She cared not a whit what a hoydenish figure she must have cut as she pulled her lathered mount to a halt in front of the stone cottage, her ankles and more in full view of several astonished men. The earl was among them. With no more than a slight lift of his eyebrows he stepped forward and took hold of the stallion's bridle.
"Max!" she managed to gasp before he could say a word. "I tried to stop him! Then thought it best to come tell you right away."
The earl regarded the frightened look on her face. "Tell me what?" he demanded, choking down his own rising fears. "Steady now, Mrs. Proctor, I beg of you. Tell me what?"
She caught her breath. "Have no fear, I'm not turning missus on you, sir." Then she quickly explained to him what had taken place.
"Hell's teeth," said Wrexham through gritted teeth. "Can you show me where?"
She nodded.
He had already signaled for one of the men to bring Ulysses to him and as soon as he was in the saddle, he waved at her to lead the way.
Conversation was impossible. It was all she could do to keep control of Max's big stallion, driving the tired animal into a breakneck pace back toward the looming moors, the pounding of the horse's hooves echoing the sound of her racing heart.
Dear God, she prayed, let him be all right.
At the point where the trail began to wind upwards, she pulled the stallion to a skitterish halt." We spotted the viscount from there," she called, pointing to the ridge. "But Max climbed down the other side. There is a rough cart track—"
"I know it," said the earl. Without another word, he turned Ulysses and spurred forward. Allegra put her heels into her mount's quivering flanks and followed him. They skirted a thick copse of stunted oak and scotch pine and came upon the path where it cut into a narrow ravine between two hills.
Allegra recognized the spot where Max had first seen Sandhill's son and pointed it out to the earl.
He sprung down from his saddle. "Go on back to the Hall," he said curtly.
She slipped to the ground as well. "I'm going with you."
His lips compressed but he wasted no time in arguing with her. Turning on his heel, he moved off in the direction she had indicated. Allegra picked up the hem of her skirts, cursing once again the constraints of female dress, and hurried after him. They walked in grim silence, the only sound the scrabbling of their feet over the loose rocks and rutted ground. Ignoring her presence, the earl scanned the surrounding woods and hills for any sign of his son.
"Hell and damnation," he muttered under his breath. A slight limp was now evident in his step but his pace never wavered. "Where the devil is he?"
A few minutes later, Allegra nearly collided with the earl's broad back as he came to a sudden stop. The path took a dip down a steep incline, its surface littered with loose scree. Allegra immediately sensed the problem and came alongside him.
"Put your arm around my shoulder, sir," she said as she slipped her arm around his waist. With her support, he was able to negotiate the unstable footing without mishap.
"Thank you," he muttered. "I—" His voice cut off as he spied what appeared to be a pile of rags up ahead.
She gave a little cry.
Wrexham broke into an awkward run, Allegra right on his heels.
Max was lying face down. A small pool of blood had formed beneath him, an ugly splotch of dull red on the ochre dirt, and his limbs were utterly still. The earl fell to his knees. Stifling a low groan, he took his son by the shoulders and gently turned him over.
Allegra had to bite down on her knuckle to keep from letting out another cry. Both of the lad's eyes were swollen shut and his cheeks were already beginning to mottle with bruises. His lower lip was badly split and a trickle of dried blood clung to his scraped chin. The state of his ripped and muddied clothing only hinted at what damage might have been done below.
In the next instant, she was on the ground, cradling Max's head in her lap while Wrexham felt gently at the lad's neck for any sign of a pulse.
"Oh, Max," she whispered in anguish as she smoothed the tangled curls from his brow.
As if in answer to her plea, a faint groan escaped from his lips.
The sound caused the earl to let out his breath in an audible rush.
"Thank God." His eyes sought out Allegra's as he removed his coat and covered Max's chest. "I fear that with this damnable leg of mine, I shan't be able to carry him." He glanced back down at his son's battered form. "Besides, without knowing what bones are broken, it may be too dangerous to move—"
"A cart," she said quickly. "We must fetch a cart."
He nodded in agreement, yet seemed frozen in place.
"You can ride faster than I. I'll stay with Max." She looked up at his drawn face. "I promise you, I will guard him with my life. Now go!"
Her words seemed to shake him out of his lethargy. He paused only long enough to give her arm a quick squeeze, then scrambled to his feet and set off, teeth gritted against the searing pain in his leg.
Chapter 8
Heavy grey clouds scudded in from the west and the day that had begun so promising turned ominous. Allegra added her own short spencer to the earl's garment so that Max would not take a chill. She had already torn several lengths of cloth from the hem of her skirt, then soaked them in the icy waters of a nearby brook in order to clean the worst of the grime from his face and apply a cold compress to the nasty swelling around his eyes. Once or twice he stirred under her touch, his lips moving ever so slightly, as if he were trying to speak. But even that slight effort seemed to exhaust his meager strength. There was no further sign of life, save for the faint rasp of his labored breathing.
It seemed like an eternity before she heard the clatter of wheels coming towards them. The earl leapt down from beside the driver and stumbled over to Allegra.
"Still much the same," she said quickly in answer to the stark question in his eyes. "He hasn't regained consciousness. You have sent for a doctor?"
"Of course I bloody have—sorry." He raked his hand through his hair. "It was a lucky thing that work was being done on Renfew's roof. Watson already had his cart hitched in order to fetch supplies from Hingham. We've brought a board, so that Max may be moved with the least disturbance."
His gaze had never left his son's battered face. As the driver of the cart turned his team and dragged a section of planking from the back of the conveyance, Wrexham took Max's lifeless hand and bent low over his ear. "Steady lad," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm here with you now."
The two men then carefully shifted Max onto the board and placed it on a hastily arranged pile of straw. Wrexham and Allegra climbed in on either side while the other man hurried to take up the reins. The cart moved off with a lurch.
Wrexham's face betrayed his frustration with the painfully slow progress over the ruts and rocks. He grimaced with every jolt, his hands clamped tightly on the board to absorb as much of the jostling as he could. Allegra put her head and down and did the same. In a short time, her hands were raw and bleeding from the considerable effort but she hardly noticed. All of her attention was riveted on the bruised face that lay so utterly still.
Neither of them spoke a word. What was there to say?
At last the cart track intersected with one of the main roads and the driver dared urge the horses into an easy trot. Still, it another long while before they turned up the winding drive leading to the Hall. The doctor was already pacing anxiously by the front entrance and several of the footmen, their faces creased with concern for the younger Sloane, hurried to assist the earl in carrying his son up to his chamber. Allegra trailed in their wake, along with the housekeeper, who carried a large tray with all the items the doctor had requested.
Once Max was laid in his bed, the doctor ordered everyone from the room. "You as well, my lord," he added, indicating that he expected Wrexham to quit the chamber.
"The devil I will," cried the earl. "I mean to stay with my son."
Dr. Graham heaved a sigh, then shut the door behin
d them.
Allegra stared for a moment at the polished oak that swung closed only inches from her nose, then turned to encounter the worried faces of footmen and the housekeeper, as well as Rusher and a number of the maids who had gathered to wait news on Max's condition.
"Rusher, Mrs. Gooding, I think it best if you and everyone else return to your duties. I shall inform both of you as soon as there is any word concerning Max's condition, but it does no one any good be milling around here," she said firmly. "Lord Wrexham has worries enough without having to confront a sea of long faces."
No one thought to question her authority to make such decisions. The crowd of servants dispersed, leaving her alone to pace the hallway in silent vigil.
* * *
Wrexham held his breath as the doctor carefully cut away Max's bloodied shirt and began his examination. He probed gently around the abdomen, then applied his ear to the lad's chest more for a long enough time that the earl feared he may have fallen asleep. Next his skilled fingers moved slowly over the raw face and made a careful inspection of the skull. Finally, he straightened and sat back on the edge of the bed.
"Several ribs are cracked but there appears to be no danger of a puncture to the lungs. Neither is there any indication of a rupture to any of the other organs. He's taken a nasty crack to the head, but his pupils are not badly dilated so I don't believe it is life-threatening." He returned several instruments to the small leather valise by his side. "Despite the multitude of cuts and bruises, I can find no other serious damage. Max is a hearty young fellow. He will be in considerable pain for the next few days, but I see no reason why he won't make a full recovery."
The earl let out his breath in a rush of relief.
"Of course, head injuries must always be watched for the first few days, and we must guard against is his taking a fever or inflammation of the chest in his weakened condition. I shall stop by first thing in the morning, but you must send for me during the night if there is any change for the worse." He adjusted the gold-rimmed spectacles perched on his long nose and dropped his voice a level as he began to wind a long bandage around Max's chest. "Have you any idea who could be responsible for such a vicious attack?"
Wrexham's mouth thinned to a tight line but he didn't answer.
Dr. Graham cleared his throat and removed a small bottle from his bag. He squeezed a number of drops into a glass of water. "Here is a draught of laudanum for when Max awakes. I shall tell Mrs. Gooding the exact dosage on my way out—"
"F... father..." came a weak voice.
Wrexham rushed to the side of the bed. "I'm here, Max."
"I'm... sorry I disobeyed..."
"It's all right."
The lad's eyes fluttered open and he essayed a wan smile through his bruised lips. "I suppose I deserve to be birched."
Wrexham smoothed his son's matted locks off his forehead. "We shall discuss that some other time, shall we? Right now I want you to rest."
"He... he—" Max's words broke off as he winced in pain.
The earl already had the glass to Max's lips. "Here, drink this," he urged.
Despite a weak protest, he wouldn't allow the lad to push it aside until the last drops were choked down.
"Vile stuff," said Max with a grimace. The expression only deepened as he tried to move his head. "Hurts like the very devil," he muttered as the earl sought to adjust the feather pillows. But in another few moments, his eyes fell shut and he drifted back into sleep.
The doctor lay a hand on Wrexham's arm. "With that amount of laudanum, he should rest comfortably for another few hours, my lord. I suggest you lie down yourself. If you'll forgive me for saying so, you look all done in. I'll send Mrs. Gooding up to sit with the lad for a while."
Wrexham stared down at his disheveled clothing and scraped hands. "Yes, of course," he mumbled, but he made no effort to rise.
"Much as I value your patronage, Lord Wrexham, I have no desire for a second Sloane patient," said Dr. Graham. "Get some rest, sir."
The earl's mouth crooked in a wry smile. "Very well. I promise I shall summon Mrs. Gooding to stand watch for a time."
Knowing he would have to be satisfied with that, the doctor shut his bag and quietly left the room. He was in such a hurry to fetch the housekeeper he didn't notice Allegra standing in the shadows, hands clasped to her breast. Nor did Mrs. Gooding, whose ample bulk was, a few minutes later, moving up the stairs as rapidly as the doctor's had descended them. Muttering a steady stream of invocations under her breath, she pushed open the door to Max's chamber and disappeared inside.
It was only when the earl's tall form limped into the hallway that she found the courage to speak.
"How... is he?" Allegra's throat was so tight, the words came out as a croaked whisper.
Wrexham's head jerked around. He made a quick nod.
"Oh!" Her hands flew to her face as she took several deep breaths. "Thank God."
The earl moved slowly towards her, his eyes taking in her muddied face, the hair tumbling in disarray from the loosened pins and lopsided state of her dress, with the ragged tear exposing a good deal of one ankle. His brows came together slightly before he spoke. "Max is extraordinarily lucky. His injuries are not as bad as they look and Dr. Graham expects that he shall make a full recovery."
"That is good news indeed." Allegra hadn't failed to notice his look. She glanced down at her gown and swallowed. "Forgive my shocking appearance, my lord. I... I couldn't bear to go and change until I had news of Max."
"You think I mean to criticize the state of your gown?" he growled as he stopped in front of her. "Mrs. Proctor, without your actions, Lord knows how long Max would have lain there—and what the consequences would have been."
Her mouth quivered. "But my lord, it's all my fault to begin with. I had no right to involve your son. I was so afraid that Max was—" A sob burst forth as she could hold in her pent-up emotions no longer. To her added mortification, she felt a wetness on her cheeks. "Oh dear, I... I never cry," she mumbled, brushing angrily at her face with her sleeve. But the tears wouldn't seem to stop.
Suddenly her head was buried in the soft linen of the earl's shirt and his long fingers were gently stroking her windblown curls. It was a few minutes before her shoulders stopped heaving and she managed to lift her chin from the solid warmth of his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, my lord, I don't know what came over me. I'm not usually such a watering pot."
"No, I don't imagine you are," he murmured, strangely reluctant to release his hold of her.
She straightened and began smoothing at the wrinkles on her sleeve to cover her embarrassment. Wrexham reached out and took one of her hands. He regarded the raw scrapes for moment, then took her firmly by the arm and marched her towards the stairs.
"My lord—" she began.
The earl ignored her protest and guided their steps to the library, where he sat her in one of the large wing chairs by the roaring fire. Moving to the sideboard, he poured a generous amount of spirits into two glasses and thrust one of them into her hands.
"Drink this," he ordered.
She took a tentative swallow and nearly choked. "Wh... what..." she sputtered.
"Brandy." He drained his own glass. "Every drop, Mrs. Proctor," he added, indicating the contents of her snifter. "I insist—I think we both are in need of it."
She did as she was bade, swallowing the rest of the amber liquid in one gulp. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "It does warm the insides, does it not?"
Wrexham's mouth quirked in a slight smile. He refilled both their glasses and went to stand by the fire.
"Please, my lord," she said softly.
He cocked an eyebrow in question.
"Please sit down. Your leg must be aching abominably—I can't bear to see you standing."
A flicker of surprise crossed his features. After a slight hesitation, he shuffled to the other chair and took a seat. His eyes closed for a moment as he settled into the welcome softness of the leather, then they pop
ped open again.
"What are you doing?" he sputtered.
Allegra was kneeling in front of him. "I am removing your boots, my lord. I'm sure you will much more comfortable without them." Her fingers began massaging at his bad knee, drawing an involuntary sigh of relief from the earl.
"Better?"
He stretched his stocking toes out towards the fire. "Much," he admitted. Then he started. "Hell's teeth, your hands, Mrs. Proctor."
She looked down at the various cuts and scrapes as if aware of them for the first time. "It's really nothing. They don't bother me—"
"You will kindly sit back in the chair, Mrs. Proctor." There was no mistaking it was an order.
Allegra reluctantly rose and returned to her seat, tucking her feet up under her as she nestled against the overstuffed arm. She watched as the earl took another swallow of his brandy and let out another sigh. Their eyes met.
"I meant what I said earlier, my lord," she said softly. "I am so truly sorry for what took place today. Max has become very special to me. If he had been—" Her voice caught and she shook her head. "I would never have forgiven myself."
"Don't go raking yourself over the coals. You are hardly to blame for evil nature of Sandhill's son," he answered. "And Max is going to be fine—though it appears I should do well to stand him a few lessons with Gentleman Jackson himself when we reach London," he added lightly, in an attempt to assuage her obvious distress.
"He never would have been in such a situation if it hadn't been for me! I had no right to intrude upon your household and involve Max—and you—in all of this, no matter that I meant no harm to either of you. Be assured that I mean to remove my presence from here immediately so that Max will not take it into his head to do anything so foolish again."
Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 02] Page 12
