“I fear you killed ‘im, Miss.” Brandon stepped reflexively backward.
“Nothing of the sort,” she snapped, though she felt no such confidence. Tears swam before her eyes as she waited— perhaps in vain—for Brian to breathe.
“‘E’s dead, miss,” Brandon squeaked, wide eyed with terror. “I’m sure of it.”
A shuddering breath pulled Brian’s chest up. “Not dead,” he gasped feebly.
Lydia crumpled, weak with relief, throwing herself down to embrace him.
“Awwchewwruff,” Brian groaned in agony. “Off. Get off.”
She snatched away from him, the relief of seeing he was alive ebbing as the shouts of the mob whipped through the window. “Tear the place apart! They’ve got to be in here.”
“Brian, can you stand?” she whispered urgently.
Brian began to roll, moaned in pure anguish, and promptly passed out.
Panic welled. “Brandon?” Lydia rose and moved quickly to Brian’s shoulders. “I need your help dragging him away from the window.” She gestured to the carriage house. “Let’s get him into the shadows behind the barn before that lot gets smart enough to look out the window.” With Lydia on one side and Brandon on the other they managed to haul Brian bodily, inch by inch, into the inkier darkness. Using his satchel as a pillow, Lydia propped his head and fanned his face with a corner of her skirt. “What I wouldn’t give for smelling salts,” she muttered wryly.
Brian groaned, eyes fluttering open to lock on hers. “Truly, lass, ye’ll be the death of me. I’ll not survive another hour in yer presence.” He inhaled, coughed, and then whimpered in pain. “This is worse than bein’ shot I tell you.”
Tentatively she touched his right side. “Is it your ribs?”
“Aye,” he grunted. “Ye broke a few.” A tinge of color seeped back into his cheeks and slowly he managed to wriggle to a sitting position against the scarred boards of the carriage house wall.
Lydia tossed a nervous glance over her shoulder, dreading the moment their meager hideout would be discovered. “I realize you’re in pain and need to rest, but are you able to walk? I fear we don’t have much time.”
Brian winced glancing toward the glow from the inn windows dancing across the ground. “Ye’ll need—” Another straggled cough racked his body, cutting short the words. He wiped a palm across his mouth revealing a smear of blood.
“Brian, you’re bleeding!” Lydia grabbed his hand, staring in horror at the evidence of life threatening injury. The world spun around her as visions of a splintered bone piercing his lung sprang to mind. She’d killed him. Brian had said as much in jest, but it was true, the bright red liquid staining his hand was testament to it. “You—you’re dying.”
“No, Lydia, it’s not what ye think. The blood’s from me mouth. A tooth cut into my tongue when we fell. It hurts like hell, but will hardly prove fatal.”
Her eyes flicked to his face, assessing the truth in his eyes. “You’re certain? You wouldn’t lie to me about this.
“Never, love. But as you pointed out, we must be goin’ before that rabble finds us. Before we can travel ye’ll need to bind me ribs.”
“With what?” Lydia quickly assessed their meager belongings. “I’ve got it.” She lifted the hem of her blue skirt and tore a wide swath of the petticoat beneath. Leaning forward she lifted Brian’s shirt exposing the injured area. A garish bruise was already forming along the right side of his ribs. She swallowed a wave of guilt. “Brandon, please hold his shirt up while I wrap his ribs.” The boy quickly complied. Lydia knew from listening to her father speak of battlefield injuries that the ribs should be tightly bound, but as she reached around Brian’s torso and felt him tense she nearly lost her nerve. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he ground through clenched teeth. “Just get this over with.”
Hands shaking Lydia stretched the length of cloth behind Brian’s back and around the afflicted area of his torso as many times as it would reach. He sat rigid throughout her nursing, but never made a sound. “Done,” she said, situating his shirt down over the bandage. “Brandon, let’s help him to his feet.”
With the aid of the wall Brian managed to stand primarily on his own. “Jesus,” he wheezed, though his voice sounded a bit stronger. He held a steadying hand on the wall and motioned Lydia to his side. “I’ll be needin’ yer help to travel, love.” He draped a long arm across her shoulders, using her to support his injured side.
“Anything you need, Brian.” She forgot the rapid swelling of her right elbow and lifted the arm to wrap it about his waist. A flash of pain shot up her arm. Valiantly she masked a wince, his injuries were far more severe than hers. “Surely it will be easier for you once we retrieve the horse.”
“Forget the horse. We can’t risk goin’ after it. The stable hands will have heard what’s goin’ on.”
A clamoring from the direction of the inn indicated the manhunt was spilling into the courtyard. “I say we tear this whole place apart!” one man shouted. “That son of bitch Irishman has got to be here somewhere.” A chorus of, Aye’s, was close to follow.
The innkeeper’s high-pitched, panicked voice rose above the din. “Gentleman, please stop! No, not the chairs or the mugs. Bring that back you lout!”
Lydia cringed into Brian’s side. “What will we do? They’re sure to find us here.”
“Come, both of you, into the woods over there.” Brian pulled Lydia away from the carriage house with a jauntier stride than she would have expected. “Brandon, walk in front of us so I can be sure ye’re safe.” The boy scampered to the lead.
Travel was precarious in the dark, but after several tense minutes the roar of the riot dwindled and finally ceased all together. Even the moon seemed to be on their side as it hid behind a smattering of black clouds, blocking the silvery rays from illuminating their location. Of course the lack of light also prevented moving at a fast clip and the twigs and briars tore viciously at Lydia’s skirt, further hindering their pace. She tried to stretch a crick from her neck, but Brian’s heavy frame prevented her from moving more than an inch or two.
After what felt like an hour of picking through the underbrush, though Lydia had no means of accurately measuring the time, Brandon stumbled. “I’m sleepy,” he grumbled through a huge yawn. He righted himself and kicked at the offensive tree root.
Lydia was unable to stifle a large yawn of her own. “It looks as though we’re in for a sleepless night,” she sighed.
“Perhaps not,” Brian murmured, drawing her to a halt. “Look there. Do ye see the barn ahead?”
Lydia followed his gaze through the thicket. Slowly her eyes adjusted to what meager light the night sky lent honing in on the peaked roof of an old barn.
“I see it!” Brandon chirped, jogging a few steps in the direction of the building.
“Hold up there, lad. Let’s be sure there is no one about to spot us.” Brian rested his forehead against her hair. “What I wouldn’t give for half of his energy.”
She smiled something about the moment inexplicably intimate. “I know what you mean. Even sleepy he looks far more chipper than I feel after a good night’s sleep.” She shifted, her shoulder still tucked snuggly beneath Brian’s arm, and turned them toward the barn. To her surprise he dropped the arm from her shoulders and stepped forward without her aide. Instantly she followed.
He raised a halting hand. “The two of you wait here while I make sure no one’s about.” With a decidedly stiff gait, Brian set off into the darkness.
Lydia’s heart leapt into her throat. Should he stumble across anyone in or around the barn he was in no condition to defend himself, he could be killed! Nervously she reached for Brandon.
“You all right, Miss Lydia?”
“I’m fine, Brandon, thank you.”
“Do ‘ou think we’ll be safe in that barn, Miss?”
Lydia glanced down into his huge gray eyes keenly noting the trust glittering at their surface.
In a single day this little boy had gone from being alone in the world to finding someone he believed would protect him, perhaps even love him. Her heart swelled with the knowledge, but at the same time a fear of letting him down settled firmly in her mind. Then and there she made a silent affirmation to protect him regardless of the consequences. Society would frown upon her “taking in strays” but society could be damned. “Rest assured, dear, Brian and I will ensure you’re safe wherever we are.” She wrapped a comforting arm about his shoulders.
“Do ‘ou think I could stay with you when we get back to yer home?”
“Whatever happens when we arrive at Wheaton Abbey, I promise to take care of you.” How she would make good on said promise was yet a mystery, but she would find a way.
“Pssst, Lydia!” Drawn from her musings she glanced up to find Brian waving them toward the barn.
She clasped Brandon’s hand, leading him to where Brian waited. “Is it abandoned?”
“No,” Brian said, “but we’ll rest for a bit and be long gone before anyone should happen upon us in the mornin’. There’s not even a horse stabled in the barn I doubt if the owner will be out early.”
Apprehensively Lydia tossed a glance to the barn, wondering if it wouldn’t be wise to move on, but her aching feet screamed in protest of her thoughts. “Very well.” She nodded, defeated, and followed Brian to the wide double door of the barn. He opened the heavy panels a crack, allowing she and Brandon to slip in first.
The interior was lit by two large windows on each end of the barn toward the vaulted roof. A sizeable second story loft was accessible by a ladder and covered by soft mounds of inviting hay.
“Can we sleep up there?” Brandon asked, excitedly darting toward the ladder.
“If ye’d like, lad. There are some old blankets in the corner if you’d like to carry them up.”
“Brian?” Warily Lydia eyed the wooden ladder. “Do you think it’s wise for us to be climbing ladders after our little accident tonight? You do seem to draw bad luck. Will you be able to manage the ladder with those broken ribs? You can barely walk.”
“I can walk just fine, Lydia, negotiatin’ that there ladder shouldn’t prove a problem for me. You however are more than welcome to sleep on the dirt packed floor down here.” Without another word he strode stiffly toward the ladder, holding his right arm rigidly against his side.
“Stubborn man,” Lydia huffed under her breath. He would never make it to the loft.
* * *
It was slow going with one side of Brian’s body quite nearly paralyzed by pain, but true to his word he climbed into the hayloft on his own power. No way in hell was he going to attempt sleep on that rock hard excuse of a floor. Moreover after Lydia had been right about his poor decision stopping at the inn he was not about to admit she was right that he shouldn’t be climbing a ladder, even if she was. On hands and knees he dragged himself to the nearest available mountain of straw and collapsed face down inhaling deeply of the sweet, grassy scent. Never in his life had he known such pain. He’d been shot in the damn war, but even that could not hold a candle to the agony shooting through his ribs and down his right side. Every breath was a torture and perhaps it would have been better if she’d killed him. He rolled to his back contemplating the chain of events which had landed him in the current predicament. The soft crunching of footfalls in the straw met his ears. Slowly Brian turned as Lydia approached from the other side of the loft, a bundle of old wool blankets tucked beneath her arm.
“Brandon’s asleep,” she said quietly, kneeling beside him to spread the blankets on the hay. “These blankets smell like dead, moldy horse, but I’m afraid they are all we have.”
“It’s all right, love. There’s no doubt in me mind I’ve had occasion to sleep on worse.”
The hint of a smile touched her lips which shown a pale coral in the silvery moonlight. For a long moment she was silent smoothing a hand across the makeshift bed. “There you are,” she murmured. “I’ll leave you to get some rest.” Just as she began to rise he noted the trembling of her lower lip.
He captured her hand, pulling her to his side. “Lydia, what is this about? Surely I’m not seein’ tears.” Brian cradled her cheek in his left palm, turning her face toward his. Even in the darkness her eyes were suspiciously bright, moist.
A harsh sob racked her petite frame. “All of this is my fault,” she cried, jerking away from his touch. “You were almost killed tonight, and all because of me. If anything happened to you I could never forgive myself.”
“Oh, Lydia, no.” Reflexively he moved to take her in his arms. “Argh,” his entire body groaned in protest. Instinctively guarding the shattered ribs, he rolled to his back, and forced a shuddering breath into his lungs. Pure agony. Small color spots actually flickered before his eyes. For a moment he feared losing consciousness.
“Don’t you see?” Lydia clamored to her feet. In her haste she tripped over the length of her skirt and plopped onto her bottom. Her chest heaved and balled hands slammed into the hay. “If not for me you wouldn’t be lying half dead in the hay.” Yanking her skirts up in a decidedly unladylike fashion Lydia attempted to stand again.
“Lydia, stop. Don’t go.” He grasped her wrist and held firm, pulling her down with more strength than he’d thought he could muster. She rolled to her knees beside him, but refused to meet his gaze. “None of this is yer doing. Do ye hear me? None of it.”
She sniffed, turning huge watery eyes to him. “But none of this would have happened if I hadn’t come looking for you at the inn. If I had stayed in the room that man wouldn’t have recognized us, and then I wouldn’t have fallen, and—and—”
“Hush, love, please don’t blame yerself.” Drawing her down, he tucked her head into his shoulder, wrapping his good arm around her. For a moment she remained stiff, but at last relented, stretching out beside him. A hand settled naturally in the middle of his chest, and the warmth of her body soothed the tension settled deep in his bones. He feathered the soft tendrils at the nape of her neck. “I’m laid up in the hay for no other reason than me own stupidity. You were right from the beginning. We should never have stopped at the inn, and it is I who should not have gone lookin’ fer trouble in the tavern. Much as I hate to admit it, you were right.”
She tilted her head back to look at him and smiled. “Right? Do my ears deceive me? I’m not sure I heard you correctly, Brian. Tell me again.”
“Don’t push yer luck, love.”
Lydia lay silent for a long while, the steady rush of her breathing matching the soft strains of the night. Truly Brian could die a happy man in this one moment, holding Lydia.
“Brian?” She lifted her head. “What were you trying to tell me at the inn?”
A cold rush surged through Brian. Huge wondering haunting eyes bore into his face as though searching his soul for truth and direction. Hope glistened in her eyes… Hope, and longing, and a torrent of emotions he could not even begin to identify. Did she know what he’d been about to say?
“Lydia,” he began slowly, the words I love you on the tip of his tongue. “I’m sorry fer what ye saw in the tavern with Maggie. You should know tha—”
“Say nothing more about it, Brian.” Abruptly Lydia wiggled out of the nook he loved to hold her in, the place where she fit so perfectly.
Mentally he cringed. Fool. Why had he started with his fleeting indiscretion with Maggie? “Darlin’—”
“We’re not really married, and you are welcome to kiss any woman you wish,” she continued flippantly. “We mean nothing of consequence to one another.” Sitting beside him, Lydia wrapped her arms about her legs, drawing her knees to her chin. “Just a passing dalliance as you said.”
“Oh, aye, Lydia and I believe that as much as you do,” he countered sarcastically. She’d just thrown his own words back in his face. Brian didn’t particularly enjoy this end of the rejection.
She loved him. Though she’d never spoken the words aloud the fact was obvious, a
nd deep down the inevitable truth was… he loved her too. Loved her with the weight and promise of the world. Loved her as surely as heaven’s angels reflected in every one of her smiles. Brian wanted nothing more than to scoop her up and vow before God and the whole of Britain—even Sir William—that she was his.
“Lydia, look at me.”
She didn’t budge.
Internally he warred, staring at the wall of her back. At this moment his existence summed up a place between purgatory and hell. Every one of his wildest dreams hovered at his fingertips all but begging to be embraced, indulged. Lydia was his for the taking, and yet he could not quite believe she would sacrifice all for the only life he could provide for her. A small house… plain clothes… damn cold winters. She would never survive. Love might prove enough to see them through a few short months, even years, but hardship would prove her undoing. She would grow to resent their lifestyle and eventually she would come to resent him. He had no desire to see her spirit broken or see her grow to hate him.
The thoughts clinked into place with staggering clarity. So that was it. He’d finally found an undeniable reason to forsake all hope. His heart sank until he had the keenest sensation of lying back in a coffin, sealing his fate.
Lydia glanced back to him, the glow of her honey eyes dim with lament and disillusionment; perhaps even an element of sorrow. He knew that sorrow all too well.
“I’m sorry, lass.”
Wordlessly Lydia reached out and feathered slender fingers through his hair. The gesture was so kind—perhaps even loving…
“Let me help you relax,” she murmured, shifting so that his head and shoulders lay across her lap. Her delicate fingers continued to work through his hair, kneading his temples and neck to the base of his shoulders. “Is this helping?”
Forget Me Not Page 18