Dark Angel by Tracy Grant Page A

risked a glance at Adam. He looked tired and there was a sheen of perspiration on his forehead, but he seemed to have lost none of his confidence. Without speaking, they started back toward her cottage. Emily held on to Caroline's hand, but Caroline knew her daughter was studying Adam with curiosity. Caroline felt a knot of tension coiling in her stomach.
    The streets were quieter now, though the villagers were beginning to venture out. When they neared Adela's cottage, Caroline picked up her skirt and hurried forward. The door flew open before she reached it. "You're all right," Adela exclaimed. "Thank God."
    Caroline hugged her friend in relief. Emily ran toward the Soro children, who were clustered behind their mother. "Mr. Durward made the soldiers go away," she told them. "And he saved Pablo. The soldiers thought he was French, but he's not, is he, Mama?"
    Emily tugged at her mother's skirt. Adela and the children looked at Adam. Caroline turned to him, uncertain how to explain his presence. She sought for some clue in his expression, but his eyes were cloudy. He swayed slightly, as if he could not keep his balance.
    Concerned, Caroline moved toward him, her hand outstretched. Adam took a halting step forward. Then his knees buckled and he collapsed at her feet.
     

Chapter Three
    "Adam!" The name burst unbidden from Caroline's lips as she flung herself down on the hard ground beside him. His eyes were closed, his skin—dear God, why hadn't she noticed how pale he was? As she bent over him and unfastened his coat, the smell of blood came sharp to her nostrils. The bandage had soaked through, staining his shirt and waistcoat a bright crimson.
    "We must get him inside," Adela said, bending down next to Caroline. "Do you think we can lift him?"
    But as Adela spoke, Adam stirred and opened his eyes. "A miscalculation," he said, enunciating carefully. "I thought I'd be all right for another quarter-hour. I think I can walk if you'll help me."
    Caroline slid her arm under him and helped him to sit up, the need for action superseding panic. She was not deceived by his tone. Adam had spoken in just the same way twenty years ago when she found him bruised and bloody after a fight with some of the village boys. He had claimed he could walk then, but he'd collapsed after two steps and she'd had to run to his aunt for help. But now they had Adela to assist them. With the two women supporting him, Adam was able to stager the few, agonizing feet to the shelter of the cottage.
    It was only when they had laid him on the blanket that a wide-eyed Juana had spread on the floor that Caroline knew, from the ache in her arms and the harshness of her breathing, what an effort it had been. Adam collapsed on the blanket and closed his eyes. The children, who had been watching in silence, stared curiously at him.
    Emily tugged at her mother's sleeve. "Is he going to be all right?"
    "We're going to be sure he is," Caroline said with determination. She brushed her fingers against Emily's cheek, then knelt beside Adam and began to undo the buttons on his waistcoat. A flickering pool of yellow light fell across the floor as Adela lit the oil lamp that hung from the ceiling. Adam opened his eyes again. "Hawkins can take care of it," he murmured, his voice slurred.
    "Hawkins isn't here." Caroline pushed back the waistcoat and started on his shirt. "Hold still and don't be an idiot." Adam's skin was damp with perspiration and burning to the touch. It must be over an hour since his fight with Gazin. How much blood had he lost? She unknotted his cravat which he had used to bind the pad to him. The wound no longer seemed to be bleeding, but the shirt and pad clung to his side, matted with dried blood.
    "Here." Adela handed Caroline a stack of cloths and an earthenware bowl filled with water. Caroline moistened a cloth and pressed it against the layers of blood-soaked fabric, her hands steady, her eyes focused on her task. She heard Adela sending the girls