The Unchaste

Out of the Woods

After six successive fits of wrenching nausea, Delilah twisted forth for the seventh time and heaved out the content of her stomach, which was but little water, into the side ditch of the garden by the verandah. When she rose up again, her face was crimson and feverish, her eyes wet and hot, her lips red and fluttering and her hair slick from the gush of adrenal sweat all over her body.

Breathing heavily, Delilah was handed a towel and water, to wash her face and to drink_ by Lord Richard, who had a look of solemn pity on his face, but in his eyes_ there was a contrasting glint of glee. Delilah could not decide if he was more concerned or more amused, but she resented this mismatch vengefully.

"Better?" He raised a brow at her exhausted state and Delilah nodded, panting pathetically.

"He will survive." He assured her about Brent for the third time. "Right side, right lumbar section of abdomen, under the twelfth rib_ you can deposit a bullet there and the man will survive nonetheless, as long as the blood loss is arrested in time. Brent will be fine; Norris is taking that much care of him. Trust me, I know what the worth of every single life is."

Delilah, still unable to speak, gave the titled man a thorough look of hate.

It offended her that he thought she cared about Brent. If Richard Winter had called Brent a 'Wrong Man', Delilah dared not question him why, or how, because though she could not rely on this man himself, she could, and did, have a great faith in his instincts.

Delilah leaned onto the pillar by the steps of the porch, pressing her feverish cheeks onto the cold stone tiles_ jubilating in the cold touch of the hard stone. Her agitated breathing grew more leveled and her spiraling gut stopped sending up dead fishes.

"For someone who has killed sixteen men, you still are quite a neophyte_ sickening so at the sight of blood." He taunted jovially, oddly in a good humor after draining a man_ practically_ of his life. "Tell me, Miss Eves, was that claim a fictional propaganda to establish an impression upon me."

Delilah scowled.

The metallic stench of blood still lingered in the air, foully combined with that of heady gun-powder_ and this was what had turned Delilah's gut. Now utterly empty, she had nothing to throw up, and yet, the smell disgusted her.

She wriggled her feet in her formerly abandoned shoes_ now washed and wet because it had desisted stains of blood on the sole_ and bowing down to tie the laces, Delilah was stopped by Lord Richard's grip on her arm.

"Let me." He lowered himself on his feet and started to tie her laces of her boots in quick maneuvers of his long, graceful fingers. Just the right amount of tug and pull. Knots tethering just the way they should, a bow like wings of dragonflies.

So good. So pretty.

His fingers on her feet.

Cloudily, Delilah also observed that the hem of her dress still had blood edging it.

He rose, unintentionally reminding her once again of how disheartening tall he was. He cleaned his hand with rest of the water from the pail and nodded at her.

"Shall we leave now?"

Delilah swallowed the bad feeling and nodded. She had detained their journey much already. It was a surprise that he had not left her in Norris' custody and left yet. Afterall, everything happening was stationed around him, not her.

He called Norris and headed for the_ Surprise!_ The stable! This place, on all earth, had a sojourn for horses?

A chestnut mount was standing ready there, well kept, fine-looking and saddled presently_ which Norris brought out in the open at the gesture of his master. The sight of it sadly reminded Delilah of Celestine_ the black stallion she had discarded somewhere in the forest.