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He lay unconscious on the sand, red staining his chest and falling over the sandy pebbles.
Pippa screamed, falling to her knees. She pressed a hand to his heart, closing her eyes and listening for the beating. It was there—weak, but it was there.
“Pippa,” Mac yelled, coming to stop behind her, panting. He seemed to take in the entire scene. Roger, the law man, William, shot and on the ground. “Has a doctor been sent for?”
No positive answer met him, and Mac swore. “John, ride for Dr. Garvey. With haste!”
“At once. Of course.” Mr. Caney jumped up and ran toward the path.
Mac turned and shouted. “Take a horse from my stables if you need to, and direct Garvey to my house.”
Mr. Caney lifted a hand in acknowledgment and took off, Samuel just behind him.
Mac had taken control of the situation swiftly, and Pippa was grateful, for she’d seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. She took William’s soft, cool hand in hers and squeezed his fingers.
Mac crouched beside her, speaking gently. “We need to move him, Pip.”
“I know,” she said, the words scratchy and hard-edged leaving her tired throat.
Mac took William under the shoulders and Roger stepped over to take him by the legs. Pippa looked up swiftly. “If you’re here—”
“They’ve got him,” Roger said solemnly. He looked over his shoulder and Pippa followed his gaze. Mr. James had secured Mr. Ainsworth’s hands behind his back and was leading him away, likely to the holding cell in Collacott until he could be taken to the magistrate tomorrow.
The men heaved William up and carried him slowly toward Camden Court, Pippa following close behind. When they reached the top of the rise, Mac turned his head just enough to steal her attention away from William’s ghostly pallor.
“Run ahead and prepare a room,” Mac asked, his breathing labored.
“Which one?”
“Any.”
Pippa nodded. She lifted her hem and ran toward the house. Surely Mabel wouldn’t care where they laid the invalid, but he would need access to hot water and towels and a warm fire. She let herself inside and ran upstairs as quickly as she could until she located the room of their kitchen maid, Alice.
“Alice, I need you.”
“Yes?” she asked, rushing to sit up.
“William Blakemore has been shot. We’ll need boiling water and fresh linens. I’m going to prepare the prince’s suite now.”
“Yes, ma’am. Right away,” Alice said sleepily. She was out of her bed before Pippa had turned away.
She didn’t know how yet, but she was going to save William. He was not dying tonight.
