A Night to Surrender (Spindle Cove #1)(96)

He caught her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Think of you. Brilliant, beautiful, remarkable you. You do great things here in Spindle Cove, but I know you’re capable of far more. Let me show you the world, Susanna. More than that, let me show the world you. Don’t let fear hold you back.”

“I can’t help but feel a little scared. You’re asking me to leave behind everything and everyone I know, and you haven’t even said . . .” She went silent.

Ah. So that was the problem. She was waiting to hear his feelings. He should have guessed as much. Hadn’t labeling those emotions always been the sticking point with her?

At that moment, the air trembled with the force of a distant explosion. With a surprised cry, she huddled into the protection of his coat. Overhead, the sky burst into sparkling trails of gold.

She stared up in wonder. “Am I hallucinating, or are those fireworks?”

He swore with amusement. “Those can only be Colin’s doing.”

Another whistling rocket soared into the air, exploding into silver sparks. Bram’s heart lit up like a Roman candle. This was just like the first time they’d met. She was in his arms, so soft and warm. The perfect place to land. And she trusted him to keep and protect her, while the world exploded around them.

He turned her face to his. Her pupils sparkled, mirroring the fireworks overhead. But even those glittering reflections couldn’t outshine the emotion in her eyes.

Ridiculous, how damned nervous he felt. He was a big, strong man. All she asked of him were three tiny syllables. But somehow, it seemed easier to order his life around the sentiment than voice it aloud. What if he said the words, and they still weren’t enough?

He wet his lips and steeled his nerve. “Susanna fair. I . . . God, how I—”

Boom.

His words were stolen by a fresh explosion—a louder, earthbound, bone-jarring blast.

After that, all they heard were screams.

Twenty-six

“Oh Lord.” Susanna’s heart stalled. “What’s happened?”

There was so much noise, and she couldn’t make sense of any of it. A loud ringing filled her ears. Her blood thundered in her chest. Frantic voices rose in indecipherable cries. Horses whinnied. The soles of her shoes slapped the packed-dirt lane.

She was running. When had she started running?

Bram paced her, loping at her side. His hand settled at the base of her spine, steadying her. Pushing her onward. They rounded the corner and joined the throng of people rushing toward the carriage house and stables.

There was blood. A great deal of it. She smelled it even before she glimpsed the spatter of red on the straw-covered ground. The pungent odor worked as a helpful antidote to the encroaching panic. She could not lose her head. Someone was wounded, and she had work to do.

“Who’s injured?” she asked, elbowing a wailing Sally out of the way and pushing her way through the stable door. “What’s happened here?”

“It’s Finn.” Lord Payne was there, pulling her through the crush of bodies, into an empty stall lit by a hanging carriage lamp. “He’s been hurt.”

To say Finn Bright had been hurt was rather an understatement. The boy’s left leg was a raw, ragged horror below the knee. His foot, or what remained of it, dangled at a grotesque angle. White slivers of bone gleamed from the open wound.

Susanna knelt beside the boy. From the sickly pallor of his face, she could tell he’d already lost a great deal of blood. “We need to stop the bleeding, immediately.”

Bram said, “We need a tourniquet. A girth or billet from the tack room will serve.”

“In the meantime . . .” Susanna turned to Lord Payne. “Give me your cravat.”

He complied, loosening the knot of his neck cloth with trembling, jerky motions and sliding the length of fabric loose. Susanna reached for it and wound it about Finn’s calf just below the knee, pulling with all her might to cinch it.

That accomplished, she turned her attention to the boy. His breathing was shallow, and his gaze unfocused. The poor youth was going into shock.

“Finn,” she said in a loud, clear voice, “can you hear me?”

He nodded. His teeth chattered as he whispered, “Yes, Miss Finch.”

“I’m here.” She put a hand to his cheek and tried to meet his gaze. “We’re all here. We’re going to have you put to rights just as soon as we can.”

Aaron Dawes crouched at her side. “I’m readying a cart. We’ll have to take him to the smithy for bonesetting.”

She nodded her agreement. While Susanna dispensed salves and tinctures to the villagers, anything that required brute force—the setting of bones, the pulling of teeth, and so forth—all fell to Dawes, as the village blacksmith. Although, from the looks of Finn’s wound, she wasn’t at all sure this injury could be set. There was a very good possibility he would lose the foot entirely.

Assuming he lived.

She smoothed hair from Finn’s sweaty brow. “Are you in a great deal of pain?”

“N-n-no,” he said, shivering. “Just cold.”

That wasn’t a good sign.

Bram knew it, too. He handed her a buckled strap of strong, cured leather. As she wound the strap around Finn’s leg, he found a horse blanket and draped it over the boy’s torso.