Page 48 of The Cornish Bride

To her immense surprise, Ysella felt nothing but relief. Relief that Kit hadn’t killed him and would have to be arrested or become a fugitive, relief that it was all over and honor, at least for the two men, had been satisfied.

The innkeeper dashed forward with the box of bandages he’d brought with him to attend to his man, and Kit walked over to the gate, a handkerchief held to his bleeding ear, while Sam went to join the innkeeper to check on Oliver’s wound, as etiquette demanded.

For one dreadful moment, Ysella thought she was the only one who saw what happened next. Oliver, who’d had his back to them all, swung around, his hand going to the top of his boot. As it came up, a small pocket pistol caught the sunlight as he leveled it at Kit’s back.

Ysella opened her mouth to scream.

But she hadn’t been the only one to see his perfidy. Sam, who was closest to Oliver, threw himself at the gun, and he and Oliver crashed to the ground. The pistol went off with a sharp crack, and now Ysella did scream. All she could see was Sam on the ground on top of Oliver, pounding him with his fists, and Oliver trying to fight back but very much on the losing side.

Kit ran back, and he and the innkeeper pulled Sam off Featherstone, who lay in the dirt with his nose and mouth bleeding and his face mottled red from Sam’s furious blows, his chest heaving for breath. Sam’s own nose dripped blood onto the front of his coat. He gave himself a shake. “That’s for what you did to Ysella,” he spat, and gave Featherstone a kick. “And for cheating in a duel. You’re no gentleman, and if you breathe a word anywhere of what you’ve done to her, I’ll make damn sure everyone in London who matters knows you cheated in a duel and tried to shoot your opponent in the back.”

Ysella ran to Sam’s side and clutched his arm. “Oh, Sam, that was magnificent. You saved Kit’s life.” How could she have ever fancied herself to have feelings for the creature lying on the ground at her feet, abject in the mud for the second time today. He would have murdered her brother in cold blood. She’d seen it with her own eyes.

Sam put an arm around her and led her away from where Oliver still lay sprawled. She went willingly, the realization that she never had to see him again filling her with relief.

Leaving the innkeeper to put a bandage on Oliver’s grazed arm, Ysella, still with Sam’s supportive arm around her, followed Kit back inside the inn. The taproom was empty of all but the old man who’d been sitting in the corner by the fire when they’d arrived. The innkeeper’s wife, who had probably been watching the goings on in the orchard from the kitchen, bustled in. With a comforting smile for Ysella, she took her place behind a makeshift bar constructed of rough planks on top of barrels. “What can I get for you, Milord?”

Kit shot Sam a quick smile. “Brandies all round. For the old man in the corner as well. And tell us the nearest place we can hire a carriage to take us back to Wiltshire.”

*

The journey homewas a far slower affair than the madcap race north had been. In the end, they had to ride as far as Banbury to hire a carriage to take Ysella home, raising some eyebrows on their arrival with her sitting in front of Sam on Hercules.

They took a private parlor at the old Reindeer Inn, where a tolerable dinner was served to them by the landlord himself. While they ate, he enquired for them as to where they could hire a carriage and driver and came back as they were finishing the meal with the news that he’d procured one for them.

Sam, who’d not had much of an appetite, had been watching Ysella covertly as she pushed her own food around her plate and took only small sips of her claret. Try as he might, he couldn’t put the unwelcome image of her being violated by that cad out of his head. Her whole demeanor had changed. Gone was the feisty girl he was used to. In her place, had appeared a downtrodden, unhappy young woman. And, perish the thought, what was she to do if Oliver was right and she really was with child? That awful scenario plagued his mind as he attempted to do justice to the good food.

Kit ate in a silence that matched the other two, but he at least managed to put away his food, as though his close brush with death had stimulated his appetite for living and all things associated with it.

At last, they were ready to leave. The carriage was not of the best, but it would do well to transport them to Oxford where Kit said they should spend the night. And tomorrow, they could hire a more respectable vehicle for the journey back to Ormonde. So, with Abelard and Hercules tied on behind the carriage, they set off back along the Oxford road, a somewhat subdued and silent party.

Once at Oxford, Ysella retired immediately to the room Kit had taken for her, leaving Kit and Sam to eat alone in their small private parlor. A fire blazed comfortingly in the hearth and the food again was good. Between them they finished off two jugs of claret and started on the brandy bottle the landlord brought them. At length, leaving the table, they took the two wing chairs to either side of the fire and settled down with their glasses.

After the cold of the day’s journey, the heat of the flames came as a pleasant relief. Both Sam and Kit rested their muddy, booted feet on the fender and relaxed back in their seats. A warm sense of achievement settled on Sam. Ysella was safe from that cad, and the world was the right way up again.

“What am I supposed to do with her now?” Kit asked, swirling his brandy around in the glass and staring into the flames.

Unsure whether he was supposed to reply, Sam just shrugged. He’d imbibed enough of the brandy now to be feeling exceedingly mellow. He was going to sleep well tonight for the first time in days, secure in the knowledge that Ysella was safe again.

Kit crossed his legs at the ankle. “She can’t go back to London, that’s certain. Not now.”

Beyond worrying if Ysella might indeed be with child, nothing else about her future had crossed Sam’s mind, so glad was he to have her back safely “within the fold.” He forbore from asking “Why not?” which would have been stupid but had been the first thing he’d thought of. No. Kit was right. She was what would be termed “spoiled goods” now, and no member of the ton would offer for her.

He heaved a deep sigh. If ever a girl needed a friendly advocate, it was Ysella, but arguing for her to continue with her old plans would take her away from him. Sam steeled himself to make a sacrifice. “Need anyone ever know?” He poured himself another brandy. “I doubt Featherstone is going to go shouting about it. Not after having tried to murder you, and what I threatened him with.”

Kit nodded. “That’s true, but it doesn’t detract from the fact that she may be…” He hesitated, perhaps unwilling to put the thought into word.

“That she may be with child?” Sam said, the words sticking in his craw as well. How much it hurt to have to say them.

Kit nodded. “I can’t let her go back to Town if we don’t know she’s… presentable. And she won’t be, if she has a bastard growing in her belly.” He sighed. “Morvoren would know what to do. I don’t even know how long we have to wait before we can be sure she’s not. We need to get home as quickly as possible so I can talk to Morvoren.”

Sam took a long gulp of brandy, fiery heat burning a track down his throat. The thought of Ysella’s belly growing to the proportions Morvoren’s had taken on troubled him no end. With an alien, unwanted child. And her with her reputation in ruins. As it would be if anyone caught a whiff of the scandal she had caused.

Yes, calm and sensible Morvoren would know what to do.