She dropped to her knees to feel her way along.The rock pile rose sharply to her right.Perhaps if she moved parallel to it for a little way, then tried the other side of where the cavern opening had been?Perhaps it was dark simply because the men with the torches had left the tunnel, and the rocks only covered part of the opening.All she had to do was make her way in the dark.Complete, utter darkness.But she was confident she knew in which direction to search for the entrance to the tunnel, and from there could feel her way along the tunnel to either the beach or the kitchen.
Nurturing that glimmer of hope, Sophia began crawling, carefully setting her bare hands on the ground between rocks before moving her knees forward, tugging her skirt out of the way.
She had not gone far when she encountered a block.A really large rock?She patted it, trying to find its shape, discover which direction she’d need to go to get around it or if she could crawl over it, when she realized it was not rock.
Wool.And leather.
A boot.On a man’s leg.
“Lord Fairfax?”she whispered.
He did not answer.
Dread warred with hope as she felt along his body.A few rocks had fallen on his legs and back.She impatiently shoved them off to the side and worked her way up and gave his shoulder a nudge when she found it.“Lord Fairfax?”she called, shaking him again.
No response.
She rested her palm on his back, between his shoulder blades, and waited.
Yes!Movement.Slight movement, up and down.He was breathing!
She nearly collapsed with relief.
But wait.Was she certain this man was Fairfax?What if one of the smugglers had come into the cavern and been caught in the rockslide?She’d been too shocked at recognizing the curse to notice what the smugglers had been wearing.They could have been wearing fine wool coats and breeches.Unlikely, but possible.
She worked her hand up his neck, into the strands of his hair.
Long, silky strands.Blessedly, unfashionably long.She brushed some aside that had fallen across his cheek and felt the day’s razor stubble along his jaw prickle her fingers.
Why wasn’t Fairfax responding?He should be sitting up, teasing her about the liberties she was taking with his person.
Dread settling in the pit of her stomach again, Sophia wiped her hands on what she thought was the cleanest part of her gown, and began tracing Fairfax’s features.Jawline, lips, nose, ear—the right side of his face lay against the stone floor of the cave—and up to his forehead.All lovely, stubbly, silky… until she encountered sticky blood.
Blood oozed from a wound above his ear toward his eye.
She wiped her fingers and kept checking everything she could reach, until she had traversed the entire length of his body and back up, except for his right arm, which he seemed to be laying on.Nothing else seemed bloody or broken.
She hadn’t brought her reticule to the beach so she didn’t have so much as a handkerchief on her to help stop the bleeding.
Ah, but Fairfax did.Probably.
She found the pocket where earlier that afternoon he’d stuffed his handkerchief after dusting a rock for her to sit on, and dipped her fingers inside the soft wool.At first she encountered cold, rough metal.She explored it for a moment, assessing the shape.The toy soldiers!Toys from his childhood.What had he looked like as a child, amusing himself for hours on end in a cave with only tin soldiers for company?
A little more groping inside his pocket—her cheeks heated—and she found the fine linen.Careful not to dislodge the toys, she tugged the handkerchief out, shook it, and folded it into a square.Probing with her fingers, she found what she thought was the main wound, the source of the blood, and pressed the linen pad to it.
She couldn’t very well keep kneeling next to him, holding her hand to his head indefinitely.Her back muscles were beginning to cramp.Tear a strip from her petticoat?It was probably filthy with sand and dirt.And she had spent hours embellishing it with embroidery.
Her fichu!She had tucked it back in her gown’s neckline after she noticed Fairfax staring at her chest when they were out on the beach, after he’d tripped on her foot.He couldn’t very well stare at her breasts in here.
After shaking out any dust, she soon had the fichu folded lengthwise and ready to wind around his head to hold the makeshift bandage in place.Cautiously feeling her way, she lifted his head sufficiently to slide the fichu underneath and tied a knot to hold the handkerchief in place.
He still made not a sound, no reaction, though his breathing remained steady.
Still on her hands and knees, she circled around him and continued with her original plan to find the entrance to the cave.The rocks became a pile rather than scattered.Impatiently she yanked her skirts out of the way and climbed, glad she had changed into her half-boots before sneaking out of the house and down to the beach.
Up.Over to her right.Higher.Rocks slid and her feet slipped, and surely her knees and palms were bleeding, but she kept climbing, groping her way across, ignoring the sound of ripping fabric, until the pile began to descend again and she bumped her head.
On the roof of the cave.
