“They got him,” Tom gasped out. “Them as is always chasing him. Mum said you was wanting to know.”
“I wanted to know,” Justin said, thanking providence that he had thought to send that message to Meg, whose cottage was nearest the path to the ford and the woods. “Where are they?”
“They caught him as he crossed the branch. Mum says he was probably heading here,” Tom said.
Meg was undoubtedly right. After all, Justin had expected Drew’s arrival almost daily, hoping for Sarah’s sake that the child would not disobey again. As apparently he had today.
Even as Justin thought that, the groom ran up, leading Star. Without hesitation, knowing enough from Meg’s message and from what he had witnessed that day to fear what he would find in the woods, the earl swung into the saddle.
“Tell your mother I’m grateful,” he shouted to the boy, before he touched his heels to his circling mount.
Leaning over the neck of the gelding, Justin gave Star his head across the open country, allowing him to run off his eagerness in a burst of speed that carried them over the hills and meadows that stretched between the Park and the woods.
Despite Meg’s warning, he didn’t know if he’d arrive in time to prevent the village boys from taking their revenge against the child he had already rescued once from their clutches. They had chosen Andrew as their victim, and then he had interfered. They had probably been biding their time, waiting for another chance. The inexplicable hatreds of childhood were often based on nothing more than someone being different. As Andrew certainly was.
And of course, in Drew’s case... The earl remembered the leader’s taunting sobriquet and the gesture that had accompanied it. That contempt had been taught, and it would not have been directed against an illegitimate child of their own class.
Drew had, however, in their eyes at least, been born with two stigmas he could never escape. First, he was not one of them. And secondly, he had been pointed out as the bastard son of one of their betters. Those differences set him irrevocably apart from the other children, and there was no more vulnerable position for a boy of that age to find himself in.
Justin was forced to slow his pace as he entered the woods, which were deceptively peaceful. He strained, listening for any sounds that would help him find the group of boys. However, he was almost at the clearing before he became aware of the noise they were making.
They were much quieter than they had been that first day. Their champion did not appear to need their cheers to urge him on. He was pounding at the head and shoulders of the smaller child with a rhythm that seemed dogged, almost mechanical. And this time, Justin realized, his heart lodged in his throat, there was no resistance. Andrew lay limp and unmoving on the ground.
The earl’s approach was less cautious than it had been during the previous encounter. He deliberately spurred Star into the circle, which broke and scattered as quickly as before. This time, he was off his horse almost before the boys’ frightened explosion of movement gave him room to dismount.
Just as he had clutched the back of Drew’s jacket to pull him out of danger in the stables, he now grabbed the collar of the boy who was pummeling him. Fighting to control his own fury, Justin pulled the larger boy up and flung him away from the unconscious child. The boy stumbled backward, almost falling.
Justin let him go, his attention focused completely on the motionless figure on the ground. He dropped to his knees beside Andrew, his fingers quickly finding the reassuringly strong pulse in the delicate throat.
He remembered to breathe then, knowing, at least intellectually, that his terror had been out of proportion to the danger the child was in. He had, however, knelt over too many fallen comrades during the last five years to have felt any hope when he had seen the lifeless body on the ground. Realizing that his wartime experiences had obviously led him far astray from reality brought a relief so profound as to make him light-headed.
The earl of Wynfield closed his eyes, his quick, wordless prayer of thanksgiving as fervent as any he had ever uttered. He was uncaring, almost unaware, that the boys. who had taken part in this attack were disappearing into the woods as quickly as they possibly could in an attempt to avoid being called to task for what they had done. Or for what they had witnessed.
“Andrew,” the earl said softly, cupping his thumb and fingers gently around the white face. The child’s skin was as fair as his mother’s, he thought irrelevantly, and the line of his jaw as fragile as the bones of a bird. Too fragile.
“Drew,” he whispered, running his thumb across the opened mouth. The lips were slack and pale, but even as he watched, the blue eyes opened. Then, almost in wonder, the pupils widened as the little boy looked up into his face.
“You haven’t gone,” Andrew said.
“I haven’t gone,” Justin agreed, his throat aching at what was in those eyes.
“They said you were going to London.”
“Not to stay. Only to sell the horses.”
The child’s eyes shifted to the spent gelding, standing patiently where he had been left by the earl’s precipitous leap from the saddle.
“Not Star,” Drew pleaded. “Not your very own charger Star.”
There was nothing Justin could say to relieve the genuine horror of that thought, clearly reflected in the child’s eyes. After all, his own almost matched it. He was an adult, however, and he had made his choice. Not only about Star, but about Sarah and this child. And his refusal had been made with his eyes wide open as to its inevitable consequences.
“Can you sit up if I help you?” the earl asked, instead of admitting, at this point at least, that Star’s name was indeed on the list of horses bound for Tattersall’s.
“I think I broke my head,” Andrew said, struggling to sit and rubbing his fingers against the back of his skull at the same time. It was tender enough, apparently, to provoke a grimace.
“You hit it on a rock,” the earl said.
He pushed the offending stone aside, his thundering heart rate beginning to return to normal as he realized the child was relatively unscathed. There were certainly bumps and bruises and even a cut on his chin, in addition to the blow to the head that had rendered him briefly unconscious.
“My lord!”
Both Justin and Andrew looked up at the sound of Meg Randolph’s voice. She came hurrying through the woods, a broom clutched in one hand. Her skirts and apron were held up by the other, revealing thick white legs thrust into half boots. Her fat face was red with exertion. Jed hurried behind her, carrying a hoe. Assorted Randolph children trailed their parents.
“Is the lad all right?” Meg called.
It was obvious now that, thanks to her warning, Andrew would be all right. Of course, Justin realized, there was no guarantee that what had occurred this morning wouldn’t happen again. For the first time since he’d dismounted, he looked around the clearing. The boys who had participated in the attack had disappeared, but they wouldn’t be hard to track down and punish.
He would be well within his rights to do so, especially since he had warned them off his land and this kind of behavior once. Justin wasn’t sure, however, exactly what punishing them would accomplish. Maybe simply more trouble for Sarah’s son.
Meg huffed to a stop beside them, sweat gleaming on her red, freckled face. “You poor, dear lamb,” she said.
“I broke my head,” Andrew offered. With the resilience of childhood, he was beginning to bask in the attention.
“What was you doing with them ruffians, dear?” Meg asked. She lifted her skirts and sank to her knees with a sigh beside the earl. The aroma of fresh baked bread and dried lavender surrounded her, along with a less pleasant miasma composed of perspiration and lye soap.
“I was coming to see the earl,” Andrew said, his voice touched with self-importance. “I had heard he was going away.”
“Going away?” Meg repeated, her eyes lifting to Justin’s. “Why, he’s just come home. And he’s got things to see to arou
nd here,” she said. “Why ever would you think he’d be going away?”
There was silence as two pairs of eyes regarded Wynfield, awaiting the denial he could not, in all honor, give them. Not to Andrew, who desperately needed his attention and his friendship. Or to Meg, who wanted what was her due, and what had been denied his tenants far too long—an earl who would put the good of his people and his lands above his own selfish concerns.
“You aren’t going away, are you, my lord?” Meg asked as the waiting silence expanded. “You’ve only just come home,” she said again. “You can’t be thinking about going away already.”
“To London,” Justin said, looking not at Meg but into a pair of dark blue eyes that had suddenly filled with hope at her reassuring words. “Just for a few days.”
“And you wouldn’t ever go away without saying goodbye,” Andrew suggested. The marks of the older boy’s fists were more obvious than they had been before. They were already beginning to discolor the pale, fine-grained skin. “Promise me you won’t,” the boy said. “Promise you won’t ever do that.”
“I’ll never go away without saying goodbye,” the earl of Wynfield vowed softly. “I promise you that, Andrew.” It was simply another commitment, he acknowledged, another duty and responsibility to add to those he had already shouldered.
“Of course, he won’t,” Meg said brusquely. “Now let’s get you up on your feet and see to the damages.”
Using the support of the earl’s shoulder, she struggled to her feet. Then she held out her hand to help Justin up. Her eyes expressed surprise when he took it, but he had no doubt that after she witnessed his awkward climb to his feet, she understood. Once he was standing, Justin was made painfully aware of how great a price he would pay for that precipitous leap off Star’s back into the middle of the group of boys. Of course, that was unimportant now, but it was something he would have to deal with in due time.
With Mrs. Randolph’s help, he got Andrew to his feet. Meg felt the lump on the back of the little boy’s head with gentle, but experienced fingers.
“Big as a goose’s egg,” she said, smiling at the child when she had finished, knowing full well he would consider that knot a badge of honor. “You tell Lady Sarah to make you a nice vinegar poultice, and it will take the ache right away,” she promised.
Then, perhaps thinking of Sarah’s likely reaction to what had happened, she began straightening the child’s clothing, attempting to remove the signs of his contact with the ground.
“Mrs. Simkins will brush them up,” Andrew assured her, gingerly touching the back of his head again as if to ascertain that it still hurt. Judging by the face he made, there was no doubt it did.
“Of course she will,” Meg agreed, picking bits of grass and a few leaves off the back of his jacket. “She’ll have them right as rain in no time. I would take you home with me and do it myself, but I suspect Lady Sarah will be wanting you home. Did she know you were coming to see the earl, love?” she asked, her eyes skating quickly up to meet Wynfield’s before they returned to the little boy’s face.
“I wasn’t running away,” Drew said. “I was just wanting to say goodbye. If you were leaving,” he added, his eyes finding Justin’s. “But you aren’t leaving, are you?” he asked again.
“Of course he’s not,” Meg said, giving up her efforts at cleaning Drew’s clothing. Her own brood had crept ever closer to the drama and were now standing around the three of them, wide-eyed with interest in the goingson of their betters.
When Meg realized that, she lifted her apron and brought it down in a shooing motion, sending them scattering as effectively as Star’s arrival had scattered the village boys. “What are you all gawking at?” she asked. “There’s chores to be done. Get home with you,” she ordered.
Since Jed turned away with the children and began to trudge back in the direction of the cottage, it was clear who ruled the Randolph household, Justin thought. Of course, there had never been much doubt about that.
“Shall I take him home, my lord?” Meg asked.
Andrew moved closer to Wynfield, pushing his fingers into his hand. Despite Justin’s quite rational decision discouraging any closer relationship between them would be for Andrew’s own good, he couldn’t prevent his own fingers from closing around the warmth of the small hand.
“Star could carry us both,” Drew said softly.
Justin looked down on the battered face, raised so hopefully to his. There would have to be an accounting, he knew, but perhaps this was not the time for truth. Or for rationality.
“I supposed he could,” he agreed, instead of saying any of the things he knew he should say.
The blue eyes glowed, and the boy’s mouth moved into a smile. A smile that was too much like Sarah’s, the earl thought. He tore his gaze away and focused instead on Meg’s freckled face.
“Thank you,” he said.
“That’s a bad lot, my lord. Make no mistake,” she said seriously. “I told my boys to look out for this one, but...” She hesitated, her eyes touching on Andrew’s face before they came back up to his. “But there’s no saying someone will be around the next time to see what’s going on,” she warned.
The earl nodded.
“You’d best explain the situation to Lady Sarah,” she added. “So she can be on her guard.”
Again the earl nodded, but he knew how difficult that would be. Your son is in danger, real danger, because of something you did more than four years ago. He is taunted and abused because he is a bastard, so you must guard him more carefully. That was not a warning any mother would wish to receive, and in this case Justin was the worst possible messenger to bring it.
Still holding Andrew’s hand, he limped heavily over to tha gelding, who was somewhat recovered from the run they had made. They would both be better for a rest, but Meg was right, of course. The child must be conveyed home and Sarah informed of what had gone on here today.
And since Drew had already chosen his preferred method of conveyance, he might as well get it over with, Wynfield thought, determinedly disregarding the growing pain in the stump of his right leg. There would be time enough to deal with that when this distasteful task had been completed. Too soon, he knew, he would have nothing left but time.
Andrew led the way up the broad front steps after the earl had handed him down into the arms of the waiting footman. Justin followed more slowly in his wake, each step an increasing agony.
He knew, of course, what he had done. Too much of his weight had landed on the newly healed incision when he had unthinkingly thrown himself off his horse to break up the fight. That action had been taken with a complete and total disregard for his injury. He had literally not even remembered it, had not once thought of his leg. Not as long as he had been on Star. Not when he’d seen Andrew’s seemingly lifeless body. Now, however, every step he took was a brutal reminder.
“Who are you?”
At the question, Justin looked up from his careful negotiation of the low steps to find the marquess of Brynmoor standing in the doorway to his estate. The old man was squinting at Justin’s face, trying to bring it into better focus, perhaps. His hair, which had gone completely white, floated in wildly disordered wisps about his face.
Surprisingly, however, given the changes that same span had wrought in Sarah and in himself, other than the whitening of his too-long hair, Brynmoor seemed to have aged very little. Though his once-trim waistline had expanded, and the sartorial perfection that had always marked his appearance was now sadly lacking.
The clothes he wore were as fine and as costly, perhaps, as his wardrobe had been then, but they were worn with a carelessness that was uncharacteristic of the former dandy. There was even a spot of food on the cravat, and the coat was not cut to fit perfectly over the thickened torso.
“I’m Wynfield,” Justin said simply, wondering if the old man would remember him. He was almost grateful for the delay the marquess was causing. Justin did not anticipate the coming interview. He
waited, his weight resting on his sound leg, and let Sarah’s father examine his features.
“You ain’t Wynfield,” the marquess said finally. “You got the look of him, all right, but I know the earl well. You might be his by-blow, I guess. Is that what you’re claiming?”
Andrew had been edging away from the old man, although so far the child had been ignored in Bymmoor’s rude commentary. At last, moving slowly backward, Andrew had reached the earl. He leaned against Justin’s leg, his eyes locked warily on his grandfather’s face.
“You knew my father, I think,” Justin explained, putting his hands on Andrew’s shoulders. He squeezed gently, trying to give the little boy courage.
“Your boy?” the marquess asked. His faded eyes, which had once been the same dark Spenser blue as the child’s, had obviously observed the protective gesture.
“Lady Sarah’s son,” the earl said.
“Sarah’s got no son.”
Justin said nothing, but he felt the child shrink more closely against him. “Is Lady Sarah at home?” Justin asked.
The marquess’s eyebrows, which were much darker than the hair that framed his florid face, lifted. His mouth assumed a smirk that was almost lascivious. “A suitor?” he said, somehow imbuing the word with a sexual connotation it did not normally have within their class.
“A caller,” the earl corrected softly. Unconsciously, the tone of his voice had grown politely distant, as his father’s sometimes would when he was confronted with someone he disapproved of.
“My daughter’s dead,” the marquess said abruptly.
Suddenly he stepped back into the hallway and closed the front door in the earl’s face. Stunned by the bizarre behavior and the abruptness of Brynmoor’s departure, Justin hesitated. He felt Andrew’s head turn against his thigh, and knew Drew was looking up at him. Smiling, he lowered his own gaze from the door that seemed to be still vibrating with the force of its closure, to meet the boy’s.
“He’ll be gone soon and then we can go in. You mustn’t be afraid,” Drew said. “He won’t hurt you. He’s just confused.”
Gayle Wilson Page 9
