Her jaw dropped. “You can’t think my father had anything to do with this?”
“I saw their colors. They were Warwick’s.”
“Nay,” Draven rasped. “‘twas not her father.”
“Are you mad?” Simon snarled as he helped him toward the wagon. “Who else?”
“I know not.” Draven gasped as he staggered in Simon’s arms. “But Hugh would not have attacked me with archers who like as not might have hit Emily. He wouldn’t have taken the chance.”
“How do you know?” Simon asked.
“I know,” he whispered. “Just get me home.”
Emily hurried her steps to keep apace of them. “But my father’s is closest.”
Draven looked at her, his expression calm in spite of his pain. “A wounded hawk doesn’t bed down in a fox’s den.”
At the side of the wagon, Simon let go of Draven who held himself upright against the wagon’s side. Simon pushed her trunk aside, but Emily stopped him. “Take it from the wagon and leave it.”
Simon frowned. “But your?—”
“Leave it.”
Simon nodded, then did as she ordered. He helped Draven into the wagon and carefully laid him down.
Emily opened her trunk and removed her jewelry case, and pulled out a light saffron colored kirtle, then joined Draven in the wagon.
“What are you doing?” Draven asked as she started ripping her dress.
“Making bandages for you.”
“Your dress?—”
“Shh…” She placed her fingers to his lips. “Save your strength.”
The wagon lurched forward. Emily considered removing the bolts from him, but thought better of it. For one thing they were in motion and it might maim him, and for another, she feared removing them would cause him to bleed even more. So she set about using her kirtle pieces to apply pressure to the bleeding to help slow it.
She kept checking his face, and as each minute passed, he seemed to grow paler and paler. She took a piece of her dress and wiped the blood from his cheek. The tender look in his gaze stole her breath.
“You have such a gentle touch.”
She smiled sadly, remembering the first time he had said that to her.
And then he did the most unexpected thing, he reached out and took her hand in his. He laid her hand upon his chest, just over his heart and closed his eyes.
Emily didn’t know what startled her most. That he had finally reached out for her, or that he trusted her enough to close his eyes while she sat beside him and could do him harm. Both were such a small gesture and with any other man they might have gone unnoticed, but for Draven they were monumental actions, and neither one was lost on her.
She stared at her blood soaked hand. It looked so tiny in comparison to the rest of him. The darkness of his hand made hers appear all the more pale. His knuckles were scarred and she saw the purple bruise he’d gotten from hitting Niles.
And in that instant, she realized that she loved him. She didn’t know when it had happened, but happened it had.
There was nothing she wouldn’t do for him.
Her lips trembled as she allowed her love to fill her. It was a truly powerful thing. Marvelously warm and completely intoxicating.
Impulsively, she brushed the hair back from his brow. The black silken strands caressed her fingertips as she ran several strands between her fingers. It surprised her that he didn’t protest, but he said no more words to her while they made their way back to his home.
They reached the gates just after sunset. A fever had started, and Draven had lost so much blood that she began to fear even more for his life.
