Unmistakable Rogue

by Annette Blair

  His eyelids fluttered but remained closed. She was so relieved, she was giddy, but she could not faint now.

  She unbuttoned his bloody shirt and laid it open. The arrow had gone in at a reasonably forgiving angle, above his waist, yet close enough to his heart to make her dizzy. “Matt, give me that jar of water.” Keeping herself from giving in to hysteria, Chastity washed Reed’s side to survey the damage. Her first flash of hope came when she saw that the bleeding had slowed. “Now give me the shears.” She opened her hand.

  “Kitty?”

  “I’m going to cut off the shaft, so the end doesn’t get caught and tear the wound any further. I’ll leave just enough to grasp when I have to remove it later.”

  When she accidentally touched the shaft with the shears, Reed moaned. When she clamped the blades tight against it, his moan became guttural.

  The strength she needed to cut the arrow was more than Chastity expected. She screamed in frustration, and strength came, enabling her to sever the shaft, finally, though her scream became silent beneath Reed’s. The broken end flew up, glanced off a branch and showered them with desiccated leaves. Would that Reed’s strength were as great as those leaves, clinging against all odds.

  Matt dusted her off, picking bits from Chastity’s hair, the simple act soothing her.

  She poured whiskey on Reed’s wound and he cursed, and because she had caused the pain, she forgave the profanity. “If I thought it would help, I’d swear too,” she told Matt.

  She needed to stem the blood-flow, while keeping the shaft as immobile as possible, so she wrapped the bandage in a loose figure eight, over his stomach to his back, and around the shaft, again and again.

  Reed groaned through the process and Matt wiped the perspiration from his brow.

  “How are we going to get him on Stealth?”

  Chastity wished to God she knew. “He’ll have to help.” She bathed Reed’s face with a cool wet cloth to rouse him and held brandy to his lips. “Not too much,” she cautioned. “We want to dull the pain, not make you sick.”

  She could have sworn, he smiled.

  Barely able to grasp the reality of his injury, his blood everywhere, she kissed his hand. “We need to get you home.”

  “Pretty Kitty, take me home.”

  Matt smiled through his tears. “He’s drunk.”

  Reed clutched the boy’s hand, his grip bruising. “You all right? Didn’t get ... hit?”

  “I’m fine, Reed.”

  “Thank God.” He closed his eyes.

  “No, Reed,” Chastity said. “Stay awake. We need your help.”

  He licked his lips, tried to move, fell back. “In a minute.”

  “We need you on Stealth, but we cannot get you up there, alone. You have to stand. We’ll help.”

  Reed nodded but didn’t open his eyes. “Have a care. Arrows.”

  They rolled him to his good side and lifted him to his hands and knees. Breathing hard, he looked at her through pain-glazed eyes, and she allowed him to see how much she cared. His own eyes widened and he cursed the more.

  “We’ll help you,” Chastity said, “and when I tell you, straighten your knees to stand.”

  Reed nodded again.

  They did get him standing—more or less—while Reed cursed a streak of expletives that warmed Chastity as much as it entertained Matt.

  “This will be the hardest,” Chastity told Reed. “You need to mount Stealth.”

  He looked at her as if she were the devil incarnate. “Bedlamites.” He swayed toward her. “Kiss me first.”

  Matt all out giggled.

  “Reed Gilbride. Just when I’m worried you might die, you inspire this urge in me to drop you on your head.” Chastity rested her tear-stained cheek against his.

  “Part of m’charm.” He swooned.

  “Catch him, Matt.”

  They caught him together.

  “Sorry.” Reed labored to pull in air. “Can’t play right now.”

  Chastity bit her lip until she tasted blood, and she and Matt regarded each other, two hearts aching.

  “Wait,” Matt said. I have an idea.” He pushed against Stealth’s forelegs. “Down, boy, down.”

  Chastity held Reed upright, expecting it was useless, but Stealth responded to the imprecise command by kneeling, lowering himself for Reed, who gazed at Matt with new respect.

  With Chastity’s help, Reed tried, God help him, his perspiration soaking her gown, his shuddering chills rocking her body. But he could not raise a leg even that high.

  Matt dragged a rotted tree trunk over. “Step on this, then mount.” He sat on the log to brace it while helping to steady Reed’s legs.

  Reed mounted the log, and in a difficult, ungainly move, he managed to mount Stealth as well, cursing the archer to perdition before blacking out.

  Chastity threw the blankets over him. “It’s just as well he’s out,” she said. “The ride will be easier on him. Take the reins, Matt, and lead us while I keep him from falling.”

  “Please forget everything you heard,” she called a few minutes later.

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Her words had been part order, part request, and foolish, she supposed, but she and Matt needed something ordinary to think about. “Reed will be fine,” she added.

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  Chastity tried to equate the unconscious man with the brute who’d stolen her breath just yesterday. His first parting kiss had been quick and soft. The second carried more strength and lasted a good deal longer, and before he was done, he had stamped her with some invisible brand, as if she belonged to him, now, because of it. Did she?

  Chastity admitted during the second hour that she would be proud to belong to Reed Gilbride, no matter how foolish the notion, except that no one could, for he liked being alone.

  It was just that he had kissed her with such ... enthusiasm.

  Had he experienced then the kind of hard wanting that was a man’s lot? The nuns were vague about that, except to say she shouldn’t allow it. Men were beasts where it was concerned. Their need was strong, sometimes brutal. A woman was never the same after. Ruined.

  Did the nuns even know what they were talking about? Was she ruined for being kissed?

  Perhaps, somewhat, for there now existed a new yearning in her, though she might not be ruined in the precise way the sisters meant. Not yet at any rate. If she were, she suspected she would know it, though for the life of her, she could not fathom the process by which ruination came about.

  Since the nuns who raised her were also the ones who taught her nursing, there’d been no one to ask. To make matters worse, they ran a children’s hospital. No other women. No men—except Doctor William Somers, who failed to enlighten her, even after he married her.

  She knew only that she had not been the same since Reed’s kisses. If she were ruined, she had enjoyed it. If she had not yet fallen, she was likely beginning the tumble, and what a ride. She wondered if Mark had noticed any indication of ruin on her face, but he seemed oblivious.

  Nothing could come of a relationship between her and Reed, she knew, though they had never, in actual fact, discussed it. He thought she was a nun—untouchable—though his actions would indicate that her calling mattered little.

  There were other reasons. He hated children; she was responsible for several and wanted more. He knew she stole them, and could destroy her with the knowledge. Chastity sighed. So many reasons to stay away from him, yet being kissed, touched by Reed was like a banquet for her starving soul. She could no more stop accepting his attention than she could stop one of those new locomotives on a downhill track.

  Shaken by the realization, Chastity turned her thoughts to Reed’s care, reminding herself that he was now her patient. A human being in need of healing. She would tend his wounds, and when he was healed, she would release him from her care.

  But could she ever release him from her heart?

  With no answers forthcoming, she kept Stealth at a se
date pace, to keep jarring at a minimum, and re-tucked Reed’s blankets when the wind uncovered him. She wiped his brow and soothed him with tender words.

  The sky graced them with its first silent droplets at around mid-afternoon. The wind picked up, the temperature dropped. Stealth walked on, undaunted by the lightening, which surprised Chastity, until she remembered that he had been a war horse, trained to continue through a barrage of cannon fire. Chastity and Matt changed places, to rest sore muscles and use others. The boy held Reed steady then, as she held Stealth’s reins. To keep Reed’s pain at a minimum, the going was slow and tedious.

  “Make certain he’s well covered, Matt, or he’ll take an inflammation of the lungs.”

  “He was trying to protect me.” Matt’s voice cracked.

  “That makes Reed a man of valor, but it does not make his injury your fault,” Chastity said. “Do not blame yourself or he will give you what-for when he’s better.”

  Matt chuckled. “He warned me earlier that you would give what-for over something else. You sound like Mum and Da.”

  “And why might I be expected to reprimand you?”

  “No reason.”

  It was late when they approached the house. Chastity was glad they were back before full dark.

  When she and Matt cleared the rise, Mark, Luke and Bekah came running, despite the drizzle. “What are you doing outdoors? I told you to stay inside. You’ll be sick.”

  “A lady told us you were coming,” Luke said.

  “What lady?”

  “She said she lives there,” Mark pointed. “Near the chapel. She said she cared for the horses until we got here.”

  Chastity’s unease vanished. The woman must have seen them from the upper floor of the vicarage. She should visit her later just to thank her.

  “Run up to the bedchambers, boys, and drag two mattresses down to the kitchen. Pile them one atop the other beside the stove. Bring sheets and blankets too.” She would put oilcloth beneath the sheets to keep the bed from getting soaked with blood.”

  Bekah began to weep silently when saw Reed doubled over on Stealth. She took his hand, the one hanging limp against the horse’s side, and held it all the way back to the house.

  At the back door, Matt got Stealth to kneel again and put a stool beside him. Getting Reed off was easier than getting him on. He swore less, perhaps because he saw the little ones watching. She and Matt helped him into the kitchen, where he sank onto the bed with a moan. Pain etched his colorless face and compressed his lips.

  He smiled at her, but the pain never left his eyes.

  “Mark,” Chastity said, “see to Stealth, and give him some extra oats and molasses for his hard work. Feed Breezy and Smokey too. Children, dress warm and go help Mark to give Reed some privacy. Stay in the stable and out of the rain. I’ll call when you can come back.”

  Matt herded them out, throwing a last concerned look Reed’s way. “He’ll be all right, won’t he, Kitty?” He waited for her promise before he left.

  After he did, she set a pan of water to boiling and tried to give Reed a cool draft to sip. He pushed it away. “Brandy.”

  Chastity lifted the bottle of amber liquid to his lips once again. “You’re going to be inebriated.”

  Reed chuckled and swore. “Hurts to laugh.” He took the bottle into his own hands, winced, and drank until she reclaimed it.

  Blood matted his hair and stained his hands. He must have grasped his side, and then shoved his hand through his hair, as he was wont to do, unless he had a head wound as well. She checked to be certain but found no other injury.

  She removed his shirt and washed his broad shoulders, his muscular arms. Her hand slowed as she moved the washcloth through the whorls of dark hair on his chest and found his nipples hidden in the thatch. She had never seen a man’s body before and could barely take her eyes from the sight.

  Neither did Reed remove his gaze from her perusal, she was disconcerted to realize. His dimples gave away the smile he tried to hide. Injured, and still he beguiled her.

  She might have gone up in flames, if he’d remained awake. If he ever mentioned this, she would tell him he must have been dreaming.

  After he slept, she took her time washing his upper torso, appreciating every inch of male perfection.

  “Chastity, love, if my side didn’t hurt so bad, I’d show you how much I like what you’re doing.”

  Chastity slapped her hand to her heart. This drifting in and out of consciousness, the way he was doing, was going to give her a seizure. “What did you say?”

  “Could we do this, again, in a few weeks?”

  “Certainly not.” She rinsed the cloth with efficiency, ignoring his smile and her disquiet. She had put off removing the arrow for long enough. She could delay his pain no longer. For the moment—a short moment, unfortunately—he was as comfortable as could be.

  She rubbed lye soap against a fresh clean cloth and despite her trembling fingers gently cleansed around the wound. Then she forced herself to tend the worst of it.

  She placed a hot cloth, around the arrow’s shaft.

  “Damnation!”

  “If you did not feel the burn, you would be dead. Be quiet and thank your Maker for the small favor.”

  “Told you; He and I do not keep company.”

  She rinsed the cloth and repeated the process.

  “That’s too damned hot!”

  “I know how hot it is,” Chastity said. “My hands are on fire, but I have to clean the wound as best I can with the hottest water you can stand. Then I’m going to pour brandy over it.”

  Reed remained conscious and glaring. “Put in a good word for me with your Maker, will you?”

  “I have been, Reed, since Matt came to find me.” Wherever life took them, she would pray for this man until she could no longer pray. God knew she would never forget him. She wiped his brow. “He might like to hear from you, though. Give it a try.”

  Reed’s eyes closed, and she did not know if he heard. She pressed the back of her hand to his brow. No fever. She set another log on the fire, and opened William’s medical bag for supplies.

  She would not lose Reed, too.

  When she found what she needed, she put everything back—powders, shears, tonics, even a packet of yellowed documents. She checked the scalpel’s blade and washed it with hot water and lye soap.

  “What are you doing with that ... weapon?”

  “Washing it. I worked with a doctor who was ridiculed for believing in clean surgical procedures, but I think he was right. When it’s clean, I’m going to cut a slash about this long.” She marked the length with two fingers. “On each side of the arrow’s shaft. I can tell where the head is widest by the shape of the wound.” She examined him as she spoke. “I’ll cut just enough to remove the arrow’s tip without causing more damage. The angle’s bad, so it’s going to hurt.” It would hurt both of them, she did not say.

  “Where the devil did you learn such torture?”

  “I was a nursing sister. Did I not say so?”

  “But you looked at my body as if you’d never seen—”

  “I nursed children. You’re my first man.”

  “I wish.”

  “No, really.”

  “When I am your first man, you will smile when you say it.”

  Chastity straightened when she caught his implication, prickles skittering through her body like branches sprouting everywhere. Ignoring him, she picked up the knife. “Pray you recover, and—”

  “Kiss me for luck.”

  Chastity fit her lips to his, and Reed kissed her in a way that made her suddenly aware of herself as a woman, almost as aware as she was of him as a man.

  They stared into each other’s eyes for too long afterward.

  “Do it,” he finally said.

  Chastity nodded, took a breath, and grasped the arrow’s shaft. Shutting out his gasp, she made the first slice into his flesh, keeping strict control over her trembling hands, and her knowledge
of who she cut.

  Beads of sweat formed on his upper lip and brow, even as Chastity blinked to clear the sweat from her own eyes. Night sounds invaded the silence—wind, rain, children playing; Matt trying to distract his brothers and sister.

  Reed passed out, and after wiping her brow with her sleeve, she made quick work of the opposite cut, where the arrowhead’s second wing lay deeper beneath his skin.

  Reed swore when she tugged the projectile free, then he went limp. Chastity swallowed against a rising nausea, and held clean padding to the wound, applying pressure to stem a fresh flow of blood. She took the bloody arrowhead and tossed it in the fire, where it hissed and crackled like a serpent.

  Allowing her knees to buckle, she knelt by the mattress, keeping the padding against the wound. The gash was smaller than expected, including the cuts she made.

  Blood did not soak the padding, which encouraged her to remove it and stitch him up. Mother Superior used to say that her samplers could not hold a candle to her surgical stitches. For that, Chastity had never been more grateful.

  After she stitched, she sprinkled basilicum powder over the wound to keep it dry and help it heal. Then she bound him with a wide bandage to hold the clean padding secure.

  Reed roused, his voice thick with pain. “You’re white as the ghost I met that first night.”

  “You’re just a hint shy of green, yourself.”

  Reed’s chuckle ended in a moan. “Do not make me laugh. I do not feel well.” He shifted and grimaced. “I hate to bring this up, you being a nun and all, but would you remove my trousers?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Reed looked to be as uncomfortable with his request as she.

  “I would not normally ask,” he said. “But my trousers are pushing against the wound, and it hurts like the devil. If you’re afraid, can you unbutton the placket at least, and ease them down a bit?”

  “I am not afraid; I am appalled that I did not think of it.” Biting her lip, taking care not to touch anything questionable, her fingers trembling and clumsy, Chastity unfastened his placket, astonished that beneath the fabric, a generous endowment of male parts seemed to spring to life.