Forever My Love (Historical Romance) (23 page)

His eyes fell on the American colonel, who was lying on his back with one hand dangling in the water. Suddenly Preston remembered that the man had been shot. Perhaps he was dead.

Preston stood up slowly, his legs trembling from weakness. Dropping to his knees, he crawled to the man and placed the palm of his hand against the colonel's chest, where he detected a faint heartbeat. A quick examination of the wound revealed a bullet had torn through his upper thigh and would have to be removed. Preston realized he had to stop the steady flow of blood, or the man would bleed to death.

He did not yet know why this stranger had risked his life for him, but he would do all he could to save the man. A leather satchel lay beside the American, and he tore it open, hoping it contained something to use as a bandage. He found only a few hard biscuits, dried meat, and a canteen o{ fresh water.

Preston removed his tattered red jacket and looked down at his shirt. It was filthy, but he had to use it for a tourniquet and then a bandage. Pulling out the tail of the shirt, he ripped off the cleanest strip he could find.

The American groaned in pain as Preston wrapped the wound and applied pressure to the tourniquet. He nodded in satisfaction; the bleeding had stopped. But he was apprehensive, knowing that the bullet would have to be removed—and he would be the one to do it.

The cry of a loon echoed down the vast waterway, reminding Preston of the desolation of his new prison.

Suddenly Damon stirred, opened his eyes, and whispered weakly, "Water..."

Preston scampered forward and lifted the canteen to the man's lips, waiting for him to take a drink. "Colonel Routhland, I am going to have to remove that bullet at once. Do you feel up to it?”

Damon rolled to his side and pulled himself up so he could lean against the trunk of a wide cypress tree. "Do what you must," he gritted between clenched teeth, "but do it quickly, because it hurts like hell."

Preston licked his dry lips. "I believe I should confess that I've never done this before."

Damon made a hopeless gesture toward the heavens. "It seems my fate has been intertwined with two inexperienced but well-meaning amateurs—first her, and now you."

Preston paid little heed to the American's comment. "Have you a sharp knife?" he asked.

Damon closed his eyes as a spasm of pain racked his body. "If you will recall, I left my hunting knife sticking in a man who was determined to shoot you."

"Yes. And this bullet was meant for me. I'm grateful to you for what you did."

Damon cursed under his breath as Preston poked at his wound. "If you do that again, Englishman, I'll shoot you myself," he groaned.

"What should I do?" Preston asked. "How can I help you?"

"If you look in my boot, you'll find another knife, though it may be a bit dull. Then you will want to build a fire so you can cauterize the wound once the bullet's been removed."

"Is it safe to light a fire?" Preston inquired. "Suppose Murdock's men see the smoke?"

"No one will be able to detect a fire in this fog," Damon said impatiently.

"I fear the bullet is deep," Preston told him with a sick feeling in his stomach.

"Are you going to help me or talk me to death, Englishman?"

Preston's hands shook as he piled up dry twigs and lit a fire. His gaze then went to the American. "I'm ready."

"Then get on with it."

Preston grasped the knife handle and took a deep breath. He shuddered as the knife touched raw flesh.

Damon clenched his teeth and beads of sweat popped out on his forehead as the blade cut deeper. He glanced upward and tried to concentrate on the ghostlike moss that hung from the tree overhead. But pain seared his thoughts, and everything swirled around, until suddenly he was engulfed in peaceful blackness.

***

Damon awoke and groaned. He felt as if his whole leg were on fire. He struggled forward, trying to rise, but a hand held him down and a clipped English voice spoke to him. "You should rest, Colonel Routhland. You will need to stay off that leg as long as possible."

Damon licked his lips. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"Since last night."

"And it's night again," Damon observed. "The bullet?"

"I removed it. Hope you didn't want to save it. I tossed it away."

Through his pain, Damon saw the fog had cleared, and he swore in annoyance. "Put out that fire, you fool," he said in a weak whisper. "Light can be seen for great distances here in the swamps."

"But you told me to light a fire—"

"I said it could not be seen in the fog. There's no longer any fog to hide the smoke." He sighed wearily. "Aren't you British given any training before you're sent here?"

Preston quickly extinguished the fire, and he glanced at Damon. "Why did you save my life at a risk to your own?"

Damon met the man's questioning gaze. "Because Royal Bradford asked me to help you," he answered simply.

"Royal? How did you come to know her?"

"I happen to be that tiresome young lady's guardian. It seems she came all the way from England to find you, and she had no misgivings about recruiting me to help."

"Ah, so you're Damon Routhland. Of course I should have known, Royal has often spoken of you in glowing terms."

"I might return the compliment, Englishman. According to her, you are a model of all the virtues."

Preston's eyes glowed. "How like Royal to go rushing headlong into danger without weighing the consequences. I once had to rescue her from..." His voice trailed off. "I have never known anyone like her."

"Royal is safely in Savannah," Damon reminded him dryly. "It's you and I who find ourselves in danger."

"Yes," Preston agreed, "but we are both still alive."

"If we don't get shot by Murdock's men, or if I don't get captured by the British, or you by Americans, or if we don't get snake-bit, die of fever, thirst, hunger, or get lost forever in these swamps, we are still alive."

"I am a great believer in fate, Damon—may I call you Damon? You may call me Preston."

"Of course, seeing as we are probably going to die together, I can see no reason why not."

"Are you always such a fatalist?"

Again, Damon felt a weakness wash over him. "Not until lately," he said with a slight smile. "But listen to me, and listen carefully. We both know that I can't walk out of these swamps, but if you will do exactly as I tell you, Preston, you may get out alive."

"I'm listening."

"At first light, follow the rising sun, keeping it over your right shoulder. Then in the afternoon, keep the sun at your back. If you do this, by nightfall you should come to a clearing, and just beyond that is a road. The road is patrolled regularly by your Redcoats. You don't need to worry about finding them—they'll find you."

"I am not going to leave you," Preston said stubbornly.

"Yes, you are. You don't have any choice. You aren't strong enough to carry me, and I sure as hell can't walk out."

A determined light sparkled in Preston's eyes. "We'll go together, or we won't go at all."

Damon leaned back and closed his eyes. "You're a stubborn bastard, Preston Seaton. You'll probably get us both killed."

"Oh, no." Preston laughed. "I have too much to live for. Royal will be waiting for me."

Damon thought of Royal and wished it were he she would be waiting for. "She doesn't even know I located you—how could she be waiting for you?" he said sourly.

"We'll tell her together."

***

Preston staggered through the murky water, feeling as if his muscles were strained to the limit. Damon was leaning heavily on him, and they were making slow progress since Damon was becoming delirious from the fever that ravaged his body.

"Leave me," Damon said weakly. "I am too weary to go on. Why do you torment me?"

"I will not leave you." Preston stopped long enough to uncap the canteen and give Damon a drink. "If I leave you here, you will surely die."

"Let me die, then. Each step is agony. I didn't ask for your help, Englishman."

"You aren't going to die—I won't let you. Royal would never forgive me. We will both get out of here alive."

"Royal," Damon murmured, out of his mind with the high fever. "Beautiful, sad little Royal. I promised her I would not forget... I promised."

Preston glanced up at the crescent moon and judged it to be near dawn. Just ahead he saw the clearing Damon had described. With renewed strength he picked Damon up and half carried, half dragged him out of the swamp.

At last they were on firm ground. Exhausted, his muscles screaming in protest, Preston laid Damon on the cool grass and fell down beside him.

"We made it, Damon," he murmured. "Didn't I tell you we would?"

Damon didn't hear. He was lost in a world of darkness where pain was his only companion.

23

It had been raining incessantly. Preston's lot was miserable as he trudged along in the mud with the weight of Damon Routhland to slow him down.

He heard a noise, so he pulled Damon behind a wide-leaf bush just as a British patrol rode by not ten paces ahead of him. As much as he would have liked to hail them, he had to consider Damon. Since Damon was out of uniform, he would be considered a spy by the British—and that would mean a hanging.

When the troop had passed out of sight, Preston breathed a sigh of relief. With the rain falling on his face, and feeling wretchedly lost, he sat beside Damon wondering what to do next. He knew he had influence and could probably save Damon's life by recounting his daring rescue to a patrol, but he was not willing to take that gamble. If Damon was arrested, Royal would never forgive him.

He hadn't been waiting long when he heard the sound of a wagon rattling down the road. When it was near enough, he stepped in front of it, forcing the driver to draw rein.

"I have a wounded man who needs help," he said to the driver perched on the wagon seat.

The newcomer looked doubtfully at the tattered red uniform. "I ain't a king's man," he admitted, "but I am a Christian, and I'll always be willing to help anyone with troubles."

"The one who needs your help is not a Loyalist. Are you acquainted with Damon Routhland?"

The man stared at Preston long and hard, then quickly nodded. "Well, sure I know Damon. He's one of the finest gentlemen you'll ever meet. But I can't guess how you'd know him."

"Does that matter? He needs your help. He's been wounded. Would you be willing to take him to his home, or perhaps to a doctor you can trust?"

The man looked at Preston suspiciously. The Englishman appeared to be sincere, but one could never tell about them. He secured his team of horses and climbed out of the wagon. "I'll just see Damon for myself."

"I hid him behind those bushes," Preston directed.

"Name's Ezekiel Elman, what's your'n?"

"Names aren't important, Mr. Elman. Come and help me with Mr. Routhland." Lord Preston led Ezekiel to Damon, who was still unconscious.

The old man's face creased in a worried frown, and he dropped down to study Damon. "Yep, that'll be Damon, sure enough. Where's he wounded?"

"In the thigh. You can see the bandage there."

"He appears to be hurt real bad. Wouldn't be good to take him to Swanhouse Plantation, though. I've heard tell your soldiers are always watching for him there—your army would give a whole hell of a lot to get their hands on him." He scratched his head. "Don't know a doctor I'd trust with this man—he's well known to me."

"He needs attention as soon as possible, Mr. Elman. If you can't take him to his home, Perhaps you will take him into Savannah to Miss Royal Bradford's house? She'll see that he is cared for."

"I know the Bradford house. But I didn't know Mistress Royal had come back. We best hide Damon under the hay, so I can sneak him past the patrols."

After Damon was aboard the wagon, Ezekiel turned to Preston. "Why's it that you're willing to help one of us?"

Preston shuddered when he remembered how close he had come to death. "Damon Routhland saved my life. I'm merely repaying him."

Ezekiel nodded, as if that were enough reason. "Will you be needing a ride into Savannah yourself?"

"Yes, I would appreciate that."

"Hop on, then. Savannah is just a few miles around that next bend."

Ezekiel urged his team into a trot. They had gone only a short distance when another patrol approached from behind them. "We might be in for trouble," the old man observed. "I sure wouldn't want them to find Damon."

"Say nothing about your passenger," Preston whispered hurriedly. "Let me do all the talking."

When the patrol drew even with them, a British sergeant waved for Ezekiel to halt. When he saw the tattered uniform of a British colonel, the well-trained sergeant saluted. "Begging your pardon, sir, but you look like you could use our assistance."

Preston gave Ezekiel a warning glance. "Indeed I can, Sergeant. Take me to your commander at once."

"Yes, sir. You can have my mount, sir, and I'll ride double with Corporal Redbum."

Preston mounted the horse, then nodded to Ezekiel. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Elman." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Tell Miss Bradford the bullet has been removed."

The old man watched the English patrol ride away. Then, worried about Damon, he whipped his horses forward.

***

It had stopped raining, so in order to avoid the mud, Royal moved gingerly through the kitchen garden, stepping across a neat row of vegetables. She was restless, and time lay heavy on her hands.

She sat down beneath a mulberry tree, trying to free her mind of troubled thoughts. For so long she had considered her fellow countrymen as rebellious and disloyal. Now, some of the incidents she had witnessed made her blood boil, and her loyalty to the land of her birth flamed to life.

Only yesterday she and Tobias had gone to the market. When they had made their purchases and were ready to leave, three British soldiers had blocked their way. One of them unsheathed his saber and placed the point at poor Tobias's throat.

"Be you Loyalist or rebel?" the man had asked before he grinned at his two companions. When he received only silence from Tobias, the man turned his sword on Royal. "How about you, pretty mistress, be you the king's woman, or do you support the rebels?"

Royal had become so enraged that she pushed the saber aside and turned on the soldiers. "Have you no one other than defenseless citizens to intimidate? Must you vent your strength on my servant and me? Surely you soldiers can find more worthy opponents on whom to practice your tomfoolery."

At least the soldiers had had the good grace to look ashamed, and they had sauntered away without a backward glance.

It had not been their harassment she had minded so much. It was the fact that they had arrogantly displayed an air of superiority over her and Tobias. British soldiers had no right to be here in Savannah. This was not their country—it was hers!

Tobias had told her of other incidents where citizens had been harassed on the streets by the occupying forces. Royal was torn between two loyalties, and it was becoming an agonizing burden for her. She remembered Damon telling her she would one day have to come off her fence and choose sides, but she could not—not yet, anyway.

Royal bent down to pull a weed from the garden while her thoughts tumbled over one another. She owed her loyalty to Preston; after all, if he was found, he would need her. She tried not to think of him locked in a cell in some dark prison or perhaps worse. The uncertainty of not knowing where he was tormented her.

She heard someone come out the back door and pushed her troubled thoughts aside. When she saw Alba hurrying toward her and noticed the worried frown on her face, Royal felt a prickle of fear. Something was wrong!

"You'd better come at once, Miss Royal. A man just brought Colonel Routhland in, and he's in a bad way. He says the colonel was shot. I put him in the front bedroom."

With her heart pounding in fear, Royal raced into the house and up the stairs. When she reached the bedroom she found Tobias bent over a motionless form on the bed. Woodenly she moved forward and saw it was indeed Damon, though it took her a moment to recognize him.

His face was almost as white as the pillow he lay against. His hair was matted with mud, and it was apparent he had not shaved in days.

"Where was he wounded, Tobias?"

"In the leg, Miss Royal. The bandages are filthy and soaked with blood, and that's not good."

"How bad is it?" she asked in a trembling voice.

"I can't tell yet. I have removed his wet clothing, but I haven't examined the wound," Tobias told her, pulling the covers across Damon's chest. "It's strange that he was dressed in buckskins."

She could hardly breathe from the pain of seeing Damon so badly hurt. Softly she laid her hand against his forehead, finding it hot to the touch. "Tobias, you must go for Dr. Habersham at once. The wound is most likely infected."

Tobias was thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. "Old Doc Habersham, who treated your papa, is the king's man, Miss Royal. We can't trust him not to turn Mr. Routhland over to the British. All the others with medical training have gone off to join the army."

"Then what shall we do? If Damon doesn't get attention, he may... die."

"Any help he's to get must come from us, Miss Royal. Otherwise Mr. Routhland might end up in an English prison. He's in no condition to survive imprisonment."

Royal stroked Damon's dark hair. "What could have happened to him, Tobias?"

"Mr. Elman, who brought Mr. Routhland here, said he was shot. And here's the part I don't understand. The man said that some Englishman told him to bring Mr. Routhland to you."

"How can that be?"

"I can't guess, Miss Royal."

Royal watched as Damon took a ragged breath. "Hurry and fetch Alba," she instructed. "She'll know what to do."

Tobias moved hurriedly to the door. "Don't fret none, Miss Royal. Men like Mr. Routhland are hard to kill. He'll come through this right enough."

When Royal was alone with Damon, she bent forward to touch her cheek to his. "Dearest, what has someone done to you?" Tears blinded her, and she wiped them away. "I will not let you die!" she vowed. "Do you hear me—I will not let you leave me!"

She heard Alba at the door, and she stepped back as the housekeeper poured steaming water into a wash basin. "You'd best go out, Miss Royal. I have to wash him and clean his wound." She took in a deep breath. "Tobias was told that the bullet had been removed, so we don't have to worry about that."

Royal shook her head stubbornly. "I will not leave him. I... will help you."

Alba looked doubtful. "Here," she said at last, "you can hold the lamp for me and stay just until I clean the wound. An unmarried girl has no business being in a gentleman's sickroom."

Royal's hand trembled as she watched Alba pull the coverlet up to Damon's thigh. She gasped when the housekeeper removed the bandage, for the skin around the wound was swollen and red.

"Oh, Alba, what happened to him? What kind of a monster did this?"

The housekeeper bent over Damon to inspect the wound. "I don't know, Miss Royal, but we'll do all we can for him."

Alba dipped a clean cloth in the hot water and began to cleanse the wound. She looked at her husband with inquiring eyes. "We have nothing to apply to the wound. What shall we do?"

Tobias looked pensive for a moment. "I brought along a bottle of Mr. Bradford's rum. It'll have to do."

When at last all was done to make the patient comfortable, Royal agreed to leave the room so Alba could bathe him. Unwilling to be far from Damon, however, she lingered in the hallway outside the bedroom. An hour passed before Alba joined her there.

"How is my guardian?" Royal asked with apprehension.

"I fear he's the same. I'm not a doctor, but I don't believe it looks good. You saw the wound. It's badly infected."

When Alba saw the stricken look on Royal's face, she softened her abrupt manner. "But there now, you're not to worry. I watched you endure your father's illness with bravery. You must do the same now."

Royal choked back her tears. "I cannot stand to watch someone else I love die," she cried, not realizing she had admitted her love for Damon.

"We will do all we can to make him comfortable."

Tobias came out of Damon's bedroom and stood beside his wife. "Do you understand the danger of having Mr. Routhland under your roof, Miss Royal? If the enemy finds him here, I can't guess what they'll to you." He stared at her. "Are you willing to take that risk?"

"I'm not concerned with the danger to me, Tobias. I'm only concerned about Damon."

Tobias grinned with satisfaction. "That's how I knew you'd feel."

"I want to see him now," Royal said, moving to the door.

"Before you go in," Alba intervened, "I want to tell you that Mr. Routhland will need constant care. Tobias and I are prepared to take turns staying with him." She looked at Royal with doubt. "Of course, you are an unmarried young lady, and you must consider what people would say if they found out that you were in Mr. Routhland's bedroom."

Royal met Alba's inquiring gaze. "Do you think I care about what people think/" she asked. "My main concern is not my reputation, but how to keep the British from finding out my guardian is here and to nurse him back to health."

Respect was reflected in Tobias's eyes. He nodded and moved down the hall. He turned at the stairwell. "We'll have to take care not to arouse suspicion. In these days, one never knows who to trust. It'll be safer for Mr. Routhland if we tell no one he's here."

"Has Savannah become a town where neighbors turn on neighbors?"

"I've heard of such things happening. But between the three of us, it'll remain our secret," Alba said.

Royal turned a troubled gaze to the bedroom door. If it were possible, she would pull Damon back from the jaws of death—she just had to!