“She’s fine. Nick went after her.”
“But—”
“Jesus, woman. For once, save yourself. Nick’s got Ashley. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
But Maddie was no longer staring behind her. She was looking at him. “Jack, you’re hurt!”
“It’s a scratch. Nothing to worry about.”
But the words were barely out when his head began to ring and that spinning feeling returned. Jack frowned. It had been just a scratch. Hadn’t it?
He tried to reach out, to clutch the horse’s saddle and hang on, but he’d forgotten his hands were tied.
“Oh, damn,” he swore as he slid off his horse and hit the ground.
Chapter Nine
“Oh, jiminy!” Maddie cried, and dropped off her own horse to kneel beside Blackthorne. He was bound, and thus his body lay at an awkward angle.
She shook him, and when he didn’t wake, she leaned close to listen for his breathing. Thank God. Then she got a better look at the blood covering Blackthorne’s face and neck and wondered if she’d been premature in her gratitude.
Quickly, she reached under her skirts, tore off a good portion of her petticoat, and began wiping away the blood. She had to tear off another section before she could see the wound—a small nick at the top of his right ear.
She felt his head and neck and, other than a half-dozen bumps and knots, found no additional injuries. Lord, but that little nick bled enough for a full-fledged head wound.
He looked uncomfortable with his hands bound behind him, and she fumbled with the knots in the darkness. It took her three or four tries, but then the rope fell away and he lay flat on his back.
Maddie sat back on her haunches and sighed, but the sigh turned into a sob, and before she could stop herself, she was heaving and gulping and wailing.
Lord, but she was a baby. Why was she crying now that everything was over and done? It had all worked out as she’d planned. Even Ashley had changed her mind and decided to help.
Ashley’s contribution had been most inventive. She had told Ashley to “cause a diversion,” not strip bare, but that was Ashley for you. Ask for a cup of tea, and she’d give you a pail.
Maddie hiccupped, thought of Ashley naked in the woods with those horrible men after her, and started wailing again.
“At least I know someone will cry at my funeral,” a gravelly voice said, and Maddie glanced down to see Lord Blackthorne looking up at her. “But you needn’t put on quite a production.”
She tried to glare at him through her tears. “I’m not crying for you, you dolt.” She sniffled. “Well, I was, but now I’m crying for Ashley.”
“My brother has her. She’s safe.” He struggled to sit, and when he’d managed it, he gave her a reassuring nod. “I promise.”
Maddie wanted to believe him, but really, how could he know?
“Stop worrying,” he said, reaching out to smooth her brow. “And stop crying.”
Maddie hiccupped again. “I c-can’t.”
“You have to,” Blackthorne said, drawing her into his arms. “I can’t strangle a weeping woman.”
“Strangle me?” Maddie knew she ought to pull away and peer at his face to gauge his expression. But now that she was in his arms, she didn’t want to leave.
He was so warm and solid. He smelled like pine and freshly turned earth. So instead of moving away, she burrowed into his chest. “Why would you strangle me?” she asked, aware that her words were muffled.
“Because you’re driving me mad,” he answered. She liked the way his deep voice resonated in his chest and reverberated through her entire body. Even her toes felt the rumble of his bass tone. “Because you’re trouble.”
“No, I’m not,” she said, and yawned. Her tears had dried up, and exhaustion weighed on her like a heavy blanket. No one had ever called her trouble before. She rarely merited any adjective more creative than kind or sweet.
She closed her eyes as it occurred to her that she should be glad of a new moniker. Maddie the Kind was now Maddie the Troubled.
