Lorraine Heath (29 page)

Someone fired another shot. The bullet splintered the wood of a shutter, and the ping of its ricochet echoed through the house.

“Gawd Almighty!” the twins yelled.

“Get under the table!” Lucian ordered.

Meg felt her breath forced from her body as he slammed her to the floor and laid his body over hers. The twins, trembling violently, curled up beside her.

She heard horses whinny and more guns fire. She could see an eerie dance of shadows and flames through the cracks in the shutters as though the people outside were carrying torches.

“If you promise to keep quiet, I’ll take my hand off your mouth,” Lucian whispered.

She nodded. Cautiously, he moved his hand away.

“Please let me go out there,” she pleaded.

“It’ll just go worse for him if they know you’re here.”

“Who is it? Who’s out there?”

“I don’t know. They’re wearing flour sacks over their heads.”

They heard an agonized wail that sounded as though it rose from the bowels of hell. Meg elbowed Lucian in the ribs and broke free of his hold. She scrambled out from beneath the table. He came after her, grabbed her legs, and brought her back down to the floor.

She kicked him and pounded her fists into his shoulders. “Please, let me go. They’ve hurt him!”

“I can’t, Meg. I gave him my word.”

The yells of men, the singing of bullets, and the pounding of hooves faded into the night. Lucian released her. She scrambled to her feet, threw open the door, and rushed outside in time to see the last of the hooded riders disappear in the darkness.

But she didn’t see Clay.

She spun around as Lucian and the twins came outside. “Where is he?”

Lucian lifted the lantern, but all they could see was the emptiness. “Did they take him?” he asked.

A low moan, like that of a wounded animal without hope, sounded through the darkness. In long strides, Lucian walked around to the side of the house, with Meg and the twins in his wake. He came to an abrupt halt. “Dear Lord.”

The lantern cast a glow over Clay’s battered face as he looked up at his brother. Kneeling beside the tree stump, he wrapped his right hand around the hilt of the knife that someone had driven through his left palm into the stump. “Help me.”

Meg swallowed the bile rising in her throat and took the lantern from Lucian. “Help him.”

With uncertainty, Lucian approached Clay. “Maybe I should get Dr. Martin.”

Clay shook his head. “Just help me with the knife.”

Lucian placed his foot on the stump and wrapped his hand around the knife handle. “It’s gonna hurt like the devil.”

Nodding, Clay pressed his free hand against the wrist of his pinned hand. Lucian glanced over his shoulder at Meg, and she saw the anguish reflected in his face. He closed his eyes and pulled the knife.

Clay released a strangled groan as Lucian worked the knife free. Lucian stumbled back, the bloodied knife in his hand. Clay slumped to the ground, wrapped the end of his shirt around his wounded hand, and cradled it against his side. Meg set the lantern on the stump, and the light glistened off the black pool of blood. She knelt beside Clay. “Let me see your hand.”

“Go home, Meg. This doesn’t concern you.” He placed his good hand on the stump and struggled to his feet.

“I want to help—”

He staggered to the house and leaned against the wall. “You think I’m a coward. Your brother called me a coward in church, and you let the words go unchallenged. I’ve never—” Closing his eyes, he took a shaky, shallow breath. Opening his eyes, he impaled her with his gaze as effectively as the knife had pierced his hand. “I’ve never done anything in my life that I had to cover my face to do. Go home to your brave men.”

He took an unsteady step toward the door, faltered, and collapsed. Meg hurried to his side and placed his head in her lap. His eyes were closed, and his head lolled in whichever direction she turned it. She lifted her gaze to Lucian. “Help me get him into the house.”

He moved swiftly and put his hands under Clay’s shoulders. “Joe, you carry the lantern. Josh, you and Meg carry his feet.”

“He ain’t gonna die, is he?” Josh asked as he picked up his burden.

“Nah, I reckon all the excitement just wore him out,” Lucian said as he lifted Clay and walked backward into the house.

Meg’s gaze was drawn to the trail of blood as they carried Clay to his bed. Who’d done this? Why? How could they have done this?

Clay groaned as they dumped him on the bed, but he didn’t waken.

“Do you have a rag I can use to wrap around his hand?” Meg asked.

Lucian walked out of the room and returned carrying a white cloth. He handed it to her, and she wrapped it around the ghastly wound. “Joe and Josh, I need your help.” They came to her side and stood at attention as though they were tiny soldiers. “He has such a large hand that I need both of you to press on it like this to stop the bleeding.” She took their hands and positioned them around Clay’s hand.

Stepping aside, she looked to Lucian. “Let’s take his clothes off and see how badly he’s hurt.”

Lucian lifted his brows. “Shouldn’t I take his clothes off while you wait in the other room?”

“I’m a widow. I’ve seen a man’s body. I’m not likely to faint if I see another one.” She moved to the foot of the bed and began to work off Clay’s boot. She’d dropped it to the floor before Lucian walked to the head of the bed and began to unbutton Clay’s shirt. Meg pulled off Clay’s sock and stared at the wide pink scar that circled his ankle.

“Dear God,” Lucian whispered.

She jerked up her head. Lucian had unbuttoned Clay’s shirt, and the sides had parted to reveal by the light of the lantern what she’d been unable to see by the pale light of the crescent moon. Another scar. Someone had burned a
D
into the center of his chest.

She sat on the edge of the bed and lightly touched her fingers to the scar.

She remembered how Clay had stopped her from running her fingers over his chest as they made love. Now, she understood why he had guided her hands to his back. He hadn’t wanted her to feel the scar, to know that the army had branded him a deserter.

“Go get Dr. Martin,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lucian said before quickly leaving the room. She wished she could get rid of the twins as easily, but she needed them to keep the pressure on his wound.

“They hurt him somethin’ bad, didn’t they, Miz Meg?” Josh asked.

“This is an old scar. It doesn’t hurt him anymore.” She placed her hands on each boy’s shoulder. “It might be best if you look away and study the wall over there while I see how badly he’s hurt.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Watching their chins quiver as they turned away, she felt the tears sting her own eyes.

She lifted the bloody end of Clay’s shirt. A thin, ragged scar marred his side. She unbuttoned his trousers, pulled them past his hips, and saw what she’d hoped she wouldn’t see: more scars crisscrossed his backside. His past words rushed through her mind like a torrential rain:

“I can stand up to any torture that’s handed out …”

“… four days without sleep …”

“… bayonet …”

“… only difference between us is that he was willing to kill for his beliefs. I wasn’t …”

Gently, she removed his clothes. New bruises were emerging and covering old scars. She carried the quilt up to his chin and tucked it around his sides as though it could somehow protect him.

She left the room and returned carrying a bowl of warm water. Using a clean cloth, she wiped the blood away from Clay’s mouth. How many times had they hit him? One eye was nearly swollen shut and his cheek was grazed and bloody.

She dropped the stained cloth into the bowl and set it on a table beside the bed.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she took his hand from the twins, laid it in her lap, and pressed her palms against the wound. “You can go to bed now. There’s nothing else for you to do. I’ll wake you if he needs you.”

Nodding, the twins walked from the room and quietly closed the door.

Meg bowed her head and wept.

Sometime later, Dr. Martin burst through the door like a cyclone. “God damn it! What’d they do to him?” He stalked across the room and yanked the quilt down to Clay’s hips.

“He has scars—” Meg began, not certain why she wanted to explain to this man that the undeserved scars were badges of honor.

“I’m familiar with his scars,” Dr. Martin said as he prodded his fingers along Clay’s ribs. “Some damn private got overzealous with his bayonet, and they couldn’t stop the bleeding so they sent for me.” He released a mirthless laugh. “They were afraid he’d bleed to death before they got a chance to execute him. Damn idiots.”

Meg heard footsteps. She glanced over her shoulder to see Lucian standing in the doorway, his troubled gaze flickering guiltily over his brother. He looked as though he’d been trapped in a storm. His damp hair clung to his face as tenaciously as his sweaty shirt hugged his body. Meg hadn’t thought to tell him where he could find her horse, and she realized, with regret, that he’d run to town to find the doctor.

Clay gasped, and his eyes flew open.

“That one hurt, didn’t it?” Dr. Martin said.

Clay nodded slightly. “Yes, sir.” He looked down at his bare chest, flinched, and struggled to pull the quilt up to his chin with his good hand. Turning his face away from Meg, he said in a hoarse voice, “Make her leave, Doc.”

Meg felt a strong need to reassure Clay that her feelings for him were genuine. She met Dr. Martin’s intense gaze. “I want to help. His hand is still bleeding.”

Dr. Martin wrapped his hands around the bandaged wound. “I’ll take care of the bleeding. I think you both can help most by leaving the room.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but the expression on Dr. Martin’s face told her he’d brook no arguments. “I need some water warmed up and some coffee,” he said.

“We ain’t got no coffee,” Lucian said.

“Well, then, make yourself useful and rustle me up something to eat. I always get hungry in the middle of the night after tending hurt folks. Now, go on. I gave you something to do, get to doing it.”

Meg eased off the bed and leaned close to Clay’s face. “Clay?”

“Go home,” he forced out through clenched teeth.

“I love you,” she said softly. He squeezed his eyes shut as though her words caused him more pain. She looked to Dr. Martin. “Call if you need me.”

With one last look at the man lying on the bed, she walked out of the room.

The minutes passed as slowly as hours. Meg sat at the table with her hands clenched in her lap. Lucian sat opposite her, his elbows on the table, his chin pressed against his fists.

A door opened, and the twins padded out of their bedroom. “We can’t sleep,” Josh said as they approached the table.

“Dr. Martin’s here,” Lucian said. “Clay’ll be all right now.”

“That ain’t why we can’t sleep,” Joe said.

The twins looked at each other, their eyes filled with such sadness that at that moment, Meg wished more than anything else that she could have spared them this hurt.

Josh cleared his small throat. “Lucian, was we cowards tonight?”

Lucian snapped his gaze over to Meg. Slowly, he lowered his fists to the table and looked at the twins. “No. Clay told us to stay inside, and we were doing what he told us to do.”

“Then how come you say he’s a coward when he was just doing what his heart told him to do when he wouldn’t fight in the war?”

Lucian bolted out of the chair. “How the hell should I know? You two ask the dumbest questions I’ve heard in my whole life, and then you give the smartest answers. Why do you ask the questions if you’ve got the answers? Hell, I’m going for a walk.” He stormed out the front door.

With tears in his eyes, Joe said, “Miz Meg, we still don’t know if we was cowards. Even if Clay had said it was all right, we don’t know if we woulda gone out there.”

Meg scooted away from the table and patted her lap. The boys sidled up to her, and she wrapped her arms around them, drawing them close. They were too thin, too small, too young for what they’d witnessed tonight. “I think tonight it was Clay’s battle to fight.”

“But he lost.”

“No, I don’t think he did. He’s the kind of man who’ll never lose because he never strays from what he believes in. He’s rare, so rare that even I didn’t recognize how much courage he has.”

The door to Clay’s room opened, and Dr. Martin ambled out. He dropped his black bag on the table and slowly shook his head. “He’s got a couple of broken ribs and that hand’s a mess.”

“Will he still be able to use it?” Meg asked.

Dr. Martin shrugged. “I don’t know. I stitched it up as best I could. Fortunately, the knife went between the bones so nothing in his hand is broken. Only time will tell how much permanent damage was done. But he has a quiet determination unlike any I’ve ever seen. He’s sleeping now, so I reckon I’ll head on home. Want me to escort you home?”

Meg shook her head. “No, I’ll be staying for a while.”

“Reckon your pa don’t know you’re here.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

Dr. Martin picked up his bag. “Well, he won’t hear it from me.”

“If you knew how they treated Clay,” Meg said quietly, “why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because I’m a doctor, not a gossip. People have to know that they can trust me not to repeat what I learn when I’m treating them. Besides, the hatred around here is so thick, I didn’t think it’d make any difference.” He ruffled the twins’ hair. “Clay told me he’s never seen anyone as brave as you boys were tonight.”

The twins’ eyes widened. “He did?”

“Yep. Reckon he’ll tell you himself in the morning.” Smiling sadly, he tilted his head toward Meg. “Good night.”

Meg held the twins close until she heard the door close. “I don’t know if I’ve ever known a night so long. I need to put you to bed.”

“Can we have a lantern in our room?” Joe asked. “Lucian don’t like having a lantern burning in the room, but seein’s as how he ain’t here …”

“I’ll leave the lantern in your room,” she promised.

“And could you leave the door open?” Josh asked as he slipped away from her.

“That sounds like a good idea.”