Page 5 of Once Ruined, Twice Shy

“I hurt everywhere. But my back is worst. I twisted it badly.”

“I’ll send to the house for a litter and have you taken up there. Unless you need to be conveyed elsewhere. Is there no one with you?”

The plan was going wrong already. He was supposed to put her up in front of him on the horse and hold her, the theory being, so Frederick said, that having once touched her luscious body, Methuen would be keen to do so again. Or better still, he must carry her to the house in his arms, so she could nuzzle trustingly against him, and melt his reserve.

“I… I am sure I could manage if you were to help me. Can you lift me out?”

It was hard to tell, when his body was between her and the bright sky, what manner of man she was dealing with, but the shoulders looked broad enough. He should be able to lift her out at the very least, no matter how she was conveyed thereafter.

“I could, but I don’t want to risk further injury to you. The litter is by far the best solution.”

A branch of rhododendron sprang free and swiped past her cheek. “Ouch!”

“Perhaps I’d better cut a few of these away. Less damage to you and your clothing.”

He moved out of the light, and she gazed up at a buzzard wheeling lazily above them. A sense of unreality descended on her—the tranquil countryside, so peaceful compared to Bath, the burning pain in her back, her harsh bed of twigs and branches, the frantic beating of her heart. Surely, she was in a dream. No, a nightmare.

When a long blade flashed before her eyes, she pulled away in panic.

His voice soothed her. “Be still. I’m only going to hack back a few of these branches so we can lift you out cleanly.”

Oh, heaven! They should have opted for Frederick to station himself nearby so he could watch proceedings, and intervene if it all went horribly wrong. Now someone was going to be working around her with a sharp knife. The urge to scream was barely resisted.

But when her rescuer set about methodically sawing at the shrubbery that held her, he was deft and careful, barely touching her. There was a rapidity to his breathing suggestive of panic, but his hand was steady.

The pricking agonies in her flesh eased until she was merely uncomfortable—aside from her excruciatingly painful back.

“I’ll go and fetch that litter.”

“You’re leaving me alone?” She suddenly realised how vulnerable she would be, left dangling in a bush, injured and unprotected. She definitely should have arranged for Frederick to be nearby.

“How am I to fetch help if I don’t go in search of it? I shall run up to the house. I promise you—I won’t be more than a few moments. I’ll order the litter and come back instantly.”

“But I’m helpless. What about poachers? Rioters? Unfriendly veterans? Gipsies?”

The man let out a snort. “On the Spyle estate? Not a bit of it. You are quite safe here—no one ventures onto my property without me knowing. Aside from yourself. Whatever were you doing careering up the road like that?”

Now was not the time to respond to his enquiries. She needed a clear head, not a brain fogged by physical suffering, or she’d make a mistake, perjure herself, and betray the whole scheme before it got underway.

She shifted slightly, then groaned a couple of times. “May we talk later, sir? I’m feeling distinctly unwell. If you must leave me, please be quick about it.”

“You may keep my knife so you can fend off enemies—if it’ll make you feel any better.”

When his firm fingers pressed hers around the hilt of the knife, it didn’t make her feel any better at all. Two minutes ago, she’d never laid eyes on the man. Now, she didn’t want him to go.

“Take Sheba—it’ll be quicker. She will carry anyone.” Sheba, the mare she and Frederick had hired, had quickly become a faithful co-conspirator. The horse was good-natured and never sought revenge. Despite Hestia sliding off her back time and time again, Sheba just stood about patiently waiting for her accident-prone rider to remount.

“I’m not overly keen on riding. I’ve seen too many accidents in my time. But under the circumstances—”

Hestia shielded her eyes and twisted her head, watching as the man she assumed to be Methuen swiftly removed her saddle and threw himself onto Sheba’s bare back. Moments later, the pounding of hoofbeats on the metalling of the drive signalled his departure.

Peace descended again. The buzzard still wheeled overhead, but had been noticed by a corvid of some description, and was now being mobbed. She watched the bird of prey’s effortless evasions and wished she’d been able to evade Frederick’s scheme so adroitly.

Was there still time to renege? She’d been cut free. She could crawl onto the road and stagger back to the inn. Surely, Frederick’s resolve would crumble when he found she was genuinely injured. But now he had Sheba, Methuen could be back in a few minutes. How could she possibly explain herself to him?

Goodness, was she committing a felony? No, surely not. Falling off a horse on someone’s land was no crime. It was only what she might do once taken into Methuen’s household that could constitute a crime.

Hopefully, she’d be able to find a better way once ensconced, something that wouldn’t goad her conscience. It was vital she remember Methuen was the monster relentlessly trying to ruin Frederick because they’d quarrelled over a woman.