Mr. Gwynne led the way, huffing and lumbering up the stairs. “Yer Grace, I hope ye find yer quarters satisfactory. Elsie will bring ye that tankard of ale and a bowl of chicken stew. It isn’t fancy, but it will warm yer innards.”
Ian nodded. “It’s most appreciated.”
He was pleased to see a plump mattress on the bed and a fire blazing in the hearth. A tub stood near the hearth, and there was a side table with chair on the far wall beneath the window. The shutters were rattling, no doubt loosened by the fierce wind. “Blasted weather. My apologies, Yer Grace. I’ll fix them at once.”
Ian removed his oilcloth and cloak and hung them on a hook beside the hearth. He crossed to the window to assist the innkeeper, who was wrestling with the shutters. Eager to be left alone, he was about to offer to take over the chore when he saw a brilliant bolt of lightning strike the courtyard. It was followed by a roll of thunder.
He blinked his eyes. Surely the light was playing tricks on him. Was that a girl he’d seen trudging through the rain? He turned to Mr. Gwynne, but the man was still fussing and muttering, his attention fixed on the rattling shutters.
Another crack of lightning lit up the courtyard and was quickly followed by another roll of thunder. He had seen someone. Definitely a girl out there, struggling. She’d fallen to her knees in the cold mud. “Forget the shutter, Mr. Gwynne,” he said with sudden urgency. “There’s someone in peril. A girl. I think she’s just fainted.”
“Lord love me! I’ll get my men to help at once.”
But Ian had already grabbed his oilcloth and hurried downstairs, taking the steps two at a time. He tore out of the inn and into the courtyard, quickly making out a slight, limp body lying amid the icy puddles. He put the oilcloth around the girl and lifted her into his arms. “Miss, I—” His heart suddenly shot into his throat. He knew this girl, recognized the slender curve of her body. No. She was in London. Safe. “Dillie?”
It can’t be.
His damn limbs froze and his mind began to reel. The icy rain continued to pelt them. He shifted her more securely in his arms. “Dillie, can you hear me?”
Lord! What in blazes is she doing here?
“Hurt. Abner’s hurt. Carriage... must save him,” she mumbled, struggling in his arms though she was obviously dazed. “Overturned. Must... show you the way.”
He would have laughed were the situation not so serious. This was typical Dillie. Spirited. Independent. Ready to take action, no matter that she was on the verge of fainting. She’d obviously hurt her leg. He’d seen her hobbling as she came into the inn’s courtyard.
He carried her inside, his heart now pounding so hard it threatened to burst within his chest. She continued to struggle, not yet recognizing him. Her eyes were unfocused and he knew that she was in pain. “No... not here... north road!”
He set her down on one of the long benches in the common room, the one closest to the warmth of the fire, and knelt beside her. A stern glance warned away the patrons who’d come to gawk. “We’ll take care of Abner,” he said gently. “Don’t worry about him, Dillie. I’ll gather a search party. North road, you say? But London is south.”
“We... Carlisle. North. North. Not London.”
She tried to say more, but he stopped her for she was merely rambling, most of her words now incomprehensible. He caught only a few, enough to know others were still out there and probably hurt. Why did she insist they were coming from Carlisle? It made no sense. He’d left her in London only a few days ago.
To be safe, he decided to order the innkeeper’s servants to search in both directions. “How far did you walk, Dillie? Did the carriage overturn by the sharp bend in the river?” That bend in the river was north of here. One passed it coming from Carlisle, as Dillie had said. The road from London was a straight approach.
She managed a nod.
He wasn’t certain what that nod meant, or whether she was responding to his question.
“Anyone else with you besides Abner?” He knew the route from Penrith to Carlisle fairly well, having traveled it quite often. He wasn’t convinced she’d come from there, but it was possible, assuming she’d left London the same day he had. He’d traveled by horse, spent three days in Coventry. She’d gone by carriage. Had she gone straight to Carlisle and then come back south? It didn’t seem likely. No matter, he’d unravel the details afterward.
More important, he didn’t think her father would allow her to leave London without a proper companion. There had to be another passenger. “Who else rode with you?”