Not dead. Not dead.
He struggled closer to the beast’s head. “Viking!” he called, rubbing the black’s mane. “Come on, old fellow, wake up!” Desperation seized him. “Viking!” He draped his arm around the horse’s neck. “You are not going to leave me, do you hear? Open your eyes, you—useless animal!”
He breathed heavily, waiting, his gaze fixed on the noble profile of his finest friend. When he could bear the silence no longer, he lay beside him, his upper torso and head resting against the horse’s neck, cradling him as best he could. His eyes watered suspiciously, and he felt glad there was no one here to see.
He was not sure how long he stayed thus before he sensed a small movement beneath him. So desperate was his grief that at first he thought he’d imagined it, but then he heard a snort and felt the jerk of Viking’s head.
“Thank God!” he cried, crouching painfully to his feet. “This is more the thing.” He circled to stand in front of the horse. “Now you must get up, my beauty.”
Viking raised his head and looked about him as if wondering how he came to be on the ground. Ethan laughed. “Yes, I know; we took a spill. Naturally that’s humiliating, but there are worse things. We’ll keep it between ourselves, what do you say? Now, up you go.” He put his hand to Viking’s raised neck, guiding him upward.
The horse gamely struggled, snorting and panting, then collapsed back.
Ethan refused to give up. “Come on, old boy, you can do it!” He clapped his hands encouragingly, flinching at how the sound hurt his head. Viking whinnied and eyed him with desperation, a piercing look. But the black had to get up; he must no matter what the cost. And he was trying; how valiantly he tried! He lunged upward, his neck and shoulder arching with effort, then back. Again he surged, again and again, each time cracking Ethan’s heart a little wider.
And then, just as the viscount’s hopes were crumbling, the horse rolled to his feet. Ethan shouted and threw his arms around the proud neck; but Viking, having no patience for sentiment, tossed his mane haughtily, gave an arrogant snort, and started to walk forward. The pitiful neigh that followed tore at his master.
“Hold, fellow; easy, now. Let’s see what damage we have.” He ran his gaze along the horse’s flanks and legs, his hands seeking what his eyes might miss. Other than a few scratches that didn’t look serious, Viking seemed all right except for his right front leg. Ethan smoothed his fingers along it. The leg felt hot and was beginning to swell, but he couldn’t detect a break; pray God it wasn’t broken. His groom, Rathbone, would be able to say with more authority. Getting to him was another matter.
The Redding estate was closer than his own but not by much; the thought of Alice and George’s irritable father had no appeal. He had much rather go home. Taking Viking’s reins, he led him forward for a few trial steps. The steed favored his leg but, after he learned not to put weight on it, seemed able to move without terrible anguish. He wished the same could be said for himself; it was going to be a long walk home.
At that moment he saw what had caused them to fall. Viking had not tripped because of clumsiness or inattention. A thick rope was stretched tautly between two stout oaks on either side of the path, positioned at the height of his stallion’s knees, well out of the line of vision of either horse or rider.
* * *
“Here, here! Come back, woman, you have no right!”
Burns’s voice echoed through the viscount’s library.
Madeleine, who had stationed herself next to the window, looked away from the empty landscape to the figure rushing through the doorway. The woman she and her father had met outside before luncheon came to stand before Thomas wringing her hands, a desperate expression on her face.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” she said, casting a dismayed look over her shoulder at the approaching butler. “But this one won’t give me a chance for the position—”
“A thousand pardons,” Burns tolled, seizing her arm. “She ran past me before I guessed what she was doing. I’ll see she’s put on her way.”
The woman struggled against the pull of the butler’s strength. “His master is not here to say whether he’ll hire me or not, and this creature will not allow me to wait. You seem like kind people; I appeal to you to help me.”
Madeleine’s father laid aside his book and, over the crescent of his reading spectacles, looked from the woman to the butler. “Hold a moment, Mr. Burns—”
“Don’t trouble yourself, sir; I happen to know Lord Ambrose’s requirements don’t include hiring another servant.”
Antonia swung her feet to the side of the chaise lounge. “Perhaps we should give him the opportunity to decide for himself, though; do you not agree, Mr. Burns? Surely it would do no harm to allow this lady to wait.”
The butler’s face smoothed over, and he relaxed his grip. “As you wish, madam.”
“Thank you,” the woman whispered, lowering her eyes.
Antonia waved her nearer to her seat. “What is your name, dear? Do you live in the village?”
“I’m Rose McDaniel, ma’am, and I come from Cornwall.”
“All the way from there? That’s quite a long distance, if you walked. What brings you to Brillham, if I may make so bold to ask?”
The woman raised her lashes, looking slightly surprised at her interest. Madeleine smiled to herself. Her parents often scolded her for her curiosity, but in truth, her mother could be worse.
“I’ve been looking for work for a while,” she said.
Antonia gazed at her with pity. “And you’ve not found anything closer to home?”
“Nothing permanent, ma’am,” Rose McDaniel answered. “I—I’ve been hoping to find something with children. I love little ones but don’t have references because I’ve never done this kind of work for hire. I recently lost my husband and find I must earn my own way. Children bring me comfort.”
“You poor dear,” Antonia sympathized.
Madeleine saw Burns raise his eyes ceilingward. No doubt he thought the woman was lying in order to play upon their sympathies, and she might be; but Madeleine believed she heard the ring of sincerity in Mrs. McDaniel’s voice. Besides, her mother had a way of drawing the truth from people.
Antonia continued, “I’m afraid the infant will only be here a little while; her mother is expected to return any day now.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Mrs. McDaniel said quickly. “If I could only work long enough to receive a reference, that would be a help.”
“I understand. Well, surely Lord Ambrose will return soon. Burns, please see that this young woman is fed luncheon while she tarries.”
“Thank you for your kindness,” the woman said, her sad eyes sweeping from Antonia to Thomas and Madeleine.
When Burns, his back stiffened in outrage, led her from the room, Antonia turned to her husband. “We must do something for that poor woman if the viscount does not. Perhaps we could use another servant at home?”
Thomas went to help her lie back among her pillows, then kissed her hand. “Your heart is as tender as ever. Of course I shall hire her, if that is what you wish.”
Madeleine, her nervousness pushing aside further thoughts of Mrs. McDaniel, pulled back the drapes and scanned the horizon. “I cannot imagine what is taking Lord Ambrose so long.”
Thomas’s doting expression faded to sternness. “Mayhap he searches for his elusive cousin.”
“Papa,” she said scoldingly. “I’m worried. Could we not send someone to look for him?”
“And where would we begin, child?”
“I believe he normally rides the boundaries of his estate ...”
“Normally. Today he could be anywhere.”
Madeleine gnawed at her lower lip and pulled back the drape again. “I’m feeling the need for a ride myself.”
“In this rain? I think not.” He regarded her for a moment, then softened. “Listen, child. If we don’t hear anything by mid-afternoon, I’ll go myself.”
“Hold a moment
, Papa; I think I see—” She made an impatient noise and dashed to the window on the other side of the bookcase. “There’s a man leading a black horse—it’s Ethan! He’s hurt!”
She ran from the room and out the front door. The steps were slippery in the drizzle, but she didn’t slow her pace. She raced across a portion of the graveled drive, then around the side of the house and onward, her shoes flinging mud across her dress. The rain plastered her hair to her forehead; her gown became heavy with water. She could hear shouts behind her, but she ran on. When she reached Ethan at last, she hesitated only an instant before flinging her arms around him. As he slowly returned her embrace, she felt as if she had come home.
Chapter 10
“You ought to go inside and get something done with your leg,” Rathbone said to the viscount later that afternoon in Viking’s stall. “I tell you, the black’s going to be all right. My poultice is already beginning to work. You can see for yourself the swelling is going down.”
Ethan wasn’t so sure. He stared at his groom, then eyed the messy mixture of clay and herbs distrustfully. Viking did seem calmer; he’d finally taken a little nourishment, and the wild look in his eye was gone. Shadows were gathering in the corners of the stable, and the thought of a bath and clean clothes was appealing. He still couldn’t dismiss the notion that his horse needed him, though, or that something would go wrong if he left.
“I wish you would come inside,” Madeleine said behind him, almost making him jump. She held a tray containing a large bowl and towel.
“Oh, is that more food? I haven’t been able to finish the sandwiches you brought earlier.”
“No, this is hot water to clean your leg. Has it stopped bleeding?”
With his cheeks warming, Ethan glanced down at his makeshift bandage, a towel tied in a knot. “Yes, I believe so. But I don’t expect you to, uh, do the honors. Nasty business, that.” Not to mention almost his entire leg was exposed beneath his tattered pantaloons, a fact that had not escaped her lively attention. Uncanny how she could make him feel like a maid on her wedding night.
“I don’t fade at the sight of blood, my lord, but if you won’t let me or anyone else help you, then you should do it yourself before infection sets in.”
“I will.”
They stood silently regarding one another. When Rathbone coughed, Ethan glanced down and took the bowl. “Thank you, Madeleine. How thoughtful you are, but I’m going inside for a bath in a matter of moments.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “Are you? Then I’ll stay and walk back to the house with you.”
“That’s not necessary.” He set the tray on the floor in the corner.
“I think it may be.”
He studied her, feeling irritation and pleasure all at once. She believed she knew what was best for him, when assuring himself of Viking’s safety was what gave him the most peace. He grinned suddenly. She would see who could outlast whom.
“Very well,” he said. “Stay as long as you like.”
Rathbone rubbed his nose and shuffled past them, mumbling about seeing to his supper. The horses in the other stalls snorted as he walked by.
“Viking is looking much better than earlier,” she said.
“Do you think so? I was just going to brush him.”
“It appears as though someone has already done that.”
He felt a tinge of irritation; she noticed everything. Limping to the shelf where supplies were stored, he took a brush, hobbled back to the horse, and slowly pulled the bristles down Viking’s coat.
“It gives him comfort,” he said.
“Yes, I can see that.”
She was laughing at him. He sent her an annoyed glance. “Viking is the last of what once was a very fine stable.”
The light died from her eyes. “I’m sorry, Ethan; I don’t mean to tease. I know how much this horse means to you; I’m afraid my relief at finding both of you safe is making me giddy.”
He smiled. “Then I forgive you.” His brush stilled for a moment. “I gather that’s why I received that unexpected yet delightful embrace in the full sight of God and everyone, including your father?”
Now it was her turn to blush. “Naturally I forgot myself in my relief.”
“Your father didn’t look pleased. You were turned away from him, but I could see his face.”
“He has not said a word to me about it,” she said loyally. “I’m certain he understood my emotions of the moment.”
“I see.” He resumed his brushing. “So I’m not to take it these emotions of the moment mean you’ve come to a decision regarding my suit.”
“Not ... yet.”
His frustration was so sharp he could not find it within himself to look at her, and an uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Madeleine, who had been leaning against one of the divider walls between Viking’s stall and the next, scuffed through the hay to stand closer to him. She stared at him so intently that Ethan had little choice but to cease his work and return her gaze.
“There can be no doubting my affection for you,” she said slowly. “When I knew you to be late from your ride, I could think of nothing except your safety and that horrible curse. I don’t believe I’m normally a superstitious person, but ... well, perhaps I shouldn’t say this to you, but I shall. Papa believes there is a power of the mind to cause things we expect to happen to come to pass. He can be most convincing. I beg you to be careful, Ethan. Try not to do anything dangerous that might cause an accident, especially until you reach your thirty-first birthday.”
Her entreaty warmed him, for it indicated an encouraging depth of feeling. “You may ease your mind on that score. What happened today had nothing to do with the curse, for it was no accident.”
She regarded him worriedly. “I don’t understand.”
He nodded toward a long piece of rope draped across the stall. “That’s the reason Viking fell this morning. I found it stretched between two trees on our path.”
With rounded eyes, she went to touch the frayed ends where he had cut the rope from the trees. “Who—who would do such a malicious thing?”
“An excellent question. I’ve thought of little else all day.”
“The rope was set at a height where you could not see it?” The query seemed to be rhetorical, for she did not give him time to answer. “But anyone could have fallen ... could possibly have been killed.”
“Not anyone, I think.” He spoke lightly, not allowing his outrage to enter his voice. “Since it’s widely known I make that circuit alone every day, the trap was clearly intended for me.”
“Surely not! Someone—a bored child, perhaps—merely intended a prank, I’ll warrant. Or even more likely, a group of children were playing with the rope—perhaps it formed the boundary for some game—a race, no doubt—and simply forgot to untie it!”
He smiled grimly at how hard she was trying. She didn’t want to believe anyone hated him so much that they wished him dead. Neither did he, but the fact must be faced.
“No child tied those knots. I cut the rope free with difficulty.”
“But, Ethan, you don’t have such enemies ... do you?”
“I didn’t think so, until now.”
She abandoned the rope and returned to him. Despite her nearness, she seemed far away, her eyes brimming with thoughts. He could almost hear them. She made him feel both affection and exasperation. On the one side, he appreciated her intelligence. On the other, he sometimes wished she would simply accept his words without questioning or trying to find solutions. Most women would. But if she did that, she would not be Madeleine; and it was Madeleine he loved.
“Do you think,” she said slowly, “it could possibly have anything to do with the baby?”
“The baby?” he repeated blankly.
“Yes. I have many questions about her, and now it occurs to me those questions may be more important than I thought. When you went missing today, all my suspicions retreated to a murmur in my mind. But now they have come b
ack, this time with darker import. Oh, if only you would be truthful with me, Ethan, it could make all the difference.”
His heart began to race. “Truthful?” Mindlessly, he turned back to Viking and drew the brush downward. “What makes you think I’m not being truthful?”
Madeleine stretched her hand over his, stilling his movements. “Ethan. There is no cousin, is there?”
A defensive protest rose to his lips. He stopped himself, catching the untruth only in time. After a moment, he leaned his forehead against Viking.
“No,” he said, and felt as if his heart had been yanked out by the roots.
He heard the little intake of breath that signified her shock. Next, she would tell him goodbye; he knew it.
“Whose child is she?” she asked, her voice quivering.
Carefully keeping his gaze away from Madeleine, he gave Viking a gentle slap on the rump, then limped back to the shelf and replaced the brush.
“I don’t know,” he said softly.
“You don’t know who the mother is, you mean.”
“No, I mean I don’t know who her parents are.”
Her eyebrows raised in surprise. After an instant’s hesitation, he began to explain. He told her everything, or almost everything, starting with the baby’s arrival in his bedroom and finishing with his doubts about Leah. He did not voice his suspicions about his twin; to do so without proof would be an act of supreme disloyalty, he believed.
When he had done, she nodded and walked a few paces away, leaving Viking’s stall. He followed her. “If I am understanding correctly, you may be the father, but you’re not certain.”
“It’s highly unlikely that I am. Despite what you may think, I haven’t been careless. I—”
“Please!” She held up a restraining hand. “Don’t give me details; I’ll trust your word on this.”
“No, I only meant the circle of possible mothers is very narrow.”
“How you comfort me.” She wandered further from him. Again, he followed, limping quickly past to block her way.
The Bridegroom and the Baby Page 12