Beguiled Read Free

take away her pony. Banishing her to the country wouldn’t work; he’d tried that before and paid the heavy price of a year’s estrangement.
    Again fabric ripped. “Here,” said Juliet, handing Cathcart a length of white petticoat. “God bless you, Lord Edward.”
    Cathcart took the cloth and pressed it over the wound, but his intense gaze never left Agnes. “Breathe slowly,” he told her. “The pain will ebb. Do you understand? Will you trust me?”
    She nodded, her nostrils flaring, her lips pursed in agony.
    Lachlan pierced him with an accusing gaze. “Was the assassin sent for you?”
    â€œHold this.” Cathcart shoved the now bloodied wad of satin into Lachlan’s hand. “I’ll carry her.” He scooped her into his arms and turned to the cleric. “Lead the way to your chamber. I’ll need boiled water, and send someone to the Dragoon Inn for my medical bag.”
    The clergyman whirled, surplice fluttering, and headed for the side of the chapel.
    â€œLady Juliet,” said Cathcart. “I’ll need plenty of bandages. And bring a clean sleeping gown.”
    To Agnes Juliet said, “Shall I send them with Auntie Loo?”
    Resting in the cradle of Cathcart’s arms, Agnes struggled to keep her eyes open. “Yes. Show her the arrow. I need her.”
    To his children Cathcart said, “Christopher, Hannah, you can come out now. You’re to go with Lady Juliet and mind yourselves.”
    They scrambled from beneath the pew. “You’ll make her all better, will you not, Papa?” his son pleaded, a protective arm around his bewildered sister.
    â€œâ€Šâ€™S’bad,” the girl said.
    â€œWill you make her better?” his son demanded.
    â€œOf course I will.” He started to move away, but stopped. “Come, MacKenzie, and keep the pressure on that wound.”
    Taking orders was foreign to Lachlan. The sight of another man tending his daughter . . . ripping her clothing . . . holding her possessively robbed him of logic. “Give her to me.”
    â€œNo.” Slightly taller than Lachlan and slimmer in his youth, Edward Napier no longer appeared the esteemed scholar and respected statesman; field general better suited his manner. “She grows weaker by the moment.”
    Cathcart spoke the truth, but Lachlan balked.
    â€œPlease, Papa,” Agnes begged. “There isn’t much time.”
    Her eyes were now glassy. Lachlan’s fear returned with a vengeance. “Time? What do you mean?”
    Perspiration dotted her brow, and her head lolled against Cathcart’s shoulder. On a sigh, she said, “The arrow was poisoned.”
    *  *  *
    As he cleansed the star-shaped wound that marred Agnes MacKenzie’s shoulder, Edward Napier struggled between anger and gratitude. The duke’s daughter was either the bravest or the most foolhardy woman he’d ever met.
    But she had saved his life—at the risk of her own.
    The unselfishness of her act moved him in a way that was new. Gratitude didn’t begin to describe his feelings; he’d need time alone to explore what was in his heart. The event was too vivid: the sight of the crossbow aimed at him; the fear for his children; the image of Agnes MacKenzie moving into the path of danger, the horrible sound of the quarrel bringing her down.
    â€œAre you well, Lord Edward?” she asked. “You look as if you might swoon.”
    He banished the memory but knew it was only temporary, for he’d never forget her bravery, her generosity.
    â€œNever mind about me.” His voice caught, and he had to clear his throat. “How are you feeling?”
    Fatigue rimmed her warm brown eyes, and her skin was as pale as snow on ice. She gave him a valiant smile. “I’ve been better. But your children are safe now.”
    He had spoken briefly with her the evening before, and Edward