Page 66 of The Beastly Earl

As she watched, the man froze upright on his knees before he fell backward. His eyes were wide open as if in shocked surprise, while a small trickle of blood rolled out of the dark circle just above his nose. Frozen in place she waited for the creature to move, but he didn't.

The low grunt of pain behind her made Louisa spin around. Ewan was leaning against the side of the bed his nightshirt covered in blood and a pistol dangling from his hand. There was a deathly pallor to his skin, and the gun slid from his fingers to the floor as she sprang forward to keep him from sliding downward.

"Fall backward, Ewan," she gasped. "I cannot lift you up into bed."

With an almost imperceptible nod, Ewan's eye fluttered closed as he obeyed her instructions. The instant he plopped heavily backward onto the mattress, a moan of pain drifted past his lips. Dismay streaked through her as she saw only his upper back was on the bed. Afraid he would slide off the bed any second, she swung his legs up onto the bed with all her strength.

Half of his body still hung over on the edge of the bed, and she pushed hard at his hip to roll him onto his side so he was closer to the middle of the mattress. The strength of her effort to move him into a safer position made him flop face down on the bed. Another groan of anguish escaped him, and she choked back a sob. The shoulder of his good arm had at least one gash bleeding through material covering his back, which explained his cry of distress when he'd fallen backward onto the mattress.

Louisa swallowed her tears and scurried around to the opposite side of the bed. Carefully climbing onto the mattress, she ripped the back of Ewan's shirt open at the spot where the knife had sliced through the cloth. The cut didn't appear too deep, but she had to fight her usual response of fainting at the sight of blood. Most likely he'd been attacked while sleeping, and tried to use the prosthesis as a weapon just like she had. It would explain why it had been on the floor.

Fear made her tremble as she leaned over his body to take hold of the thin strip of blanket not covered by his battered body. Any further movement meant even more pain for him, but she had no choice. As gently as she could, she pulled on the blanket and used it as leverage to roll Ewan onto his back. This time he didn't make a sound, and her heart stopped in sheer terror.

Frantically, she scrambled closer to him to see if he was still breathing. Harsh breaths of air rang in her ears, and Louisa offered up a prayer of gratitude that he was still alive. With care she pulled at one of the jagged tears the knife had made to see the wound beneath it. She drew in a sharp hiss of air between her teeth at the bloody wound. Her stomach roiled at the sight, and Louisa closed her eyes as she fought off the lightheadedness that threatened to render her unconscious.

Steeling herself to continue, she opened her eyes and pulled Ewan's nightshirt a little further apart. Several of the cuts on his chest were deep, but none of them were near his heart as she'd first feared by the blood soaking his shirt and his ghostly pallor. As she carefully tore open the sleeve of his nightshirt, Louisa gasped in horrified dismay.

"Oh, dear God."

Louisa's whisper had barely passed her lips before she was forced to choke back the bile rising in her throat as she stared at the blood oozing from the cuts on his arm. They crisscrossed in several different places until they formed a single wound. Ewan had clearly used his arm to deflect most of the blows to his chest. Louisa pressed her fist into the mattress and bowed her head as she battled with her body's reaction to his injuries. A quiet groan rolled out of him as she struggled with her nausea.

"Get out, Louisa." The harsh command brushed angrily across her senses as she looked up at him.

"I am not going to leave you," she snapped. Her anger at his order helped relieve the sickening lurch in her stomach as she resumed examining his arm without feeling the urge to faint. "Stubborn Scot."

The moment she muttered the words under her breath, a strong hand caught her by the wrist and jerked at her arm hard. Caught off guard by his action, Louisa found herself falling to the side before she quickly recovered her balance and glared at him. His eye narrowed when she didn't move.

"I said, get out."

"Stop being an ass, Argaty," Louisa retorted as she tugged free of his grip to pull at another tear in his shirt. "I didn't save you just to watch you die in your bed."

"My injuries are…not life-threatening," he rasped and drew in a sharp hiss of air as she ripped his shirt open in an angry movement. The soft sound of pain emanating from him made her wince with guilt at having exacerbated his suffering. Not bothering to answer him, she gently moved his arm slightly.

"I dismissed you…and told you to leave today," he said with another grunt of pain.

"And you said you'd carry me out if I didn't, but you're in no condition to do that, are you?"

"Leave. Now."

Ewan's command was soft, but she heard the thundering anger in his voice. She lifted her gaze to meet his, and the blue-gray eye she stared into was hard, cold steel. Louisa's heart sank at the harsh determination on his face, and how outrage had thinned his mouth into a tight line of anger. Even as badly hurt as he was, he refused to have a change of heart where she was concerned. Had she been wrong after all? Was it possible he really didn't have feelings for her?

"Saints preserve us."

The cry of horror made Louisa jerk her head and look behind her to see Mrs. Selkirk standing in the doorway. The older woman's face was pale and drawn as she stood looking at the dead man on the floor before she focused her gaze on Ewan.

"The sight of blood doesn't agree with me, Mrs. Selkirk, and I don't know how to deal with his wounds."

Although her features were still pale, determination swept across the housekeeper's face as she nodded and hurried toward the bed. Dismay echoed in Mrs. Selkirk's soft gasp when she bent over Ewan. Muttering to herself, the housekeeper gently examined the cuts on his chest. At her probing, Ewan's eyes fluttered open, and he drew in a harsh breath.

"Bloody hell, woman, I'm not a pin cushion." The words were little more than a whisper, but they made Mrs. Selkirk smile.

"By the sound of that snarl, I think you'll live, my lord. Although I'm certain ye will be in a great deal of pain for at least a week."

The relief in the housekeeper's voice made Louisa close her eyes for a brief moment in gratitude that her prayers for his safety had been answered. A small tremor rippled through her as she looked down at Ewan's injuries. No longer alone in her efforts to help him, Louisa's stomach churned viciously.

"Selkirk, Lady Westbrook is about to faint." The words were an icy wind blasting across her skin as the housekeeper pressed the back of her hand to Ewan's forehead.

"Lord love me, you can't have a fever that fast. Dinnae ye mean Mrs. Morehouse," the housekeeper said with a note of worry as she looked in Louisa's direction. With her heart aching in her breast, Louisa slid across the mattress and off the bed.