Petals on the River (61 page)

butt of a flintlock pistol, taking careful aim.
 
It was frighteningly

obvious to Shemaine what the man had come to do.
 
He would kill her if

he could!

Shemaine was painfully aware of her vulnerability, for she had

absolutely nothing at hand with which to defend herself.
 
Her only hope

was to flee to safety before he fired.
 
She started to whirl, but before

she could lift a foot to make the turn, the explosion of gunpowder rent

the peaceful cooing and twittering of birds, sending them flying

helterskelter from the trees and brush.
 
In the very next instant a shot

zinged past, slicing open a layer of flesh across her ribs as it went.

Shemaine screamed at the pain inflicted upon her and clasped a hand over

her left side, feeling an oozing warmth dribbling through her fingers.

Frantically she scrambled up toward the cabin, throwing a frightened

glance over her shoulder.
 
Potts was busy reloading, but she knew he

would soon follow in a zealous quest to catch her before she could make

good her escape.

A shout drew Shemaine' s attention to the area in front of the cabinet

shop, and she felt a surge of relief when she saw Gage and all four of

his men sprinting out of the structure with muzzleloaders in hand.
 
In

the opposite direction the Morgans were racing down the building slips

with weapons of their own.
 
Apparently they had all heard the shot, her

scream, or both, and perceived that something was amiss.

Potts glanced around to see the handful of men racing toward him through

the woods and promptly decided it was time to leave.
 
He bolted through

the trees and, upon nearing the chestnut, dragged the reins free from

the branch.
 
Hauling himself astride, he turned the animal about to face

Shemaine and shook a brawny fist as he bellowed at her. " Tain't over

yet, bogtrotter!
 
Not til ye're dead!"

Potts whipped the steed about and slammed his heels into the chestnut

flanks, sending the horse racing recklessly through the trees.

Realizing the tar would be out of range soon, Gage skidded to a halt and

brought the muzzleloader to his shoulder.
 
The density of the trees

hindered him from taking a clear shot, and he was well aware that he

would waste his attempt if he did not time the horizontal movement of

the weapon to the rate of Potts's speed.
 
Swinging the rifle from a

point behind his target, he squeezed the trigger as the bore passed in

an imaginary line through Potts.
 
Continuing the lead, Gage moved the

sights well ahead of the tar to a spot between two trees.
 
The tar had

not yet reached that particular site when the gun finally discharged. A

deafening roar reverberated throughout the glade as the lead shot zinged

through the trees, meeting its mark just as Potts passed between the

pair of oaks.

A loud roar of pain evidenced the sailor's wounding, and he slumped

forward in the saddle as a large, dark blotch bloomed on the side of his

shirt.
 
The horse, confused by the shifting weight, slowed his gait, but

Potts, now fearing the marksmanship of the colonial, pummeled the beast

with booted heels, cursing savagely as he drove the animal to a faster

pace.

Ramsey stumbled to a halt beside his employer as Gage received a loaded

Jaeger from his German apprentice and took aim again, but the darkening

shadows and the thickness of the forest obscured the rapidly diminishing

target.

"He's gone," Gage muttered in frustration, lowering the rifle.

''But you vounded him, Mr.
 
Thornton!" Erich Wernher boasted. "None of

zhe rest of us could have done as well!"

Gage heaved a regretful sigh.
 
"Aye, but wounding Jacob Potts is not

nearly as beneficial to our existence as killing him."

"I think yer woman is hurt," Ramsey announced, directing Gage's

attention to where Shemaine stood clutching a hand tightly to her

bleeding midriff.

Tossing the rifle back to the German, Gage sprinted swiftly across the

space between them, now wishing he had killed Potts.

Shemaine stepped stiltedly toward him, trying not to wince as he came

near.
 
"I'm all right," she managed rigidly.
 
" Tis merely a flesh

wound."

Gage was not so certain.
 
Blood had already soaked the side of her

bodice and was beginning to darken her skirt near the waist.
 
Gently

lifting her in his arms, he spoke in concern, "We'll see what damage has

been done once I get you to the cabin."

Shemaine winced in pain as Gage carried her up the path.
 
To keep from

crying out, she gritted her teeth as she clutched an arm tightly about

his neck.
 
Then she recalled the task that she had been performing

before she noticed the horse's whinny and issued a soft, fretful groan,

drawing Gage's anxious regard until she confided in some embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, Mr.
 
Thornton.
 
I'm afraid I left the washing by the

stream."

"Forget the clothes!" Gage bade her gruffly.
 
"They can float away for

all I care."

Unlatching the front door, he shoved it wide with a shoulder and carried

her through the cabin to the back corridor, where he set her gently on

her feet.
 
Turning her around so her injury faced the light, he went

down on one knee beside her and plucked at the blood-soaked cloth.

The gown was still intact except for two small rents where the lead ball

had gone completely through her bodice, but he was hindered from seeing

the wound or the source of the bleeding.
 
Taking hold of the fabric, he

would have ripped it apart, but Shemaine stumbled away, immediately

incensed that he should consider such a thing.

"I do not intend to stand here like a helpless twit and let you tear off

my clothes, Mr.
 
Thornton.
 
I'm sure the gown can be washed and easily

mended as it is, and I will not see such a serviceable garment ruined

beyond repair."

Gage sighed in vexation.
 
"There are other gowns in Victoria's trunk,

Shemaine, and I give you leave to take what you like of them."

Though he reached toward her again, Shemaine stepped beyond his grasp,

stubbornly shaking her head.
 
"I'll not impose upon your generosity, Mr.

Thornton.
 
You've given me far too much as it is."

"Take the gown off, if you must!" Gage urged testily.
 
"But I'll not

rest til I've seen to your wound."

"And that I will allow you to do, sir, but only in a manner I will feel

comfortable with." Shemaine peered up at him as she softly suggested,

"If I may have a loan of an old shirt, perhaps one that opens down the

front, then I'll be able to accommodate you more readily."

With a frustrated growl, Gage left her and, after a moment, returned

from his bedroom with a homespun shirt.
 
"You can put this on while I

get some water from the well."

Shemaine accepted the garment from him and waited as he took the pitcher

from the washstand and strode out the back door, closing it behind him.

Unfastening her bodice and chemise, she slipped them from her shoulders

and then gritted her teeth against the pain as she pulled the cloth away

from the wound.
 
She cast an anxious glance over her shoulder to

reassure herself that Gage was nowhere in sight as she lowered the

garments to her waist.
 
Ever so carefully, she slipped into the shirt,

fastened it between her breasts, and rolled up the long sleeves to free

her hands.
 
While she waited for her master's return, she found an old

sheet in the storeroom and began making bandages.

A quick rap of knuckles against the back door preceded Gage's entrance,

and Shemaine waited self-consciously as he poured water into the

washbasin and fetched more from the hearth to heat it.
 
When he returned

to her side and pulled the shirt up from her ribs, she turned her face

away, blushing as she folded her arms carefully around her bosom.

Without such precautions, the shirt would have allowed a liberal view of

everything beneath it, for it was like a tent enveloping her.

Wetting a cloth, Gage gently swabbed and cleansed the bloody gash until

he was able to determine the extent of her injury.
 
He was relieved to

see that it wasn't as severe as he had first thought, only a laceration

across a rib, deep enough to cause profuse bleeding, but hardly

lifethreatening.
 
The only hazard would be if it became infected, but he

intended to prevent such a likelihood by the use of the malodorous balm.

"It's not serious," he announced with relief, "but twill require a tight

bandage to stem the bleeding."

Gingerly Shemaine pointed toward the strips of cloth she had wound into

neat rolls, trying not to show how much his careful ministering had hurt

her.
 
"Will those suffice?"

"Aye, they'll do nicely.
 
Now lift up the end of the shirt and hold it

out of my way," he instructed.
 
"I'll have to wrap the bandages around

your waist to keep them snug, and I can't do that fumbling blind beneath

the shirt."

Gage left Shemaine to consider his directive as he went to fetch the

noisome salve.
 
When he returned, the ends of the shirttail had been

gathered together and were neatly knotted between her breasts, leaving

her midsection bare.
 
He couldn't help but admire the results, for the

soft homespun cloth molded her bosom to perfection, hinting of the soft

nipples and the youthful firmness of the full curves.
 
Her was was

incredibly narrow, and though he could still count nearly every rib she

had, her silken flesh stirred his admiration in ways similar to T what

he had felt the night the snake invaded.
 
Except for her recent injury,

her skin was just as delectable as it had seemed that evening.

"You'll have a slight scar after this to remember Potts by," Gage

warned, placing his tall stool beside her and setting the container of

emollient on top of it.
 
"But it shouldn't pucker.
 
Once the redness