His skin felt so cold. Was he really still alive, or did the heat take time to leave his lifeless body? The thought welled panic inside her, and she tapped his cheeks. “Wake up, Damien. You have to wake up.”
His mouth parted. Was that because she’d jarred his head, or had he moved consciously?
She leaned closer. “Damien, please. Wake up. We’re going to get you warm.”
The others buzzed around her, adjusting his tunic and adding layers on top of him. But she couldn’t pull her focus from his face.
She had to get him warm. Had to wake him up.
Somewhere in the distance, awful sounds rose. Barking, growling, the ferocious howls of a canine battle ... then the terrified bray of a mule.
Charlotte jerked her head up, a new panic rising inside her. “Gulliver. The mule.” With Damien here somehow, Gulliver must be nearby. If only she’d found them sooner.
Before the wolves.
Brielle leapt to her feet and sprinted toward the sounds. But Charlotte couldn’t move. She couldn’t leave Damien, not until he awoke and they got him warm.
Evan ran in his wife’s footsteps, easing the knot of fear in Charlotte’s belly a tiny bit. The two of them could handle the wolves.Please, Lord.
Her father moved in beside her. “Let’s get him warm, daughter. These wet things have to come off first. Looks like he’s had a drenching.”
She turned her full attention back to Damien and focused on working the buttons of his tunic. Papa was prying off the boots and could handle the rest of what was needed in that area.
Had Damien gotten completely wet? How? There had been no rain, and this short stretch of warmth hadn’t melted the ice covering the lake so quickly.
But when she pulled his tunic back, the shirt underneath was soaked. The buckskin would’ve protected him from rain, so he must have been submerged in the lake. At least the warm air had kept the undershirt from freezing into a crisp layer of ice. But how long had he been lying here, drenched and coated in snow?
She worked his arms out of the buckskin, then reached for one of the layers they’d piled on top of him before she pried off his shirt. She would need to slip this dry garment on him the moment she had the wet off.
Perhaps it was unseemly for her to remove his shirt, but they had no time for propriety. Getting Damien warm was the only way they could save his life.
As she tugged the soaked shirt over his head, a moanslipped from him.Thank you, Lord. Maybe there was hope yet.
Through the commotion in the distance, a few shouts rose. Brielle would know better than anyone how to quell the wolf attack, and with Evan at her side, Gulliver had the best chance of survival. She’d never been so grateful to have her family nearby as in this moment.
When she managed to wrap the coat around Damien and button it across his front, her father motioned her away. “See if you can build a fire while I strip the rest of his wet things off.”
Though she hated to leave Damien’s side, her father spoke wisdom. A fire would be the next step to warm him, first on the outside, then with a warm drink for his insides.
She stood and turned away, working to unscramble her thoughts and focus on how to start a flame. They had no dry wood—her family hadn’t tucked any in their packs. There might be some in the cave. Did she dare attempt to climb down without Damien’s rope securing her against a fall?
He would have dry wood in the pack on Gulliver’s saddle. That might be the easiest way right now. And though the thought of seeing the mule battered and bloodied made bile rise in her throat, she needed to know how Gulliver fared.
23
With her back to Damien and her father, Charlotte bent down and untied the laces from her snowshoes. They’d helped with travel over long distances, but just now, the encumbrance would only slow her down—and she needed all the speed she could manage.
Running in Brielle’s tracks, she found her way to the attack site far sooner than she was ready to arrive. The wolves had attacked in the gulley where she’d slept only the night before. Blood littered the snow, and even in the dim light of the night, she could make out three carcasses—all wolves, as best she could tell.
Brielle and Evan knelt over another form, its larger shape and brown hair proclaiming what she already knew.
Gulliver.
The mule lay on his side, and with the two people leaning over him, she couldn’t tell if he lived or not.
She took a step toward them but couldn’t bring herself to take a second stride. “How is he?”
Brielle jerked her head around, took in Charlotte, then refocused on the mule. “He has several gashes, but if we can get them to stop bleeding, I think he’ll recover well.”
