“You saved my life.” His voice was a trembling whisper, but it was the best he could do.
Heedless to the muddy puddles that soaked through his clothes, Graysie Castellanos slid onto her knees at his side and carefully took hold of his wrist, gauging his pulse.
He smiled into her eyes. He couldn’t remember a day when it felt better to be alive.
“You certainly are one out of the box, Graysie Castellanos. I don’t know another woman who could do what you’ve just done.” The lines of exhaustion in her face softened. She shook her head in slow denial, watching him. He stroked her cheek with the back of his finger. “It should have been me protecting you.”
His awareness of everything except Graysie Castellanos fell away, spiraling into one image: This amazing woman, looking at him with rapt attention, as if nothing existed except them. The caress of the cooling breeze on his face, the doggy smell of Vulcan snuffling in leaf mold, the iron tang of fresh blood, the heightened reality of their surroundings all vanished. There was just him and her, gazing at one another in wonder. His stomach somersaulted. Warmth curled up from deep within him.
She hesitated, and then he saw the moment when she remembered where she was. She rolled back on her haunches. “Nathan, I’ve got to get help. Minette is alone up at the wagon.” She shook her head, as if she too had to drag herself back from the seduction of togetherness.
Nathan dropped his hand. “Of course.” He placed his hands on either side of his thighs and tried to lever himself upright. “We have to get out of here.”
She gave a light laugh and placed her hand lightly on his shoulder. “There’s no way you’re walking out of here. You stay put with Vulcan. I’m going to collect Minette from the wagon—where she is hopefully fast asleep—and then I’ll get some of John’s men to carry you out. I imagine they’ve got a search party out looking for us by now anyway.”
She caressed the side of his face. “I am so glad we managed to survive this, Nathan. Life wouldn’t be the same without you. And stranger still—whoever those men were—we didn’t kill anyone. Nature—in its various guises—did it for us.”
Nathan placed his hand on hers and held it in place for a few moments before pulling it away and gently kissing her palm. He held it longer than he needed, reluctant to lose the connection. He cleared his throat.
“One of them was Octavius Weavers. No doubt about that. And when they were arguing I thought one of them mentioned Martens’s name. My brother isn’t going to like that. Proving it though—that’s going to be a whole lot harder.”
*****
She’d had to leave him in the glen, the faithful Vulcan standing guard over him, while she climbed back up the path to Minette. Minette! How long had she been gone? Her legs felt like lead, but she pushed on. It was much harder going uphill in the dark than it had been following Vulcan down, but the thought of Minette alone drove her on. It felt like she’d been away half the night, although it was probably no more than an hour and a half.
From the trajectory of the moon, she guessed it was around ten o’clock. She tiptoed to the wagon and gave a long slow sigh. The child was fast asleep under her quilt, breathing at a slow, regular pattern that betrayed no sign of anxiety or distress. She really was a remarkable little girl.
The hours that followed went by in a haze. She had barely started out for Gold House before she was met by the search party out looking for them. She escorted the farm manager and stable hands with a stretcher back to where Nathan lay. Sir John had been a silent commanding presence as his Chinese servants bathed Nathan’s wounds, applied herbal lotions, and given him a draft of sleep-inducing tea.
When he was satisfied there was nothing more to be done for Nathan that night, he drew Graysie aside in the hall outside Nathan’s room. “Tell me. Sorry, I know you’re exhausted. You need sleep. But what is going on?”
She’d given him the briefest of accounts. Two men dead, but not by their hand. That Nathan had recognised Octavius Weavers. “Oh, and they mentioned Willoughby Martens when they were arguing.”
John’s face darkened ominously. “Really.”
It wasn’t a question.
*****
That night, as she pulled off her blood-stained dress and poured the warm water left by one of the servants into the porcelain wash bowl, she went over the day’s events
Thank God for the sheep.
They were getting closer every day to uncovering the truth, but how much time did they have left? As she patted her face dry, she asked herself the question that had been nagging her for days: could she save the lives of those closest to her by giving up on her quest? Just admit defeat. Accept the poor offer. Tonight it had very nearly been Nathan who had died. Who would it be tomorrow?
An image of Lisette Guilliame’s drawn face came to her mind. If they were going to acquiesce, Lisette would have to give in to the extortion as well. She felt a burning indignation at the unfairness of it all.
One last image seared her brain as her eyes fell shut. She was scrabbling in the ditch where she’d left Nathan concealed, desperately searching for him. But instead of Nathan, all she found was a scarlet red stain in the shape of a man’s body. She woke with a churning stomach and lay wide awake until dawn broke.