Now glancing up for broken branches as well as down for hoof-prints, Lindsey plunged into the woods. His mind raced ahead all the while. Atalanta, fleet-footed as her namesake, would doubtless have reached the stables by now, provided she met with no accident on her way. The arrival of their master’s horse without their master in the saddle would prompt the grooms to send out a party to search for him. On horseback, they would catch Lindsey up with ease, and then he could enlist their services in helping him find Aubrey. And with their assistance, Aubrey would be found without delay.
Yet he couldn’t quite keep from worrying about what Aubrey’s condition might be once he was found.
Lightning strikes aside, horseback-riding was not without its perils, particularly as an inexperienced rider astride an out-of-control steed. Members of Lindsey’s own hunt had snapped their spines riding neck-or-nothing within living memory. Aubrey might fall and break every bone in his body. Or he might fall out of the saddle without falling out of the stirrups, and be dragged along to bash his skull against every rock, root, and tree-trunk in the county. Or, even if he fell without catching his foot in the stirrups or cracking his head open upon impact, he might not roll out of Parsival’s way in time to avoid being trampled underfoot. The number of disasters that could’ve befallen him in the time it took for the storm to pass seemed endless.
Still, Lindsey had found no blood or scraps of clothing or man-sized craters in the earth amongst the broken twigs and hoof-prints that marked Parsival’s passing. Perhaps Aubrey had remained in the saddle after all. Perhaps Lindsey hadn’t given him enough credit as a horseman. Perhaps all his worries were for nought.
The comforting thought had hardly passed through his mind before the sound of thunder again reached his ears.
No, not thunder. Hoofbeats.
Lindsey looked up sharp from the wet leaves just in time to see Parsival dashing towards him.
With an empty saddle.
Lindsey stared in hopeless shock. A panicked whinny from Parsival reminded him of his own danger. He ducked behind the broad trunk of an oak. The gelding dashed past, heedless of his master. Thundering hoofbeats echoed away into the incessant patter of the rain.
If Atalanta returning riderless didn’t prompt the grooms to act, Parsival following close behind her with eyes rolling white and foam flying from his sides ought to spur them. Lindsey tried to take comfort in this as he forced his gaze away from where Parsival had gone and towards the path the gelding had taken to pass him.
Fresher tracks proved easier to follow. Less easy was the knowledge weighing upon Lindsey’s mind, that Aubrey had indeed come unhorsed and now lay alone somewhere in the forest. Even Lindsey’s ebullient optimism couldn’t hope Aubrey had performed an emergency dismount similar to his own. And he had nothing but the noise of rain drizzling down through the leaves overhead to distract him from his fears.
Nothing but the rain, and another, softer sound, barely audible above the constant dripping of water, yet one which, once perceived, pierced Lindsey’s hearing like the scream of a hawk.
The sound of a man calling out, “Who’s there?”
Lindsey bolted upright. The voice—faint, weak, and tremulous though it might be—could only belong to his Aubrey.
“Aubrey?” he called back.
As moments passed without response, he feared he’d imagined the noise. Then, just on the edge of his hearing, came the most welcome sound of all. “Lindsey?”
Lindsey dashed ahead, but halted as he realised the crunching of leaves under his boots quite overpowered any other noise.
“Where are you?” he cried out instead.
He strained his ears for the answer and was rewarded with the reply, “Here. In the clearing. By the fallen log.”
Lindsey glanced around for any of the landmarks Aubrey had named. The trees thinned ahead to the north, and corresponded with the disturbed leaves and branches marking Parsival’s passing. He wasted no time in darting off towards them, leaping over tree-roots and stones in his path.
At last, the trees parted into a clearing ahead, and a fallen log lay within it, beside which Lindsey found a sight which sent his heart flying into his throat—the dark lump of a man crumpled upon the ground.
“Aubrey?” he gasped.
The lump shifted. A pale hand emerged to wave at him like a tattered banner above a parapet.
Lindsey ran.
Aubrey lay half-upright, propped on one arm against the fallen log. His features had gone bone-white and pulled into a grimace, and his gray suit had turned black with muck and rain, but his soft brown eyes focused upon Lindsey’s with determination—and no small measure of relief.
Lindsey fell to his knees and embraced him.
~
Aubrey had never yet seen a more welcome sight than his Lindsey emerging from the woods and dashing to his rescue. The embrace that followed would have felt more welcome still, had it not aggravated his injuries. He tried to stifle his groan of pain. Evidently it didn’t work, for Lindsey broke off the kiss abruptly to look down upon him with deep concern.
“Your head—” he began.
“Haven’t hit it,” Aubrey rushed to reassure him. Every breath felt like a knife in his ribs, yet he spoke on, wanting to banish the worried look from Lindsey’s face. “Nor my back, neither. I tried to roll, like Fletcher told me, but I’m afraid I’m not much of a natural at it. Cracked a few things on the way down. But my head and neck are all right.”
Lindsey looked very doubtful. His hands remained on Aubrey’s face, and one thumb stroked his burnt cheek. The warmth of his palms radiated through Aubrey’s rain-chilled skin. “What happened?”
“Parsival didn’t take kindly to that lightning-strike. He bolted straight off. Did my best to stay on, and managed for a bit, but—” Aubrey shrugged, wincing at the resulting stab of pain through his shoulder and down his collarbone into his ribs. “Once he reached this damned log, he leapt over it and didn’t quite take me with him. I’m just glad I got my boots out of the stirrups before I smashed my skull against it.”
This last phrase had a disturbing effect upon Lindsey, whose face drained of colour as Aubrey spoke.
Aubrey, not wanting to dwell on his failures as a rider, hurried to change the subject. “What happened to you?”
“Much the same. Atalanta spooked, and by the time I’d got her under control, you were gone.”
Lindsey’s voice broke upon the last word, and Aubrey’s heart with it. He hated to have caused so much distress in one he loved so dear.
“Well,” said Aubrey, struggling to find something sufficient to comfort his Lindsey, to make amends. “You’ve found me.”
It sounded lame to his own ears, but nevertheless, his efforts were rewarded with a bark of laughter from Lindsey, a sound as much cathartic relief as genuine joy.
Lindsey quickly stifled himself with a cough and resumed stroking Aubrey’s rain-soaked hair. “Can you stand?”
“I think so, if you give me your arm.”
Lindsey immediately rose and reached down to assist him. Aubrey clasped his proffered arm with both hands and struggled to his feet. He held his breath as he did so, wary of the stabbing pain in his ribs that came with every breath. Despite this, he thought he managed rather well, until he put weight upon his left leg—at which point thunderbolts of agony shot through his ankle to lay him low. He’d have fallen entirely were it not for Lindsey’s support. Lindsey, apparently readied in case Aubrey should collapse, swiftly ducked under Aubrey’s arm and turned himself into a human crutch. The end result must have looked awkward, were there anyone around to see it, given the stark difference in their respective heights. Still, it allowed Aubrey to take the weight off his left leg and stand up. He leaned into Lindsey, who wrapped his arm snugly around him in response. Aubrey appreciated the gesture, though it was, perhaps, a little too snug for his ribcage.
Aubrey winced, sucking in a breath which only made the pain worse. “Not so tight.”
Lindsey loosed his hold, but the furrows of concern in his brow only tightened. “Is your collarbone broken?”
“Ribs,” Aubrey corrected him. “Cracked, not broken.”
Lindsey appeared unconvinced. “We’ll have to call on Dr Pilkington to make sure of that.”
Aubrey didn’t argue, though he well recognised the horrible grinding sensation. It felt the same as it had when he’d cracked his ribs in the Rook Mill explosion. Then, he’d had his burns to distract him from it. Now, his attention flitted freely between ribs and ankle as they scraped and throbbed in turn. He grit his chattering teeth, turned his mind to the strong clasp of Lindsey’s hand on his arm, and leaned into his warm bulk as they limped back to the house together.
~
Chapter Six
As Aubrey and Lindsey reached the road, they met with several of the household staff. Fletcher and the other grooms, along with Charles, had come out on horseback to search for the missing gentlemen. Fletcher caught sight of them first and immediately dismounted, leading his steed over to them and offering the reins to Lindsey.
“Glad to find you safe, sir,” Fletcher blurted out.
It took Aubrey a moment to realise Fletcher had addressed not his employer, but Aubrey himself. Relief had only just begun to rub out the fretful lines in Fletcher’s otherwise youthful features. The revelation that the groom had felt concern not just for Lindsey but for Aubrey as well left Aubrey feeling nothing less than astonished.
“Glad to be found,” Aubrey managed after a moment of stunned silence.
His hacking cough put a stop to any further communication between them. Each cough stabbed through Aubrey’s chest, the cracked ribs flaring with every reverberation. Even after his fit ended, he found it difficult to regather his breath, and the lack of it left him lightheaded—certainly in no position to climb on horseback. As Lindsey likewise refused to leave Aubrey’s side, they were forced to stagger back to the house on foot, with the grooms riding around them like an escort of guards.
Lindsey sent Charles to telegram for Dr Pilkington immediately upon their return to the house. Even so, it took until evening for them to receive an answering telegram, and this only informed them that Dr Pilkington would arrive at the earliest possible hour tomorrow morning.
The hours in between sending for the surgeon and receiving a response passed quietly enough, if not without tension. Lindsey drew another hot bath for Aubrey, insisting it was necessary to warm his chilled bones. Aubrey didn’t argue; he felt he needed it as much for the chill as for the mud splattered over him from head to toe.
“Another suit ruined,” he reflected with some bitterness as Lindsey helped him undress.
Lindsey stopped in the midst of untying Aubrey’s boot and looked up. “If that’s the worst that’s come of this, I’ll be thankful.”
There was something in his tone, not quite sharp, but more insistent than Aubrey was accustomed to hearing from him. Worried, that was it. No matter how Aubrey told him he was fine, cracked ribs and sprained ankle aside. Aubrey, used to harbouring all the anxiety in their relationship, felt uncomfortable at this shift in dynamics. “Sorry. I just—it feels like such a waste.”
Lindsey’s expression softened, and he stood to press a kiss to Aubrey’s temple.
“Worth it,” he whispered, “to have you home safe.”
Aubrey swallowed down the lump in his throat and kissed him back.
Still, Lindsey’s eyes lingered upon Aubrey’s bruises far longer than they’d ever lingered upon his burn scars.
The second bath proved far less seductive than the first. The comfort of the warm water was off-set by the throbbing of Aubrey’s bruises, the grinding of his cracked ribs, and the cough that had settled into his lungs as he lay out in the rain. He tried to suppress it, as not only did each hacking breath bring bolts of agony across his chest, but also deepened the concerned furrows in Lindsey’s brow.
As he left the bath, Aubrey found himself shivering. Lindsey hurried to wrap him in a dressing gown warmed in front of the fire. Even so, Aubrey’s teeth chattered as he leaned into Lindsey and staggered to bed. Bedsheets roasted with a warming-pan helped matters some, and Lindsey tucked additional quilts up over Aubrey’s shoulders. Aubrey thought Lindsey might do still more to warm him up by slipping between the sheets himself, but as he opened his mouth to suggest it, he cut himself off with another hacking cough that cracked through his ribcage like gunshots, laying him low in breathless agonies.
Lindsey measured out a dose of laudanum, and for once, Aubrey didn’t protest taking his medicine.
To help with the bitter taste of the laudanum, Lindsey had beef broth and toast brought up—an invalid’s dinner. Aubrey stayed awake long enough to eat about half his portion. Then exhaustion forced him to push the remainder away. He didn’t fall so much as collapse into sleep, losing consciousness before Lindsey could climb into bed beside him.
Hours later, Aubrey’s own cough jolted him awake like a lightning strike through his ribcage.
In the dark, half-asleep, he fumbled with the laudanum bottle on the nightstand, the finicky dropper and the glass tumbler of water, to dispense a second dose. He held his breath all the while to stop the itch in his throat from turning into another cough and waking Lindsey—until a groan behind him told him he’d already failed.
“What…” Lindsey mumbled, even as Aubrey desperately prayed he’d fall back asleep. Then came the sounds of Lindsey fumbling with the nightstand on his own side of the bed, the drawer rattling open and shut, and the hiss of a struck match flaring to life. The soft glow of candlelight suffused the room, revealing Lindsey’s befuddled expression, and Aubrey’s secret medicinal shame.
Aubrey had never felt more like an opium-eater. “Go back to sleep,” he meant to say, but the moment he let air pass over his vocal chords, his throat contracted, and he lost all words in coughing.
Lindsey set down the candle, reached over Aubrey, and took over dispensing the laudanum, tossing out the water Aubrey had failed with and beginning afresh from the pitcher. Aubrey witnessed less than half his work, his coughing fit forcing his eyes shut. Then he felt Lindsey’s hand settle upon his back and heard a gentle voice bid, “Drink this,” and opened his eyes to find Lindsey looking upon him with an expression equal parts exhaustion and concern, holding the tumbler up to his face.
Aubrey raised a shaking hand to join Lindsey’s in clasping the glass and tipped it down his own ungrateful throat with perhaps more force than advisable for an invalid.
They fell back into bed, but Aubrey could not fall asleep. Every time his eyes fell shut, his sore throat would itch and his lungs convulse, and the resulting stab like a spear in his side would jolt him awake again. In desperation he grabbed a pillow and clutched it to his ribs to absorb even a fraction of the shock that rattled his ribcage with every breath. It helped some, and combined with the laudanum, allowed him eventual sleep.
The next morning found Aubrey’s ankle much better. The swelling had nearly gone, and only a slight limp remained in his gait. His ribs, however, felt as bad as the day before, and the lost sleep didn’t help matters.
Fortunately, Dr Pilkington came on the first train. Aubrey had just finished breakfast—in bed, at Lindsey’s insistence—when Charles announced the return of the family carriage to the drive, and Dr Pilkington came into the sickroom.
After a perfunctory examination of Aubrey’s ankle, Dr Pilkington declared it had merely “rolled,” not sprained and certainly not broken, despite Lindsey’s concerns. Then the stethoscope came out of the black leather bag, and Dr Pilkington warmed it against his palm while Aubrey reluctantly disrobed just enough to allow for an examination of his ribs. Dr Pilkington listened intently to Aubrey’s breathing. Aubrey wondered if his stethoscope allowed him to hear the grinding of the bones as well.
“Hairline fractures,” Dr Pilkington declared as he removed the buds from his ears. “The cough concerns me, but there’s no crackling, which means no pneu
monia as of yet. I’d still like to keep a close watch on your lungs as matters develop. In the meantime, I strongly caution against bed-rest.”
Aubrey, who’d rather expected to hear the exact opposite recommendation, raised his brows.
Lindsey likewise appeared surprised and a great deal more perturbed. “No bed-rest?”
“No bed-rest,” Dr Pilkington confirmed, rolling up his stethoscope and slipping it back into his bag. “If we’re to keep pneumonia out of your lungs, Mr Warren, then you need to continue breathing as normally as you can manage. That’s the danger of broken ribs. Shallow breathing allows for fluid to build up, and pneumonia settles in. So you must make a conscious effort at deep-breathing, at least once per hour. I can recommend laudanum for cough-suppression, and for the pain, but I must insist you get out of bed as much as you can stand, and breathe deep!”
Aubrey, who’d been dreading the prospect of lying about for weeks on end, struggled to withhold his joy at this prescription. “I’ll do my best.”
“See that you do,” replied Dr Pilkington. “I’d like to return to check on your progress at the end of the week. But don’t hesitate to send for me if you feel any worse.”
With that, he stood up to leave. Lindsey rose as well and, with a concerned glance back at Aubrey, showed the doctor out. As they departed, Aubrey caught a snatch of conversation.
“If I might have a word…” came Lindsey’s hushed tones.
The creak of the door falling shut overpowered the rest.
~
Lindsey had hoped Dr Pilkington’s arrival would soothe his own worries along with Aubrey’s wounds. Instead, he found himself more worried than ever.
“Are you sure,” he said in hushed tones as he escorted the surgeon down to the foyer, “there is no cause for concern?”
“No more than usual,” Dr Pilkington replied easily. “Certainly far less than when last I treated him.”
Throw His Heart Over Page 9
