“Oh, Derek!” She threw her arms around his shoulders when it was all over.

He was still sitting astride the now dead man, blood flowing down the side of his face and from the wound in his side.

“Och, lass,” he gasped, patting her arm with a bloody hand. “You did well, my love.”

“What did I do?” she asked, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

It was as though she wasn’t in control of her actions. Everything was a haze of terror and blood.

He winced when he tried to raise himself off the dead man’s stomach. “I’m afraid he stuck me deep.”

“I know! I thought I would die when I saw it,” she whispered, looking down at the spreading red patch on his blue tunic, turning the cloth purple. “My love, my love…”

“I’m proud of you,” he murmured, kissing her briefly before grunting from the effort of getting to his feet. He staggered a bit, as though he were dizzy.

She slid an arm around his waist and draped his arm over her shoulders in an effort to help him walk, and he did lean against her as they moved slowly away from the scene of the fight.

“Derek!” Hugh crashed through the trees, his tunic streaked with blood which didn’t appear to be his, as he was unwounded.

In one practiced glance, he sized up the situation and immediately took Margery’s place at his brother’s side. He was much more of a help than she could ever be at that moment.

A thought struck her, sending her darting back to where the dead man waited. It took both hands and all the strength left in her, but she managed to pull the dirk from his chest with a grunt. There was no telling whether the weapon could be linked with the McInnis brothers—she knew nothing of how such things worked—but had the instinctive belief that the fewer clues as to who had killed him, the better things would go for Derek.

When she caught up to them, Hugh was helping Derek sit on a mossy tree trunk. “Get the supplies,” he barked, using the hole already in his brother’s tunic to tear it further until the wound was exposed.

One of his men brought over a bag, which Hugh opened and unpacked with haste.

“Where are the others? MacBride’s men?” Derek asked.

“We took care of them.” That was all the explanation offered, and all that was needed. Hugh called out to another of his men. “Go back to Broc, bring him here. I should have this treated by then. We’ll need to move, get away from this area. And the sooner we’re back at the manor house, the better.”

Margery knelt at Derek’s side. “Can I help?”

“Aye, lass. You can clean that wound on his head.” Hugh nodded to the horses. “Fetch a flask of water.”

She did as she was asked, washing the wound and the side of Derek’s beloved face until most of the blood was cleaned away. The wound itself didn’t seem to be bleeding much anymore—only oozing, and slowly at that—so she felt a measure of confidence.

It was the wound to his side which caused her nauseating panic.

“We have to get you to Sarah, quickly,” Hugh muttered, pressing a wadded-up strip of linen to it. “She’ll know better than I what to do.”

“So tired…”

Margery noted the way Derek’s color had changed, turned gray. She bit her lip to hold back a cry of dismay.

“I know it, brother.” Hugh patted Derek’s knee, exchanging a worried glance with Margery.

“Perhaps we should rest here for now,” she suggested. “To give him time to recover his strength. If he eats and drinks and sleeps—with the rest of us watching him carefully—he may be able to ride by the morning.”

“It’s only late afternoon now,” Hugh muttered, lifting the linen to examine the condition of the wound.

“I know that,” she said, more than a little frustrated. “I cared for my mother for years. She was ill for a very long time. Nothing like this, of course, but I learned that food, drink, and sleep were the three most important things in the world when it came to recovering one’s strength. So long as the wound is clean now, there is nothing more we can do.”

“She’s right about that,” Derek whispered, a faint smile playing along his lips. “A smart lass I chose, is she not?”

“Aye,” Hugh grinned. He looked at Margery. “You’re right. It’s at least another day’s ride to the manor. If we continue now, he might bleed to death.”

She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. “We can’t go now.”

“But we can’t stay here,” Derek murmured, opening his eyes to look at his brother. “We must get clear of this place.”

Margery’s mind raced. “What if your men carried him, while you and Broc and I led the horses? One of the saddle blankets might support his weight—or two, layered together. They could each take a corner and carry him that way. We might be able to walk for an hour, maybe two, before they tire and it becomes too dark to travel any further.”

Hugh nodded. “And they could always take turns with Broc and me, once they were too tired,” he agreed. “All right. That’s what we’ll do.” He had Margery hold the linen pad in place while he wound more around his brother’s waist to secure their makeshift bandage.

Broc arrived minutes later, immediately going to Derek’s side. “They told me you were injured.”

“Aye, but I didn’t get it nearly as badly as that bastard.”

“Good work.” He patted his friend on the back before turning to Margery. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been there to protect you. I heard you handled yourself well.”

She attempted a smile. “Did I? I hardly remember, honestly.”

“You’ll remember in time,” Hugh predicted. “It’ll come back to you in a day or two, in bits and pieces.”

She wasn’t sure she ever wanted that time to come.