her profile glowed in the moonlight as she gazed forward at the horses, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

“Damaris.”

Her indrawn breath echoed loudly in his ear as she turned her face toward him. “You’re awake. Thank the Lord.” She smiled at him, but her lips quivered, giving away her anxiety. “Nathaniel will have us home soon. I found three knife wounds. One in your side, one across your forearm, and one in your leg. Are there any I missed?”

He didn’t think so, but everything hurt, so it was hard to take stock.