Andrew Lord of Despair(75)

Christ above, what was wrong with him?

He stalked to the stables, intent on using the rare sunny day to good advantage with his horses. He began as he always did, with a treat and a pat to little Daisy, the wizened pony he’d ridden as a child, who now creaked up and down the lane with Rose bouncing on her back.

He worked in hand with the young stock next, and by the time he’d brought out his riding horses, Astrid had taken up her perch above the schooling arena. After that parting scene with his mother, Andrew was comforted to know Astrid still took an interest in this aspect of his life. He was about to call up to his wife, when the groom led Magic out, ready for work over jumps.

Andrew swung up and kneed his horse out into the arena. “Mustn’t let a pretty set of quarters distract us from our work, my boy.” Or a pretty smile. Or a sad one.

The horse was his salvation, a beast who could not be ridden with anything less than a rider’s full attention. Andrew put Magic through exercises intended to loosen the gelding’s neck and back, and to sharpen his attentiveness to his rider’s aids. The next step was a series of poles on the ground, gradually raised to form low jumps, then higher jumps.

Magic was enjoying himself, working in good rhythm, and ready to take on the progressive challenges before him. Pleased with and proud of his mount, Andrew had the grooms set the last jump up to about four and a half feet, a height Magic had certainly done before, but beyond the abilities of many horses.

They bounded through the gymnastic, only to finish with a tremendous clattering crash as they landed after the last jump. Magic burst forward, then shied and bolted across the arena in a blind panic, Andrew struggling to bring him under control.

Andrew first thought they’d simply caught the top rail with a back leg and brought the whole jump down behind them, but Magic was still prancing and snorting when Andrew slowed him to a halt.

And then he saw why the crash had been so loud.

The balcony upon which Astrid had been sitting lay in matchsticks on the ground. His heart in his throat, Andrew galloped Magic back to the end of the arena, coming to a rearing halt beside the pile of lumber that had been a dozen feet in the air moments previous.

Andrew pitched boards aside, his heart thumping against his ribs. An odd, tense quiet descended as the grooms watched him searching through the wreckage for his wife. A groan directed him, and he found her, prone under yet more boards. He had them cleared away in moments, and knelt beside her.

“Sweetheart?” He felt at her wrist for a pulse as he pushed her hair back from her eyes. She had a nasty cut on her arm, a long, bloody laceration that would need stitches, at least.

“Perishing, blighted… Andrew…”

Andrew could hear the pain in her voice, but she was alive, cursing, and she knew him.

“Don’t move, dear heart. We’ll get you out of here, but you must lie still.” His voice was calm, much calmer than he felt. He told himself she had a strong, steady pulse, and she was conscious, but God help her, she had fallen a considerable distance.

And the baby. What about the baby?

He barked an order, and the grooms fell to, lifting off and stacking boards without a word. In minutes, they had the wreckage cleared, but when Andrew tried to lift his wife, her scream had every man blanching white.

“Where does it hurt?” Andrew asked around a rising sense of panic.

“Head,” Astrid said between panting breaths. “Fire in my arm, and my shoulder.”

“I’ll carry her,” Andrew said. “Somebody run up to the house and tell Gwen to get out the medicinals.”

Andrew noticed only then that Magic had come to stand near Astrid, his great long face gazing down at her worriedly.

“Watch that dratted beast!” Ezra spat.

At the sharp tone of voice, Magic looked even more worried, but he flicked his gaze from Andrew to Astrid and didn’t move a hoof.

Andrew lifted his wife carefully, then quietly told the horse what to do. Magic, having learned this command easily, knelt in the sand, waiting until Andrew had settled both himself and his wife into the saddle.

“Up,” Andrew commanded, and Magic rose gracefully to stand and wait for further instruction. The reins hung slack, because Andrew’s arms were full of his injured wife, but his seat and legs were adequate to guide the horse up the driveway to the front terrace. Ezra sent a stable boy ahead at a dead run to warn the household, and walked a few paces away from the horse.

As Andrew approached the house, Gwen emerged, her apron knotted in her fists. She kept her questions to herself, however, and sent a footman for the medical supplies as Andrew once again ordered the big horse to kneel.