Scandal with a Sinful Scot(33)
The reins slipped from his hands and he fell to the ground. All around him the landscape blurred and started to spin. Abbie and Megan screamed, rushing to his side. Go. Leave me. But Garrett could not speak the words. If anything happened to them he’d never forgive himself. Life would not be worth living. All grew dim. Damn it all, he was losing consciousness.
* * * *
“My lord, you should’ve allowed me to fire the shots,” Delaney stated in a bored tone.
“Well, I hardly see how it is my fault that he moved into my crosshairs. The cumbersome beast is so damned tall it is a wonder I did not take the top of his head off.” The Marquess of Sutherhorne shrugged indifferently. “I did not intend to injure or kill, but it appears that fate had other plans. So be it. Is he dead? I cannot see from this angle.”
“The women are panicked, as he’s on the ground.” Delaney continued to look through the opera glasses. “Ah, there is a slight movement of his hand. I see blood at his shoulder.”
“Not a fatal wound, then.” What an unexpected windfall. All Sutherhorne had wanted to do was give Garrett Wollstonecraft a fright. Delaney had discovered that the woman and the girl were visiting neighbors, and the Scottish swine had been spending time with them. Their names were Abigail and Megan Hughes, from Standon, Hertfordshire. What were they to Wollstonecraft? He must discover the connection.
Regardless, vengeance was required, and what better way than to let the horse breeder experience true fear? The way Sutherhorne had when Wollstonecraft had manhandled and threatened him three months past in Carrbury.
The plan took shape rather quickly, especially when Delaney reported that the red-haired girl bore a slight resemblance to the beast. Related? Wollstonecraft obviously cared for them, and firing a rifle over the ladies’ heads would strike terror in the man—and give Sutherhorne a balm for the slight he’d endured.
“My lord, I suggest we take our leave.”
Delaney’s gravely monotone voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Of course. The plan for our departure is in place?”
“Yes, my lord. Your carriage awaits, a mile through these woods.”
Sutherhorne handed the rifle to Delaney, who then slipped it in the saddle holster. “I will require you to take a quick sojourn to Standon and gather any information you can on the woman and the chit.”
“Of course, my lord. And what of the young heir?”
Sutherhorne narrowed his eyes. “The dissolute grandson, Aidan? Why, do you covet the man?”
Delaney’s expression turned stony and he did not reply. Recalling the events at the naughty party, Delaney had thrown himself into the carnal activity with a good deal of enthusiasm. He regarded his employee shrewdly. What did he know about this man? Next to nothing, though Sutherhorne did not care to delve into the man’s past. As long as he fulfilled a purpose and provided a service, Delaney could continue with his illegal boxing and other personal pursuits, illicit or not.
“I am about to spread the tale of Aidan Wollstonecraft’s decline throughout London. The salacious tidbit of gossip regarding selling himself for opium should destroy his family’s bloated and exaggerated good reputation quite thoroughly. I may even toss in his exotic sexual proclivities as an added bonus.”
“The talk in Sevenoaks is that the young heir has taken a sojourn to Italy for the winter months, to recover from a chest infection,” Delaney stated.
Sutherhorne laughed. Did the family truly believe they would get away with this fiction? There were at least two other peers in attendance at the wicked party who could corroborate. Then he sobered and cast a sidelong glance at Delaney. His employee was dangerous and unpredictable—he knew that much about him. Could he have developed an obsession with Aidan Wollstonecraft? Why else was he asking questions in Sevenoaks? “I do hope you were discreet in your inquires regarding the heir.” Delaney gave him a brisk nod. “The lie will not hold up once word starts to spread. Come. Let us depart before we are discovered.”
The two men rode silently through the thick cluster of oak and fir trees.
“Delaney, I want you to stay in the area. Not at the local inn, but elsewhere. Find out if the Scottish barbarian dies of his wound. Once you have an update, return to London with all haste. Then you will be free to carry out my other request.”
“Yes, my lord. Consider it done.”
Sutherhorne smiled and glanced at the blue, cloudless sky. A beautiful day. He breathed in the cool, crisp air, then exhaled.
By God, revenge was sweet indeed.
* * * *
Abbie looked about frantically. Since they were surrounded by woods, the shot could have come from anywhere, though it appeared the sound had come from north of where they stood. They were exposed here, on open ground.
Megan stood by, wringing her hands. “Mama, what should we do?” she cried.
Abbie laid her head against Garrett’s chest. His heart still thumped with a strong beat. Thank God. She tore off his wool muffler, bunched it up, and held it to his wound. Pressure would stem the bleeding. She’d learned this much from her physician husband. “Listen to me, Megan. Calm yourself. You must ride immediately to Wollstonecraft Hall. Inform Martin, the butler, about what has happened. We need a wagon and footmen, and the physician should be called.”
Megan’s eyes widened. “But—”
“Go, Megan,” she urged, “and tell them to bring weapons in case they are needed.”
Her daughter glanced worriedly at Garrett, then mounted her horse and set off at a brisk gallop. Please God, let her be safe. She was taking a chance asking Megan to do this, but if the person who fired upon them was still out there, Abbie would rather the perpetrators fire on her and Garrett. At least a moving target was harder to hit.
And they had been fired upon. Abbie had heard and felt the bullet dash past their heads, far too close to be accidental. When Garrett moved in front of them, he took the impact of the second bullet. Oh, my love. He’d done it to protect them.
There was too much blood. From a shoulder wound? The slug must have hit a major vein or artery. Abbie pressed harder as her frightened mind struggled to remember things that Elwyn had told her or something she’d read in one of his medical books. On the rare nights she could not sleep, she’d often read them.
Think, Abbie. The subclavian artery was in the shoulder, which fed to the main artery in the arm—she couldn’t recall the name. That could explain all the blood. Was bone shattered? The artery or veins destroyed? Nerves and tendons damaged beyond all repair?
Garrett groaned, his eyelids fluttered. “Abbie…” he croaked.
“Yes, I’m here. Stay with me. Help is on the way,” she soothed as she pressed harder on the wound.
“Safe…”
“We are safe. Do not worry.”
He clasped her hand. “Love…you.” His eyelids closed and his grip slackened.
“Garrett!” Again, she listened to his chest. Still beating. He was a strong man; he would fight this. Interminable moments passed. Silence surrounded them, except for the haunting, hoarse screech of a hawk circling overhead. Finally, the unmistakable sound of thundering horses’ hooves filled her hearing. Four men on horses galloped toward them, followed by a wagon with three others riding on it.
An older man pulled up on the reins, halting the horse before her. “MacAdam, ma’am. The head groom. What direction did the shots come from?”
As he spoke, the men from the wagon jumped down and rushed toward them.
Abbie pointed toward the cluster of trees. “There, I believe. My daughter?”
“Miss Hughes is well, and bravely explained in detail what occurred. Martin has sent for the physician in Sevenoaks, and sent word to the earl’s personal physician in London. He also sent a runner to Carrbury. The earl and viscount will want to be informed. As would Master Riordan.”
“Yes, of course,” she murmured.
It took five men to lift Garrett and carry him toward the wagon. Abbie followed behind and one of the men helped her up. She knelt beside Garrett and continued to hold pressure to the wound.
“Do you believe it was deliberate, Mrs. Hughes?” MacAdam asked. “Miss Hughes was not sure.”
“Yes. The first shot sailed over our heads, far too close for comfort. The second hit Garrett when he moved in front of us, to protect us.”
“Thank you. Lads, take the wagon to the hall. Quickly now. Inform Martin that Jacob, Samuel, and I will search the woods.” MacAdam pulled his rifle from the saddle. “Off with you!”
They had tied Patriot and the gelding to the rear of the wagon, and with a snap of the reins, they lurched forward, the pace growing quicker as the horses built up speed. Garrett mumbled as he slipped in and out of consciousness. Hot tears clustered on her lashes, but she blinked them away. She must stay in control—Garrett’s survival depended on it. The ride was rough, and Abbie almost lost her balance more than once as the wagon hit ruts in the semi-frozen ground.
Once they arrived at the front entrance of the hall, she was swept up into a beehive of activity, with Martin efficiently and confidently giving orders to all and sundry.
As she was being assisted from the wagon, Martin rushed to her side. “We shall place Master Garrett in the morning room, Mrs. Hughes, as it is on the main floor and there is a chaise large enough to accommodate him.”