"Easy, darling." Rafe's fingers curled around my wrist, firm and gentle. "You'll be all right. Don't try to talk."
Which was fine by me. Bess Tomlinson's hand kept smoothing my hair back from my forehead, her charms jingling in an oddly comforting fashion. Her hand was very soft and cool. She used Ma Griffe perfume, and that reminded me of the sour-hay smell, the acrid odor of wool and sweat I'd smelled as my assailant was strangling me.
Someone came along the passageway at a run, followed by others moving with equal haste.
"The guy got away, Rafe," a man said, gasping for breath.
"Get a good look at him?" "At his back, yes, but nothing I could swear to." "Was he wearing a cap?" "Huh?"
"Think, man! Was he wearing a cap or a hat?"
"Hell, I didn't see. I was running!"
"Here, move away now. You, too, Rafe!" I stared up at Dr. Bauman's worried face. He was sweating under a patina, of tanning oil. His hands were considerably more gentle with me than they'd been with Lou Marchmount or Bob Wellesley.
"I've been summoned in many ways, but not by a Paul Revere before," he said wryly as he turned my head very carefully from side to side, running fingertips lightly along my neck. "It'll hurt, but can you swallow, Mrs. Clery?"
I could, but the effort brought tears to my eyes. He patted my shoulder.
"No obvious damage to the thorax that I can tell, Rafe, but she's going to have a sore, bruised throat for a few days. Let's get her out of here." He rose, and his shirttails extended down thin hairy legs. As he gestured people out of the way, I realized that he did have on a bathing suit, but the total effect gave me the urge to laugh, which hurt, and the tears just flowed down my cheeks. “Here," the doctor said, "you two muscle boys, give us a hand."
I grabbed for Rafe's hand, and he had me up in his arms before the doctor could finish organizing assistance.
"Here, now, just a moment. What's going on here?" the rasping voice of Sheriff Erskine demanded.
"Someone just tried to strangle Nialla Clery," Bess Tomlinson replied in a disgusted tone. She stepped forward, an arm outstretched to make room for Rafe and me, but the Sheriff blocked the way.
"Now, just a moment. Where are you taking her?"
"Home, you damned fool," Bess answered.
"Not before I hear what happened," Erskine said, taking a stance.
"Out of the way, Bob," Rafe said in that very quiet voice that made Erskine shift his feet.
"Oh, for Christ's sake, Bob," Dr. Bauman exclaimed with exasperation. "Look at her throat? She's been strangled half to death. She damned well can't talk. Bess probably saw more than Mrs. Clery did, anyhow. Fellow grabbed her from behind…"
"Grabbed Mrs. Tomlinson?" the Sheriff asked.
*No, you idiot, Mrs. Clery! She's the one got strangled."
I clung to Rafe, burying my face in his neck.
"I had to use the loo," Bess said in a rapid voice, but she was furious with Erskine. "When I got inside, I heard odd scuffing, and someone choking, so I called out. Some of the kids eat too much junk from that snack truck. I thought someone was sick. Then I heard someone slamming through the other door, and by then I'd seen Nialla."
"And yelled bloody blue murder," a young man spoke up. "I was coming up the road, so I took off after him. Only I thought it was just a purse-snatcher or something. I'd've run faster if I'd known, but God, in this heat…"
"I'm taking Nialla home," Rafe said, and angling my feet past the Sheriff, carried me out of the stable, through the small crowd that had gathered.
"My car's here, Rafe," Bauman said.
"Fine by me," Rafe answered in a grim tone. "Keep your head down, Nialla," he added as he bent to slide into the front seat. It was a big car, so there wasn't much bending necessary.
It was also air-conditioned, for which I was intensely grateful. The cooled air was easier to breathe. I clutched Rafe, knowing a desperation I hadn't felt since the day after Dad had been killed and the police had ruthlessly questioned me, trying to find a motive and suggesting reasons, each more infamous than the last.
Would I ever live normally again? Could I ever be alone without being terrified-even in such a simple act as going to a John?
I felt Rafe's lips on my cheek; then he raised my hand to his mouth, the arm around my shoulders tightening reassuringly. What had he got himself in for when he married me? A lifetime job as a bodyguard?
The way the trees and telephone lines flashed by, the doctor must drive like an acid-head, but there was very little motion to be felt inside the big Lincoln, and the air-conditioning muffled exterior noise.
We were facing the gate in next to no time. The doctor cursed modern technology, and a blast of hot air hit me before the gate was swung open and the doctor had driven us inside. Safe! "Safe behind high gates and dogs?"
The sneering whisper made me squirm in Rafe's arms. He tightened his grip, and I relaxed. I was safe behind high gates and dogs. I was!
There was a minimum of protest from Garry after her initial outburst, but her face was very angry as she and Rafe bundled me into bed. Then the doctor was swabbing my arm, and I tried to protest. Because suddenly I didn't want to be asleep, unconscious, absolutely vulnerable behind high gates and with dogs!
"I'm not leaving this room," Rafe said, holding my free hand.
I started to shake my head, but it hurt. I tried releasing his grip. He mustn't feel he was tied to me. I was safe. I'd make myself believe I was safe, but whatever existed between us would sour if Rafe felt tied to me.
More coherent thought, not that I was thinking straight then, was impossible, for whatever the doctor had pumped into my arm worked with speed.
I woke, my throat parched, my tongue swollen, my neck a band of sore fire. There was a weight across my chest, and another at my feet. I cried out, or rather, a strangled sound left me. There was a grunt in my ear and a prrroww at my feet.
"What's wrong, Nialla?"
The weight across my chest moved, and Rafe propped himself up on his elbow, smoothing hair from my face.
"Thirsty." How he could understand that croak, I don't know. Perhaps it was only logical I'd be thirsty. At any rate, a sliver of ice was popped into my mouth.
"It'll hurt to swallow, love; let the ice melt in your mouth and trickle down your throat." He gently adjusted the pillow under my head so I was higher.
The lump across my feet stirred, and Dice's eyes glowed as he queried me again.
"Damned cat sat and pounded on the living-room window-with his nose, no less-until Garry heard and let him in. How in hell did he know?" Rafe's low voice was rippling with laughter. Another ice sliver was poked through my lips. The first had gone too fast to do any good, but the cool and the wet of the second began to relieve the awful desert of my mouth. Then a cold moist cloth was laid gently on my neck. I exclaimed at the contact, but held it there when Rafe tried to remove it. It felt good after the initial shock.
My eyes were used to the dark now, and I could see Rafe shaking his head, his lips in a grim line.
"Don't try to talk, Nialla. See, Dice? She's all right," he told the cat, who walked up to check anyhow, his cold nose touching my ear. He sniffled at my eyebrow (I never have figured out why my brows fascinate Dice), gave it a lick with his rough tongue, and sat down at my shoulder, purring like some mad motor. I tickled him under the chin, and the purr went up three decibels.
"You approve, sir?" Rafe asked, and snorted when Dice meowed, a raucous noise in the quiet of the room. "Damned cat all but speaks English."
I opened my mouth, but Rafe popped more ice in before I could get throat to work on making a sound.