Page 28 of The Scarred Lyon

“Of course. At least we will not have to eat the oats from the barn,” Duncan teased.

Augusta smiled as she handed him the sack.

“There are a few slices of cold chicken and roast beef as well,” Duncan continued. “This looks like a pot of jam. Quite the hamper. With proper rationing, this food could last two weeks, perhaps more. But we will not be here that long.”

“But what if we are?”

“We’ll still have eggs, and there is plenty of snow to melt for water. We can do this. We will do this. If we get desperate enough, I can head toward the cottages five miles back from whence we came and procure food and perhaps some assistance.”

“Isn’t that the direction the would-be thieves traveled, and probably Hansen and his wife?”

“Oh, they were thieves, to be certain. They ransacked the carriage and the broken trunks. They mentioned my silver shaving kit and other items, including Brigg’s wool coat and leather gloves.”

Augusta’s hand flew to her mouth in shock. “How horrible!”

“I agree. Stealing from the dead is abhorrent. Blast it, I despised leaving Briggs there, but what could we have done?”

“Nothing.”

“We could have slung him over the saddle, and all of us could have walked here. But you had a sprained ankle, as well as Dawn, plus we had to bring other items—”

Augusta took Duncan’s hand. He looked miserable, riddled with guilt. She knew exactly how he felt. “Do not torture yourself. As you say, Mr. McGloin will be here very soon, and we can see Mr. Briggs probably buried. However, I’ve been wondering… Why would the thieves come here if Mr. Hansen did not tell them we were here?”

“They saw the crest on the door and came looking for ‘the toff with his iron box full of money.’ So I suppose, looking for assistance among those cottages may not be wise. We will cross that particular bridge when we come to it. Meanwhile, we have enough food and firewood. If we need more fuel for the fire, I found an axe. I can either chop the few pieces of furniture, or there are plenty of trees surrounding the property.” He lifted her chin with two fingers and met her worried gaze. His poor face was not easy to look at in the light of day, in what little natural light they had. But Augusta did not flinch. She stared into his sky-blue eyes and saw kindness, confidence, and affection. “Say it: We will get through this.”

“We will get through this,” she replied softly.

He released her chin and turned toward the food. “Well done. What should we eat first?”

“The bread, tarts, and scones will grow stale. The meat will spoil next,” Augusta replied. “Is the root cellar cool in there?” When Duncan nodded, she said, “I suggest we put most of the food back in the hamper and store it there. That will delay spoilage. Today? We should fry the eggs with some sausages, have a cheese scone each, and a few dried cherries. And tea, of course.”

“A wise suggestion. You are in luck, as my soldier skills extend to frying eggs over a fire. Thankfully, the Hansens left a skillet and a pot.” He turned suddenly, winced, and groaned with pain.

“What is it?”

“Help me off with this waistcoat.” She did, and he groaned again. “Lift my shirt over my head. Carefully.”

Augusta gasped. Not only was Duncan well built, but his left side was covered in red, angry-looking bruises. She gently touched him, and he winced. Her gaze moved up his muscular arm to his injured shoulder. It was as bruised and swollen as the rest of him. She trailed the tips of her fingers along his ribcage, not just to check for injuries, but because she quite enjoyed touching him. Muscle rippled under her fingers. “Impressive.” Then she gasped, as she could not believe she had spoken that aloud.

“Besides brooding for the past five years, I worked on the estate, trying to keep busy. Actual manual labor.”

“The effort shows. Are you certain you do not have broken ribs? You absorbed most of the impact when we were tossed against the carriage.”

“I am sure. The pain would be much more intense.”

“You have done enough for today. I will cook the eggs; I can manage. I will add willow bark powder to both our cups of tea, and we will sit by the fire to rest. I will brook no argument,” she said firmly.

“As you say, Duchess. First, I will put the rest of the food in the root cellar.”

“Then you must get your arm back in the sling and sit by the fire.”

“Right away.”

Augusta placed a hand on her hip. “I do like a man who obeys simple commands.”

“I was a soldier, after all.”

Augusta laughed and gathered the food for their morning meal. As she worked, she made a vow to herself. She would take each day as it came and not dwell on the worst or what might happen. As long as she was with Duncan, she felt safe and protected. It hit her that she had never felt that way with Southen. Not ever. And so, she made another vow: to stop thinking of Southen, especially when comparing him to her new husband. It was clear Southen would always fall short. He belonged to her past and had to stay there.