John remounted and led Atlas away as fast as the fog and the horse’s injuries would allow. Adam turned Zeus about and pulled Persephone close to him.
“John?” Adam asked as they passed him.
“Yes, Yer Grace?”
“If the pack gets aggressive again, you leave Atlas behind and get to safety. Understood?”
John nodded, but Adam couldn’t say with any certainty if the man would actually abandon a horse to save his own skin. He returned the nod and urged Zeus to a faster pace.
“Persephone?” he asked as he negotiated the trees and fog.
She didn’t answer.
“Persephone?” he repeated more urgently. “Are you well?”
“No,” came the sob, tiny and quiet and filled with fear.
Adam tightened his hold on her. Behind him another howl sounded.
Chapter Thirty
“Blast this fog,” Adam muttered, turning Zeus around once more. He’d never been lost in Falstone Forest in his entire life until that moment. He could hardly make out the trees around him, let alone any landmarks that might have told him where he was.
Somewhere in the impenetrable fog, the pack continued to make their presence known. They sounded closer. Zeus all but jerked the reins out of Adam’s hand. He needed a firmer grip on his horse.
“Persephone?” When she didn’t respond, Adam simply continued. “Zeus is going to run off with us if I don’t have a firmer hold on him.” Still no response. If he hadn’t felt her shift now and then, Adam might have wondered if she was even conscious. “I cannot hold on to both of you at the same time.”
“You’re going to leave me here?” Her voice filled with panic.
“Of course not.” How could she even think that? What kind of a monster did she think he was? “You are going to have to hold on to me instead of the other way around.” His frustration and sudden anger entered his tone.
“Don’t yell at me, Adam.”
“I’m not—” He stopped, quieted his tone with some effort, and spoke again. “I am not yelling at you.”
He guided Zeus around a thick tree trunk that suddenly appeared out of the fog in front of them. He pulled Zeus to a stop. Holding the reins with the arm that ran behind Persephone’s back, he awkwardly undid the front buttons of his greatcoat.
“Arms around me, Persephone,” he instructed sharply.
She obeyed immediately. Ignoring the sudden pounding of his heart, Adam buttoned the coat around her. Only one button would fasten and not in the hole it was intended to occupy, but it might help Persephone stay mounted.
“Hold fast,” he said. “If I find the road, we are going to run.”
Adam felt what he thought was a nod buried deep inside his coat. Her arms closed more firmly around him. The position must have been deucedly uncomfortable: sitting sideways, sharing a saddle, and twisting enough to get her arms around his middle. And she was shivering.
“Blast it,” Adam grumbled. Both hands now on the reins, he nudged Zeus into a slow trot.
A grumbling growl stopped their progress in the next moment. Zeus nearly bucked Adam off, though he managed to subdue him. Persephone seemed to be slipping.
“Hold tight.” Adam pulled Zeus around.
A wolf appeared directly in their path, his growls aggressive. Adam hoped it was the only one.
Another member of the pack darted out of the fog and ran alongside Zeus. The shadow of yet another lingered just out of sight. And Persephone still seemed to be losing her grip.
Where the deuce was the road? Adam veered Zeus to the right, catching one of their pursuers off guard and into a retreat. The others weren’t so easily distracted.
“Stay with me, boy,” he muttered to Zeus, feeling the horse grow more jumpy.
His heart raced. He’d never seen the pack so aggressive, but then, he’d never ventured very deep into the forest in the dead of winter. Adam knew precisely what they were doing. Hunting was their natural instinct. Adam, Persephone, and Zeus were the prey.
“I am dizzy, Adam.” Persephone’s voice sounded odd, like she struggled to form the words.
A lightning-split tree appeared to Adam’s left, the charred trunk thick and gnarled. He knew that tree, knew the thinner side pointed toward the front gates of Falstone Castle. Could they really be that close without seeing the walls?
He forced Zeus to a faster canter, easily negotiating his way to where he knew the road would be. They were a quarter mile from home. On the open road they would arrive in minutes.
Around and through trees they wove. “A little further,” he encouraged Zeus.
The instant they reached the road, Zeus went into flight. He obviously knew the way home just as Adam did. He heard snarls at his ankles. He had never seen the pack on the road. What the deuce was going on in Falstone Forest?
Teeth bared, a wolf stood in the middle of the road, not backing down as Zeus approached. Adam couldn’t go for his pistol—Persephone leaned increasingly heavier against his arm. If he took his arm away to aim, she’d likely slip off the saddle entirely.
“Over top, Zeus,” Adam instructed, giving Zeus his head entirely.
He had never been more grateful for a mount he knew could clear any fence put before him. Even with two riders, Zeus flew over his would-be assailant and continued at a full gallop.
Falstone seemed to appear out of nowhere. The fog must have been unprecedentedly thick for something as imposing as Falstone to be undetectable for so long.
They passed through the gate as if running the final leg of the Epsom Derby. Adam reined Zeus in as they reached the inner wall. He looked back. The pack hadn’t followed him inside. At least that barrier hadn’t yet been breached.
“Yer Grace.” One of the undergrooms reached them, confusion written on his face and in his tone.
“Arm the stable staff.” Adam barked out the instruction. “The pack is within a few yards of the castle.”
“Wolves,” the undergroom muttered, face paling.
For a fraction of a moment, Adam considered reminding the man that they were not technically wolves. That might ease his worries. But if the animals were behaving precisely as wolves, the distinction didn’t matter. Adam thought of them that way—he likely always would after his encounter with them.
“Watch for John Handly,” Adam said. “He is on his way—”
John came through the gates at that moment, his own mount and Atlas both running. The horses came to a stop beside Zeus, all three panting and obviously spent.
“Pack was at my heels.” John struggled to catch his breath.
“Ours as well,” Adam said. Both men shifted their eyes to the gate. “I’ve instructed the stable staff to arm themselves, in case the pack enters the walls.”
John pulled his forelock and swiftly dismounted. Three other grooms led the horses away.
Adam handed Persephone down. She could hardly keep her feet. Adam was at her side the next moment and slipped an arm around her waist. John Handly had run to the stables, no doubt to carry out Adam’s instructions.
“I’m so dizzy,” Persephone muttered, leaning heavily against him.
“Can you walk?”
“I think so.”
She managed the rest of the journey. Barton held the door open for them, his face betraying his confusion and concern. Harry arrived in the next moment.
“What the—” Harry stopped what would obviously have been a curse when his eyes settled on Persephone. He need not have censored his words, as Persephone had heard plenty of profanities from Adam during their ride back to Falstone.
“She was unseated,” Adam explained, reaching the bottom of the staircase. “The pack, apparently, has taken to hunting bigger prey.”
“She was mauled by the wolves?” Harry’s eyes grew large.
“Does she look mauled?” Adam snapped. With the danger no longer imminent, his anger and frustration reached the boiling point.
“You really aren’t going to make her climb those stairs, are y
ou?” Harry asked.
His jaw set, shoulders tense, Adam lifted Persephone into his arms and marched her up the stairs. She made not even a squeak of protest.
“Should we send for the apothecary?” Harry asked.
“And have him eaten alive at the castle gates?”
That seemed to drive home the precariousness of the situation. “The pack hasn’t backed off, then?”
Adam shook his head. “I’ve armed the stable staff.”
“’Pon rep!”
“Cut the cant, Harry.” They reached the stairwell leading up to the family wing. “Where’s Mother?”
“Sitting room, I think.”
“Send her to Persephone’s room.”
Harry went directly to comply. Adam felt his arms and legs beginning to give out. He couldn’t remember ever being more completely spent. With an inward sigh of relief, he laid Persephone on her bed. She kept her eyes closed.
Adam sat on the bed beside her, ready to collapse.
“Adam?” he heard Persephone whisper.
He shifted to look down at her. In the brighter light of her room, Adam could see an enormous purple bruise already forming just above her left eye, which had begun to swell shut, and a trickle of blood cut a track across her forehead.
“Are we safe now?” Persephone asked as quietly as before.
“Yes.” As if to contradict him, a howl, closer than any he’d heard within the walls of the castle, sounded at that moment.
Persephone didn’t shudder as Adam expected her to. “I am never going to ride again as long as I live,” she declared feebly.
“I doubt that.” Adam felt himself sag.
“I was afraid no one would find me.”
Adam’s heart skipped a beat. Throughout their ordeal he’d refused to even consider what could have happened to her out there. What if he hadn’t been out, if Persephone hadn’t been found? She would be dead.
Suddenly, he had no more strength. Adam dropped onto the bed, stretched out beside her, greatcoat still hanging around him, damp from the fog. He closed his eyes and drifted into a dreamless, restless sleep.
* * *
“Merciful heavens!”
Adam stirred at the sound, recognizing Mother’s voice.
“They’re not dead, Mother Harriet.” That was Harry.
Adam opened his eyes and looked across the room at them.
“I think Adam hoped you could help see to Persephone. We cannot send for an apothecary or surgeon with the pack still prowling at the gates.”
“Heavens.” Mother swayed a little.
“Help her to a seat, Harry.” Adam pulled himself to a seated position, still a little groggy.
Persephone was holding his hand, tightening her grip every time he moved. Adam’s eyes drifted to her. She was awake, definitely a good sign. Her face had swollen more, the bruise deepening. She looked up at him. No words, just stark need in her eyes.
Adam squeezed her hand and kept it securely in his own. He shifted to sit on the edge of her bed, facing the chair near the door where Harry had deposited Mother. She looked decidedly unwell, pale and fidgeting.
His eyes burned and his head remained cloudy. He’d never had so much difficulty awakening before and after only drifting off for a moment or two. “Harry, will you ring for Persephone’s abigail, please?”
Harry turned to Adam with a look of complete shock, which he quickly shook off, and crossed the room to comply. A few drawn-out blinks and a roll of his shoulders awakened Adam a little further.
“Adam?”
He turned back toward Persephone, shifting so he could face her.
“Can you take my boot off? It feels too tight.”
She’d been limping. How had he forgotten that? A person could break an ankle being thrown from a horse, and, of course, it would swell.
“Which foot?”
“The right foot,” Harry answered.
Adam looked over at him, standing on the right side of Persephone’s bed. He followed Harry’s wide-eyed stare to the bloody, torn mess of her riding habit. Adam jumped to his feet, crossing to where Harry stood.
“A compound break?” Alarm filled Harry’s voice.
Adam shook his head. “She couldn’t have walked on a compound fracture.” Then why all the blood?
He pulled back the tattered hem of Persephone’s riding habit. Blood soaked every layer she wore: boots, stockings, petticoat, riding habit. Bits of rock and wood were embedded in long, deep gouges.
“She needs a surgeon,” Harry said.
“I know,” Adam whispered in reply, feeling entirely inadequate. All she had was him.
Chapter Thirty-One
Persephone’s abigail arrived in the next moment.
“Boiling water,” Adam commanded. “Several cans of it.”
Staring openmouthed at the bloodied mess that was Persephone’s right leg, the abigail managed a nod.
Long, deep cuts ran down her leg, bleeding and swelling. None ran parallel to one another, however, and Adam felt immediate relief. If she had been bitten, there would have been a pattern.
“And the strongest brandy Barton can find,” Adam added, taking another look at the mud and dirt and rocks.
Adam took off his greatcoat, laying it over the back of a nearby chair, and set to unlacing Persephone’s boot. Her leg continued to swell, further tightening the boot. It wouldn’t tug loose.
“Help me, Harry.”
Persephone moaned in pain as both Adam and Harry attempted to pull the boot free.
“You’ll have to cut it,” Harry said.
“Scissors, Persephone,” Adam said. “Do you have scissors in here?”
“Sewing room.” She kept her eyes shut, tears streaming down her face.
“Mother—” But she was sobbing in the corner.
“I’ll get them,” Harry said.
“You don’t even know where the sewing room is. Adam touched Persephone’s face, leaving a streak of blood there as he did. “I’ll be right back.”
She nodded mutely.
“Help Mother to the settee in Persephone’s sitting room, will you, Harry?”
Adam ran to the sewing room next door. Several needleworks in various stages of completion were laid neatly on a table. Adam wiped his bloodstained hands on the sides of his breeches as he looked around the room. The tiny scissors on the table would be no match for leather.
He muttered an oath. The longer this took, the more swollen Persephone’s foot would become, increasing the chances that he would cut her in his attempt to free her foot.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, catching sight of a pair of sheers at the top of a box of fabric scraps.
Adam grabbed them. Harry stood beside Persephone’s bed, holding her hand when Adam returned.
“Mother?
“Lying down,” Harry answered. “Just kept saying she was sorry.”
Adam undressed to his shirtsleeves, needing the freedom of movement.
“Hold her still.” Adam motioned to Persephone’s leg. “I don’t want to accidentally cut her.”
Harry nodded and pinned Persephone’s leg to the mattress with his hands. She cried out at the pain.
“Sorry,” Harry said.
Adam slipped the tip of the silver scissors beneath the taut edge of her boot and cut. An inch at a time he carefully peeled back the leather. Blood had seeped inside, but the wounds did not continue. Her boots had proven something of a shield.
Adam breathed a sigh of relief when her foot finally came free. He hadn’t cut her or hurt her further. A great deal of the pain in her foot and leg would subside just from being freed of the confines of the boot.
“Will you bring over the washbasin, Harry?” Adam heard the weariness return to his voice.
“You do realize that’s the third time you’ve asked me to do something in the past few minutes.” Harry crossed the room to Persephone’s washstand.
“Forgive me, Harry.” Sarcasm dripped from his words as he pulled a wa
shcloth from the table. “Seeing as there is no one else to help, I assumed—”
“I wasn’t complaining about the workload.” Harry set the basin down on the bedside table and poured water from the pitcher. “You just don’t usually ask. You command.”
“You would rather I commanded?” Adam dipped the cloth in the ice-cold water.
“No, actually.”
Was he usually so dictatorial? He was. The realization bothered him. Adam couldn’t say why, but it did. He put the thought out of his mind and set about cleaning as much blood from Persephone’s foot as he could. She winced at the first swipe.
“I am sorry. I know the water is cold. It will be some time before the kitchen can send up hot water.”
Persephone didn’t reply but kept quite still, eyes closed against the pain. Adam continued cleaning. Her ankle was swollen, a sprain at the least, perhaps a slight break. Still she’d walked on it, without complaint, without a single tear. To think he’d once thought her a coward.
“Harry—” Adam stopped the instructions that came immediately to mind. For reasons he had no desire to evaluate, he shifted his words into a request. “Will you see if Mother is in need of anything?”
“Absolutely.” Harry produced something of a smile and left the bedchamber, just as the abigail entered.
“First can of hot water, Your Grace.” She set the can on the table beside the washbasin.
“Empty the cold water, if you will.”
He’d cleaned nearly all the blood off Persephone’s foot, and set himself to doing the same for her ankle. Persephone whimpered almost inaudibly.
“I will try to be gentle,” he said.
Adam sat on the bed, holding her foot in one hand and washing it with the other. The ministrations were oddly calming, reassuring. He hated feeling useless and knew, in that moment, that he was helping. Not just helping in a general sense. Helping her. Somehow that distinction was important to him.
“I can do that, Your Grace.” The abigail apparently expected him to relinquish his duties.
Adam silently shook his head, softly rubbing more blood from her ankle.
“It is not seemly for a duke to be acting as a lady’s maid or a physician, Your Grace.”
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