An Auctioned Bride (Highland Heartbeats #4)(36)

It seemed to take them forever to scramble their way upslope. The rain caused the dirt to grow slippery, but at the same time, she was grateful for it because it hid the trail of their passing. They had barely gone twelve precarious steps before Hugh stumbled to a halt, leaning heavily against a tree trunk.

“Just a moment,” he muttered. “Need to catch my breath.”

She wasn't arguing. She needed a rest too. Her knee throbbed, and she could just imagine what Hugh's leg felt like. Blood saturated his pant leg now, and she feared that if he lost much more, he would die, right in front of her eyes.

He pushed away from the tree and they scrambled higher, deeper into the trees, sometimes pushing their way through the thick underbrush, winding between the close-growing birch and pine.

His breath came in harsh gasps. Every step seemed shorter, more difficult.

Finally, she spied the cleft in the rock. “There!”

He didn't look up, just told her to make their way toward it. A gust of rain-drenched breeze blew past them, sending shudders through her body. Drops of rain trickled down the back of her neck and underneath her tunic. Garnering the last of her own strength, she wrapped her left arm around his waist, grasped her makeshift crutch more firmly in her hand, and tried to urge him forward. If he stumbled and fell, she would never get him back up.

They had reached the rock wall, Hugh grasping one edge of the gash in the rock, when suddenly, he toppled forward, now half in and half out of the opening. He took her down with him, and she also toppled, grimacing in pain as she fell on her injured leg. Both of them lay gasping for several moments, exhausted.

“Can you crawl inside?” she finally asked.

No answer.

She looked up at his face from where she lay and saw that he was unconscious or very close to it.

“Hugh!”

Again no answer.

Groaning, seeking a strength that she didn't know she had, she crawled past him on her side, trying to protect her injured knee. Then, sitting behind him, her legs straddling his shoulders, she reached forward and grasped him under the arms, thinking to pull him further into the cave. Her first effort proved fruitless. He didn't move at all.

“Hugh, you've got to help me! Please!”

She tried again. This time, digging the heel of her good foot deep into the dirt, tugging and leaning backward with all her might, she managed to move him a short space.

He lifted his knees, dug his own heels in, and her next effort proved more fruitful. By the time she brought him completely into the interior, she was gasping for breath, her arms trembling, every muscle in her body throbbing with fatigue.

They both lay still for several moments, breathing heavily. While it was warm and dry inside, she still had to deal with his wound, and quickly. She glanced at the overlarge tunic she wore, saw that the bottom had been torn in several places by the brambles she had hidden within. Twisting, she managed to tear off a good section of the bottom.

Hugh rolled over and lay on his back, his chest rising and falling, staring upward into the darkness of the cave.

She spoke while she worked. “I've got to bind the wound in your leg. Stop the bleeding.”

He nodded slightly, and she maneuvered herself closer. Carefully, trying not to cause him more pain, but knowing it was inevitable, she shoved the piece of now doubled-over cloth under his thigh, then brought it around in preparation to tie the edges together over the wound.

But she needed more padding, something to soak up the blood. She tore off another strip from the tunic, now reaching just past her waist. She folded up the piece of cloth into a thick pad and pressed it onto the wound, ignoring the groan that resulted. Dalla wrapped the edges of the other piece tightly over the padding and tying it as firmly as she could. This also elicited a low groan, but Hugh didn't move.

And then she realized why.

He had passed out.

The faint light that ventured into the cave opening from outside barely provided light, but as she stared at his leg, she didn't see any fresh blood oozing from the wound.

She leaned back, staring through the opening and the bramble of bushes that hid the cleft in the rock wall.

Were they safe here? Would they be found?

Dire thoughts raced through her head.

He was seriously wounded, and she didn't know how to help him. And if he died, what would happen to her?





21





Dalla wasn't sure how much time had passed since they'd made it to the shelter in the rocks, but it seemed like forever.

The bleeding in Hugh's leg had stopped, but he had not yet regained consciousness. She knew next to nothing about healing. Without Hugh able to provide any guidance, she wasn't sure what to do next. Had it nicked a blood vessel? Even though he wasn't bleeding on the outside anymore, she didn't know if he might be bleeding on the inside.

She listened carefully, straining for any sound of the voices of their pursuers beyond the cleft in the wall, but other than the sound of the rain and the occasional rumble of thunder as the storm moved south, she heard nothing.

The air smelled rich with the scent of pine, wet dirt, and a rather musty smell that she assumed came from the cave itself. Perhaps it had served as a den for wild boar, or a bear, or some other wild animal.

She explored the cave floor with her eyes with what minimal light there was, unable to find anything with which she could make a fire, even if she knew how.