With great care, he wiped at the red that coated her back where her injury should be and revealed a scar similar to the one in her shoulder.
An idea began to form. Ere he pursued it, he gently ran his hands over her back and sides in search of cuts or abrasions or anything else that could have produced this amount of blood.
There was nothing.
Taking her by the hips, he swiveled her around to face him. His position, kneeling before her, placed his face on a level with her breasts. But he steadfastly kept his gaze trained beneath them.
The scar he found in front was larger, suggesting a violent exit by whatever projectile had pierced her. And Robert again found himself wondering how she could have survived.
Chapter Three
Beth watched the handsome knight rest warm, rough hands on her waist. When he smoothed his thumbs across her flat stomach, a shock zipped through her.
Her breath caught. It was almost as strong as the shock she received when she forgot to use dryer sheets in the winter and went pawing through the laundry as soon as she removed it.
She found this shock far from irritating, however.
Shaken, she stared down at him. “Did you feel that?” she whispered.
He made no answer, but the surprise that lit his sapphire gaze told her he had.
“Is there a wound?” the one he called Michael asked, breaking the leaden silence.
“Nay. Only blood and scars.”
Beth tugged her shirt down and stepped away from the leader’s hold. “I told you there were no wounds.”
A look passed between him and Michael.
“Lady Alyssa?” the latter asked.
The leader slowly shook his head as he rose, graceful as a panther. “She is at Westcott. And Dillon would not let her risk her life, healing such severe wounds again.” He returned his attention to Beth. “Did an old woman come to you whilst you lay dying?” he asked.
She frowned. “What? No. Look, I need to get to my cell phone, call for help, and keep searching for Josh. I’ll answer any questions you have later if you’ll just help me do that. Okay?”
An eternity seemed to pass before he agreed. “As you wish.”
“Could we start with your telling me where we are?” She motioned to the trees around them. “None of this looks familiar. Everything in the clearing I was injured in was dying from the drought. And all of this looks healthy.” She frowned, a notion occurring. “Are we near the Woodlands?” If so, she was far from where she should have been. “I seem to recall people on the news complaining about residents and businesses in the Woodlands ignoring the water restrictions.” And she was pretty sure there was a state forest somewhere on the outskirts of it.
The knights stared back at her blankly.
Right. Too many modern words. “Are we near the Woodlands?”
“Woodlands?” The leader glanced around him, then nodded slowly. “Aye.”
It wasn’t much to go on. But it was something. “Can I have my gun back?” she asked, eager to get her things, get moving, and find Josh.
He followed her gaze to the discarded Ruger. “Nay. Your weapon will remain in my keeping for now.”
Frustration coursed through her. “What if Kingsley and Vergoma weren’t alone ? What if there are others out there who were helping them?” Someone had to have moved her here.
“We will dispatch any who choose to attack us.”
Beth gave him a skeptical once-over. “With what—your sword?”
He frowned. “Aye. We are more than capable warriors, all of us.”
Yeah, right. “I’ll take my chances with the gun.”
His scowl deepened. And damned if he didn’t look insulted.
Seriously? Beth threw up her hands, unwilling to waste any more time. “Fine. But if you don’t return it when help arrives, I’ll report it stolen and tell the police you took it.”
She wouldn’t have given up so easily if she didn’t still have a .22 strapped to her ankle. While it didn’t pack much of a punch, it would do in a pinch.
Well, against a single attacker it would, if she hit him in the right places. Thank goodness these men hadn’t turned out to be rapists or murderers. A 6-shot .22 wouldn’t have stopped all four of them unless she managed to hit them all in the head.
The leader bent to retrieve the Ruger.
“You might want to make sure the safety is on before you put that away,” she advised.
He gave the weapon an enigmatic glance.
“The little switch on the side,” she elaborated. “Make sure it’s— Not that one! That’s the trigger!”
At her near-shout, he hastily jerked his finger away from the trigger.
Beth splayed a hand across her chest, covering the heart that threatened to burst from its confines. Stalking toward him, she reached for the 9mm.
He promptly raised it above his head, out of her reach.
“I’m not going to take it,” she snapped. “I just want to make sure you don’t accidentally shoot one of us.”
Muttering something beneath his breath, he let her flick on the safety.
“You act like you’ve never seen a gun before,” she grumbled.