“Christ! They love her,” Henry murmured, not quite sure how he felt about his wife garnering such attention from the group of laborers. He watched in silence as she made her way toward him, her basket again perched atop the pommel in front of her.
“The way to a man’s heart,” Mr. Coley said with a shake of head. And then Hannah was there offering him one of the last biscuits before her mount cantered back around to Henry’s side. She held out the basket for him. One biscuit remained at the bottom.
“Thank you, my lady,” he said as he dipped his head and helped himself to the biscuit. The thought of something to eat reminded him it had been far too long since his last meal at the inn in Stow. “May I inquire as to what’s for dinner this evening?” he wondered then, keeping his voice low enough so only Hannah could hear.
A bit of panic flashed through Hannah. She didn’t know if dinner had been planned since the earl wasn’t sure he’d be back from his trip. But she remembered Mrs. Chambers plucking a chicken outside the back door as they had made their way to the stables. “We’re having chicken, my lord,” she answered, giving him a look that suggested all was well between the two of them.
Henry’s eyes widened. “My favorite!” he replied happily.
Hannah smile faltered. Didn’t he say that about every dinner? She gave him a nod and then she was off again, surveying the east side of the trench for the entire distance back to the river before turning and cantering back toward the work crew. Henry watched as she stayed well away from the opening, her eyes taking in all that had been accomplished since she was last out there this morning. When she reached the end of the trench, she waved to the work crew and headed back over the fields to the stables. Henry watched her go, a bit of pride rising in his chest. Hannah was turning out to be the perfect countess, a good wife, and a very willing bed mate.
He would have to send a note to Charlotte letting her know how happy he was with her recommendation.
Chapter 17
Nathan Plays Pirate
“Come with me!” Nathan’s plaintive wail sounded again. “We can pretend our ship is moored at the dock and we’re loading new treasure!”
Andrew rolled his eyes and glanced around his yard, his impatience with his best friend growing. Nathan had shown up more than ten minutes before, Harold at his heels, claiming it was time to go to the river. “I tell you, I can’t! My father wants me to help with stacking firewood. If I’m not here when he gets back, I’ll be feeling it on my backside for the next week!”
The sky was almost cloudless, it had actually warmed up to be a comfortable spring day, his tutor had excused him early because he had to be in Bampton for a meeting, and Nathan had decided This Was The Day. His father had said he could go to the river as long as someone was with him. Andrew certainly counted as someone.
“Well, how long will that take?” Nathan wondered, one hand going to his hip. He’d seen his father strike a similar pose to great effect, although he had to admit, it was more effective on a body that wasn’t wearing short pants.
Andrew waved to the wagon parked in the drive in front of the barn. It was loaded with cut wood that lay every which way. From the looks of it, Andrew and his father would be stacking wood until the dinner bell chimed.
“Oh,” Nathan said dejectedly. “Alright. Well, I’m going to my father’s then,” he said, making his way back to the road. Harold followed. The dog had taken to spending his days with Nathan, a constant companion as the boy attended his lessons with his tutor and played with Andrew until his mother’s call reminded him it was time for dinner.
The two had made it to the edge of the Gisborn estate, just past the dowager house, when an idea began to form. Harold was someone. He was, in fact, larger than most someones. And he was certainly willing and able to join Nathan on his quest to see the river. Taking a quick detour, Nathan headed for the path the workers had created while digging the east irrigation ditch. All he had to do was follow the path. It was a straight shot to the river. “Come on, Harold,” he urged the dog, who seemed to hesitate before finally relenting and following Nathan. “We’re going to the river!”
Harold gave a quick ‘woof’ and followed his master’s son.
Nathan hadn’t expected the distance to the river to be so great. He could see the stand of trees that lined the fast-moving River Isis from where the path began. In what seemed like forever (but was probably only thirty minutes), Nathan and Harold loped along until they were finally stepping up and over a hillock. At the top, Nathan yelped happily. Just below him, the river rushed over rocks and downed trees, the sound so loud he could barely hear himself shout. Harold let out a ‘woof’ and made his way down to the river’s edge, his front paws sinking into the muddy banks as he dipped his head to the water. He was soon lapping up water as if he hadn’t had a drink all day. Which, Nathan realized belatedly, was probably the case.
The boy followed the dog to the edge of the water, not paying attention to the way his boots sank into the mud. He knelt next to the dog, dangling his hand into the freezing water. Shards of ice still clung to some of the downed trees, but water could be seen rushing beneath the translucent layers.
Nathan was soon busy exploring the hollowed log that extended over part of the water, its branches keeping it suspended over the water where it ended in the middle of the water. Scrambling onto one of the roots, he climbed up and onto it until he was standing several feet above Harold. “I’m a pirate and this is my ship!” Nathan yelled out happily, his arms outstretched.
Harold lifted his head from the water, his attention suddenly on the boy. He barked and jumped forward, his paws landing in squishy mud.
“I am the captain of this ship and you are my ...” He struggled to think of what Harold could be on his ship. The dog was certainly too big to be his parrot. And he couldn’t talk. “My first mate! Aye, matey!” he called out in triumph. He turned and ran out onto the log, barely aware that his impulsive behavior had Harold in fits. The dog bounded to the end of the log, his front paws lifting his body so he stood against the side of the log as he continued to bark at the boy. “Take the wheel while I check out the gangplank !” Nathan cried, his face full of joy as he turned and spread his arms again.
Harold stilled himself, watching the boy intently. Nathan stared back at him, his face turning serious. “Bad dog,” he said suddenly. “You’re supposed to take the wheel and keep my ship from the enemy.” And then Nathan turned and, holding his arms out on either side of his body, began to walk farther out onto the log. Water rushed below the rotting trunk, its force causing the log to waver and shift beneath him. Nathan continued to hoot and holler in delight as he made his way to where a branch stuck straight up out of the log. “The mast is in danger of breaking,” he called out, his hand grasping the branch as he attempted to step around its base.
The sudden change in his weight on the log caused the entire tree to twist, and within seconds, it had shifted so Nathan was suspended over the frigid water, one hand still gripping the branch while the other flailed in the air. Neither of his feet could reach the log. “The mast has broken, matey!” he yelled, his voice still indicating joy.
But the emotion was quickly replaced with horror as he realized what was beneath him.
“Harold!” he called out. “Help!” He managed to get his other hand up and around the branch so that he hung suspended over the fast-moving water. “Help! Father!” he called out, the sound of his voice swallowed up by the roar of the rushing water. Harold pushed off of the log and bounded into the water, his massive body well above the surface of the water for several steps. He stood staring at Nathan for a few seconds, as if he was wondering if he should head into the water. Nathan let out a cry of pure panic as one hand lost its grip on the branch. Harold surged into the current, swimming with giant, lurching motions until he was under the boy.
“Help!” Nathan cried out one more time before he lost his hold completely and fell into the bracing water. The air rushed out
of his lungs at the impact with the cold water. The last thing he heard before he was covered by the icy blanket was Harold barking.
Harold’s mouth clamped onto Nathan’s coat and held tight as he tried to negotiate the swift current. Paddling with all his might, he found solid ground, but not before they had traveled some distance from the downed tree, and only because the current had slowed due to another series of fallen trees. It was in the eddy created by that dam that Harold was able to swim to the edge of the water and pull Nathan’s body to the edge. Panting as he grasped the boy’s coat sleeve with his teeth, Harold tugged until the boy was entirely out of the water. When Nathan didn’t respond to his inquisitive nose nor his tongue, Harold stood over him and barked. He pulled at the boy’s soaked clothing, pulling him farther onto the muddy bank, barking between pants. Still, Nathan lay prone and unresponsive.
Harold hurried up the bank, through the trees and over the hillock that fronted the river, racing through the newly plowed field toward Gisborn Hall. In the late afternoon light, his body might have appeared as a large rabbit as he hopped the furrows, his barks unheard by anyone near the house. Too old to keep up the pace, he lessened his run, panting hard as he finally made it to the stables.
His mistress was greeting the earl. Billy had just taken the reins of his horse and was leading it to the stables when Harold increased his pace and lunged toward the couple.
“What brings you out here at this time of the day?” Henry asked as he joined Hannah where she stood near the stables.
“You, of course,” she answered with an embarrassed grin. A pink flush was blooming on her face. “I was hoping you might join me for tea.”
“Woof!”
The earl turned in the direction of the sound he’d just heard. “An invitation I am most willing to accept, my lady,” he answered, his brows furrowing.
Noticing his concern, Hannah turned in the direction of the sound to see her dog limping toward them. “Harold?” she spoke, her voice registering alarm.
Harold hurried to Henry. He barked and then jumped in the direction from whence he came. “What is it?” Henry asked Hannah.
Hannah crossed her arms. “It’s not time to play, Harold,” she admonished the dog, recognizing the familiar advance and dodge technique he used when he wanted to play. After what had happened the last time Harold annoyed Henry, Hannah wanted to ensure her dog never again bothered the earl.
Harold stood and barked several times. He ran up to Henry and nipped at his boot. Then he ran off in the opposite direction.
“Harold MacDuff!” Hannah cried out, startled at her dog’s behavior.
“Damned dog!” Henry said under his breath as he held out his boot, careful to be sure Hannah couldn’t hear him curse the dog. There was no sign of damage, but the dog had clearly gotten his teeth around most of it. Harold turned around and ran in circles, barking incessantly.
“Something’s wrong,” Hannah said in a voice that commanded attention. She realized her dog’s fur was wet, which could only mean he had been in the river.
“I agree. I do believe it’s time for your dog to take his place in the stables,” Henry said with a good deal of anger. Hannah was shaking her head, though, slowly making her way toward the dog.
“No, Henry. Something’s wrong,” she repeated. She began moving as quickly as her skirts would allow, following Harold as he turned and headed out into the field.
“Hannah!” Henry called out, alarmed at his wife’s behavior. What the hell? But he had heard the alarm in her voice, heard the tinge of panic, and now she was running over the furrows in the field, following her damned dog as it bounded over the newly plowed field. “Billy!” Henry called out, turning to hurry toward the stables.
Billy emerged from just inside the door, his hands still holding onto the reins of Thunder. “Yes, my lord?” he asked in surprise.
“I guess I’m not done with him yet,” he said in a heavy sigh as he yanked the reins from the stable boy. He was mounted on Thunder and racing after his wife and Harold before he was even properly settled in the saddle. Despite the speed of Thunder, he was amazed at how much ground Hannah had already covered as she hurried after her dog.
“Hannah!” he called out, slowing his mount until he was abreast of her. He reached down and motioned for her to grab his arm. Her eyes wide, Hannah reached out, and in a quick and frightening motion, she was suddenly airborne and then seated quite firmly in front of her husband.
“Where the hell is he going?” Henry shouted above the sound of Thunder’s hooves as he pounded over the furrows.
Hannah struggled to catch her breath, her head pressing into Henry’s chest. “The river, I think. He’s wet!” she managed to get out, realizing Harold’s path followed one he’d already made through the freshly turned soil. She could see up ahead where it had broken the top edge of furrows all the way to the edge of the field. Beyond that, there was a stand of trees that fronted the river. “Oh, Jesus,” she heard Henry say.
Thunder had caught up to Harold, but Henry spurred his horse to move beyond the dog, following the tracks clearly marked ahead. Once they were past the fields, they could hear Harold barking behind them as they picked their way through the trees and to the river bank. In the growing gloom of twilight, Hannah looked in vain for a sign of something, someone.
Harold broke through the trees several yards west of their location, barking as he did so.
“There!” she called out, pointing to where a body lay on the river bank. In only a moment, she was suddenly gripped around the middle and was being lowered to the muddy bank. Her slippers sank into the soft mud as she tried to make her way to the boy who lay lifeless next to the water. “Nathan!” she heard from somewhere to the side.
Henry had knelt next to his son, moving his hand beneath the boy’s head to cradle it. His clothes and hair were soaked. “Nathan!” he shouted again.
Panting hard, slobber dripping from his mouth, Harold nudged her arm. “Oh, Harold,” she murmured, wrapping one arm around the dog’s neck. “Good dog,” she said as she allowed the dog to lick her cheek. She considered how long it had been since Harold had found the boy. But Harold was damp. He’d obviously been in the river, too. “He couldn’t have been here long. Harold would have run the whole way,” she said in desperation.
She watched as Henry lifted Nathan from the muddy ground. “He’s alive,” he said, a whoosh of relief sounding as he took a deep breath.
“Take him on the horse,” Hannah ordered, her other arm wrapping around Harold’s neck. Henry gave her a questioning look. “I can walk back with Harold,” she added, her breaths still coming in short gasps, as were Harold’s. “Go!” she said, a bit too harshly.
Adjusting his hold on his son, Henry nodded to his wife. He lifted his son to the saddle and then mounted Thunder. He rode off, cradling the boy’s body to his front. He turned around several times as his horse raced back toward the house, looking in vain for Hannah and Harold. Before he could confirm they were following him, he was back at the house, Billy running out to help, and Mrs. Batey calling out to Parkerhouse to send for a doctor, and Mrs. Chambers bringing hot towels to wrap around Nathan.
Henry had no idea how much time had passed from when he’d left Hannah and Harold at the riverbank to when the doctor arrived and was seeing after his son.
Cold, wet, and disoriented, Nathan woke to find a cadre of people staring down at him. He grinned suddenly. “I walked the gangplank,” he said proudly, his blue eyes all mischief.
His father stared down at him with a look somewhere between concern and anger. “You mean, you walked off the gangplank,” he retorted.
The memory of what he’d been doing just before the log twisted sideways was replaced with the nightmare of hanging over the icy river. “I tried holding on,” Nathan said, his voice suddenly feeble. “But I lost my grip.” He lifted his head to look around the room, between the people that made up the crowd that hovered over him. “Where’s Harold?” h
e squeaked. “He was my first mate,” he said, trying to make it sound like everything was fine. Surely, everything was fine.
“Oh, Jesus,” Henry said suddenly, his hand coming away from his son’s head. He looked around the room, expecting to find Hannah amongst those in the parlor. When he realized she wasn’t there, he left his son’s side and hurried out into the hall. “Hannah!” he called out, making his way to the stairs. Certainly, she gotten home alright. Harold was with her.
He’d had every intention of going back after her, every intention of taking a mantle with him to wrap around her. The evening had already turned chilly even before he had returned with his son. If she was still out there ...
“Here,” he heard her quiet voice. Henry turned to see her sitting on the floor of the vestibule, Harold’s huge panting body spread out over the tiled marble floor. Hannah had her arms wrapped around his neck, much the way she had when he’d left her at the riverbank. The dog’s fur was still damp from his swim in the river.
“Hannah!” he said as he rushed to her side, lowering himself to his knees. “Good God, I’m so sorry. I ...”
“How is he?” she interrupted him, her face streaked with tears. Mud lined the hem of her skirts and was smeared over most of the rest of her gown from when she’d lowered herself to the river bank. Her slippers, ruined from mud and water and the walk back to Gisborn Hall, had been abandoned near the front door. “Is he alright?”
“He’ll be fine,” Henry replied with as shake of his head. “He’s a Forster. Too dumb to die of exposure,” he said in the most self-deprecating manner he could manage. “He was walking the gangplank and apparently fell in,” he said by way of explanation. “Says he doesn’t remember anything after hitting the water.”
Harold lifted his head and whined.
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