Page 19 of The Scarred Lyon

“We will be departing immediately,” Duncan said as he settled her on the bench seat. He quickly positioned her sideways on the seat, so her feet were raised. A quilt, similar to the one from their room, was neatly folded at the end of the bench. Duncan draped it over her. A large hamper was set on the floor, and Duncan stepped inside as someone handed him other items.

“A warming brick for your feet.” He placed it under the quilt, and Augusta sighed contentedly at the kind gesture. “And a hot water bottle.” Duncan handed the blanket-wrapped flask to her. “And lastly, a feather pillow.” He gently placed it behind her head. “And if you need another quilt and pillow, we have the ones in the bench seat.”

“You have thought of everything. Thank you,” Augusta murmured, feeling quite touched. A man as considerate as he was could not be as emotionally detached as he had seemed yesterday. Duncan Bamford was clearly a man of shifting moods. Was it something she had said? She would discuss it later.

Duncan settled into the bench seat across from her, and they soon began moving.

“Will McGloin and Briggs be safe from the heavy rain?” she asked, staring out the window. The raindrops had turned into a steady shower.

“My father had the dukedom carriages renovated. The roof was extended forward to cover the coachman’s and any rider’s heads. There is also a partial wall along the sides of the seating area. It should protect them from the worst of it, unless the rain comes in sideways or directly into their faces. They are also wearing appropriate garments for the journey. How kind of you to inquire.”

“You should know it now, but I am a bit of a worrier. Should we give them some food from the hamper before we travel any further?”

Duncan shook his head. “I believe the three of us ate enough for a table of six patrons this morning. If they become hungry, they can knock on the window behind me, and I’ll pass them food. Have you had enough to eat?”

Augusta smiled warmly. “For the moment, thank you.”

“Then why not rest? Perhaps take a nap?”

“I believe I will.” Gathering the hot bottle to her side and planting her feet firmly on the brick, she curled onto her side, facing Duncan. Augusta’s eyes grew heavy, and she soon drifted off to sleep.

She was abruptly awakened by a sudden jolt of the carriage and the sound of Duncan’s voice calling her name. She blinked rapidly and met Duncan’s concerned gaze. “What happened?”

“The weather has deteriorated rapidly in the past hour. Here, let us store your items in the bench seat.” Augusta stood, and Duncan gathered the pillow, blanket, and the rest. He opened the seat latch, stuffed the bedding into a burlap sack, and closed the lid.

Good heavens. The carriage rocked violently as it struggled against the howling winds, and the steady drum of rain. Augusta gripped the edges of the seat as thunder rumbled overhead, making her start. It felt as if the carriage were hardly moving at all. Then a gust of wind tilted the conveyance dangerously to one side, and then the other.

How had such an intense storm come out of nowhere? And she had slept through it? Astounding. Turning partway, she pulled aside the curtains and glanced outside. A jagged crack of lightning bolted across the sky. The road had become a sea of mud, and the horses were obviously straining to move forward. Alarmed, Augusta was about to speak when the carriage began to slide sideways.

She could hear the horses in distress, whinnying loudly over the storm, and the shouts of Mr. Briggs and Mr. McGloin. Duncan gathered her into his arms and pulled her close. “Hold on to me!” he shouted as he grabbed the leather strap above him. The carriage rocked from side to side, the wood groaning under the strain, and Augusta clutched Duncan’s waist, holding on tight. They were heading in a downward trajectory, as if plunging off an embankment. With a splintering of wood, a wheel came off the conveyance.

The carriage pitched to the left, slamming them against the wall. Then the carriage tumbled down a steeper embankment. They were tossed around inside so violently that Augusta saw stars. Throughout it all, Duncan never loosened his grip on her. Augusta clung to him for dear life. The cacophony of sounds was terrifying indeed. The servants’ yelling, the horses in obvious anguish, wood breaking, all mixed with thunder, lightning, pounding rain, and roaring winds.

Then everything went dark.

Chapter Nine

Duncan groaned and opened his eyes. Someone was stroking his face—the left side, where the scars were.

“You suffered burns,” Augusta murmured.

He looked down at his feet and saw that his gold porcelain mask had shattered. He had hoped to keep his scarred face hidden until they reached Bamford Park. Fortunately, Augusta wasn’t screaming or recoiling in disgust. At the moment, he couldn’t afford to worry about her reaction to his injured face. The carriage accident was serious and needed attention. White-hot pain shot through his arm, and he realized he was still gripping the leather strap. Yet his arm was at an unnatural angle.

Augusta followed his gaze and cried out, “Your arm! Is it broken?”

“I believe the shoulder is dislocated. It happened before, during the war. Can you assist me? My fingers. I cannot loosen them.” Glancing around, Duncan noted that the carriage was on its side. The passenger door was above them, and they were lying against the opposite door.

Augusta stretched upward, gradually freeing his fingers from the strap. His arm hung limply at his side as searing pain made him cry out. With great effort, he managed to stand. “Stay where you are,” he commanded. “There’s shattered glass everywhere.” Duncan knew he was barking orders, just like the army captain he used to be, but he had to assess the damage outside before worrying about anything else.

Rain seeped through the cracked window in the carriage door. He struggled to pull himself up, hampered by only one functional arm. “Patrick!” he shouted. “Patrick! Briggs!”

A terrible thought crossed his mind: Had both men perished? Outside passengers always sustained the worst injuries in a carriage accident.

Amid the gale-force wind, he heard it, and it was drawing closer. Patrick shouted in reply, “Duncan!”

Patrick opened the door and dropped into the carriage. “I was thrown clear; some shrubbery broke my fall. Midnight is tied to a tree, seemingly uninjured.”

It was then that Duncan heard the whinnies. “And Dawn?”