Page 34 of The Widow Wore Plaid

“So when could we hope for someone to come after us?” The blood on his back had dried more quickly and stuck fast to his skin. She’d have to work harder to clean it. Or let the water do the work for her. Dipping the cloth in the now lukewarm water, she let it soak up some of the liquid, squeezed lightly so it was still pretty saturated, then pressed the wet cloth to the wound.

Kinellan sat straighter, as if in pain, but otherwise didn’t react to the latest of her treatments. He shot a look at her that she suspected had nothing to do with physical discomfort. “They will realize that we are missing if the horses return and certainly when we don’t turn up for dinner.” He went back to staring out the window, where the afternoon shadows were acting as a sundial across the grass of the clearing. “However, they will have no idea where we have gone.”

An awful sinking feeling hit her in the stomach. She hadn’t known where they were going, only the misdirection Kinellan had given her. But she had told her friends they were headed to the church. That would be the first place Lathbury and the others would look then, only to be told by Mr. Ross that no such meeting had been arranged. “You told no one at all?”

“No.” The bitterness and self-reproach in his voice hurt her heart. “You have my permission, Jane, to plant me a facer if I ever so much as hint at wanting to arrange a surprise again.”

She rubbed his good shoulder and placed a kiss on his furrowed forehead. “You had no way of knowing your surprise would turn out this way, my love. You cannot blame yourself but so much. This is not your fault.” Jane moved back to the table to gather more strips of linen and her gaze fell on the carry bag and the remains of their picnic. A new hope bubbled up. “Kinellan, what did you tell Cook you wanted our picnic for? Not to take to Mr. Ross at the church, I’m sure.”

He went still, his eyes widening, then shifting back and forth. “What did I tell her? Not that we were coming here. But something . . .” He closed his eyes and Jane held her breath. “I told her we would not be accompanying the big party, but that we would need a picnic of our own and . . .” A smile spread over his face. “I told her to wrap everything well as we wouldn’t want anything getting wet.”

“Rogie Falls.” Dear Lord, please let them consult the cook.

“Rogie Falls.” He nodded. “The servants and those who know the area may well make the connection. But I fear they will not be able to affect a rescue until tomorrow at the earliest.”

The news wasn’t all good, then, and the thought of staying the night here with only the single pistol as protection unnerved her dreadfully. She took a deep breath, which usually cleared her head and helped her think. “How do you propose we protect ourselves tonight?”

A shadow moving out of the corner of her eye snapped her head to the window, just in time to see a slight figure slipping behind trees, moving from one to another. Coming closer. “There he is!” She pointed out the window. “I see him!”

“Where?” Kinellan thrust the bowl at her as he jumped out of the chair, the pistol already in his hand.

Water sloshed over her as Jane’s legs turned limp and she slipped down onto the chair. She managed to put the bowl on the floor, despite her hands shaking uncontrollably. She had to stop, to calm herself. She’d be of no use to Kinellan if she was going to scream and faint.

“Which way did he go?”

“He started there”—she pointed—“just at the tree line. He seemed to be following the clearing but keeping barely in the shadow of the trees. He was heading this way, toward the fireplace side of the lodge.”

“Did you recognize him?”

Jane shook her head. “I caught only a glimpse of him. He kept well into the shadows. But I can tell you he has dark hair, a slight build, and seemed dressed rather meanly. Not as a gentleman would.”

“That last could just be a red herring to throw us off the scent, so to speak. But that description can help us eliminate some candidates, like Lord Wetherby, who is definitely not of slight build.” Kinellan uncocked the pistol. “That’s one down.” When his attempted jest didn’t draw her smile, he put both hands on her shoulders and squeezed. “We will be fine, Jane. Trust me.”

His touch steadied her as nothing else would have. And the fact that he squeezed her right shoulder harder than her left brought her focus back. He was still wounded and all his running around likely had torn things again. She stood up and grabbed up a muslin strip. “Let me see your shoulder.”

“In a minute.” He gestured for her to be quiet then darted from one side of the window to the other, giving him a better view of the place where the intruder had headed.

Jane didn’t have a good view of the wound from her vantage point; however, whatever its condition, it needed to be dressed with a clean bandage. She moved behind Kinellan, who tried to shrug her off. “If you don’t want me to wrestle you to the floor, Kinellan, stand still right there and let me attend to your shoulder. You may very well have need of it before the night is over.”

After one evil glare, he grunted and she took up his cravat and the remaining strips of muslin to fashion a makeshift bandage. The tying of it, while trying to keep pressure on the wound and simultaneously wrapping the shoulder as well, exhausted her patience quickly. “Hold this end, Kinellan.” She thrust the end of the cravat into his hands. “Now turn slowly.”

“What?” His gaze darted from the window to her.

“Hold the end. I’m going to guide the fabric around you so the pads in front and back are held in place. Now spin.” She motioned for him to twirl clockwise and after a stunned moment, he complied, not taking his gaze off the windowpane. At last the cravat came to an end, miraculously in the exact place she needed it. Drawing the cloth tighter, she pulled as hard as she dared and tucked it inside of itself. “Done.”

He peered down at his shoulder, then looked at her dubiously. “But if I use my arm, the bandage will come off.”

“You’re not supposed to use it.” Even as she said the words they sounded foolish. If the intruder came into the house of course he’d have to use his arm. He also needed to put his shirt back on, and the bandage would slide off as soon as he did that as well. “Let me think a minute.”

Slowly, she unwound the cravat, gazing at his arm, trying to imagine how the cloth might be applied so that his arm would still be mobile. Like a puzzle. “Press this pad to the wound with your right hand and hold your left arm out slightly.” She quickly drew the cravat up under his armpit, crossed the two ends, then pulled them over the pad in front and slipped another pad in the back. The only way to keep the pressure on was . . . “The other side. Hold the other arm out, Kinellan.” She quickly pulled the two ends tight over his chest and tied a square knot under the right armpit. Stepping back, excited by her own ingenuity, she looked him up and down. “Try to use the left arm now.”

He raised the arm slightly, then more boldly and winced, but the bandage didn’t fall off. Gazing at her, he smiled broadly. “Thankfully, I’m right-handed, but this will do. Will you help me with my shirt?”

“It’s still got blood on it.” Nevertheless she fetched it from the table.

“It will serve. I’ll feel better when I’m not so exposed. Here, hold this.” He handed her the pistol. “Do you know how to shoot one?”

She nodded, laying it on the table. “I fired Tark’s a time or two. I’m not good, but I can take aim and pull the trigger.”