Eleanor’s frozen features cut Leath like a saber. In the moonlight, the blood matting her hair was black as pitch.
Sedgemoor glanced toward Greengrass’s unmoving bulk, then bent to take her dangling wrist between his fingers. Leath’s grip tightened as the bristling silence lengthened.
Sedgemoor sent him a quick, reassuring smile. “There’s a pulse.”
Leath regarded him in disbelief. The prospect of her death was so crushing that he hardly dared hope. She felt so ominously still. “You’re sure?”
“I think so. Let’s get her inside, out of this cold.” He paused. “And if you don’t loosen your grip, you’ll smother her, no matter what damage the bullet did.”
“What’s happened?” Harmsworth ran across the grass with Hillbrook striding behind, carrying a lamp. “I heard a scream and two gunshots.”
“It seems Greengrass shot Miss Trim. Then Leath must have shot him. The bugger’s over there.”
?
?Is Miss Trim all right?” Hillbrook asked, briefly glancing toward Greengrass’s body.
“We dearly hope so,” Sedgemoor said grimly, reaching for Eleanor. “Check and make sure the bastard really is dead.”
“She’s mine,” Leath snapped, hands tightening on her slender, gallant shoulders. He was vaguely aware of Hillbrook bending over Greengrass’s body.
Despite the moon and the lamp and the gradually waking inn, impenetrable darkness crushed him. He’d wondered once what would happen if Eleanor took the light away with her. Now he knew, and the pain was beyond bearing. He lowered his head over her motionless body and whispered a prayer for her survival that emerged from the depths of his soul. And knew that it wasn’t nearly enough.
Cradling Eleanor as though the merest bump might break her in two, he struggled to his feet and strode toward the inn’s open door.
Carrying her, he marched past Sedgemoor, Hillbrook, and Harmsworth. The men stood silently as if holding a vigil, then followed him. He hardly noticed. All that mattered was the still form in his arms.
“My lords, I heard gunfire,” the landlord said as Leath shouldered past him and a noisy crowd of servants and guests.
“Get a doctor,” he bit out, heading for a small parlor off the hallway.
“And the magistrate,” Hillbrook said behind him. He and Sedgemoor followed Leath.
“But what on earth has happened?” the man asked in bewilderment.
“My dear sir, let me tell you.” Harmsworth stayed behind and had the sense to close the parlor door on the curious onlookers.
Leath found it in him to be thankful that Harmsworth handled everything. Hillbrook ranged before the entrance, in case Harmsworth’s explanations failed to appease the crowd.
Very carefully, Leath laid Eleanor on the padded settle before the hearth. Sedgemoor lit the lamps until the room blazed. The light only fed Leath’s anguish as he saw her clearly for the first time since the shooting. Her head was a mess of blood and red streaked her wan cheeks. She remained terrifyingly still. Damn it, he saw no sign that she breathed.
He stroked back her tangled hair. “Eleanor, darling, come back to me,” he murmured, taking her hand. “Come back.”
Vaguely he was aware of Sedgemoor stoking the fire to life. He couldn’t feel the heat. If his beloved died, he’d never feel warm again.
He tried but failed to find a pulse. Had Sedgemoor lied? Was she dead after all? It was more than he could endure. Her absence crashed down on him, suffocating as an avalanche.
Cold, cold forever. No Eleanor now or in the future. That was damnation indeed.
In an excess of grief, he collapsed onto the seat and held her in his arms, resting her head on his shoulder so that he could see her face. The blood staining her pale hair was an abomination. He curled over her, praying more desperately than he’d ever prayed in his life.
“Don’t die, my darling,” he said, over and over, an idiot plea to a woman who had moved too far away to hear. “Don’t die. I won’t let you.”
“Courage, Leath,” Sedgemoor said, placing a hand on his shoulder. The encouragement couldn’t melt the ice encasing Leath. “She’ll pull through.”
After a knock, Hillbrook opened the door. Leath heard a murmur of voices, but didn’t glance away from Eleanor’s ethereal features. She already looked as though she belonged to the next world, not this one. He wanted to bellow his fury and sorrow to the sky.
“This is Dr. Manion, Leath,” Harmsworth said gently. “As luck would have it, he’s staying in the inn.”