“T-thought I . . . thought I was the monster.”
Alec glanced around, and saw his shock reflected in the faces of the Duke, Sam, and Harcourt. He turned back to his brother. “You are no monster.”
“Morland . . . Miss Donovan . . . in t-the room . . .”
“Stay still, Gabe. We will help you.” As the Duke and Sam hunched down, Alec pushed himself to his feet. In the dim light, he saw a cut in the cavernous wall. A hallway. Pulling out the dueling pistol, he hurried over to it. He lifted the pistol, and pushed through the door.
The stench of blood hit him first. His eyes swept the room. Thomas was dead on the floor, a gaping wound across his throat, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Morland was lying on his back on a bed, his face dark with smeared blood, his nose flattened in an almost comical manner. And there was something . . . what the hell was sticking out of his eye?
“Jesus,” he breathed, as his eyes fell on Kendra Donovan. She was on her hands and knees, shivering uncontrollably and equally bloody.
Shoving the pistol back into his pocket, he rushed forward and lifted her into his arms. She let out a cry of pain. Her face was bruised, one eye swollen shut. But she was alive.
“Morland . . .”
“I know. He’s the monster.”
She shook her head, and winced. “Is he . . . dead?”
Alec glanced over at the still figure on the bed. “I believe so. Good God. What the devil is in his eye?”
“Hairpin.” She allowed herself to curl against Alec’s body. “I always knew those things could be lethal.”
71
Kendra woke sometime during the night, possibly the early hours of the morning. She wasn’t sure; she’d lost track of time. Which was a hell of thing for a time traveler to admit, she supposed.
Vaguely she remembered being held and rocked. It had taken a couple of minutes for her to understand that she was being held in Alec’s arms, on horseback. There were no ambulances or EMTs in the nineteenth century.
She’d passed out again, but came to as Dr. Munroe worked on her. She realized there were no anesthesiologists, either. When she’d moaned in pain, he’d spooned some liquid into her mouth that had knocked her out cold, which probably accounted for the vile taste in her mouth now. And the icepick headache—though that could’ve come from having the crap beaten out of her.
She opened her eyes. Or, rather, eye. The other was swollen shut. Her face felt monstrous, twice its normal size. Using only her good eye—and, Jesus, even that hurt—she took stock of where she was.
It was not, she realized, the bedchamber she’d shared with Rose. Above her was a shadowy canopy. Across from the bed was a Carrara marble fireplace. A low fire crackled in its hearth, a hazy glow. She could make out paintings, the gleam of wood, the dark shape of furniture. Her heart constricted in fear when one of those shapes rose. She let out a little moan of terror, her whole body tensing for attack.
“Sh-sh, sweetheart.” She recognized Alec’s voice. He approached the bed and touched her hand, a featherlight caress. “You are safe, Kendra. Morland is dead.”
“It’s over?”
“Yes. Go to sleep. You must rest.”
Kendra closed her eye. She doubted whether she would sleep, but next time she awoke, it was morning. A maid was bent over a nearby table, her back to her.
“Molly.” Her voice was so low and raspy that she was surprised that the tweeny even heard her.
Molly spun around and hurried over to the bed, where she burst into tears. “Oh, miss!” She attempted to mop up the flood with her apron. “Ye ’ad us ever so worried!”
“I’m fine. Just bruised . . .” She tried to sit up, and pain sizzled down her side. Oh, yeah, and stabbed.
“’Ere now, let me ’elp ye.” Molly plumped up the pillows and gently placed them behind her so she was at least half-sitting. “Oi’m ter let ’is Grace know as soon as ye woke up.”
She hurried out of the room. Ten minutes later, the door opened again, but it was Dr. Munroe who came in. He set his black bag on the bed, studying her gravely through his Harry Potter glasses. “Well, Miss Donovan. It’s been a while since I’ve had a subject who was still breathing. You were fortunate. The knife missed vital organs. You shall have a scar.” The dark eyes turned speculative. “Of course, it shan’t trouble you any more than your others.”
Kendra knew he was waiting for some sort of explanation. Since she couldn’t give him one, she said nothing.
“You are an enigma, Miss Donovan.”
“I guess I have you to thank that I’m an alive enigma.”
He smiled. “Yes, well, let’s make certain you stay that way. I need to inspect your wounds. We wouldn’t want infection to set in.”