Rowan did not answer. He remained perfectly still in her arms.
Aunt Margery finally reached the bottom of the stairs. When she saw her nephew lying bleeding on the floor, she let out a broken, agonizing sob. She leaned heavily against the wooden banister, clutching her chest, praying silently for his life.
Delaney came down from the wagon. She stood on the courtyard. She did not have her shoes. She stood in her ruined, mud-soaked stockings. Her gray woolen dress was heavy with wet clay, torn at the sleeves, and stained with Rowan's blood. Her hands were scraped and raw from climbing the steep embankment.
She felt completely numb. She was completely eaten alive by a heavy, suffocating guilt.
She stood near the steps, refusing to step further into the beautiful home she felt she had just destroyed. She looked at Ines crying over Rowan. She looked at Aunt Margery weeping.
The terrible memories of the stormy night flooded her mind completely. The same scenario had happened again.
