Eye of the Wind (18 page)

‘Best if we get him home, miss. Know where he live, do you?’

Her thoughts raced. Rather than live in the village he had sought out a ruined tumbledown shack so he might have privacy and solitude. He had trusted her. She could not – would not – betray him.

‘N-no,’ she lied. ‘Besides, as we don’t know how badly he’s hurt he must be taken up to the house, in case – in case he needs a doctor.’

‘Yes, but how are us going to get ’un up there?’ Chirp asked. ‘He won’t be walking nowhere, that’s for sure. I suppose we could carry ’un.’

‘Not if he’ve broke something,’ Billy warned.

‘A stretcher. We need some kind of stretcher.’ Quickly, Melissa looked around.

‘Don’t you fret, miss. Us can do that,’ Zeb announced, surprising everyone. ‘Have ’un ready in no time, we will. Chirp, you fetch over that there rope. Joe, cut a couple of they young birches: 12 to 15 foot long. John, do you run back to the clearing and fetch that there bit of canvas we was using to keep the rain off.’

‘What about me?’ Billy said urgently. ‘What can I do?’

‘You stay right where you’re to and keep hold of that there horse,’ Zeb said. ‘We’ll need he in a minute.’

While the men worked, Melissa remained on her knees beside Gabriel. Stripping off her gloves, she pressed her folded handkerchief against the long cut above his right eye. Had Captain’s hoof done that? It might have broken his neck.

The thin fabric was soon saturated, and each time she lifted it, blood welled from the wound and trickled down his temple into his hair. She choked down terror. Beneath the dirt and blood and rapidly colouring bruises, he was alarmingly pale.

Turning her back on the busy men, she pulled the fine muslin kerchief from about her neck and bosom. Laying it across her thighs, she folded it into a long, narrow strip. Binding it tightly around his head, she tied the two ends, blinking away tears of shock and fear. Let him be all right. Please let him be all right.

Within a short time, two long poles had been braced apart by cross members and the canvas fastened between them. The men lifted Gabriel’s inert body onto the makeshift stretcher. Melissa turned Captain, now docile, his head low. With two men on each side, the top ends of the poles were lifted and fastened to the harness. Though the lower ends would drag along the ground, Gabriel was clear of the earth and a safe distance from Captain’s heavy hooves.

Dropping the bloody handkerchief beside him, Melissa pulled on her gloves and picked up the reins. Her chest felt tight and she had to fight for breath. But she had to be strong and keep going. She glanced at the men, who avoided looking at her as they waited to be told what to do next.

Hysteria threatened once more. Only days ago they had disapproved of her being here. Now, though embarrassed by her
décolletage
, they still expected her to give them directions. So she must, for who else was there? She sucked in a breath, strove for calm.

‘Thank you all very much. It must be nearly dinner time, so I suggest you take your break now. I understand Mr Nankivell’s wagon will be back for the second load of logs this afternoon. The sycamore must be stripped and sawn into sections and hauled out to the collection area. Once that has been done, the track must be widened and pushed through to the new felling area.’ That was as much as Gabriel had had time to tell her. She turned to Billy. ‘Did Gabriel – do you know where that will be?’

Billy nodded, and knuckled his forehead. ‘Yes, miss. Gabe said it would be best if we –’

‘That’s fine,’ she interrupted quickly. ‘You carry on then. Do exactly as he told you.’

Walking behind Captain as he hauled his precious burden through the wood and across the park, she fought the urge to hurry him along. What if Gabriel’s injuries were worse than they appeared? Why was he still unconscious? What if … A sob caught in her throat and tears spilled down her cheeks.
Stop it.
Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she swallowed hard.

As she reached the drive, Lobb, who must have seen her through one of the windows, hurried out of the front door.

‘Dear life, miss! Whatever’s happened?’

‘There’s been an accident. Captain bolted and Gabriel was dragged. I think he must have been kicked. He’s been unconscious for ages.’ Hearing a gasp, she glanced round. ‘Sarah, go and fetch Hocking. Captain’s badly scratched. Tell him I’ll be along later.’

‘Miss,’ hissed Sarah, eyeing Melissa’s half-exposed bosom. ‘Where’s your –?’

‘I needed a bandage.’ She turned back to the butler. ‘Please fetch Gilbert, then take Gabriel up to Mr Adrian’s room. I’m going to –’

‘Mr Adrian’s room?’ Lobb repeated, visibly startled.

‘Just do it!’ Biting her lip as she fought for calm, she met his concerned gaze. ‘Please?’ Then she crouched beside the stretcher, anxiously searching for signs of returning awareness.

‘Very well, miss.’ As soon as the butler returned with Gilbert in tow, Melissa left them and ran into the house as Agnes hurried down the hall.

‘P-please, miss,’ she stuttered, ‘Mrs Betts says to tell you she’s sent hot water and clean towels up to Mr Adrian’s room, and she’s making some beef tea.’

For a moment Melissa couldn’t speak for the suffocating lump in her throat. Beef tea had been her father’s sovereign remedy for falls on the hunting field. ‘Thank her for me, Agnes,’ she said unsteadily. ‘As soon as Sarah comes back tell her to bring salve and bandages.’

Bobbing a curtsy, Agnes ran back to the kitchen. Watching Lobb and Gilbert struggle up the stairs with the tall figure of Gabriel sagging between them Melissa pressed her fingers against her trembling mouth, her chest heaving painfully. Scalding tears splintered her vision. She had watched this same scene only a few short weeks ago. Then it had been her father. He had died. Shaking her head violently, she banished the memory. Then followed them up the stairs.

As he lay on his back on her brother’s bed, Gabriel’s eyes were still closed. The crimson streaks of dried blood were vivid against her white kerchief and his dark stubble. Purple bruises were forming around the grazes.

Barely glancing at her father’s valet, Melissa crossed to the bedside. ‘Thank you, Gilbert. That will be all.’

Startled and uncertain, the manservant hesitated. ‘But, miss –’

Melissa glanced at Lobb, a brief look full of pleading.

‘All right, Gilbert,’ Lobb said. ‘Off you go now.’

‘Thank you,’ Melissa whispered as the door closed.

‘Is this wise, miss?’ Lobb began.

‘Why is he still unconscious? It must be half an hour at least. Surely he should be waking up by now?’ She searched the butler’s face, seeking reassurance. ‘Lobb, it’s my fault.’

After a long moment the butler switched his gaze to the man on the counterpane. Melissa sensed his dismay. In the same instant she realised its cause lay not in the man’s possible injuries but in her passionate concern. But, to her intense relief, he chose, for the moment at least, not to comment.

‘I don’t see how it could be your fault, miss. But never mind that now. I daresay him still being out of it is the best thing. It won’t have been a comfortable journey even on that stretcher. Anyway, it’ll give me a chance to get him cleaned up. Now, if you’d just like to wait outside –’

‘No.’ Melissa’s blurted refusal startled them both. But she was adamant. ‘I’m not leaving until he shows some sign of regaining his senses. So either you help
me,
or I do it by myself.’ She clasped her hands to her chest, her knuckles bone-white. ‘Lobb, I owe this man more than I can ever repay. Had it not been for him …’ Her voice broke and she couldn’t continue.

Lobb moved briskly to the foot of the bed. ‘In that case, miss, I suggest you attend to those cuts and grazes about his head, while I deal with the rest.’

Leaving her makeshift bandage in place for the moment, Melissa squeezed out a cloth in the hot water and began gently to clean the dirt and dried blood from Gabriel’s face. There was a brief knock and the door opened to admit Sarah, eyes bright with curiosity, carrying linen strips and a pot of salve.

‘Dear life, miss!’ she gasped. ‘Whatever are you doing? You shouldn’t be –’

‘Thank you, Sarah,’ Lobb intervened before Melissa could utter a word. ‘On the side table, if you please.’

‘Want me to stay and help, do you?’ she offered.

Melissa glanced up. ‘No. Thank you.’ She softened the refusal with a brief smile. ‘But I’d be obliged if you would fetch one of my father’s nightshirts, the largest you can find.’ Gabriel’s shoulders were far too wide to fit anything belonging to either of her brothers.

‘Tell Gilbert to do what he can with these.’ Lobb handed the mud-caked boots to Sarah, who held them at arm’s length. ‘And ask Mrs Betts to whip up an egg with some hot milk, sugar, and a dash of brandy.’

‘Yes, Mr Lobb.’ Sarah’s cheeks were flushed, her tone pert, as she marched out and shut the door.

‘What’s the point? He won’t be able –’

‘It’s not for him; it’s for you. No, miss, don’t turn round.’ She heard the soft, dry sound of clothing being removed. ‘You’ve had a nasty shock, what with Captain bolting, and everything. A warm, nourishing drink will settle your nerves. Help you to see things more clearly.’

She recognised his anxiety and its cause but, focused on unwinding the makeshift bandage without re-opening the cut, she didn’t bother to reply. Dropping the blood-soaked kerchief onto a soiled towel she carefully washed around the deep gash. He would carry the scar for life. Then, smearing salve onto a thick pad of folded muslin, she fastened it firmly in place with a strip of clean linen. Behind her she heard a blanket shaken out, and felt the swish of air as the butler spread it over Gabriel.

‘Lobb, will you help me with his shirt?’

‘Not much of it left,’ Lobb murmured as he moved round the bed. They eased the ripped garment up and freed Gabriel’s arms. Lobb drew the unconscious man onto his side so Melissa could lift it carefully over his head. As Lobb pulled the shirt free he saw Gabriel’s back. ‘God a’mighty! What –?’

‘He’s not a deserter,’ Melissa said quickly. Gently releasing Gabriel so he lay flat, Lobb frowned at her. ‘How would you know that, miss?’

‘Because I saw –’ she gestured ‘– accidentally – at the yard,’ she added, heat climbing her throat and face at the lie, ‘and he told me.’

‘So how
did
he get those stripes?’

‘He was a prisoner in France,’ Melissa said quietly. She unwound the filthy bandages from his wrists and added them to the pile on the towel. Then, with great care, began to release the dressing around his throat.

‘They chained him to a wall and tortured him.’

‘Dear life!’ Horrified, Lobb glanced up from the scarred wrists. ‘Why, for pity’s sake? What had he done? I’ve never seen the like of that.’

‘They wanted information.’

‘What information? What could he know? A man like him. It don’t make sense.’

‘He didn’t say. But it must have been important. Why else would they …? Oh God.’ As she lifted the last covering, the livid wound across his throat was revealed, and Lobb inhaled sharply. Biting her lip hard against a surge of anger and compassion she dimly recognised as a mask hiding something far deeper, she dropped the stained and crusted linen onto the towel.

‘Did he tell them?’ Lobb’s voice was barely audible.

As she sponged the worst of the mud and blood from Gabriel’s chest and arms, Melissa shuddered. ‘He says not. I believe him. He managed to escape.’

‘Poor bugger should have got out sooner. Begging your pardon, miss.’

But Melissa wasn’t listening. ‘There’s earth and grit embedded in these grazes.’

Another knock made them both jump. As Lobb started toward the door, Melissa laid a fresh towel gently across Gabriel’s upper body, and Sarah entered, carrying a folded nightshirt and a cup and saucer. She handed them to Lobb, her gaze flickering to the figure on the bed.

‘Anything else, miss?’

‘Yes. More hot water, bread poultices, and burn these.’ Bending, she made a loose parcel of the towel and its contents and handed it to the maid.

‘Miss.’ Sarah bustled out. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Melissa wrung out the cloth again, but before she could resume her sponging and drying, Lobb removed it, and handed her the cup and saucer.

‘First things first.’

‘I don’t want –’

‘Yes you do, miss. Believe me, you’ll feel all the stronger for it. Come along now, while it’s nice and hot.’ He stood over her, encouraging but implacable.

Thick, sweet, and pungent with brandy, the creamy liquid slid down her throat and curled warmly in her stomach. But stopping allowed reaction to take hold.

Her eyes filled and her mouth began to tremble. Bending her head over the cup, she made herself keep on sipping and swallowing, forcing the choking lump down. The painful stiffness in her throat receded and she felt new strength spreading through her body.

‘Now, isn’t that better?’ Lobb demanded as she handed him the empty cup.

She smiled back unsteadily, clinging by her fingertips to a veneer of control. Before she could speak, Sarah returned with a pitcher of hot water and the poultices.

By the time the remaining cuts and grazes had been thoroughly cleaned, poultices applied, and fresh dressings fastened around his throat and wrists, Gabriel was beginning to stir, his head turning on the pillow, restless and uneasy. Helping Lobb get her father’s nightshirt over Gabriel’s head, she rolled him toward her, holding him in her arms, inhaling his warmth, the scent of his skin mixed with the soap and salve, while the butler pulled the nightshirt down. Then they covered him once more with a sheet, blanket, and fresh counterpane.

About to sink onto the edge of the bed, Melissa found herself steered away: Lobb’s hand cupped beneath her elbow as he deftly moved a chair forward.

‘You’ll find this more comfortable, miss.’

She sat, bone weary but unable to relax, watching Gabriel’s black brows draw together in a frown as he began to mutter. He seemed worried, anxious. She yearned to stroke his hand, soothing him as she would a fractious horse, with gentle touch and soft words.

But a lifetime’s conditioning, Lobb’s presence, and her own innate shyness forbade it. So, instead of clasping his hand, she gripped her own. Her eyes drank him in, from the tousled curls, so dark against the white bandages, over the planes and hollows of his face to the stubborn line of his chin.