He turned and dashed back into the hut, his pistols still clenched tightly in his hands. His jaw was grinding spasmodically in fear. He had had only a brief glimpse of Cassie, sprawled naked upon her back, unmoving.
He fell to his knees, his hands groping for the overturned lamp. Frantically, he pulled it upright and lit it with flint and steel from the tinderbox that lay next to it.
The earl strode across the creaking floor and dropped to his knees beside her. “Oh, Cassie, no,” he whispered.
Her face was turned away from him. Her eyes were open, but she did not respond, locked so deeply into her own horror that she was scarce aware of his presence.
She felt a large hand, a man’s hand, lightly stroke her cheek and shoulder. Her horror turned itself outward. “No, please—no,” she whimpered, and tried to draw away.
“Cassandra, don’t be afraid, there is nothing more to fear.”
His fingers lightly stroked her face, smoothed back her tangled hair. Slowly, she turned her head to face him.
She saw her own pain mirrored in his eyes. “I did not think you would find us.” It hurt so to speak. She ran her tongue over her swollen lips. “Joseph, please, you must help Joseph.”
The earl saw movement from the corner of his eye and whipped about. Scargill stood in the open doorway, a pistol in his hand.
“My lord.” He lowered the pistol slowly to his side as he took in the sight of Cassie, of Joseph lying slumped on his belly, and a second man lying in a pool of blood. “Paolo and Marco are outside,” he said feverishly. “We couldn’t keep up with yer stallion.”
“I know, Scargill,” the earl said firmly, seeing shock beginning to cloud Scargill’s ruddy features. “Pay no attention to that scum. See to Joseph, quickly.”
Scargill raised his head a few moments later, his eyes filled with impotent anger. “He’s bad, my lord.”
The earl closed his eyes to blot out his fury. His voice rang out in the silence of the small room, harshly cold. “Send Paolo back to fetch a surgeon to the villa. You and Sordello’s father”—he could not seem to remember his head gardener’s name—“take Joseph back. I will see to Cassandra. As to him”—he jerked his head toward the dead man—“we will fetch him later.”
When the earl turned back to Cassie, her eyes were closed.
“Cassie!” he shouted at her. Her thick eyelashes fluttered open, and she looked at him, vaguely questioning.
“I must take you home now.”
Gently, he slipped his hand beneath her back. She moaned at his touch. His hand froze when he saw a dark bruise over her ribs, beneath her breast. He carefully eased his hand away. Although there was a dank chill inside the cabin, he felt beads of perspiration form on his forehead.
“Cara, I am sorry, but I must hurt you.” He thought of the relentless miles back down the dark, winding road to the villa, and his hands shook.
“I cannot hurt any more than I do now,” she whispered. She was wrong. Suddenly, the muscles in her belly drew taut as a bowstring, then contracted ferociously. She screamed, all vestige of control stripped from her. Her legs, as if from instinct, drew up, and her hands clutched wildly at her belly. She focused her eyes, deep pools of pain, dumbly upon the earl’s set face.
“The babe,” she whispered, and then she was lost to him. He felt the fierce power of the contractions as he gently probed her belly beneath her clawing fingers. Her screams burned into his mind, and he felt completely helpless. There was nothing he could do to help her, or the child.
Cassie was scarce aware that her body was being covered and that she was being carried. Dimly, she heard him speaking to her, but his words were meaningless sounds. She tried to bring up her legs, hoping to lessen the wrenching pain, but she could not. She struck at the arms that held her, clawing for her release. She became aware of a moaning, jagged scream, and understood vaguely that it came from her mouth. It was odd, she thought, dazed by a sudden absence of pain, that she had screamed so. She never screamed. She tasted blood and salty tears. Then she tasted nothing.