Never Seduce a Scot (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #1)(76)

The horse skidded to a sudden stop when Bowen and Teague ran forward. She closed her eyes and held on for dear life, but the sudden stop propelled her right over the horse’s head.

She landed with a thump that shook her very bones. Pain screamed through her body, and she couldn’t breathe. The air had been knocked solidly from her and she lay there, gasping and wheezing.

Bowen appeared over her followed by Teague. They were all talking at once and she couldn’t even manage to focus on their lips to know what they said. The one thought that consumed her was that she had to go back to Graeme. She must bring help for him.

“Graeme!” she shouted, hoping to make herself heard above the din.

Bowen reached down, grasped her face, and forced her to look directly at him. His expression was terrible, his eyes so dark that it made her shiver.

“Eveline, tell me what has happened! Are you hurt? Where is Graeme?”

“Archer,” she gasped out, still unable to draw a full breath. “Graeme was shot in the meadow. Hit his head when he fell. I had to leave him. I couldn’t lift him. I had to leave him to summon aid!”

“Shhh,” Bowen soothed. “You did right. Can you stand? Are you hurt anywhere?”

Ignoring the pain that wracked her bruised body, she struggled upward, already reaching for the reins of Graeme’s horse, who stood to the side, his nostrils flaring as he huffed and snorted.

Teague made a grab for her. “Nay, Eveline! You’ll stay here. Tell us where to find Graeme. We’ll go for him.”

Bowen was already shouting orders to the men and they scrambled to mount their horses. Eveline ignored Teague’s order and shook off his restraining hand.

“I’ll show you,” she croaked out. “Please, you have to help him!”

She tried to remount the horse, but lacked the strength. Bowen caught her, and when she thought he’d physically restrain her and prevent her from mounting, he pushed upward, helping her gain her seat instead.

Without waiting, she urged the horse back through the gate and over the bridge. She raced across the meadow, uncaring of the pain or fear it caused her. Graeme needed her. He could be dying even now.

This time when she approached she was able to better control the horse and was able to slow him. Still, she was out of the saddle and stumbling to the ground before he’d come to a complete stop. She ran to Graeme’s still body and hovered anxiously over him as she waited for the others to dismount.

Teague and Bowen pushed in, their expressions grim and worried as they examined Graeme. They looked at the wound on his head and then inspected the arrow deeply embedded in his flesh.

“He’s not dead,” Eveline said fiercely. She shook her head vigorously. “He’s not dead!”

Teague lifted her and put his arm around her to support her. “Of course not, Eveline,” he said. “We’ll take him back to the keep. The healer has already been summoned and will be waiting to tend to his wounds when we return.”

“But how?” she asked, peering anxiously around Teague to where the others gathered around Graeme.

Teague pulled her back and stared firmly into her eyes. “We’ll fashion a litter and carry him back. You’re not to worry. I don’t want you riding his horse again. You could have killed yourself. You’ll ride back with me because you’re not fit to walk the distance.”

She shook her head in vehement refusal. “I won’t leave him.”

Teague started to argue with her, but she looked away and then pushed around him so she wouldn’t see what it was he said.

She hurried back to Graeme, who was being rolled onto a makeshift litter that the men would carry back to the keep. As soon as they hoisted him up, she fell into place beside him, reaching for his hand.

Bowen took up Teague’s argument, insisting she ride back with one of them, but she was adamant about not leaving Graeme, not even for the time it took to return to the keep.

With a sigh, Bowen mounted his horse and then gathered the reins of Graeme’s horse to lead him back. The men on horseback flanked the men carrying Graeme so he was protected on all sides. Eveline kept pace beside them, her hand tightly curled around Graeme’s.

She didn’t like the pallor of his face or that his head still bled from the wound. She shuddered every time she glanced at the shaft protruding from his shoulder. Even if the wound itself wasn’t life-threatening, he could easily succumb to fever and die in the ensuing days.

The journey back seemed interminable, and by the time they walked into the courtyard, the entire clan was in a flurry of activity.

Rorie met them, her eyes red from crying. Father Drummond stood at her side, preventing her from running to the litter bearing Graeme.

Eveline hated to see her so upset, but she couldn’t spare the time to go and comfort her sister-in-law. Her priority was Graeme and his well-being. Nothing was more important.

They bore Graeme up the stairs to his chamber and Eveline hurried in before them to pull back the furs on the bed.

Then she hastily built up the fire and lit as many candles as she could lay hands on, so the room would be well lighted for what was to come.

To her surprise, the healer wasn’t a woman, but instead a young man named Nigel, about the age of Father Drummond. She frowned when he entered the chamber and began examining Graeme. She flew to Bowen’s side to question him on the ability of the younger man to tend to Graeme’s wounds.