Chapter Thirteen

C aroline wiped the cool water from her face and laughed. "You did not just kick water in my face!"

To prove her wrong, Melanie did it again, this time wetting the front of Caroline's gown until it clung to her curves. Taking off her spectacles to wipe the lenses so she could see, Caroline asked, "What are you, twelve?"

To her surprise, her cousin spun around and plopped down in the middle of the stream. "Just because I am a month shy of turning seven and ten does not mean I have forgotten how to have fun!"

Caroline could not believe her younger cousin was sitting in the stream! As the sun began to warm the air around them, she was able to see the delight on Melanie's face as she dipped her hands in the water and poured it over herself. Her joy was a subtle reminder of all that Caroline had forgotten in the last few years. There had been no time for tea with friends, nor walks to the shops and back. No time for frivolity of any kind, no time to lose herself in one of her favorite books, nor to pause long enough in her task of weeding the herb garden to bend her head to the fragrant plants and inhale their soothing scents. War, death, and illness had driven every feeling but duty from her soul.

"It seems I have quite forgotten, Melanie."

As the words left her mouth, her cousin reached up, grabbed Caroline's wrist, and yanked her down beside her. Shocked by the action, Caroline did not move fast enough to turn so she would land on her bottom—her cheek hit a rock hidden beneath the flowing water. Sputtering, she sat up.

"I'm sorry, Caro… Oh, Lord, you're bleeding!"

Caroline didn't feel anything for a few moments. Then the shock wore off and pain lanced through the left side of her face. She cupped her cheek in her hand and felt a warmth instead of the chill of the water. Lowering her hand, she stared at the blood smeared on her fingers.

"Do not move," Melanie ordered her as she stood, lifted her gown, and ripped a length of fabric from her chemise. Quickly folding it, she placed it on the gash in her cousin's cheek.

The injury began to throb, and Caroline lifted her gaze to meet Melanie's. Her cousin had been bright with laughter a moment before, but now Melanie shed silent tears as she attempted to stanch the flow of blood from Caroline's wound.

Neither of them realized that the blood had run down Melanie's arm and spread onto the front of her damp gown, nor that the deep wound in Caroline's face had slowly bled onto the front of hers. The wet fabric spread the blood until they both were covered with it.

"I can't stop the bleeding, Caro! What should I do?"

Caroline knew from tales of her brother's fatal head wound that the face and head bled profusely. She needed to pay attention and not let her thoughts wander.

"Caroline!" Melanie's sharp tone had Caroline lifting her gaze to meet the guilt-laced fear on her cousin's face.

"Help me stand up, Melanie. I need you to rip a wide band from my gown—not my chemise; the fabric is not as tightly woven." Melanie quickly did as she was instructed and folded the material into a thick square. "That should work," Caroline murmured. Her head felt just a bit woozy. "Hand it to me and help me out of the stream. We need to get back to the vicarage."

"Yes," Melanie agreed. "Mum will know what to do. Lean on me, Caro."

Resisting the urge to close her eyes and sit down, Caroline let herself be led out of the water. When her cousin steered her toward the third field they had ventured to in order to dip their toes in the stream, her strength was fading and she stumbled. "Leave me here, Melanie, and go for help."

Melanie started crying again and wiped the back of her hand over her forehead, leaving a smear of blood behind. "I am not leaving you, Caro!"

"I don't think I can walk much farther. My head feels light and my stomach queasy."

"Lean on me," Melanie told her. "Together we will walk back to the vicarage—if we follow the road, it'll be faster."

Caroline wobbled and leaned a bit more of her weight on her cousin. In her heart, she knew neither of them would make it that far. Her cousin was shorter and had a slender build. Melanie would not be able bear Caroline's full weight, but Caroline was too occupied keeping the fabric pressed to her cheek to argue. Sticky, wet warmth trickled between her fingers, over the back of her hand and down to her elbow, which she braced against her ribs. While her cousin spoke of the tarts they would be baking when they reached the vicarage, a worrisome thought plagued Caroline: just how much blood could a person lose before it became fatal?

*

O'Malley slowed as he was about to ride past the vicarage. The vicar stood on the front steps and rushed to speak with him. "O'Ghill went in the direction of the church," the older man said. "Melanie is fond of walking through the fields beyond the graveyard."

"Aye, that's what Garahan told us."

The urgent need to find Caroline and Melanie overwhelmed O'Malley. He needed to leave now! But the vicar laid a hand to his arm, delaying him further. "There's a stream just past the third field—my daughter is fond of wading there."

O'Malley nodded. "Which way is quicker, the fields or the road?"

"The road. The stream is two miles ahead on the right. Find them and bring them home safely, O'Malley."

He didn't bother to answer.

The vicar released his arm. "I promise to keep them under lock and key until the danger has passed!"

"As ye're a man of the cloth, I know ye'll be keeping yer word."

O'Malley urged his horse into a fast trot until they reached the last home. "Hurry, laddie, we have to rescue the lasses." He gave the gelding his head and leaned over the animal's neck, murmuring encouragement and promises of carrots, oats, and apples when they found the women.

Rounding the bend in the road, he blinked—they were up ahead of him. As he drew closer, he ground his teeth together. Whoever had tried to murder the lasses would not live to see another day! He could not believe they hadn't heard him approaching. "Melanie! Lass!"

Melanie looked up. Her face was stained with tears. Blood was smeared across her forehead. The bodice of her gown was soaked with it. Had she had been stabbed or shot? He couldn't tell from this distance.

"Hurry! Caro's hurt."

O'Malley could not believe the vicar's daughter was not asking for help for herself when she was covered in blood. He took a closer look at Caroline, whose gown was saturated in it, too. But the lass had bright crimson trickling down her arm. He urged more speed from his horse.

He reached the women and leapt off his horse.

"I can't hold Caro up any longer." Melanie released her hold and let O'Malley lift Caroline into his arms. When her head lolled to one side, the makeshift bandage slid from the lass's fingers, and bright red blood welled up and spilled out of a deep gash on her face.

"Quick now, Miss Chessy—reach into me coat pocket. There's a clean cravat. Fold it up and hand it to me." Melanie did as he asked, all the while crying, prompting O'Malley to ask, "Who attacked ye?"

She looked up at Thomas with wide, tear-filled eyes. " Attacked us?"

He wanted to shout the question, but knew the vicar's daughter would not react well to being yelled at—the poor lass had been through enough trauma a few weeks ago and again today. He would not add to what she had to be feeling right now. "Where are ye hurt? Were ye stabbed or shot?"

"Stabbed?"

His anger roared to the surface, but he kept a tight lid on it. "Aye."

"Shot?"

"'Tis a simple question—if ye do not know, just say so."

"Neither. We were in the stream. Caro has forgotten how to enjoy life and have fun," Melanie rasped. "I tugged her so she would sit down in the stream with me. I…pulled her off balance. She didn't have time to turn around so she would be sitting…"

Her voice trailed off, and O'Malley knew what had happened. "She landed on her face."

Melanie nodded. "I didn't notice the rock until she lifted her face, holding a hand to her cheek."

"Yer damp gowns soaked up the blood while ye were trying to tend to her wound."

Melanie looked down, saw the blood, and swayed on her feet.

"Melanie!"

The familiar deep voice had O'Malley shouting, "O'Ghill! Get yer arse over here!"

His cousin ran toward them. "God in Heaven! Melanie, who attacked ye?"

The vicar's daughter turned toward O'Ghill's voice. "Killian?"

"Aye, lass. I'm here." O'Ghill reached her side in time to catch her before she swooned at his feet. "Who attacked ye? Did they shoot ye? Where are ye hurt?"

She didn't answer. O'Ghill put the question to O'Malley. "What happened, Thomas? Did ye see either of the men who did this?"

O'Malley shook his head, with a glance down to make certain the fabric was still firmly pressed against the lass's face. "According to Melanie, they were in the stream—"

"What in the bloody hell for? 'Tisn't warm enough for a swim!" The sound of pounding hoofs had them looking toward the horse and rider gaining on them. "Flaherty! Move yer arse !" O'Ghill shouted.

Melanie opened her eyes and stared up at him. "You found us."

"I would not have had to," O'Ghill grumbled, "if ye had stayed put tending to yer chores, instead of gallivanting off to play in the stream like children." Melanie sobbed, and O'Ghill cursed under his breath.

Flaherty dismounted and looked from one woman to the other. "Shot?"

O'Malley shook his head, set Caroline on his horse, mounted behind her, and pulled her onto his lap. "The dampness of their gowns spread the blood from Caroline's wound. We need to get her back to the vicarage and have her wound tended to. 'Tis deep."

The men knew without asking that Caroline had lost a lot of blood. Her wound needed to be sewn back together.

"Flaherty, let O'Ghill ride in front of ye, holding the lass."

His cousin nodded. "Me horse can handle the extra weight for the short distance to the vicarage."

The men set off for the vicarage with their precious burdens in their laps.