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He glanced down but didn’t quit walking. “Carrying you,” he said, his voice slightly breathless.
“Why? Put me down. I’m too heavy.”
“Lass, you weigh less than a sack of potatoes, and I’d rather not stop now. We’re almost there.”
She turned to look in the direction he walked and saw the familiar path from the rail station to the farmhouse. If she’d been awake earlier, she might have directed him to take the short cut. It was too late for that now. “Where is the wagon?”
“I sent the farmer on his way. Even I know The Farm’s location is supposed to be a secret.”
“How long have you been carrying me?” She couldn’t believe she wasn’t heavy. Even if she had felt light initially, she had to be heavy now.
“Not long, lass. Be still or I’ll toss you over me shoulder.”
She huffed out her indignation. “I’m trying to help. I can walk.”
“You’re burning with fever and weak as a newborn kitten. Don’t argue.”
“But what will everyone think if you carry me into The Farm?”
“Sure and they’ll think you were shot and could have been killed.” His hands tightened on her. Or had she imagined that? “Now be still or you’ll arrive with your arse in the air.”
She didn’t believe for a moment he’d throw her over his shoulder. Annoying man. He deserved to continue carrying her. She hoped his arms ached.
“Callahan, remember what I told you before about my father?”
“Shh. Bridget, don’t talk now. Save your strength.”
He was right. She did feel dizzy and when she spoke, the words seemed to pound through her head. At the same time, she told herself to relish this moment. The longer she was in his arms, the more she never wanted to be out of them.
“Kelly?” a man’s voice called a few minutes later. She looked and saw Mr. Galloway running toward them. “Cal! What happened?”
“Miss Murray was injured. I’m taking her to Baron. Is he in the farmhouse?”
“I don’t know. Do you want me to take her?”
“No.”
And this time she didn’t imagine that he pulled her a little tighter against his chest.
“I have her. See if you can find Baron.”
“Right away. Hold on, Miss Murray,” Galloway said before running toward the farmhouse. More agents had started toward them, and Bridget could feel her face heating. Someone called out that he would fetch the surgeon, and then Callahan stepped onto the farmhouse porch. She was grateful for the privacy, to hide away from curious gazes.
The door banged open, and Baron limped out, Galloway right behind. “Take her upstairs,” Baron said, his voice steady and calm. “Third room on the right.”
“Yes, sir,” Callahan said.
“I’m fine, my lord,” Bridget said. “Really.”
He looked at her and exhaled slowly. His calm demeanor was belied by the worry in his eyes. Finally, he looked away. “Call for the surgeon!”
“It’s been done, sir.”
And then she was back inside the farmhouse, back home. Except it didn’t feel like home. She almost missed the little chamber in Dublin. Lucy and Margaret were waiting in her room and went to work as soon as Callahan put her down. They removed his coat from her and gasped at the wound, clearly visible through the gaping fabric of her coat. Obviously, Callahan had torn it away in order to bind it.
“Get me a knife,” Lucy said. “I’ll cut this away and we’ll bundle you under the covers.”
“I’ll get it,” said another woman, perhaps a servant.
