Chapter Eight
Warton put a hand on Colin's shoulder. "'Tis a trap. They want us to hasten into the firelight so they can ambush us."
"Damnation," Colin hissed, trying to keep his wits about him. Was Kristina alive? He couldn't detect any movement.
Cyrus was directing his men, almost silently, to circle around behind the camp. Damn Holme and his cronies. Colin wanted to dirk every last one of them for what they'd done to Kristina.
Despite the sickening need for vengeance that near drowned him, Colin prayed Kristina still lived. Why was she unmoving and in such an awkward position?
A man's shout echoed from somewhere beyond the camp, toward the right. Was that one of Cyrus's men or an enemy? After a moment of silence, horses' hooves pounded the ground in hasty retreat.
"Go after them!" Cyrus yelled.
Several of his men raced away.
Looking about him, targe raised, Colin ran toward Kristina beside the campfire and dropped to his knees.
"Kristina?" Almost holding his breath, he turned her onto her back and placed his fingertips beneath her nose. Her warm breath tickled his skin. "Thank God." Relief rushed through his veins, near making him weak.
The firelight illuminated a large, reddish-violet spot on her cheek but no blood. Had Holme hit her? "Kristina, wake up." He smoothed his fingers gently over her forehead and hair, but she didn't respond. Anxiety clawed at his gut.
Rusty stopped beside him, breathing hard. "Is she all right?"
"She's knocked out. Do you have any water?" Colin asked.
"Aye." Rusty unhooked the wineskin from his belt and handed it over. Colin splashed the water onto Kristina's face. She frowned and moved her head a tiny bit, giving him a jolt of hope.
"Kristina?"
"What?" she whispered, her voice scratchy.
"'Tis me—Colin." He carefully dried the water from her face with his sleeve.
"Colin, you're… alive… thank God." Tears glistened at the corners of her eyes. "Careful… Holme."
"He's gone. He ran away."
She seemed to release a breath and relax a bit.
"Are you in a lot of pain, my sweet?" Colin smoothed her hair back gently.
"My head." She touched her swollen, violet cheek.
"Did Holme hit you?"
"Aye."
Rage punched at Colin. "Did he hurt you anywhere else?"
"I don't… think so."
His stomach knotting, Colin prayed the blackguard hadn't forced himself on her. He would ask her when she felt better. For now, it might be too much, or she might not remember.
"Are you thirsty?" he asked.
"Aye."
"Would Holme give you naught to drink?"
