Giff blinked into eyes suddenly bright with colour instead of the nondescript grey he’d seen before. “Delia…”
She held up a warning finger. “Don’t say a word!”
To his astonishment, she then turned from him and tugged at the voluminous covering of petticoats. Giff recognised Indian muslin in passing but a protest rose up. “What the deuce are you about?”
“I’m going to bind your wound.”
She did not look round, intent on her task. Giff saw a flash of stocking as she grasped the edges of an undergarment, as full in material as the gown she wore. A fretful murmur reached him.
“I wish I had my scissors.”
Then an edge of cotton cloth was in her teeth. He watched with a glow of admiration as she ripped a tear in the fabric with her teeth and then proceeded to lengthen it. With some violence, she tore off a wide strip.
“I need a pad.” Frowning with concentration, she looked round at him. “Give me your neckerchief, Giff.”
He let go the rein with one hand and brought it up, but Delia was before him. Slipping her improvised bandage over her arm, she had her fingers at his throat, undoing the knot that held his large kerchief in place. It was whipped from about his neck.
Then she was leaning down towards his thigh. All too precariously. Giff reached an arm across her. “You’ll fall!”
“Then hold me.”
Giff grabbed her round the waist and felt a degree safer himself. He was beginning to feel dizzy again.
“Can you lift your leg at all?”
He slipped his heel from the stirrup and tried. To his annoyance, the wretched leg felt like lead. But with the toe of his boot on the stirrup, he was able to shift his thigh a trifle. “Just, but not much.”
“That will work. It only needs to be slight so I can get the bandage underneath.”
“You’d do better doing it from the ground.”
She sat up abruptly, giving him another glare. “And how will I mount up again, pray? It’s no use saying you’ll help me because it’s obvious you can’t. Besides, if you fall off, we’ll really be in trouble.”
As if they weren’t in trouble enough! He forced a reluctant grin. “I’m in your hands.”
Delia smiled at him and Giff’s mind went blank.
“Hold me tight.”
An easy order to obey. Tiger was standing quietly, so he was able to use both hands. He tugged her close, dug his right leg into the stirrup for a purchase and set his teeth.
“Ready?”
He nodded, and watched Delia make a pad of his kerchief. Then she leaned down and he could only feel what she was doing, intent on keeping her on the horse. Her leg around the pommel helped, but she was bent almost double as she laid her pad to the wound, causing a sharp pain.
Giff tightened his jaw and closed his eyes, feeling Delia’s fingers as she began to wind the torn cloth around his thigh. He had to grit his teeth each time she made him shift the leg so she could slide the cloth underneath. The tightening band was both agony and relief.
At last he heard Delia’s muffled voice. “Pull me up, Giff!”
He helped her into a sitting posture, his attention on his aching leg.
“It’s not ideal — but it will have to do. At least it’s stopped — the bleeding.”
“It hurts like hell!”
“Well, I’m sorry — but I had to tie it — as tight as I could.”
Delia’s breathless panting and her red face tugged Giff’s attention back. “Speaking of blood, yours has gone to your head. And your hair’s come undone.”