Page 30 of The Widow Wore Plaid

Kinellan sat up against the bushes, his breathing labored. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” Her gaze fell on his right hand, clutching his left shoulder through which blood was seeping at a steady rate. “Oh, God. Your wound.” She sat up so quickly her head spun. “We’ve got to stop the bleeding.”

“Stay down, Jane.” He fixed her with a stern eye that closed when he swallowed hard. “He, whoever he is, isn’t done yet. I suspect he won’t be done until I’m dead.”

“Don’t say that.” Pulling up her skirt, Jane exposed her white petticoat. A moment later she’d ripped off a sizeable strip, wadded it, and held it over the place his hand gripped. “Let me see it. We have to stop the bleeding.” She held the pad at the ready.

After a deep breath, he grunted as he removed his hand. Blood that had been seeping through his fingers now welled forth through the holes in his shirt and jacket. Jane pushed the jacket aside and pressed directly onto the hole thru the bloody shirt.

Kinellan gasped, his face turning white before he drew a deep breath. “You have done this before?”

She shook her head, trying not to jostle him. “No, but I watched a surgeon once tend a man who’d been accidentally shot. Thank God I’m not squeamish about blood, or you’d be in a bad way at present, Kinellan.”

He laughed, then sucked in a sharp breath. “Indeed I would.” Sighing, he leaned his head back against the leaves.

“Do you have any idea who could have shot you?” The pad had become soaked that quickly with his blood.

“I don’t, but it does bear thinking on.” His eyes met hers. “Especially considering what now appears to have been the other two attempts on my life.”

“Here, can you hold this?” She replaced her hand with his and bent to rip up more petticoat. “Then you don’t think this is an accident?” She raised hopeful eyes to him. “A poacher or . . . or someone out shooting for sport?”

“Not when they shot at us deliberately three different times.” He closed his eyes. “Once might be an accident. But then a normal poacher would have run away as fast as he could in order not to be caught. He doesn’t stay around and try to kill the lord of the manor.” A faint shake of his head and he opened eyes steeped in pain and anger. “No, whoever this is means to kill me and you, too, I suspect, as they won’t want to leave a witness.”

Ripping the material gave Jane a reason not to look at him. Not to let him see the fear in her eyes that was already in her heart. Unless they were both very lucky, this lunatic with the gun would make an end to them with neither of them nor any of their friends or family the wiser as to the identity of the culprit.

“Do you hear anyone approaching, Jane? I can’t hear anything distinctly at the moment. I have a loud buzzing in my ears.” He scarcely got the words out when his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped over onto the ground.

“Kinellan.” Drat. He’d fainted. Hastily, she wadded the torn petticoat into a ball and pressed it against his chest. She put her hand on his back to ease him onto it, and her hand came away bright with blood. Rolling him toward her, she could see the dark hole in the green superfine, blood oozing onto it, staining it a dark, sinister red. Both good news and bad. Good that the ball had passed completely through. Bad that now she had two bloody holes to pack. At this rate her petticoat would be used up long before the bleeding stopped.

Her gaze fell on his snowy cravat, a wealth of material at her fingertips. Still applying pressure to his front with one hand, she untied the knot with the other and after a slight battle, managed to unloop the silk fabric from around his neck. At last it slithered to the ground and she layered it back and forth, then held it on his back as she eased him to the ground to hold it in place. Cautiously, she peeped under the bandage on his front, relief flowing through her when the wound seemed to have stopped bleeding. “Kinellan.” She cupped his cheek and he groaned. Thank God for signs of life. “Kinellan.”

His eyes snapped open and he tried to rise, but she pushed him back down. “Don’t move. Your back is bleeding pretty badly where the ball came out.”

Groaning, he lay flat again, his gaze going to her face. “Have you seen anyone coming yet?”

She shook her head but peered between the trunks of the scrub brush. “I don’t see anyone now. Haven’t heard anyone walking either, although I was preoccupied with saving you. I could have missed the rustling of someone approaching in the trees.”

“We need to get inside the lodge.” His words were coming slower than usual and he licked his lips several times. “We’ll be safer there. More protection when night falls.”

Night. A dreadful sinking feeling assailed Jane and her hands grew chilly. They weren’t going to be able to leave here before night. Kinellan needed medical treatment, more than she could give him, certainly. If the bleeding began again . . .

Her attention snapped back when her patient tried to rise.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

“Getting to my feet.” Slowly he crouched, staring at the lodge some fifty feet away. “We need to move fast. Crawling is not an option this time.”

“Can you run?” If he lost consciousness again he’d be out in the open, an easy target for the unknown gunman.

“We’ll see in a moment. Ready?”

She grabbed the cravat from the ground. They’d need it again. She looked around, but nothing else came to mind except...

“Wait.” She dropped to the ground again, peering between the bushes. “We need to get that carry bag.”

“Are you mad?” He gripped her arm with strength she wouldn’t have dreamed he still possessed. “He’ll pick you off easily if you try to get it.”

“It took him two tries to hit you, Kinellan. I don’t think he’s a crack shot.” There was food in that bag that they would need to keep his strength up.