22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
T he crack of a pistol sounded in the stillness. Reid’s head snapped up as he waited to hear another shot.
Who would fire a pistol in the early morning hours?
He set aside the iron poker as the fire popped and sizzled. He hadn’t bothered to let it die the night before and wouldn’t let it die now. He’d been up all night guarding the storage room, where he’d put Robert on arrest, while keeping an eye on the men and women in the stockade. It had been a long, arduous night, and he had no desire to live through another like it. His head pounded, his eyes were gritty, and his stomach growled from having missed supper the night before.
But there would probably be more Indians at the post in the coming hours, and he’d need to be ready for them.
Most of the men were asleep in the yard, though he couldn’t account for all of them. Had one of them left the stockade and gotten into a brawl with one of the Indians?
Reid left the trading room, his pulse ticking a steady rhythm as he surveyed the stockade.
Nothing moved in the front yard, but the sound of the pistol had come from behind the post.
Jogging to the back of the row house, he scanned the area but could find nothing amiss.
Jean-Paul’s door opened just a crack, and Noemie looked out at Reid. She was still in her nightgown, but her eyes were wide. “Did you hear that?” she asked.
“Aye.” Reid continued toward the back gate, his hand on the pistol he wore in a holster at his side. He had kept it ready all night but thought the need for it had passed.
He silently stepped around Jean-Paul’s cabin, his senses on high alert. He had no wish to come between two people who might be fighting with pistols—but he couldn’t let this argument pass without trying to intervene.
A body lay on the ground near the gate. Alarmed, Reid rushed to his side—and noticed the auburn curls.
The earth shifted beneath his feet as he dropped to his knees, shaking his head. “It canna be.”
But then he saw her face, and there was no denying it was Charlotte.
Terror squeezed the breath from his lungs as he lifted her head in his shaking hands. He’d never known such fear or dread in all his life. Blood soaked the right side of her brown coat, and her eyes were closed.
“No,” Reid said on a breathless prayer. “Please, God.” He put his trembling fingers to her neck, feeling for a pulse, and almost collapsed with relief. She was still alive.
Without thinking, he lifted her into his arms and ran through the fort, his feet sliding in the thick mud. Rushing past Jean-Paul’s cabin, he called out to Noemie.
She opened the door again, her eyes growing wide at the sight of Charlotte’s limp body in his arms.
“Hurry! Charlie’s been shot!” Reid didn’t wait for Noemie to respond but continued around the row house, his heart crying out to God.
Noemie followed him and opened the door to allow Reid into his living quarters. The children were still asleep on the fur, so Reid nodded toward the door. “Charlie’s room.”
Noemie opened the other door, and Reid pushed past her to lay Charlotte on her bed.
“Stoke the fire and set some water to boil,” Reid commanded Noemie. “Get as many clean rags as you can find and bring my medicine chest.”
Noemie left the room to do as he bid.
Reid took off Charlotte’s coat, though it wasn’t easy. She was unconscious and felt like a rag doll in his hands.
“Dinna die, lass,” he frantically whispered into her ear as he pulled her close to his chest to remove her arm from a sleeve, wishing he could give her his strength. “I willna let you die.”
He prayed in fervent, broken, desperate words as he gently laid her down, cradling her head in his hand. When he pulled his hand away, there was blood from the back of her head.
Had she hit her head when she fell?
There was a hole in Charlotte’s shirt on the right shoulder at the center of all the blood. He put his finger into the hole and pulled, ripping the fabric away from the wound—but then he remembered her binding and forced himself to stop tearing. He could still clean her wound and keep her shirt on. He only needed to tear the fabric away from her shoulder.
Noemie rushed into the room with a handful of rags. “We must stop the bleeding.”
Reid grabbed several and pressed them against the wounds.
Blood stained the blanket beneath Charlotte’s shoulder. He felt behind her back, where her skin was sticky with blood.
“I think the bullet passed through. Hand me another rag.” He took the rag Noemie handed him and pressed it to the back of Charlotte’s shoulder as well.
“What happened?” Noemie’s shirt was untucked, and her silver-streaked hair was in disarray as she knelt across from Reid.
“I dinna ken.” Reid knelt awkwardly beside Charlotte, both hands pressed against her shoulder.
“Who would hurt Mr. Crawford?”
None of it mattered right now. Reid just needed to get Charlotte better. Once she was well, he could ask her what had happened, but until then, he would focus his energy on taking care of her.
“He hit his head,” Reid told Noemie. “We need to stop the bleeding there too.”
Noemie rolled up her sleeves. “We’ll get Mr. Crawford well again. You do not need to worry.”
Reid hoped she was right—but dread filled his gut, and he felt nauseous from the fear.
He continued to pray. It was the only thing that would save Charlotte.
Charlotte forced herself to open her eyes. The light hurt, so she closed them again. She tried to move, but pain shot through her shoulder and head. What happened? Was she having a bad dream?
The pain suggested otherwise.
As she took a deep breath, fragments of images floated through her mind. Lying on the fur with the Indian children. Daanis entering the room. Following her to the back gate.
She tried to open her eyes again, and this time she was able to focus on the person in her room.
Daanis.
She sat on the chair beside Charlotte, her hands clasped in her lap. “You’re awake.”
Charlotte closed her eyes again. The gate. Lachlan.
Lachlan.
Charlotte’s eyes flew open as everything returned to her with blazing clarity.
Lachlan had shot Charlotte because she’d caught him and Daanis—but what had Daanis been doing?
Panic clawed at Charlotte. Where was Reid? Why would he leave her alone with Daanis?
Daanis stood and took a cup of water off the table by Charlotte’s bed. “You’re probably thirsty.”
She put her arm behind Charlotte’s back and helped her take a sip of water.
The liquid felt wonderful sliding down her throat, but the pain from moving almost made her pass out again. Her forehead broke out in a sweat, and she had a hard time not whimpering.
Charlotte tried to look past Daanis to the closed door. Had Reid gone after Lachlan? Did he know Daanis had been there too?
“Mr. McCoy is in the trading room.” Daanis took a seat again.
Relief flooded Charlotte and she felt weak. Reid was still here.
“How long have I been like this?” Charlotte asked, her voice hoarse.
“Three days.”
Three days? She briefly closed her eyes again.
“Before you go back to sleep, we need to speak.” Daanis leaned forward. “I haven’t gone back to my village since you were shot, waiting for you to wake up.”
Charlotte wished Reid was in the room. She didn’t want to talk to Daanis alone.
“I know you saw us,” Daanis said, swallowing hard. “We didn’t know you would be there. It was a mistake. He wouldn’t hurt you on purpose.”
As Daanis spoke, Charlotte wondered if she was trying to convince herself just as much as she was trying to convince Charlotte.
Charlotte tried not to show her fear. “Does Reid know?”
“No. And he mustn’t know.”
Charlotte wanted to shout for Reid to come. She needed to tell him the truth. That Daanis had snuck into the row house, then met Lachlan and handed him something in the woods.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Daanis walked to the end of Charlotte’s bed. She put her hands on the footboard, as if for support. “But you mustn’t tell him.”
“I will—as soon as I can get him—”
“I know who you are—or at least, what you are.”
Charlotte’s breath stilled. She wanted to sit up and face this woman, but she could never sit up on her own.
“Mr. McCoy tried to see to your every need.” She crossed her arms. “But I started to get suspicious when he wouldn’t let Noemie or me alone with you, so I came in here when he passed out, exhausted. It didn’t take me long to discover the truth. At least I know why he wouldn’t have me.”
Panic raced through Charlotte. She had to tell Reid that Daanis knew about her. Had she already told the others? Had she alerted Reid’s superiors? Were they already on their way to apprehend him?
“Don’t worry.” She dropped her arms to her sides as empathy filled her voice. “I won’t tell anyone.”
Charlotte frowned. “Why not?”
“Because you won’t tell anyone what you saw in the woods—or who shot you.”
Charlotte stared at Daanis, her pulse ticking.
“Do you understand?” Daanis asked.
She did understand. Completely. “Yes.”
“Good.” Daanis looked Charlotte over from head to toe, a frown marring her face. “Does it please you to dress like a man?”
Tears gathered in Charlotte’s eyes and slipped down her cheeks. “No.”
“Then you must love him very much.”
Charlotte didn’t bother to wipe the tears away as she whispered, “I do.” But saying it out loud made it feel more real. More pressing.
And more impossible.
To protect Reid from losing his job, she could not tell him the truth.
There had to be another way.