Page 72 of Against the Wind

It all happened at once. Kit heard Rutledge cock the weapon, the sound echoing off the walls. Martin thrust his body in front of hers, shouting, “Get down!” Then, before she could move, two gunshots sounded.

Martin’s body slumped, his weight driving her to the floor. She looked out the door and saw Rutledge lying on the ground in front of the house. The entry was full of the familiar bitter smell of gunpowder. In the duke’s hand was a smoking pistol.

Kit struggled to move from under Martin, gently laid him on the floor and saw the blood oozing from his jacket. “He’s been shot!”

The patch of blood on his jacket was growing larger. Martin’s unfired pistol dropped from his hand to the ground.

The duke set aside his weapon and knelt next to them. Martin, still conscious, looked up and said, “It seems I was a bit slow.”

“Not slow,” replied the duke gravely, “just protecting your lady. And had you not made that sudden move to put yourself before her, I suspect the ball would have struck your heart.”

Kit lifted Martin’s head onto her lap just as he closed his eyes. “Martin,” she whispered.

He must have heard the fear in her voice as it faltered. Opening his eyes slightly he said, “Not…fatal, I think.” Then he closed his eyes, and his head rolled to the side.

Feeling the warm blood soaking through her husband’s shirt, waistcoat and coat, Kit reached down and tore a strip from her petticoat to staunch the bleeding. Shouting to the housekeeper she demanded, “I need clean cloths and hot water.”

The old woman, eyes dazed and mouth agape, came out of her stupor to respond.

The duke reached inside his coat and took out a cloth. “Here,” he said, “this should help until she brings more.” He faced his footman. “Get a physician, and on your way check on the earl.”

“Yes, Yer Grace.” The footman hurried to where the earl lay on the ground in front of the house. Shortly, he returned.

The duke eyed the door where the footman stood. “Rutledge?”

“Alive, though he needs a healer if he’s to stay that way. He’s bleeding like a stuck pig.”

“We’ll do our best for him while you summon the physician. Be quick.”

Kit heard a horse’s hooves hitting the ground as the footman galloped away. She pressed her cloth to Martin’s wound, now a pool of red on his chest. The blood quickly soaked through the duke’s handkerchief, a warm wet heat under her palm. She stared down at the man she loved and knew fear.

The housekeeper returned, stepping around the two guards lying tied up on the floor, handed Kit several linen cloths and set a bowl of steaming water on the floor. Ripping open Martin’s shirt, Kit pressed linen to the wound, tossing aside the blood-soaked handkerchief and strips from her petticoat.

The duke, watching, said, “I am hopeful, Lady Powell, that Sir Martin has the right of it and the wound is not fatal. The physician is not far, just in Codner. He’ll be with us soon.”

“I do hope you’re right,” Kit said, still staring at her unconscious husband.

The duke spoke to the waiting housekeeper. “More cloths, good woman. Bring them to me outside where the earl lies. We must see what we can do for him.”

The old woman nodded. Hastening to another room, she soon returned with more cloths and another bowl of water and followed the duke through the open door. A moment later, the duke returned.

“Is he still alive?” Kit asked.

“For now, yes. I hated to shoot a peer, even this one,” the duke said, wrinkling his brow, “but I had to stop the man before he killed your husband. It seems I was not entirely successful.”

Kit wasn’t at all sure she cared for Rutledge to survive. He had tried to kill Martin and violently attacked her. She gazed down at her husband, pale and still, though she was glad to see him breathing steadily. With her free hand, she brushed the lock of dark hair from his forehead and stroked his cheek.

“You have my gratitude, Your Grace,” she said to the duke. “You saved his life.”

“It was an honor to help Prinny’s man, Lady Powell. I wasn’t aware until your husband paid me a visit that Rutledge had even rented this house.”

She gazed up at him. “Thank you for aiding in my rescue. I will be forever in your debt.”

“My pleasure. How is he?”

“The bleeding has slowed, I think, but I will be more at ease when the physician is here. The ball needs to come out of his shoulder.”

It wasn’t long before the physician arrived. He first assessed the earl and, with the footman’s help, both Rutledge and Martin were moved to beds. Shortly thereafter, the duke informed her that Rutledge was not likely to survive, a major vessel having been severed.