“D-d-didn’t wa-ant t-to raise suspicion about u-ssss.” Charlotte really wished she could force her limbs to cooperate, but the shivers were throughout her body now.
“But your arm could have been blown apart! If it hadn’t just grazed you…” Hannah trailed off, and the emotion drenching her voice seemed to sweep through Charlotte too. Hannah cared about her. And that… that was worth any scolding.
“I know.” Charlotte whispered, resting her good hand on her left. The feel of her wounded arm—still there, still attached, still warm—gave her comfort. She’d acted foolishly. Heroically, but foolishly. She was lucky she had managed to escape with only a deep gouge.
“You’re upsetting her, Hannah,” Sophia interjected quietly.
Her cousin’s sharp gaze raked over Charlotte. She sighed, a sharp but accepting sound. “You won’t try something like that again?”
“Not wi-thout think-ing of alter-natives.” Charlotte still spoke jerkily, but she was beginning to learn how to accommodate the quivers still sweeping through her.
“Good,” Hannah said, apparently satisfied.
“We’re at Tavish’s building,” Sophia announced. “With any luck, Matthew will be inside and can take care of Charlotte’s wound.”
“You are su-ure no one fol-lowed us?” Charlotte asked as panic once again washed over her. Her wound needed tending, but she would hate to lead the dragoons straight to Matthew.
“Not with Belle’s men driving,” Hannah answered confidently. “Even if they had, Sophia would have noticed. You can’t outfox her.”
“Let’s get you out of this carriage and inside.” Sophia left her seat and gently grabbed Charlotte’s elbow on her uninjured side.
With both Hannah and Sophia supporting her, Charlotte succeeded in forcing her quaking body to rise and descend from the carriage. The coachman started to climb down from his box to assist, but Sophia waved for him to sit down. “We are fine. Thank you.”
Together, the three of them walked up the steps leading to a nondescript building on an equally nondescript street. Hannah fished a key from her pocket and opened the door. No one lit a single taper as they slipped into the darkness. Using touch rather than words, the Wick cousins guided Charlotte to a moonlit upper room. Sophia released Charlotte and headed over to press against the stones of an unlit fireplace. Almost immediately, a hidden panel sprang open, and a warm light emanated from a dark, secret staircase.
Sophia disappeared up the extremely narrow steps. Charlotte assumed the middle position with Hannah gripping her right elbow to support her from behind. Even though Charlotte’s legs felt limp and uncooperative, she did not slip. It did, however, require so much focus to steady herself that sweat dotted her brow. At least all the concentration diverted her attention from the excruciating throbbing.
“Sophia! I knew you and Hannah were the women who startedthat commotion! I can’t thank you both enough…” Matthew’s excited voice immediately trailed off when Charlotte stumbled into the small, windowless room wedged against the fireplace.
“Charlotte!” Her name was a hoarse, guttural whisper on Matthew’s lips. He moved to her side so quickly it was as if he’d simply manifested there. Charlotte felt his strong arms band around her as he lifted her gently but swiftly into the air. His dear face, so pale and worried, hovered above hers as he carried her to a narrow cot tucked against the wall.
Charlotte studied every detail of his countenance—the countenance that she’d feared she’d never see again. For the first time, she noticed silvery-white streaks in his gray irises. How had she missed the way that they glowed? And there was a black burst around his pupil. Her already overexercised heart began pumping furiously once more. But this time it was not from fear… but from a very different emotion.
“How are you here—?” Matthew asked, his gravelly voice a harsh contrast to the gentle way he laid Charlotte on the straw tick. Cutting off his own question, he shook his head as if chiding himself. When he spoke again, his voice changed to soft efficiency—his physician tone. “Time for that later. Where are you injured? This blood is yours, correct?”
“It is,” Hannah answered for Charlotte as she peered over Matthew’s shoulder. “She was hit by a musket ball when she jumped to protect you.”
“What?” Matthew’s gray eyes became steeped in horror and disbelief. She thought his hand on hers began to shake, but it could have been her own trembling. “Charlotte, you shouldn’t have done that—”
“Hannah has already lectured her,” Sophia broke in. “The captain placed a tourniquet around her arm, but blood is starting to seep through.”
Charlotte watched as Matthew undid the makeshift bandage. Whether or not his fingers had quavered before, they were completely steady now. When he revealed the injury, he made a harsh sound in the back of his throat. “Your wound may require stitches. Hannah, can you get my bag? I keep one in the chest over there for emergencies.”
Matthew returned his attention to Charlotte. “I must cut your sleeve and remove it. I apologize, but I am afraid I have no choice.”
Despite her pain, Charlotte laughed at the interjection of propriety into a situation that was anything but. “I daresay it’s ruined already.”
Matthew gave her a half grin, which did more to calm Charlotte than words ever could. Hannah reappeared at Matthew’s side, and he rummaged in a leather case. Withdrawing a pair of scissors, he carefully snipped through the layers of material. Charlotte wondered if she should look away, so as not to see the wound, but she found herself wanting to watch Matthew work again.
His long, tanned fingers moved competently. The steadiness, the certainty in which he performed each small action fascinated Charlotte… as did the sight of his masculine hand against the pale, slightly rounded flesh of her upper arm. There was nothing sexual in his actions, yet no man had ever touched Charlotte so intimately. Even through the hot, radiating pain from the gash, she could feel the tender glide of his touch.
“It is indeed deep,” Matthew said, his voice placid, but she could detect a well-hidden undercurrent of concern. “Stitches are definitely necessary.”
That sounded unpleasant, but Charlotte didn’t protest. She tightened her mouth and nodded. She hoped she wouldn’t make a fool of herself and scream like one of Banshee’s namesakes.
“Here.” Hannah thrust a flask under Charlotte’s lips. The strong pungent smell slammed into her.
“What is that?” Charlotte asked.
