Pendragon

Oh God, he was going to kill her. At least he was up there and not down here.

Was it really a he?

She didn't know.

She lay there, panting, trying to control the pain, listening to Brutus barking louder and louder, then heard the dog cry out.

The bastard had hit Brutus.

Silence.

Where was he? Was he coming down that path? She had to move, she had to do something, but there was nowhere to go, just miles of beach strewn with heavy boulders, seaweed drying on chunks of driftwood. No place, no cave, where she could hide. She could arm herself, yes, that was it. She looked around to find a rock. Too small. No, that one she couldn't begin to lift even if she hadn't been injured.

There was one. She managed to pull herself within reach of a round black rock, sitting just beyond her fingertips, all by itself, as if waiting for her. She pulled herself toward that rock, then got her hand around it. It felt nice and heavy. She gripped it against herself, then managed to get back up onto her knees. She pressed against the boulder, then slowly, carefully, eased her face around to look toward the cliff path.

She didn't see anything, didn't hear anyone climbing down.

She didn't hear Brutus.

Time passed. She blinked, cursed herself, tried to hum a song, anything to stay alert, but it was hard, her shoulder hurt so badly. She felt tears trail down her cheeks, couldn't stop them. She tasted her tears mixed with the salt water.

More time passed.

She hurt, but she kept her eyes on the cliff trail. She ripped a long strip of wet material off her skirt and wrapped it as tightly as she could around her shoulder. It wasn't a very good job since she had only one hand, but it was the best she could do.

Where was Brutus? She prayed he hadn't been shot.

Then she heard a man's voice yelling her name. She nearly shattered from fear until she realized it was Thomas. She tried to call back to him, but just a very thin whisper came out of her mouth. It didn't matter. He would come to her. She smiled even as she sank down to rest her cheek against the wet sand.

She saw his shadow over her, felt his hands on her, and opened her eyes. "Is Brutus all right?"

"Oh yes, the man just knocked him in the head, but he's all right. As for you-"

She heard him say her name, faintly, faintly, then she was gone, away from the pain, away from the fear. Everything would be all right now. Thomas was here.

Panic nearly sent Thomas over the edge. He pressed his hand against her chest, felt the smooth, slow beat of her heart. She was unconscious. He lifted his hand, covered with her blood. He gently tied the ripped material more tightly over her shoulder.

He prayed she would remain unconscious. He lifted her into his arms and began the long trek back up the narrow cliff path.

He was going to kill William.

"She'll live, but it's bad enough, my lord."

Thomas couldn't stand it. She was still unconscious, so pale she looked dead, her flesh so cold. He pulled another blanket over her. Every few moments he lightly laid his palm on her chest to feel her heart.

He stared up at Dr. Pritchart with haggard eyes. "You swear she will live?"

Dr. Pritchart rubbed his palm over his forehead. "I think so. The bullet went through her, high on her shoulder, which is a good thing, less chance of infection, which would most certainly kill her. Now, I must set in stitches, both in her shoulder and in her back."

Meggie moaned and opened her eyes.

Thomas cursed. Meggie frowned. "What's wrong? Oh, Blessed Hell, something hurts, Thomas, hurts really bad."

"I know, sweetheart. Just hold on."

"Give her some brandy, that will help. Then hold her down, my lord."

When Dr. Pritchart had finished setting the black stitches, Thomas stared down at her white flesh, the blood and black thread all mixed together, and he couldn't bear it.

Her eyes were closed. She'd said not a word while Dr. Pritchart was stitching her flesh together. Not made a sound, but she'd clutched his hands so tightly they hurt. He'd wished she'd pass out, but she hadn't. She said now, "I'm going to be all right, Thomas. Stop worrying. I heard you saying over and over that you were going to kill William. Why? Did he get another girl pregnant?"

"Not that I know of. No, Meggie, he was supposed to stay with you. Since he was worried you would try to stomp him into the ground if he stayed too close, he said he would keep his distance. Didn't you wonder?"

"Well, I saw Jem the stable boy walking just behind me, and I thought he was the one who was to make sure no one came close."

"Yes, Jem was to stay fairly close as well. However, he got sick to his stomach and had to come back to the stable. I had also told William to stick close to you."

"He wasn't there?"

Thomas shook his head, brought her hand to his mouth, kissed her fingers.

"Maybe he was the one who shot me."

"He could have, but why would he do it? He knows you dislike him, but why would he want you dead? That makes no sense, Meggie. Now, here's some more laudanum for you. Dr. Pritchart says just a few more drops of this will send you off into a very nice place where there isn't any more pain."

"That would be good," she said and drank down the barley water laced with laudanum.

"Will the girl live?"

"Yes," Thomas said to his mother, and walked to the sideboard to pour himself some brandy. "Her name is Meggie, not'the girl,' and she is your daughter-in-law. Speak of her properly, Mother."

"You should hear what Libby calls her."

"And what would that be?"

"A little ingrate."

Thomas's eyebrow shot up. "Why would Aunt Libby call her that?"

"She believes it is Meggie who is forcing you to have William marry that worthless girl. All because she's a vicar's daughter and is very rigid in her morality, too rigid obviously. Libby also says she likely highly disapproves of her liaison with Lord Kipper, and she has no right."

"I will tell Aunt Libby otherwise," Thomas said. "Surely you corrected her, assured her that I am even more staid than my wife."

"No I did not. I don't wish you to be staid. A bit of wickedness from you wouldn't be amiss, Thomas."

"William has performed enough wickedness for the both of us."

"His is just a boy's wickedness."

"William is a man," he said, then just shrugged. His mother many times baffled him. He said, "Barnacle told me that Lord Kipper was here asking about Meggie."

"He doesn't think William should marry until your sweet wife is able to attend. He is afraid she will die and then poor William would be attending both a funeral and his own wedding, which will be, you must admit, like a second funeral."

Thomas sighed. There was so much to be done here at Pendragon, but none of it was important. The only thing that was important was Meggie. He had to find out who had shot her. He had a very bad feeling about a third attempt. He left his mother, went to the small estate room, and wrote a letter to Meggie's father. It was his right to know there was trouble. It was the hardest letter he'd had to write in his life.

"Open your mouth, Meggie."

Meggie obeyed, but she didn't open her eyes. It was potato soup and it was delicious. She kept eating until Thomas said, "You ate the entire bowl. I'm proud of you. Now, how does your shoulder feel?"

"Not as bad as yesterday."

"Good. There's no infection, no fever. You've got grit and guts, that's what Dr. Pritchart said. You're so strong, he doesn't believe he'll have to coddle you even when you birth our children."

The last was said with a good deal of satisfaction, and Meggie smiled, now opening her eyes to look up at him. She frowned. "You've lost weight, Thomas. You should have eaten some of that soup."

"Now that I know you're not going to heaven before your time, I will get food down my gullet again." He lightly traced his fingertips over her cheeks, her brows, smoothed her hair behind her ears, leaned down, and kissed her.