by Cate Dean
“You are a liar—”
He saw guilt and fury flash in her eyes—right before she charged him, swinging her fist.
Spencer didn’t hit women, no matter what. He braced himself for possible impact and ducked her wildly swung fist. She surprised him with a sharp elbow jab—straight into his left side.
With a soundless cry, he dropped the bakery bag and clutched his side, fighting for breath. He wouldn’t be able to dodge her next assault—not when he couldn’t breathe.
Regina stood over him, and he waited for her to punch him, or kick him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her fist, headed for his cheek. She screamed when a figure stepped between them and caught her wrist.
Through the pain, Spencer managed to focus on his savior. Martin held Regina’s arm, talking quietly to her as he led her away from Spencer.
“Spence—don’t move, sweetheart.” Maggie knelt beside him, her hand on his back. “Breathe for me, Spencer. Come on, take a breath.” He managed, his left side throbbing in protest. “That’s great. I’m going to help you sit—you just focus on breathing.”
Her hands supported him, lowering him to the cobbled street. Each breath hurt a little less, and when he felt like there wasn’t a knife stabbing him repeatedly, he carefully lifted his head.
Maggie was watching Regina, and he would have recoiled from the anger in her eyes, if it had been aimed at him. She turned to him, and the anger faded, replaced by concern.
“You had me worried, Spence. Where did she hit you?”
“Left side,” he whispered.
Maggie gently lifted his shirt, and sucked in her breath. “It’s already bruising. I want to take you up to the clinic.”
He wasn’t going to argue; his side hurt enough for him to want a doctor to check him. Nodding, he looked up, and almost let out a groan when Ian Reynolds, the local DI, joined the party.
Ian crouched in front of him. “How are you doing, Spencer?”
“I’ve been—better.”
“I can imagine. Maggie is taking you up to the clinic, yes?” She nodded when Ian glanced at her. “I will ask my questions then. Did anyone witness the assault?”
“Martin and I did,” Maggie said. Spencer looked at her, startled. “I wouldn’t normally be at the shop this early, but we were collecting some items for Cragmoor Manor.”
“Ah, yes. The restoration starts soon. I look forward to seeing it.”
“I look forward to returning the manor to its former glory, and giving it back its rightful name.”
“Did you need help with Spencer?”
“The standing part, yes. I can get him up to the clinic.”
Ian gripped Spencer’s right arm and pulled him to his feet. Spencer couldn’t straighten completely, not yet. “I will talk to both of you later. For now, Martin’s statement will be enough to take Regina into—”
“No charges,” Spencer whispered.
Both Ian and Maggie stared at him.
“Spence.” She studied his face, and shook her head. “Are you sure?”
He nodded, swallowing when pain bounced around his skull.
“Very well,” Ian said. “But she will be charged by me for assault. I’ll not have the locals assuming they can attack someone and get away with it.” He glanced at Maggie. “I’ll see you at the clinic.”
“Okay.” She wrapped her arms around Spencer’s waist, careful to avoid touching his throbbing left side. “Slowly, now, Spence. We’re not in a race.”
“Sorry,” he whispered.
“Why are you apologizing? You were the attackee, not the attacker.”
“I might have—provoked it.”
“We can talk about that later. Let’s get you to the clinic, and assess the damage.”
***
Maggie paced the small waiting area of the clinic, while Dr. Smith examined Spencer.
She hadn’t been this angry in a long time. Angry enough to punch something—or someone.
“Calm down—he’s going to be fine.” He had to be; anything else was unacceptable—
“Maggie.”
She whirled at Dr. Smith’s voice. “How is he?”
“Fine, my dear.” Dr. Smith took her hands. “He experienced the classic kidney punch. It can take down even the strongest man. He will be bruised and sore, but he will recover completely.”
“Thank you.” She took a shaky breath, and managed a smile. “Can I see him?”
“You can take him home. He is a bit loopy, from the pain killers. I will send more with him. He does have someone staying with him?”
“He’ll be staying with me and Martin.” Whether he wanted to or not. “I’m going to call Martin, have him bring my car.”
Dr. Smith squeezed her hands before he let go. “He will be ready within the half hour. Breathe, Maggie.”
She did, and watched him head back to the exam area. Once her heart stopped pounding like she had been running the ten minute mile, she pulled out her mobile and tapped in Martin’s number.
“Maggie. How is he, love?”
“Bruised, sore, but he’s going to be okay.” Her voice cracked over the last word, and tears blurred the waiting area. “He’s going to be okay.”
“Am I needed to drive him to the house?”
She blinked, wiping at the tears that slipped down her cheeks. “How did you know?”
“A kidney blow doesn’t heal overnight, and Dr. Smith would hardly release him to go home to an empty flat. I’ll fetch the Rover and meet you out front.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For understanding.”
“Spencer is my friend, as well. I know how much he means to you, love. I will see you soon.”
He rang off, and Maggie put her mobile away, needing the support of a chair. The adrenaline that had kept her going until now deserted her. She made it to the nearest chair, her legs trembling as she lowered herself to the hard plastic seat.
“Maggie.” Martin’s voice jerked her out of her exhausted daze. He sat next to her and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Take a minute, love.”
“She hurt him, Martin.” Maggie pressed her face into his shoulder. “She hurt him.”
“And he will move past it.” His deep, calm voice soothed her, helped her stamp down her reignited temper. “I will go and see if he’s ready to leave. Have you let Ashton know what is going on?”
She nodded against his shoulder, then lifted her head. “He’s going to cover the shop. I will owe him another holiday after this.”
“Perhaps, instead of a holiday, you might offer him something more substantial.”
“Like a management position?”
“Or a partnership.”
He kissed her forehead, and left her to think about his statement.
She had never thought of sharing The Ash Leaf with anyone. It was hers, and one of the few things she still had from Aunt Irene. But Martin’s suggestion brought up another detail, one that hadn’t been in her mind when she had first moved to Holmestead—her life was changing, in ways she couldn’t have anticipated.
It was something to think about, especially with the documentary coming up. What if she wanted to spend time with Martin at one of his digs? She smiled, thinking of him. He was another part of her life she had never anticipated.
Once Spencer was settled—and she had satisfied herself that he was okay—it was time for a talk with Ashton.
Martin and Spencer walked into the waiting area, Spencer leaning against him.
“Mags!” He sounded drunk, which she had expected, after Dr. Smith’s warning. “You didn’t need to wait for me. The Professor here can—take me home.”
“I wanted to help.” She moved to them, brushing sweat-damp hair off Spencer’s forehead. “You’re going to stay with us, until you’re feeling better.”
“Martin told me. I don’t need—” He started to push away from Martin’s support, and let out a raw gasp. “Maybe I do.”
“Yeah, maybe you do.” She cradled his e
lbow, Martin on his other side as they headed for the door. “The Rover’s right outside—Martin’s driving, so you can stop frowning. Or trying to.”
He gave her a half frown, the rest of his face not cooperating. Maggie bit back a smile and opened the door.
They got Spencer into the front passenger seat, Maggie telling him more than once not to help. Martin drove slowly, and by the time he pulled in front of the house, Spencer was sound asleep.
“Martin.” She kept her voice quiet. “Don’t you even think of carrying him up the stairs.” The guilt that flashed across his face told her he’d been thinking of doing just that. “We can wake him long enough to get him to the guest room.”
He nodded, and slid out of the car. Maggie did the same, opening the passenger door and leaning in.
“Spencer.” She gently shook his left shoulder. “Spencer, we’re here.”
He blinked, and looked over at her, a sloppy smile on his face. “Hey, Mags.” He pressed one hand to the side of his head. “These drugs are—” He stared at her, obviously searching for the word.
“Killer?”
“Good one, Mags. Hey, old man.” Martin stopped next to her, and smiled at Spencer. “Are you my escort?”
“On the nose, my friend.”
They both helped him out of the Rover, and into the house. The first guest room was at the top of the stairs, and Maggie let go of him once they climbed the stairs. She ran to her old bedroom to grab something before she headed into the guest room ahead of them, and pulled the duvet back. She turned in time to grab Spencer’s arm and lower him to the edge of the bed.
After removing his shoes, Martin lifted his legs, ignoring Spencer’s protest that he could get himself into bed. When Spencer laid his head on the pillow, he looked up at them.
“Thank you, for playing nursemaid.”
“My pleasure, sweetheart.” Maggie kissed his forehead, using it as an excuse to check his temperature. He was a little sweaty, and only a little warm. Relief left her shaky. “Do you remember this?”
He grinned when she held up the small brass bell. “Aunt Irene’s summoning bell. You kept it.”
“Of course I did. You ring this when you wake up, and one of us will come and help you downstairs. If you try and walk down yourself, Spence, I’ll beat some sense into that thick head of yours.”
“Threat of violence if I try to walk downstairs. Got it.” He yawned, his eyes closing. “Ring the bell,” he muttered. “Summon you to supper.”
“That’s right.” She gave him what she hoped looked like a smile, and kissed his cheek. “Rest well, Spencer.”
She took Martin’s hand, watching her oldest friend as he finally relaxed, the last of the pain easing from his pale face.
“Come downstairs with me, Maggie.” Martin squeezed her hand and led her out of the room, down the stairs, not stopping until he reached the library. “Now, talk to me.”
She let go of his hand and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I haven’t been so angry, not for a long time. If that woman had been anywhere near me, I would have punched her.”
“I believe you would have had to stand behind a few other people. I spoke to Ian, and he told me that at least half a dozen locals have stepped forward to give their statement. Even if Spencer doesn’t press charges, Regina won’t be able to brush this aside—or blame Spencer.”
“Thank you, for keeping track of this for me.” She leaned back and met his eyes. “Can you do me a favor? Can you go to the shop and give Ashton a break? I don’t want to leave Spencer right now.”
He kissed her. “No need to explain, love. I will be happy to spell him for a bit. I do have one condition.” He tapped her nose. “I want you to eat, and lie down, if you can. You look knackered.”
“Knackered.” She smiled, and it felt genuine this time. “I’ve always liked that word. I’ll try. Okay,” she said, when he raised his eyebrow. “I’ll stretch out on the sofa.”
“Good.” Arm in arm, they walked down the hall to the lounge, and Martin steered her to the long sofa. “You’ll do that stretching out now.”
She let out her breath. “Fine. I won’t sleep, though. I’m too wound up.”
He merely smiled and let her go, pulling the blue crocheted afghan off the arm. After she slipped her shoes off and did as ordered, he spread the blanket over her, then leaned down to free her hair from the ponytail she’d put it in earlier this morning.
“That will make it easy to settle in.” He kissed her temple, then her cheek. “I am going to leave the leftover scones on the coffee table. Close your eyes, love.”
She did, planning to get up as soon as he left. Martin kissed each eyelid, then gently kissed her lips. With a sigh, she snuggled into the soft throw pillow.
“As soon as he leaves,” she muttered, and stifled a yawn.
The last thing she remembered before she drifted off was Martin’s deep voice.
“Sleep well, love.”
Four
The insistent ring of a bell invaded Maggie’s dream.
She started awake, just before a streak of black fur landed on her stomach.
“Hello, Sheba,” she said, when she had her breath back. The cat crawled up to tuck her head under Maggie’s chin, purring like an engine. Maggie laughed and ran one hand down her back. “Where is your cohort?”
Both Sheba, and the sleek brown cat, Manny, had become part of the household in January, after both cats attached themselves to Maggie when she and Martin found them in Cragmoor Manor. Manny was the less social of the duo, and spent most of his time outside. Sheba split her time between him and Maggie, usually surprising her. Like now.
The bell rang again, and Maggie sat up. “It wasn’t part of my dream. Let’s go see how Spencer’s doing.” She set Sheba on the floor and headed for the stairs, smiling when the bell became more insistent. “I’m coming, Spence. Keep your pants on.”
Sheba took off, obviously done with people for the moment. Cats had always mystified Maggie, and her two recent acquisitions were a constant puzzle. She smiled when she heard the cat door Martin had installed in the kitchen flap open, and climbed the stairs.
He was frowning when she stepped into the guest room. “My trousers are on, and I can tell you, they are not comfortable for sleeping.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you by taking them off.” She sat on the edge of the bed and laid her hand on his forehead. “No fever. How do you feel?”
“Sore. Hung over. Embarrassed.”
“Because a woman attacked you? Stop that, right now. Regina Draper is the one who should be embarrassed, and apologetic. Though I wouldn’t hold my breath for the last one.”
“No worries on that.” He started to sit, and sucked in a harsh breath. “Bloody hell, that hurts.”
“Can I take a look?” He nodded, flinching when she lifted his shirt. “Oh, Spence.”
An ugly purple bruise marked his skin, darker in the middle. That must have been where Regina’s elbow—
“Wait,” she said, looking closer at the bruise. “Spencer,” she looked at him, the beginning of a theory forming. “Was Regina holding anything?”
“I don’t...” He met Maggie’s eyes. “She had a bag. A long, narrow bag. Why?”
“Because there’s a mark, in the middle of your bruise, that looks suspiciously like a square.”
“Son of a—sorry, Mags.”
“Feel free. I have a few choice curses running through my mind right now.” She lowered his shirt and crossed her arms. “So, are you going to press charges now?”
“You bet.”
Part of her felt sorry for Regina. Living in a village this small, she would never stop hearing local opinions. Maggie shook her head; she wouldn’t start feeling sorry for the woman now. Not after what she did to Spencer.
“Are you up for heading downstairs? Or would you prefer a late lunch in bed?”
“I’d like to move around, but I’m going to be needing your help.”
“You
got it.”
She helped him stand, relieved to see that he didn’t weave like before, or gasp with every breath. He still looked too pale for her comfort, his movements slow and stiff.
“Painkillers,” he whispered. “Be needing those.”
“I’ll come back for them. Are you sure—ˮ
“Yes.”
She didn’t try to ask again.
They made it down the stairs, and Maggie settled him on the left end of the sofa, so he could stretch out easily, if he needed to lie down.
“How does chicken stew with dumplings sound?”
He looked up at her. “The recipe your aunt made?”
“The very same.”
“Then, yes, please.”
She laughed, and headed back to the kitchen. The small pot of leftover stew would heat quickly on the stove; she pulled it out of the fridge, set it on the front burner, and adjusted the gas flame to medium heat. While that warmed up, she could feed him some of the sourdough rolls she’d picked up from The Tea Caddy.
Before she put them on a plate, she filled the electric tea kettle and turned it on. Tea would do them both good. After adding some ginger biscuits to the plate, she brought the food out to Spencer, along with a bottle of water.
“Hydrate,” she said, handing him the bottle. “Here are a few things to nibble on while the soup heats. I’ll go get your pills.”
He nodded, a roll already stuffed in his mouth. Smiling, Maggie ran up the stairs. Spencer was going to be just fine.
***
After three days, Spencer told Maggie and Martin he was ready to go home.
Grace had come to see him several times, apologizing for not being in Holmestead when he needed her.
She took Spencer back to his flat, and he listened to her apology for another countless time before he stopped her.
“You couldn’t have known, Grace. It happened, and it’s done.”
“All right.” She sat next to him on the sofa. “May I ask what provoked the attack?”
He told her, straightening the scrolls on the coffee table as he talked. The archival tubes he had ordered to store them should be here any day. Then the scrolls would be safely stored in his personal safe at the museum, until he secured a safe deposit box for them. A single scroll, and the cup, would join them once the exhibit closed.
