“You must be all right.” The words sounded wrong, but he couldn’t seem to articulate the right ones. “You will not die.”
His hand went to her side, but he could see nothing thorough her clothing. Pulling out a knife, he slit the seam and parted the blood-soaked material. Blood came from the wound. It looked deep to his eyes.
Looking around he found some squares of material stacked on a shelf. He made himself leave her long enough to grab a handful, then pressed them to the wound.
“Stay with me, Dorrie.”
Her eyes met his. He saw the pain and would have done anything to ensure she never suffered again.
“I will be all right, Ash. I promise.” Her hand touched his chest. “Don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry!” he roared. “You were stabbed.”
“Dorrie!” Essie ran in with Baron on her heels.
“She was stabbed by Brunt,” Ash ground out.
“Let me see.” She nudged him aside.
Ash walked to the other side. He felt Dorrie’s fingers touch his and wrapped his own around them, holding her cold hand tight.
“The bleeding is slow, unlike last time.” Essie studied the wound. “I cannot see if it has touched anything inside that will cause internal bleeding.” She looked to Baron.
“Dorrie, are you feeling sick?” Baron asked from beside her sister.
“No.”
“Dizzy?”
“No.”
“Look at her belly, Essie. Check for bruising,” Baron said calmly.
The thought that something more sinister was going on inside Dorrie had Ash’s fingers clenching around hers. He kept his eyes on her face, willing her to stay with him. Stay awake.
“What do you mean by ‘unlike last time?’” Baron asked.
“Someone shot her with an arrow thinking she was Somer,” Essie said, grabbing the blanket at the foot of the bed. “She nearly died.”
Ash watched her pull it up Dorrie’s body and then slip her hand beneath to raise Dorrie’s skirt. Ash saw her soft white stomach, but no bruising. The relief made his knees weak.
He knew she’d been shot with an arrow, and now he wanted to find whoever had done it and kill them. Plus, Brunt. He needed to die too.
He heard the thud of boots then, and suddenly there in the doorway were Somer, Devonshire Sinclair, and his wife, Lady Sinclair.
“Dorrie.” Her name was wrenched from Somer as she ran to the table. “I felt your pain.”
“I-I am all right,” Dorrie said slowly.
How had they known she was hurt?
“It’s all right, my sweet, we are here now.” Devon and Lilly moved to the side Ash was on.
He had to let go of her hand; they had more right than he to be here. But for a brief second he wanted that right. What he’d felt when he’d seen Brunt had been rage like he’d felt when Radcliff had stabbed Gus.She’s mine,he’d thought. And the rightness of those words had told him something.
He cared about her deeply.
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
