The sounds of a scuffle broke out behind him.
Frowning, Robert turned in time to see Michael knock that strange weapon from the woman’s hand. Undeterred, she brought her heel down on his boot, then slammed the base of her palm up into his nose.
His friend grunted.
“Hold her still, Michael,” Stephen barked as Adam started forward. “If she continues to struggle, she will be dead ere Robert even touches her.”
The woman stilled, her face blanching.
Pouch in hand, Robert slowly approached them.
“She trembles,” Michael murmured, wiping a smear of blood from beneath his nose.
Her features were now as pale as winter snow. Her eyes, glazed with fear, flitted from one to the other, then locked on him.
Robert’s stomach clenched at the desolation he saw there.
“I just want to find Josh,” she said in a small, choked voice, her unusual accent thicker.
“You will,” Robert assured her, taking another step forward. “We will. But we must see to your wounds first.” So saying, he held up his pouch.
She studied it. “What is that?”
“Herbs,” he said simply.
“You mean like medicinal herbs? Or”—she seemed to search for the right words—“healing herbs?”
“Aye. ’Twill stop the bleeding and speed the healing of your wounds, whatever they may be.”
“I’m not injured.”
“You said you had been…” What had she told them? “…shot.”
She said nothing, only watched him uneasily.
“If you vow you will not flee, Michael will release you and I shall tend your wounds,” he told her.
“There are no wounds.”
“Do I have your word you will not flee?” he pressed.
She bit her lip, looking so lost and vulnerable that, for a moment, he had an odd urge to sweep her into his arms and hold her until she felt safe again.
“All right,” she grudgingly agreed. “I promise I will not run.”
“Release her, Michael.”
Michael did as ordered.
As soon as the women was free, she sidled away from his friend and rubbed her arm.
Michael’s brow furrowed. “Forgive me if I held you too tightly. ’Twas not my intention to harm you.”
She made no response, merely surveyed them all distrustfully.
Robert took another hesitant step toward her. “If you will show me your wounds, I shall do what I can to—”
“I’m not injured,” she interrupted with a quick, nervous glance at the others.
“There is no point in lying. All here can see—”
“I’m not lying.”
Robert sighed. She had no color to speak of and swayed where she stood. “You are covered in blood.”
She lowered her head. Frowning, she dragged one hand across the stains that marred her clothing as though just recalling them. “It’s not mine.”
“You have already admitted otherwise.”
She eyed him uncertainly.
Did she not remember? Considering the excessive amount of blood that streaked her face and saturated most of her clothing, he wondered if whatever she had suffered had damaged her mind.
If so, he could afford to waste no more time. “Enough foolishness,” he said, his tone brusque enough, he hoped, to ensure that she would speak the truth this time. “Answer me truly. Where did the blood originate?”
Again she bit her lower lip. “My wounds.”
Opening his drawstring bag, Robert closed the distance between them. It pleased him mightily that she did not flinch away from him. “Show them to me.”
“I can’t,” she murmured. “They’re gone.”
He paused. “What?”
Eyes firmly focused on his face, she nervously licked her lips. “They’re gone. My wounds are gone. They disappeared.”
Robert dropped his gaze to her clothing. “You lie.”
“I know how it sounds,” she said miserably. “But it’s true.”
If proof of the contrary did not saturate her clothing and skin, he might believe her. “Remove your tunic.”
“But—”
“Please. I know ’tis not proper for you to disrobe before me, but I assure you I have no wicked intentions. I only wish to help you.”
A little crinkle formed in her brow, making her appear even more vulnerable. She was so small. The top of her head did not even reach his chin.
“Y-You guys are really on the up and up, right?”
He had no idea what that meant, but could tell by the inflection in her voice that she was hoping for confirmation. “Aye… Forgive me. You have not given us your name.”
“Bethany.”
“Aye, Mistress Bethany. We wish only to help you.”
A long moment passed, after which she nodded warily. “Okay.”
Her outer tunic clung to her in sticky patches as she peeled it off with trembling fingers and dropped it to the ground. Beneath it, her slender arms were bare.
High up on her left arm was a patch of pale skin. Skin that looked incredibly soft from where he stood. The rest, however, was varying shades of red and sticky with congealing blood.