Ryan was sitting, his shirt pulled up, while Krysty and Jak peered at the gray-feathered arrow that pro-traded from his back. “Only thing I can figure is that Straub’s playing it real smart.”
“How’s that?” Trader had lain down beside his blaster.
“He reckons that our attack was a coincidence. Odds are that we hadn’t met up with Jamie, so we didn’t know about the ransom note. Boy wasn’t with us.”
Rainey was tying the bridles of two of the sec men’s horses to his own saddle horn, ready to lead them back to the ville. Jamie would ride Micah’s animal. “You mean he’s still hoping to get the baron to leave the ville?”
“Remember he doesn’t know that Jamie’s with us and he’s got Dean instead.”
J.B. had allowed Jak to put a tight bandage around his musket wound, and he was flexing the fingers on his right hand, seeing how much movement and control he had in them. “Makes sense. Otherwise we could’ve had those sons of bitches swarming all over us by now.”
Ryan was trying to look back over his shoulder at his own wound. “Best way’s to break it and pull both ends out clean,” he suggested.
Krysty nodded. “It’s nicked the big muscles above your hips, but it hasn’t gone deep enough to risk damaging the kidneys or liver. Just sort of pierced that roll of fat that you claim isn’t even there.”
“Why don’t you” He controlled himself. “Just break it in half and then pull it out, will you? And hold the wisecracks for another time.”
Krysty took the slender shaft in both hands, where it had driven through the flesh, just behind the barbed hunting point. She drew in a slow, deep breath, then cracked it sharply across the middle, breaking it in two.
Ryan gasped at the jar of pain.
“Sorry, lover,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.
“Get on with it.”
She pulled out the section of arrow with the barbed point first, easing it carefully through the bruised and swollen flesh. Ryan bit his lip and kept still and silent, closing his eye and trying to use the meditative skills that Krysty had attempted to teach him.
“It’s out. Just the flight end to go.” She paused to wipe perspiration from her forehead, even though the day had become clammy and cool.
The goose feathers were damp with the misty rain that had started to fall a few minutes earlier. Krysty gripped them firmly and drew out the rest of the broken arrow in a single, smooth movement.
“Done?” Ryan asked, breath hissing from his parted lips. There was a tiny worm of crimson blood creeping down over his chin. “That it?”
The woman dropped the two ends of the bloodied shaft in the dirt. “Over.”
“Thanks, lover.” He kissed her, a gentle brush of the lips that became more urgent as they clung to each other.
“Should go,” Trader said.
JAMIE TRIED SEVERAL TIMES to apologize to Ryan for what had happened.
“Keep telling you. Not your fault, son. We’ll soon be back at your father’s ville. And we can decide what to do to try and pick up the broken pieces.”
“Do you have a plan, Mr. Cawdor?”
“Does a shark shit in the sea? ‘Course.” Ryan paused, longer than he’d intended. ” ‘Course I have a plan.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dean had been tied to the center pole of one of the larger tents when the rescue party arrived.
He’d been trying to do the same mental calculations as Straub, guessing that it would take Jamie until dusk to get back to the ville. At least that long. There would have to be some discussion and planning before Ryan led the assault unit that would sweep that would sweep the brushwooders out of their camp and into the surrounding wasteland.
Dean guessed that Straub would be expecting an attack during the hours of darkness. But he wasn’t sure whether his father might prefer to wait, then come in at them in the misty light of dawn.
What nobody had looked for was a bungled attempt at a raid, only an hour or so after the little boy with the swollen face had gone running east.