Stormfire (59 page)

Her lips twisted slightly. "I'm simply offering you a chance to stay upwind." Scowling, he kicked Mephisto into a gallop. In a moment, he cleared the wall.

Catherine patted the gelding's neck. "We can make it,
my bucko, if you do your part. Just keep moving after we touch ground, because I'll only be able to hang on. Then you must take me home. Come, sweet."

Sean slowed to a trot. The wench would be forever coming around the barricade if she kept to her current pace. Then, distantly, he heard the gelding scratch into a hard gallop. She could not be fool enough to try to outrun him? Then he had a growing fear that she had no such intention. He twisted in the saddle, a strangled cry tearing from his throat. "Kit! No! That horse won't. . ."

The gelding and rider seemed to float into the air, rising perfectly to hang impossibly suspended. Then the horse's hind hooves blended with the wall, and the illusion crumbled. As if smashed by a massive hand, Catherine hurtled forward and her foot caught in the sidesaddle stirrup. The gelding screamed on impact, rolled on the inert bundle that lay on the ground, then heaved its bulk upward and stumbled away, reins dragging.

Sean cleared the distance to her in moments, sliding out of the saddle and running before his horse skidded to a halt. She lay face down, a hand outflung by her cheek. She might have been asleep, but for the odd angle of her foot. "Kit?" Icy with apprehension, he knelt and turned her over with infinite care. Her lashes flickered against her bloodied face. "Kit? Can you hear me?"

Her eyes opened, confused and filled with pain. Her lips moved, and as he touched them, she whispered against his finger?, "Daggers . . . shining." She choked with an ominous, bubbling sound. "I . . . cannot breathe."

A stain was spreading under her breast and he began to undo the jacket buttons. "Hush, baby, don't try to talk anymore."

With an effort, she turned her head toward the wall and he heard a bewildered whisper. "There's . . . nothing there." Then she coughed blood. The pain crushed her and let her go.

Sean dropped his ear to her heart and heard nothing. Fingers shaking, he tore open her clothing. Yards of tight bandage encased her chest and he paled, remembering flinging her against the desk. Praying she had not suffocated, he fumbled for his knife and slit the bandage. The
l
inen
peeled back, revealing a narrow, blue-white sliver of b
one
protruding through her side, a bubble of blood forming where it emerged. A scream rising in his brain, he groped for her wrist. He felt a dim, erratic throbbing and cradled her. Alive. Still alive. Dimly becoming aware he was not alone, he looked up to see Ellen. Two of the other riders were closing quickly.

 
"How bad is it?" she asked gently. In the years she had
 
known Sean, she had thought him incapable of fear; now,
 
terror leaped from his eyes.

"Kit's hurt." He touched the girl's face, trying gingerly to wipe away the blood, but his hands trembled so that the dirt smeared. Ellen quickly dismounted and gave him a handkerchief. He dabbed awkwardly at the pale face turned to his chest. "She's alive," he muttered distractedly. "I have to get her home."

"Shall I fetch a wagon?" Ennery asked, sitting his horse a few feet away. His companion, feeling uneasily sick, pressed a gloved hand to her lips.

"There's not time," Sean answered flatly. Carefully, he gathered Catherine in his arms and got to his feet. Her head lolled back over his arm and a blood-streaked hand dangled limply. He looked at them. "Go back to the house. Tell Flynn to be ready for surgery."

"But he's—" Ennery began.

"Find him!"

"He'll be there," Ellen said quietly.

Sean turned toward Shelan and started walking.

"Take one breath at a time, little one, just as I'm taking one step at a time, and I'll get you home," Sean muttered. "Live, even if it's just to spit in my eye. Fight me . . . Mother of God, you've all the brawn of a feather. How is it I could never beat you down? You showed me, though, didn't you, girl? You'd have made it; only you were already broken and the horse was no damned good.
Kit. . .
oh, Kit. Rest and let me do your fighting for a while."

A small, silent gathering waited on the terrace as Sean, with a fatigue that had not yet reached his mind, stumbled across the lawn. Ennery and Flynn went out with a blanket to meet him. "Let us give you a hand. Wrap her in this."

Like a blind man, he continued past them. I need to hold you a little longer, just a little. Believing you're alive. I don't want to know. Death is forever. Stay warm and asleep in my arms. Don't leave me.

"Sean. Sean!"

He became aware of Flynn gripping his shoulder. "What do you want?"

"We've made a place ready in the messroom."

"Not there."

"I can't use a bed. I have to have a firm surface for surgery, and from her color, I'd say it had better be fast. Don't argue!" Flynn snapped, his anger giving up.

Sean laid his burden down on the appointed table and stood like a zombie while Flynn made a quick examination. When the older man looked up, his eyes were the color of steel. "What possessed you to put a girl with broken ribs on a horse, much less goad her to take a jump? I know you threatened her! She was in pain. She'd never have gone voluntarily."

"Is she dead?" Sean asked hoarsely.

"Not yet," Flynn said curtly, "but that punctured lung alone makes surgery pointless. With any luck, she'll never regain consciousness."

"If anything can be done, you're going to do it, or so help me

"You'll what? Blow out my brains? I should think you'd have had enough of threats for one day!" Flynn headed for the door.

Sean lunged in front of him. "You took an oath, dammit!"

A faint moan from the still form behind them abruptly altered Sean's insistence to desperate pleading. "Don't make me have to shoot her like a broken horse. Please!"

Flynn looked for a long moment into the young man's tormented face. "Have a servant fetch boiling water; it's already on the fire. And more candles. It'll be dark before I finish. Then get back here; I'll need someone to hold her down. You might fetch Ennery, too." Sean spun on his heel and went to carry out the orders. But instead of Ennery, he asked Ellen.

"Of course, if you think I'm strong enough to hold her."

"Kit's too weak to put up much of a struggle. I wouldn't ask it, Ellen, but if she sees some man holding her do
wn . . ."

"I gather you courted your little neighbor rather forcefully," Ellen observed dryly.

"I raped her," he said bluntly, "then gave her to my men."

Duneden paled. "Oh, Sean, why? I never believed you could love any woman as you clearly do that girl."

"She's the English spy who warned Camden of the rebellion. I couldn't ask you to help without knowing the truth."

"It's you I'll be helping. She can escape pain in unconsciousness; you cannot."

Sean stood ready to hold down Catherine's shoulders and arms, while Ellen took her ankles. Catherine fought for breath, lips moving in inaudible murmurs, while Flynn cut away her clothes. Sean's eyes had not left her face until Flynn muttered, "Just as I thought, she's well along."

Looking up, Sean saw the distended belly. And fled. Flynn caught him at the door and spun him around. "Damn you! You were swaggering stud enough to put a child in her; you'd better be man enough to stand by her now."
         
^v

"I didn't know. I didn't," Sean muttered. "But Kit did . . . down in that hole."

Flynn shook him. "If it'll help you get through today, think of the child as Liam's. I've neither time nor inclination to play your confessor!" Summarily, he pushed Sean back to the makeshift operating table.

Ellen had swaddled a blanket around the patient to ward off drafts. "That's a bright girl, Ellen. If she takes a chill, she has no chance at all. Let's begin." He began to tap Catherine's chest with a forefinger. "The left lung seems undamaged but the right one is filling. I'll make an incision here and try to stop the bleeding. Keep her completely still. She'll faint quickly enough; then, Ellen, hold the bowl near her head to receive the drainage. Quickly, we must begin. She's awake."

Catherine's eyelids fluttered as Sean pressed down. "What. . ." Her whisper turned into a scream of agony as the scalpel went into her side. Her eyes went black with pain, widening in terror and shock as she tried frantically to escape Sean's tightening
grip. "No . . .
no, don't!" The pleading was cut off by another piercing cry and spasmodically she arched against his hands. "Please, merciful God, don't torture me, please!"

"Kit, don't be afraid. It won't last much longer."

She whimpered, then convulsed again. "Don't. . . hurt my baby. Please, don't take my baby! . . .Please. . ."Her pleas faded into silence and she lay still. Slowly, his cheekbones jutting under taut flesh, Sean released her and mutely waited, flinching once as Flynn set to work with needle and thread.

At length, Catherine's struggle for breath seemed to ease. Flynn tapped her chest and listened. "Better. Much better. I want Ellen to stay here, but you leave, Sean. You're as pale as the patient. No, no, go on. You've done your part. I'll be hours yet. Tell someone to relieve Ellen in a bit."

"That isn't necessary," she said.

"It won't get any prettier."

"I've become a veteran nurse of Dublin's hospitals in these past months, doctor. I've seen all there is to see."

"Very well, then. Sean, for God's sake, get out! You'll not do the lass a favor by staying underfoot."

It was nightfall by the time Flynn entered the study, wiping his hands with a stained towel, his shirt sleeves still rolled up. "I could use a whiskey, if you're not too drunk to pour me one."

The young Irishman's tall frame was loosely propped against the mantel. A bottle hung slackly in one hand and a glass listed precariously in the other. He laughed hoarsely. "Drunk? I'm not nearly drunk enough, doctor. I'd have to drink myself to death to get that sodden." He twisted away and dully stared into the fire. "She's dead, isn't she?"

"Not yet." Flynn looked around. "Have you got another glass?" Without looking at him, Sean held out the bottle. Flynn took it, drank, then sagged into a chair and swigged again. "Well, you were bent on breaking her, boyo, and
now
she's broken. Three ribs, collarbone, and left leg in
two
places. Those jagged ribs were like knives. One of Marie Antoinette's gowns couldn't have required more stitches." He dragged at the bottle. "She lost the baby on the table."

"Then I've murdered her child as well," Sean whispered, "perhaps my own."

Flynn looked speculative. "Has she had intercourse in the past six months?"

"No."

"Then she must have carried the child at least that long. Amazing. The boy that miscarried was an undersized but perfectly formed fetus of nearly four months. I should say it died of insufficient nourishment."