Judith E French by McKennas Bride Page A

Ain’t no more.”
    “Never mind.” She had a little cherry brandy in a flask. It was probably six years old at least, but it would have to do. She’d tear up one of her cotton chemises for bandages and …
    Caitlin glanced back at the boy. Despite his feigned disdain, she could read concern in his eyes. Justice might have a rude tongue, but he was intelligent, and he had nerve. He’d risked his life for Derry, hadn’t he?
    “Hurry,” she said. “If you want to help me do what’s best for Shane, follow my instructions. Otherwise, you’ll just be in the way.”
    The boy walked to Shane’s side and touched his arm. “He ain’t gonna die, is he?” he asked. “I seen a man die one time from a knock on the head. Course his skull was cracked wide open.”
    “Well, Shane’s skull may be a little shaken, but it’s not cracked. And he’s not going to die.”
    “That’s what he said about my mother,” the boy murmured softly. ‘You’re not dyin’ on me,’ McKenna said. But she did. Bled to death in his arms.” He looked up at Caitlin with eyes too old for a child. “Grown-ups lie to kids.”
    “Not this time,” she promised.
    “Swear?”
    “Yes,” she answered with a catch in her throat. “I swear I won’t let Shane die.”

Chapter 7
    “You’re not dying on me.”
    Shane heard the words from far off. They lodged in his mind and kept tumbling like dry brush balls on the open prairie:
not dyin’ on me … not dying
 … He’d said them. He remembered saying them to someone he loved.
    His head ached, and he had to fight to hold his breakfast down, but he knew he wasn’t going to die from a glancing blow to the head. He’d had worse done to him and survived … far worse.
    Shane knew where he was. He knew his own name and what day it was. He even knew who was in the room with him. He could feel the mattress under him and hear what Caity and Justice were saying to each other. He was certain he could get up off the bed if he really wanted to. He could … It was just simpler to lie there in the warm blackness until this spell of weariness passed.
    Caity’s hand felt good on his skin. It had been a long time since anyone had fussed over him. He didn’t want to worry her, but opening his eyes would take more effort than he wanted to give.
    Just a little longer, he told himself. I’ll just rest a little longer.
    The darkness enveloped him, and his surroundings faded, all but the words that kept coming back to haunthim. “You’re not dying on me.” His words, but not his voice. Whose voice?
Not dyin’ …
    Cerise felt so warm in his arms. She couldn’t be dying, not Cerise. Instantly sober, he cradled her against him while her blood ran over his hands and soaked her green satin dancing dress
.
    He couldn’t stop the bleeding. He pressed his palm hard against the wound under her breast, but blood just kept seeping through his fingers, and she kept begging him not to let her die
.
    “I’m scared, Shane. Hold me. Please … hold me. If I die … If I die, I’m going straight to hell. I don’t want to burn in hell. I’m afraid of fire.”
    “You’re not goin’ to die, damn it!” he swore. “I won’t let you.”
    “I’m cold, Irishman. I’m cold. It can’t be hell if I’m cold, can it?”
    “No. No, sweet, it’s not hell.”
    “Hold me. … Hold me.”
    Light flared from a lamp as the door crashed open. A whore screamed, and the hall echoed with angry shouting
.
    “Oh, my God!”
    “It’s Cerise!”
    “McKenna stabbed her!”
    “Somebody get Fat Rose, quick!”
    Cerise sighed in his arms. Her dark, liquid eyes opened wide, and she gazed up into his face. “Justice. Take my boy, Shane. Promise me you’ll—”
    “Promise?” Justice demanded.
    The loud voices retreated into memory. Shane was suddenly conscious of how much his head throbbed and his body ached.
    “Cerise?” Her name formed on his lips, and saying it aloud opened a cavern in his chest he’d