Blood Blade Sisters Series (36 page)

The noises from Richard’s side of the alley were growing more intense and desperate. She needed to end this little tete-a-tete and get Richard out of there before more of the goons showed up and they were seriously out numbered.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your kind invitation,” Brynne said. “I’ve had enough fun for one night.”

She dropped to the ground, ignoring the painful wrench in her shoulder and rolled. The sudden change in position jerked her arm from the man’s grip. Brynne rolled onto her back, drew her feet up against her chest, and kicked out with all her strength, ramming her feet into the man’s knee caps.

Good old Tommy dropped, bellowing loud enough to wake the dead. Brynne retrieved her knife and ran toward Richard and his man.

“Richard,” she gasped, his name escaping her lips before she could stop it.

Richard pulled his attention from his opponent for a split second. But that was all the man needed. He lunged, the blade in his hand flashing silver in the moonlight. Brynne called out a warning and Richard jumped to the side.

But he wasn’t quite fast enough. The blade slashed across his thigh, opening a streak of red that splattered against the brick wall next to him. Richard shouted and went down.

Brynne swallowed the scream that was trying to claw its way out of her throat and got a firm grip on her knife. She rushed toward them, thankful the goon had all his attention on Richard. When she reached them, she gripped the heavy handle of her blade and slammed it into the man’s skull. He dropped like a sack of flour and lay unmoving on the ground at Richard’s feet.

The man Brynne had fought was still howling in the corner of the alley, trying to drag himself to his feet. Brynne was pretty sure she’d dislocated at least one of his knees, so he wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry. But the racket he was making was sure to bring someone running.

Brynne stooped and wrapped an arm around Richard’s waist. “Come on,” she said, grunting as she helped him stand. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

Richard nodded and got himself upright. Brynne turned to steer him out of the alley, but Richard pulled against her. “Wait.”

He broke from her grasp, ignoring her hiss of impatience. He hopped over to the sack lying against the wall and gathered it up.

“It would be a shame to go through all this for naught,” he said with a wry grin.

Brynne’s lips twitched. “Good point. Now we must hurry!”

“One more thing.” Richard limped toward the man Brynne had felled and leaned down. “If I were less than a gentleman, I’d do much worse to you than this. But I do not have the time to give you what you really deserve.”

“Go to hell.”

Richard slammed his fist into the man’s face. “You first,” he muttered.

Chapter Seventeen

Richard’s hand throbbed and his stomach clenched at the sight of the man crumpling under his fist. He’d never struck a man so forcefully in his life. But he’d do worse than that if it kept Brynne from danger.

Brynne cocked an eyebrow at him.

“We couldn’t very well have him crawling off to find his mates or sounding the alarm.”

Brynne nodded in agreement, but she looked a bit unsettled, as if she wasn’t sure what to make of the more ruthless side of him. Of course, she’d never seen anything but the kind, gentle Richard. He didn’t enjoy causing anyone pain, but he would do what he needed to when necessary.

“Come,” she said, looping her arm about his waist. “We need to get you home so we can get that leg taken care of.

Richard leaned heavily on Brynne, who steadied him as much as she could. They struggled for what seemed like hours, staggering through the ever-deepening snow. Between the drifts that were soon ankle deep and getting deeper, and Richard’s nearly useless leg, they were making very slow progress.

“Brynne, leave me here. Go for help.”

She was shaking her head before he had finished speaking. “If I leave you here, you’ll die. We are almost there, we can make it.”

She had a point. Richard made a renewed effort, helping to propel them forward as much as possible. He tried to keep as much of his weight as he could off her slender shoulders, but Brynne simply held tighter to his waist and the arm he’d draped across her shoulders. He risked a quick glance behind them and breathed a sigh of relief that whatever blood they were leaving was being rapidly covered, along with their footprints, by the still falling snow. As long as the bastards who’d attacked them weren’t too close on their trail, they might have a good chance of escaping undetected.

After what felt like a lifetime, the welcoming glow of Brynne’s townhouse came into view.

“Thank heavens,” she whispered.

Richard snorted in agreement and together they stumbled up the steps. Brynne rang the bell while Richard banged on the door. It opened mid-bang and Richard sent up a quick prayer of thanks for Taggart’s quick response. Brynne and Richard half dragged each other into the warmth of the house.

“Madam! Thank God you are all right.” Taggart jumped forward and draped Richard’s other arm over his shoulder, helping Brynne to get him inside. Once they were in with the door safely closed behind them, Richard brushed them both off.

“What happened, Taggart?” Richard asked, grunting as Brynne pulled the boot from his injured leg.

Taggart grimaced. “I’m afraid I’m not sure, sir.”

Richard glowered, but his anger didn’t seem to bother Taggart. “What do you mean, you’re not sure?”

“They must have got the drop on me, sir. One minute I was keeping watch outside the window and the next thing I remember I was lying face down in the snow on the opposite side of the building. I made my way back to the window, but I didn’t see any sign of you there. But there were footprints leading to the alley where we’d left the horses and the horses were gone. I assumed you’d left, had perhaps been running from whoever jumped me, so I made my way home as fast as I could only to find you hadn’t arrived yet. I was about to head back out to look for you.”

He did appear to have been interrupted as he’d been putting on extra layers for traveling outside. He wore his thick outdoor coat and had one glove on. And he was sporting a nicely blackening bruise on his right temple. Richard wasn’t entirely convinced Taggart was telling the truth, but his story was plausible enough. And at the moment, Richard couldn’t gather enough energy to care one way or the other. If the man was lying, Richard would take care of it later.

“I’ll ready a guest bedroom, ma’am,” Taggart said, giving Richard a pointed look before hurrying up the stairs to see to Richard’s accommodations for the night.

“Come on,” Brynne said, looping her arm back around his waist. He draped his arm over her shoulders, glad of the excuse to hold her close to him. She was stronger than she looked. While it was an obvious struggle for her to support his weight, she still managed, even as they began their slow ascent up the stairs. She never ceased to amaze him, this little spitfire that had wormed her way into his heart.

By the time they made it to the second floor, they were both panting. Brynne steered him into a guest bedroom where a cheery fire was beginning to crackle. Taggart tossed another log onto the flames and straightened.

“I’ll have Mary bring up some hot tea and perhaps something to eat,” Taggart said to Brynne.

“Thank you, Taggart. That would be lovely. Can you also have her bring some hot water?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He left without another glance at Richard.

“Not an admirer of mine, I see,” Richard said.

Brynne shrugged, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “He’s a bit protective of me. And I suspect he’s a bit put out that he allowed those scoundrels to sneak up on him. He must have a dreadful headache. That would make anyone cranky.”

“True.” Richard smiled.

“I’m going to get out of these wet clothes. There should be a spare robe you can put on in the wardrobe.” Brynne pointed to the armoire in the corner. “I’ll…be back in a moment and we’ll look at your leg.”

She gazed at him for a moment, her mouth working as if she would say something more, before she turned on her heel and left. Richard stared after her, his eyes taking in every inch of her. The snow had molded her already indecently tight clothing even more to her shapely figure. He wanted nothing more than to follow her to her room, peel the wet clothing from her body, and spend the rest of the night warming her inch by inch. Repeatedly.

He drew in a jagged breath and went to the wardrobe. A thick robe hung there, along with a very warm looking pair of slippers. Richard ignored his pain and grabbed the robe and slippers. He removed his clothing as fast as possible, hissing as his wet trousers stuck a bit to the gash in his thigh. Luckily, it didn’t look too deep and their journey through the snowstorm had helped reduce some of the swelling and blood loss. He would need to stitch it closed though.

He stood by the fire, warming himself as much as possible. A quiet knock sounded at his door and he drew the folds of the robe about him, tying it securely before he called “Come in.”

Brynne entered, carrying what looked like a sewing kit. Two maids were behind her, one carrying a steaming kettle, the other a tray of tea and food. Thank heavens. He was starving. And the tea would go a long way toward warming him up. Then again, as he took in Brynne, who was wrapped in her own thick robe, her damp hair trailing down her back in a loose braid, a few hours alone with her might heat him up even more.

He shook his head. What kind of lecher was he to be lusting after a woman while he stood in her home bruised and bleeding?

“Sit,” she commanded, pointing at a chair close to the fire.

Richard’s lips twitched, but he followed her orders. She directed the maids where to put the trays they’d brought up and then dismissed them. They left, leaving the door open several inches in what he assumed was an effort at making the situation a bit more proper.

Richard’s eyes widened in surprise when Brynne knelt at his feet and made to pull back the folds of his robe. He must have made some noise that she took for protest (though nothing could be farther from the truth) because she turned her impatient gaze to him and firmly grasped the edge of his robe. “I need to see how bad your leg is and stitch it if necessary.”

He almost pointed out that he was the doctor and, as such, was fully capable of stitching himself up, but the sight of her pulling back his robe had him biting his tongue to keep the words from escaping. At the first tentative brush of her fingers along his thigh, he knew he’d gladly sport a hideous scar for the rest of his life before he’d stop her from touching him.

Brynne muttered something under her breath as she gently probed the gash. Richard sucked in his breath when she pressed along the edges of the wound.

“Sorry,” she murmured. She sat back. “It definitely needs to be stitched.” She went about gathering her supplies, Richard’s surprise growing more and more as she got everything ready.

She lifted his leg a bit to put a folded towel beneath it and the movement caused his dressing gown to slide farther open, revealing much more of his anatomy than she’d expected to see.

Brynne froze, still supporting the weight of his thigh with one hand. Richard wondered if she even realized that she was staring at him since she made no move to cover him back up or look away. Far be it for him to disturb her enjoyment of the view he had to offer. Unfortunately, the leg she held began to throb and his involuntary hiss at the pain shooting up his thigh brought her back to her senses.

She flushed scarlet from the roots of her hair down to her neck and Richard couldn’t hold back a satisfied chuckle as he pulled the robe back into its proper place. Brynne dropped his leg onto the towel, eliciting another gasp of pain from him. A smug smile briefly danced across her lips and Richard laughed again. He’d deserved that.

Brynne ignored him as she finished her preparations. She handed him a glass of whiskey. “Drink.”

He didn’t wait for her to tell him again. Already the flames of hell licked at his leg, and he knew once she started stitching the pain would only get worse. He forced two quick gulps, welcoming the fire burning down his throat.

She waited a moment, letting the liquor take some effect before she poured a healthy dose of it over his leg. A stream of fire hit his wound and he hissed. Brynne gently cleaned the area, her hands steady and quick.

“You really have a flare for this, don’t you? Perhaps instead of letting you assist me, I should let you take over all the stitching that comes in,” he said, watching as she held a needle over the flame of a candle. Once it had cooled, she plucked some thread from where she’d had it soaking in a bit of the alcohol and carefully threaded the needle.

“Well, my stitches
are
better than yours,” she answered with a grin, not taking her attention from his leg.

The needle pierced his flesh and Richard gritted his teeth together. He kept his gaze riveted on Brynne’s face, focusing on her instead of the dip and pull of the needle as she sewed his flesh back together. She bit at the corner of her bottom lip while she concentrated on her task. The urge to lean forward and nip at her tender flesh himself was nigh on irresistible. He closed his eyes to shut out the tempting sight. Maybe he’d do better to focus on the back of his eyelids until she’d finished.

It took an interminably long time.

At last, she snipped the thread with a dainty pair of sewing scissors. He looked down to admire her handiwork.

His eyebrows rose. “Very nice work. One of these days, you’ll have to tell me where you learned to do that.”

She grabbed a strip of clean linen and wrapped it about his leg. He sucked in his breath as her fingers gently skimmed his upper thigh.

“One of these days. Maybe,” she said, carefully tying it off. She gathered her things and stood.

Richard chuckled.

Brynne rolled her eyes and deposited her sewing supplies before pouring him a cup of tea. “Drink this before it gets cold.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

…

Brynne sat in the chair opposite him and drank her own tea. She wasn’t as collected as she hoped she appeared. The wound in his leg had been grave indeed. Truth be told, it was the glimpse she’d had of what lay beneath his robe that had her rattled. It had been a very long time since she’d seen a man unclothed. She ducked her head, hoping he hadn’t seen the heat rising in her cheeks.

“So, where did you learn your stitching skills? You must have sewn a fair amount of wounds back together.”

It took a moment for Brynne’s brain to catch up with what Richard had been saying.

“It’s not a skill most women of your station would be proficient at,” he said.

Brynne snorted. “That’s true enough. Things were a little different in California.”

“Is it really such a wild place?”

“No, not all of it.” Just the tiny town she’d lived in, the one her half-brother had terrorized so much that she and her sisters had had to become bandits in order to keep their ranch and their town from being destroyed.

“So who did you hone your skills on?”

“On myself, mostly.”

His eyes widened again and Brynne smiled. She didn’t want to spill her entire life story to him, but she couldn’t help wanting to shock him either. It was too amusing to watch his eyebrows fly into his hairline whenever she’d make a comment such as that.

“Show me.”

“I beg your pardon?” His simple command had her heart hammering in her chest.

“I’d like to see what I can expect from your handiwork. You said you’d had to stitch up your own wounds on occasion. Show me.”

Brynne licked her suddenly dry lips. Then she caught the amused gleam in his eye. He either didn’t believe her or didn’t believe she’d show him. A slow smile spread over her lips. She could play this game as well as he.

She pulled the sleeve of her robe up to reveal a thin white scar that ran several inches down from her elbow. “I caught my arm on a broken piece of fencing we were mending.”

Richard scooted forward in his chair to get a good look and took her arm in his hands, twisting it gently to catch the firelight. “Very nice work,” he said.

“Thank you.” She put her foot up on the chair beside his leg, her smile widening when he froze. She pulled the robe up a bit, enough to reveal the spot on her ankle where she had a small scar.

“My horse was spooked by a snake and he reared. I fell and landed on a rock.”

Richard reached out, his hand encircling her ankle. Brynne’s heart pounded.

“That must have hurt.” His fingers trailed over the scar, lightly brushing her skin.

“Yes,” she murmured, unable to make her voice work while his hand trailed slowly up her leg. When he reached her calf she pulled from his grasp and took several steps back, but Richard stood and followed her. She kept backing up, heading for the door.