“Oh, m’lady,” Jezebel saw what had happened and rushed to her aid. “Here, take this kerchief. Press it on the wound or ye’ll get blood all over yer dress.”
The cut was on the right side of her forehead and stung. Alixandrea tried to put the cloth over the wound and steady herself at the same time. The world was still rocking even though the carriage had come to a halt. Trying to keep the blood out of her eye, she heard a voice from the cab door.
“What happened?” It was Matthew.
“The cab stopped too quickly, m’lord,” Jezebel told him, trying to help her lady. “She hit her head.”
The cab door opened and gentle hands were on her. Between Jezebel and Matthew, they managed to turn her around so that she was seated on the floor of the cab, her legs hanging fromthe open door. Though the kerchief covered most of her vision, Alixandrea could see Matthew’s face looming close.
“Let me see.”
His voice was low, full of serenity and reassurance. It disarmed Alixandrea so much that she actually obeyed him, allowing him to remove the kerchief so that he could see her head. He wiped her forehead a couple of times to keep blood from running into her eye as he inspected the injury.
His ripped off one of his leather gloves, tossing it aside. His big, warm fingers danced over her forehead and scalp, inspecting, but to Alixandrea, the sensation was something else altogether. Every time he touched her, some strange occurrence happened that sent bolts of heat racing through her body. She almost pulled away from him, but something inside her could not muster the will.
“It is not so bad, my lady,” he finally assured her. “Just a little cut inside your hairline. Unfortunately, head wounds bleed heavily no matter how large or small. I am afraid you may have a bit of a bump.”
Jezebel had produced a clean handkerchief, which she handed to Matthew and he pressed it back over the wound. Their eyes finally met and his expression relaxed into something pleasant and humane. She thought she might actually detect warmth.
“This is my fault, I fear,” he said. “I ordered Strode to halt the carriage. It occurred to me to have you ride into Wellesbourne with me. Had I known my clever plan would see you come to harm, I would have never acted upon it.”
He seemed genuinely contrite and she smiled. “’Twas not your fault, my lord,” she said. “But I fear Strode is in for a beating.”
She said the last part loud enough so her manservant could hear her. He was standing beside Matthew, blocked out of her view by Matthew’s bulk.
“Forgive, my lady,” he said. “’Twas an accident.”
“Accident, my eye,” she said snappishly. “You always stop this carriage as if the Devil has just planted himself right in your path. I have many bruises to attest to this.”
Matthew glanced over at the beleaguered manservant. “Perhaps Strode requires some coaching in this area to perfect his skills.”
While the manservant cowered, Alixandrea removed the kerchief from her head. It was spotted with blood, but the oozing had stopped for the most part. Matthew examined it again, realizing he was eager for another chance to run his fingers over her face. There was nothing about her skin and hair that wasn’t soft and supple and utterly beautiful.
“Your hair should cover it adequately,” he said, then looked her in the eye. “Do you feel well enough to ride with me?”
There was something in his tone that made her believe he might actually want her to. She handed the kerchief back to Jezebel.
“I am well enough, my lord.”
He helped her from the carriage and led her over to his big dappled warhorse. The animal was muzzled to prevent it from biting everything that moved and Matthew made sure to keep his body between her and the horse. Luke stood at the animal’s head, still reluctant to speak to the lady, fearful she’d not yet forgiven him for his behavior at the tavern. Their eyes met and he quickly lowered them, too fast to see the smile that played on her lips.
His hands went about her waist, completely encircling her. There was something to his touch that made her feel strangely giddy, but she attributed that to the bump on her head. Shecould feel the heat of his hands through her clothes, burning her. She did not dare turn to look at him, fearful that he would read her expression. He took a good grip of her and lifted her effortlessly towards the saddle.
That was when all hell broke loose.
CHAPTER TWO
The first hintthat something was amiss was when the arrow hit Luke in the arm. At the horse’s head, he grunted and pitched backwards.
Startled, Matthew lowered Alixandrea to the ground, knowing exactly what that arrow strike meant. He cursed himself for being stupid enough to find himself caught outside the gates of Wellesbourne in a vulnerable position. Their neighbor and Tudor ally, Lord Dorset, had been threatening them for weeks and he knew better than to allow himself to be caught in the open. But he just as quickly remembered that he had four hundred men at his disposal. Throwing his arms around the lady to shield her, he made haste for the carriage.
Even as he deposited her inside the cab, he was bellowing orders to the men at the rear. They responded to him quickly, confirming his initial observations that this was a seasoned crew. Strode clamored up onto the cab.
“Make haste for the castle,” Matthew ordered in a tone that would have frightened God himself. “Stop for nothing.”
Alixandrea did not have time to say a word to him before the carriage charged forward. Matthew was gone, preparing for battle. But she remembered Luke, lying on the ground with an arrow in him, and she stuck her head from the cab door.
“Strode!” she hollered. “Sir Luke is hit!”
