The Duke I'm Going to Marry(65)

Ian set Dillie down on the chair, and then left her side to toss more logs onto the fire. He was too impatient to wait for the servants to take care of it. In truth, he was jumping out of his skin. Dillie was here. Hurt. Still too dazed to realize that he was at her side.

When the innkeeper’s wife rushed in, Ian’s tension eased. Mrs. Gwynne was a most capable woman. “Miss Farthingale is not to be left alone. Do you understand?”

Her white mob cap bobbed up and down. “Aye, Yer Grace.”

He turned back to Dillie and knelt beside her. “Who else rode with you?” He’d already asked her the question downstairs, but he wasn’t confident of her answer. He needed to be certain that the search party wouldn’t leave anyone behind.

She didn’t respond.

“Damn.” He wouldn’t get much out of her in her present state. “Mrs. Gwynne, watch her carefully. She isn’t to fall asleep.” He knew this sort of head wound could be dangerous.

He rose, reluctant to leave Dillie but knowing he was of little use here. He would be of more help searching for Abner. In any event, Dillie would never rest until the old man was safe. He would attempt to talk to her at length later, once she was out of her wet clothes and had some warm broth in her.

He cast Dillie one last look and ran his knuckles gently along the curve of her jaw. “We’ll find him,” he said softly. “I’ll look in on you as soon as I return.”

She glanced up, her eyes suddenly bright with recognition. “Ian,” she murmured, taking hold of his hand as it lingered on her cheek. She didn’t remove it, but closed her eyes and let out a sob. “Am I dreaming? Am I dead?”

“Very much alive, sweetheart.” However, her cloak was soaked. So was her gown. So was her hair. Her lips were now a purplish blue, and her teeth were chattering worse than they had been downstairs.

He drew away and went to his saddle pouch that was hanging over the footboard, digging out his only remaining clean shirt. He handed it to Mrs. Gwynne. “It’ll have to do for a nightshirt. She’ll take my room, of course. Ready other quarters for me.”

Since the maids immediately took off to prepare his new room, he reached down to remove Dillie’s shoes. He’d seen her hobbling, which likely meant a bad sprain. There would be swelling. She let out a soft cry. “I’ve twisted my ankle. My shoulder’s sore, but I don’t think it’s broken. Abner’s badly hurt. He’s unconscious and still out there. I was so stubborn and stupid. It’s all my fault. Our carriage overturned. His leg is crushed beneath one of the wheels. I couldn’t pull it off him. The horses broke loose and galloped off.”

She assured him there was no one else but Abner, then tried to rise. He caught her as she stumbled. “I’m fine. I’ll show you the way.”

Ian’s heart was in his throat. Dillie might have been killed. What other injuries had she sustained? “There are men searching. I’ll join them. You trust me, don’t you, Dillie?” Why had he asked that? How could she trust him?

She smiled up at him, a small, weak smile. “Oh, Ian. I do.”

It was good enough for him. Not just good. It sent his heart soaring. He gazed into her eyes, breathing a sigh of relief that they now appeared clear. “Get those clothes off you and soak in the tub. Then put on this shirt and stay by the fire. Eat something. The maids will tend to you. Ask for whatever you need. Anything, Dillie. Don’t hesitate to ask.”

He raked a hand through his hair. His heart was still slamming against his chest. Dillie here? Injured. He’d meant to give her time to think about his offer of marriage. What cruel twist of fate had thrown them together? If word ever got out that they’d spent the night together at the Black Sail Inn, there’d be nothing for her to think about. Her family would be at his door, pistols pointed down his throat.

She stared up at him, those big, blue eyes of hers wide with fright.

He turned to leave, and then stopped and returned to her side. He planted a solid, possessive kiss on her lips that drew a gasp from Mrs. Gwynne. Hell. He probably shouldn’t have done that. “I’ll be back with Abner.”





CHAPTER 11


BY THE TIME Ian reached the innkeeper and his servants, they had already found Abner and were working to lift the carriage off his crushed leg. Ian added his strength to the endeavor, relieved when they managed to raise the carriage just enough to pull Abner out. The old man was unconscious, but traces of vapor that formed about his mouth meant he was still breathing. “How are we ta carry ’im, Yer Grace?”

Ian knelt beside Abner and checked him for broken bones. The old man’s neck and spine were what concerned him most, for he’d taken a nasty spill. Nothing appeared to be broken other than his leg. Abner was fortunate. The muddy grass had somehow cushioned his fall. “I’ll carry him. Help me lift him over my shoulder.”