Page 70 of A Rogue to Watch Over Me
A raw laugh escaped his assailant. “He’s right, lass. That’s nothing to worry your pretty head about. Not when Hawk is coming after you. He will see the both of you dead.” His mouth contorted in pain. “Dead and in the ground.”
Amelia looked away, as if she could not bear the sight of the brute. Logan summoned every ounce of control he possessed. The coward who’d dared to attack him from behind needed to give thanks that she was there. If not for that, Logan would’ve taught the lout a damned hard lesson.
But he couldn’t subject Amelia to the sight of more violence.
He would not do that to her.
Later, he’d see to it that the detectives would compel the coward to reveal what he knew of Hawk. When Amelia was safe under his roof, he’d ensure that the bastard was interrogated. One way or another.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Good heavens, what’shappened?” Mrs. Langford rushed to Amelia’s side and took her hand between her warm fingers. “Ye look as if ye’ve seen the devil himself.”
“It’s not so bad as that,” Amelia said. Her uneven voice was not convincing even to her own ears. The sight of a knife-wielding ruffian intent on cold-blooded murder had sickened her. Thank heavens for Logan’s quick reflexes. If he had not dodged the worst of the strike, the coward might have driven the blade into Logan’s back. Might have landed a lethal blow. The very thought of it made her tremble.
Logan joined the women in the front hall, the slightest of smiles curving his mouth as he took in Mrs. Langford’s worried expression. Her gaze had settled on the gaping slash on his sleeve and the tint of blood on the wool of his coat.
“It’s naught to worry yer head over.” Shrugging off the jacket, he glanced at his shoulder. “God knows I’ve had worse.”
Mrs. Langford leaned closer to look at his stained linen shirt. “Who in Hades did this?”
“That is a matter Finn and I will investigate in the morning. For now, the weasel is locked away in a cell. With any luck, he will live through the night.” Logan plowed a hand through his hair. “If Finn was here, I would trust him to guard this place while I paid the cur a visit. But I will not leave you all unprotected. There’s no telling who else is lurking about.”
The thought of ruffians lying in wait twisted Amelia’s nerves into knots. Mr. Hawk, whoever the vile man was, had her in his sights.
And now, Logan was also in danger.
How could Hawk and his accomplices be so foolish as to think she knew the whereabouts of some mysterious treasure? Why, they might as well have expected her to lead them to Merlin’s wand or some other such creation of someone’s imagination.
“I’ll tend yer wound,” Mrs. Langford volunteered, concern in her tired eyes.
Logan shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll pay Doc Stevenson a visit in the morning. He’ll know the best course of action.”
Amelia steeled herself to take another look at his bloodied shirt. When she was a girl, her father had insisted she and Paul receive training in skills he regarded as essential for survival. Proper application of a bandage had ranked high on Papa’s list.
“The bleeding appears to have stopped,” she observed, noting the stain had not spread. “But your wound still needs to be bandaged.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he replied gruffly. “The best medicine for all of us now is sleep.”
*
Sitting on theedge of the feather bed, Amelia brushed her bare toes against the cool floor. Her mind raced, blurring thoughts and memories and fears. Sleep would be elusive, if it came at all.
The moment the would-be assassin’s dagger had sliced into Logan’s arm had been seared into her mind. He’d insisted the injury was minor, but without examining it, she could not becertain. All she knew for sure was that he’d suffered harm because he had acted to protect her.
Someone had her in their sights.
And Logan was paying the price.
The stubborn man intended to tend the injury on his own. She suspected he’d wanted to spare her and the other women in his household from performing the task. Did he think she was too delicate to endure the sight of blood?
Moonlight through the curtains cast shadows against the walls. Try as she might to distract herself with the play of light and dark against the wood paneling, her thoughts kept leading back to Logan. Wrapping the wound without assistance would surely be difficult. Certainly he would benefit from her help.
Giving in to her instincts, she lit the lamp on the bedside table and donned a wrapper over her prim gown. There would be no harm in checking on his well-being. After all, he’d been injured while defending her. Any decent woman would do the same.
She retrieved a small quilted bag from her traveling case, a long-ago gift from her grandmother. In her mind’s eye, she pictured the ever-efficient, ever-cheerful woman with her. Grandmother Beth had insisted one needed to be prepared for any emergency. If she could see Amelia now, shoring up her courage to enter the bedchamber of a man who was not her husband—not even her betrothed—would she be shocked at Amelia’s lack of propriety? Would the smile Amelia had so cherished fade to a frown?
No, she reassured herself. Grandmother Beth would surely have understood. During her lifetime, she’d never shrunk from a challenge. She’d been bold. Rather fierce, actually. She would agree that Amelia could not allow Logan’s wound to go untended. Her grandmother would expect nothing less from her. Caring for the man who’d become her defender was only right.
