It
took several minutes for her to right herself and unwrap her skirts, and when she tried to stand her leg gave way under her. Grabbing at an overhanging branch, she used it to help pull herself to shore. On the bank at last, she lifted her skirts to survey the damage. There was a long, jagged cut on the inside of her left thigh, and it was bleeding profusely. She tore off the bottom of her chemise and gingerly daubed at the wound, gritting her teeth against the pain. With another piece of her chemise, she pressed harder on the cut, and after several minutes the bleeding stopped. Finally, she bandaged her leg with more linen.
The pain of her leg, her exhaustion, and the light-headedness from her hunger were all too much for her. She lay back against the sand and gravel of the creek bank and slept.
The rain woke her. The sun was nearly down, and the woods were growing dark again. With a jolt, Nicole sat up, then put her hands to her head until her dizziness passed. Her leg ached, and she felt weak, her whole body aching. It was difficult to stand, but the cold rain made her realize that she had to find shelter. Her blistered feet smarted when she stood on them, but she knew it was no use looking for her shoes in the dark and rain.
She walked for a long time, and she was beginning to feel as if she were out of her body and the misery did not affect her. Her feet were cut and bleeding, but she kept walking. The rain had never gone beyond a cold drizzle, and now it looked as if it might stop. Long ago, she’d lost the pins from her hair, and it hung coldly and wetly to her waist.
Two large animals approached her, their lips curled back into snarls, their eyes firelight bright. Backing away from them, she pressed her back against a tree and looked at them in terror. “Wolves,” she whispered.
The animals advanced on her, and she pressed closer to the tree, knowing these were her last moments of life, feeling that she was dying very young and there was so much she’d never done.
Suddenly, a large shape—a man—appeared on horseback. She tried to see if he were real or a figment of her imagination, but her head was spinning so badly she couldn’t tell.
The man, or the apparition—whichever it was—dismounted and picked up some stones from the ground. “Get out of here!” he yelled, and threw the stones at the dogs. The dogs turned quickly and ran away.
The man walked to Nicole. “Why the hell didn’t you just tell them to go away?”
Nicole looked at him. Even in the darkness, Clayton Armstrong’s demanding tones were unmistakable. “I thought they were wolves,” she whispered.
“Wolves!” he snorted. “Far from it. Just mongrels looking for a handout. All right, I’ve had enough of your nonsense. You’re coming home with me.”
He turned away as if he assumed she would follow him. Nicole didn’t have the strength to argue. In fact, she had no strength whatsoever. She moved a foot away from the tree; then her legs gave out from under her and she collapsed.
Chapter 4
CLAY BARELY HAD TIME TO CATCH HER BEFORE SHE HIT the ground. He refrained from a tirade on the stupidity of females when he saw that she was nearly unconscious. Her bare arms were cold, wet, and clammy. Kneeling, he leaned her against his chest and removed his coat, which he wrapped around her. When he picked her up in his arms, he was amazed at how light she was. He set her on his horse, holding her while he mounted behind her.
It was a long ride to his plantation.
Nicole tried to sit up straight to avoid contact with him. Even in her exhausted state, she could feel his hatred for her.
“Here, lean back, relax. I promise I won’t bite you.”
“No,” she whispered. “You hate me. You should have let the wolves have me. Better for everyone.”
“I told you they weren’t wolves, and I don’t hate you. Do you think I’d have spent so much time looking for you if I hated you? Now, lean back.”
His arms around her were strong, and when she put her head on his chest she was glad to be near any human again. The events of the last few days whirled in her head. She seemed to be swimming in a river, and there were red shoes all around her. The shoes had eyes and were snarling at her.
“Hush. You’re safe now. The shoes or the wolves can’t get you. I’m with you, and you’re safe.”
Even in her sleep, she heard him and relaxed as she felt his hand rubbing her arm, the motion good and warm.
When he stopped the horse, she opened her eyes and looked up at the tall house that loomed over them. Dismounting behind her, he held up his arms for her. Nicole, somewhat refreshed by her sleep, tried to regain her dignity. “Thank you, but I need no help,” she said, then started to dismount. The weakness of her exhausted, starved body betrayed her, and she fell against him quite hard, nearly losing her breath, but Clay merely bent and swept her into his arms.
“You are more trouble than any six females combined,” he said as he walked toward the door.
Closing her eyes and leaning against him, she could hear the strong, steady beat of his heart.
Inside the house, he set her down in a large leather chair and pulled his coat closer around her before handing her a large glass of brandy. “I want you to sit there and drink that. Do you understand? I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ve got to take care of my horse. If you’ve moved while I’m gone, I’ll turn you over my knee. Is that clear to you?”
She nodded her head, and he was gone. She couldn’t see the room she was in—it was too dark—but she guessed it was a library since it smelled of leather, tobacco, and linseed oil. She inhaled deeply. It was definitely a man’s room. Looking at the brandy glass in her hand, she saw he’d nearly filled it. She sipped it slowly. Delicious! It had been so long since she’d tasted anything. As the first sip of the brandy began to warm her, she took a deeper drink. The two days of fasting had emptied her completely, and now the brandy went straight to her head. When Clay returned, she was smiling devilishly, the crystal brandy snifter dangling at the ends of her fingers.
“All gone,” she said. “Every drop gone.” Her words were not slurred like those of an ordinary drunk but were heavily accented.
Clay took the glass from her. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”