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He hesitated.
“Please,” she rasped between irregular breaths.
“I’m sorry.” Isaac cried softly, staring at his grandfather. “I’m ever so sorry…for everything.”
Nicholas lowered his pistol as Isaac raised his to his own forehead.
“Please forgive me,” Isaac said.
“No!” shouted Fredericks and Thornwood simultaneously, throwing themselves at the man.
Nicholas grabbed Catherine, turning her from the foray when sparks flew as the gun went off. She stiffened, trying to shift in his arms, but he pressed her head firmly against his chest, awaiting the outcome as the tumble of bodies disassembled. Thornwood staggered to a stand, seeming no worse for wear, staring down at Isaac’s crumpled body. Isaac was not dead but wept as his grandfather held him, wiping at the blood that ran down the side of his face.
Catherine wriggled out of his grip, gasping at the fallen pair. She ran to them, dropping to her knees and inspecting the wound. She appealed to Nicholas. “The temple has been grazed. We need to get him to the house and have it seen to.”
Nicholas stared at the trio. Isaac was a weeping pile of pathetic dung. He could lie there and rot for all Nicholas cared. Did Catherine have any idea what she was asking of him?
“I’ll see to it,” Thornwood said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Take your wife back to the manse, and I’ll take care of the culprit. I imagine you have a lot of questions you would like answered before he’s taken away.”
Nicholas was grateful for Thornwood’s unruffled demeanor when he himself was a boiling pot of confusion. Catherine had clearly accepted Thornwood’s offer, coming slowly to a stand and brushing at her dress.
“Thank you, my friend.” Nicholas was grateful to have the man at his side.
Thornwood nodded as Catherine strode past Nicholas. Was she angry still? He was in no hurry to find out but turned to follow her. To say it had been a trying day would be the understatement of the year. And it was far from over. He would deal with Catherine and her emotions once that damned coxcomb was out of their lives.
He rounded the folly, toward the path. Catherine was walking slower now. Perhaps she wanted him to catch up? Suddenly she bent over and vomited. He was by her side in seconds, rubbing a hand up and down her soaked pelisse while she cried out at each heave. When she quieted, he gave her his handkerchief, still tracing circles on her back. She straightened haltingly and wrapped an arm around her waist, her eyes wide and shining in her blanched face.
“Nicholas,” she gasped, bending over again, dry heaves causing her to cry out once more. He was going to bloody well kill that man when he got his hands on him again.To hell with Catherine’s penchant for forgiveness!
When this bout was finished, she was flushed with exertion.
“Come, let’s get you home.” He draped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.
She flinched in response and whimpered.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” she wheezed, pushing from him, faltering on her first step.
“The hell you are. The bastard hurt you!”
She fought for breath. “He did not—mean to. Truly, he did not. It’s just—he landed on me and…” She sucked the air, holding her arms tight against her chest. “I fell hard.”
She stiffened when he scooped her up into his arms, holding her close to reduce bouncing her body around. Anger propelled him quickly home. That bloody man was going to pay. For everything.
