"I'm impossible! You haven't yet told me why-"
"All right!" She swung to face him, jabbed a finger into his chest. "I needed time to think away from you! I was trying to make the decision you wanted me to make, but… I needed time, and calm, and a little peace, for goodness sake!" She waved her hands, blinked rapidly. "I can't afford to make the wrong decision. And Catriona is very good at listening…" She turned to the curricle. "Anyway, that's where I'm going."
He handed her up to the seat, then hesitated, his head for once level with hers. Then he blew out a breath. "I'll come with you."
She fixed him with a strait look. "That would defeat the purpose."
"No. It won't." He returned her gaze steadily. "If this Vale and Catriona are as good as you say… perhaps she can help me, too."
She stilled; he remained were he was, their gazes locked, her eyes searching his, verifying his meaning… hesitantly, she reached out one hand.
He did the same.
Their fingers touched, slid, twined.
A detonation ripped through the night.
Chapter 18
Amanda's fingers clutched Martin's; his hand locked over hers. They stared up the road to the bend around which the coach had gone. Another shot rang out, hard on the echoes of the first, shredding the silence.
Martin cursed and clambered into the curricle.
"Reggie!" Amanda's eyes were wide.
"Hold on!' He glanced to make sure she had before slapping the reins to the leader's rump.
The team bolted, but he held them, steered the curricle at top speed toward the bend, checked only at the last minute to trot smartly around it.
Pandemonium lay ahead. The coach lay slewed across the road, the horses screaming, kicking, half out of the traces. The coachman, one arm tucked to his body, was hanging onto the harness with his good arm.
He saw them; face pinched with pain, he nodded at the coach. "The gen'leman…"
Martin halted his horses, swiftly tied the reins, then leapt down and raced to the carriage. Amanda all but fell out of the curricle, then she was on his heels. "Reggie!"
Moonlight played on one white hand, palm up, fingers gently curled, resting, lifeless, on the edge of the open window set in the carriage door.
Martin reached the coach. He lifted the hand, opened the door.
"My God!" Amanda stared past him at a scene beyond a nightmare. Eyes shut, Reggie lay slumped back, half on and half off the seat. All around him, black pools gleamed dully in the poor light. Blood. Everywhere.
"Watch out." Martin hauled himself up by the doorframe; he stepped over Reggie, then bent over him, pushing aside Reggie's cravat.
"He's alive."
Amanda's breath left her in a rush; she felt giddy but fought off her faintness. Frothing up her skirt, she grabbed her petticoats and started ripping. Martin grabbed the first long strip she pulled off. He'd untied his cravat, folded it into a pad; he bound it into place with Amanda's strip.
"It's a head wound. Looks like the ball hit him above the temple-high enough, thank God. It's ripped a groove along his skull but didn't lodge."
"But the blood." Amanda kept ripping and handing strips up; Martin used them to secure his makeshift bandage.
"That's the danger. Head wounds always bleed profusely." He tied a knot, waved aside her next strip. "We may need it later."
He straightened as far as he could in the confines of the coach. Amanda crowded the door; reaching in, she took Reggie's hand. Closed both her hands around it. "He's so cold."
"Shock combined with blood loss." Martin pulled down folded blankets from the rack above the seat. "Thankfully, you came prepared for Scotland."
He shook out one blanket and laid it over the other seat. From the door, Amanda helped straighten it, fighting to keep her lip from trembling.