Tamar’s mouth fell open. Ulysses had, indeed, found the one weak spot in the snake charmer’s arsenal.
“I will have my vengeance,” she hissed.
Ulysses shrugged and glanced at Harry. “Lock her in one of the rooms,” he said. “She will not try to escape as long as her snakes are in custody.”
Shaking his head sadly, Harry hustled Tamar out of Niall’s room. Caitlin checked to make sure that Niall was still breathing steadily and touched Ulysses’s shoulder.
“You and Harry must go right away,” she said. “Morgan and Athena will need all the help they can get if he’s made it back to Denver.”
“And you?”
She ached for the sadness in his eyes. “I must remain here with Niall until he wakes up.”
“Yes.” Ulysses frowned at Niall. “You may not have to wait too long. I believe he is stirring. I would definitely prefer to be well gone before he regains full consciousness.”
Caitlin gazed at Niall’s face and saw the faint twitch of his lips, the flutter of an eyelid. Thank the ancient ones.
Harry appeared at the door. “It’s done,” he said. “I think you were right about the snakes, Uly. But how shall we get to Denver? The wagons are far too slow.”
“There are several more practical conveyances in the carriage house. Mr. Munroe is in no position to object if we borrow one, and the horses to draw it. We will enlist our fellow troupers to create a distraction in the event that any of the ranch laborers attempt to interfere.”
Harry nodded. Caitlin left Niall’s side long enough to hug the old man and plant a kiss on the top of Ulysses’s golden curls.
“Good luck,” she said. “Do everything you can to help Morgan and Athena. They were meant to be together.”
“We will find a way,” Harry said. He nodded at Niall. “Firefly, are you sure?”
“Yes.” She smiled wryly. “But the mad are always certain.”
Ulysses took her hand and placed the pistol in it. “Keep this, just in case.”
She wanted nothing more than to fling it across the room, but she placed it on the bed instead. “You had better go”
With a final, worried look, Harry followed Ulysses from the room.
Caitlin took up her vigil at Niall’s side, noting each sign of returning consciousness. They came with increasing frequency, and at last he opened his eyes, blinked, and tried to focus on her face.
“What?” he murmured. His hand flailed toward his head and the large lump that had formed there. “Caitlin?”
“It’s all right.” She checked the bandage and stroked his cheek. “You must rest.”
“Something is—” He tried to sit up, gasped, and subsided back to the floor. Caitlin tucked the blankets about him, prepared to sit on top of him if necessary.
Fortunately, his body seemed to realize what his will did not. He closed his eyes again and fell into what Caitlin prayed was an ordinary, healing sleep. An hour passed, and then another. He woke and asked for water; she poured from the pitcher and held the glass to his lips. Day became night; he slept fitfully, waking often with vague questions and requests for water. By the time dawn came with its false promise of peace, she knew he would not remain still much longer.
His features frozen in concentration, Niall rose onto his elbows. He felt the lump on his head and met Caitlin’s gaze.
“How?” he asked hoarsely. “Someone… hit me.”
“Yes.” There was no point in lying. “Tamar struck you from behind.”
“Tamar.” He tried to gather his feet under his body and reached out for Caitlin’s support. She helped him rise and cross to the bed, remembering at the last instant to cover the pistol with a corner of the coverlet.
“She was very angry, but she can’t hurt anyone now,” Caitlin said, easing him down. “It was a bad blow. You must be careful, Niall.”
“Holt… might still be alive. I must get to Denver.”
The blow had obviously not dulled his memory in the slightest. “I wish Tamar had managed to knock some sense into that thick skull of yours,” she said. “If you try to ride now, you will suffer for it. I doubt you can even drive a wagon.”