“Abner... Abner,” Dillie insisted when he asked her again. She was ashen, not quite lucid. Her tears blended with the icy raindrops on her cheeks. Could he trust what she was saying? “Uncle Rupert... Carlisle.”
“Your uncle was with you?”
She nodded. “This morning.”
Which made sense of a sort, although he didn’t understand why Rupert Farthingale would be dropped in Carlisle first. If Dillie was traveling to Coniston, she should have been taken there before her uncle proceeded north.
She sniffled. “He wanted to stop earlier, but I refused.”
It took Ian a moment to realize she was once again referring to Abner. She buried her face in her hands, and though her words were muffled, he understood most. “Must reach... Black Sail Inn. Abner said it was too dangerous. My fault. I made him drive on. All my fault. I’m to blame.”
She paused and took a deep breath. Her shoulders began to rise and fall, as though she were silently sobbing. Ian took her hands in his and gently drew them away from her face, giving her no choice but to look at him. “It’s all right, sweetheart. You’re safe now.”
She took another quivering breath and gazed at him with misty eyes. Or rather, seemed to gaze through him, for her eyes were glistening and unfocused. “Abner isn’t. I’m at fault.” She began to ramble again, but he managed to understand that their horses had been spooked by lightning. They must have reared and then raced off when the carriage broke apart, skidding off the road when they hit an icy patch. “I’m to blame. We tipped over. The horses ran off.” She slipped her hand out of his grasp and put it to her brow. “He’s hurt and it’s all my fault.”
Ian cautiously wrapped her in his arms, not quite certain yet how badly she was injured. “It was an accident. No one’s fault. You have a lump on your forehead. You’ve injured your foot. Or your leg. Sit still, Dillie. Let me have a look at you.”
“No!” Her gaze was still unfocused. Strands of her wet hair were sticking to her cheeks. Her gown was soaked and muddied. She looked like a drowned water rat. One with big, frightened blue eyes. “Abner... I promised to rescue him.”
She was injured and in no condition to go anywhere.
Ian glanced at the innkeeper and the small group of servants who had donned their cloaks and oilcloths and were now heading for the door. “Search the north road, by the river’s bend.” He pointed to three of the servants. “You three search south—it’s possible Miss Farthingale is mistaken. Her driver is injured. Their carriage overturned.” He would catch up to them later. Right now, he needed to ask more questions, needed to be certain there was no one other than Abner thrown from the carriage and lying injured in the storm. Most of all, he needed to be sure Dillie was all right.
He ran his hands over her body, trying to think medically and not like the besotted idiot he always seemed to be around her. She had no broken bones, thank goodness. Still, he used special care when lifting Dillie into his arms.
He called to Elsie, the maid who’d earlier offered to warm his bed, feeling a qualm as he did so for this had been his way until now. Casual enjoyments. No promises. Somehow, it didn’t seem right that she should tend Dillie. Yet, there was no help for it. “I’ll settle Miss Farthingale in my quarters. I have a dry shirt in my saddle pouch. Get her out of these wet clothes and into my shirt. It’ll have to do for now.”
“Aye, Yer Grace.”
“And have Cook prepare a broth. No chicken stew for her yet. She’ll be in too much pain to hold down any solid food. She has a lump on her forehead and her foot is badly sprained.” That lump on her forehead worried him.
The girl began to wring her hands. She looked scared, but Ian needed her to care for Dillie while he joined in the search. “Once you’ve dried her off, seat her in a chair beside the fire. Toss more logs onto the fire if it starts to die out. She’s still shivering and needs to warm up. Tuck blankets around her legs and shoulders.”
“Her lips are blue.”
He carried Dillie upstairs and into his quarters, still issuing orders. By this time, he’d gained the attention of two other maids, neither of whom he’d entertained in bed. He dismissed Elsie, sending her off to fetch the broth while the older maids remained to attend Dillie. “Drag that stool near the chair and prop a pillow on it, Hilda. Set her foot on the pillow, but be very gentle. She’s certain to be in a lot of pain.”
“Poor lamb,” Hilda muttered, placing the wooden stool as he’d commanded. She appeared to be the sturdy, reliable sort who could be counted on to carry out his orders. He certainly hoped so.