Page 21 of The Scarred Lyon

“His sacrifice will not be forgotten,” Duncan replied solemnly. “As for our escape, the three of us cannot fit on Midnight. Dawn cannot handle riders or weight of any kind. We need to find shelter. How far are we from Stoneheath?”

“At least fifteen miles or more,” Patrick replied. “Another concern. Before the accident, Briggs said the temperature was dropping precipitously and that the rain would soon turn to snow. He said we were in for a devil of a storm.” Patrick rubbed his chin. “I saw a small farmhouse not a mile and a half from the way we came. We can take shelter there.”

“Good. We will go there, then I will ride on to Stoneheath for help.”

“No, Duncan. I will go,” Patrick interjected. “I am uninjured, and you will have to admit I’m the better horseman. Besides, your shoulder will be tender for a while. You will not be able to handle Midnight in this cursed storm. Both you and the duchess were thrown about inside. You will soon notice the effects, such as bruising and discomfort. I can reach Stoneheath sooner. Also, Dawn needs rest to recover from the sprain. We will get you all settled at the farmhouse, then I will ride onward.”

“You will never make it before the sun sets,” Augusta said, worried.

“I have to try, Your Grace. Briggs told me there is a large farm operation five miles outside Stoneheath. Mr. Tobey is used to taking in travelers in such circumstances. I just have to mention Briggs’s name, and I will find shelter there, if needs must.”

Duncan knew his friend spoke sense. His shoulder ached like the very devil; there was no way he could travel as swiftly as Patrick. And blast it, Patrick was the better horseman, as he had proven in Spain more than once during the Peninsular War. “And Briggs?” Duncan asked softly. He could hear the agony in his own voice.

“As you said, Dawn cannot handle any extra weight. We cannot bring him,” Patrick replied.

“We cannot just leave him here!” Duncan yelled.

“We will place him inside the carriage. He will be protected from the elements and any predators. What happened to him is horrible, but I will return with help as soon as I can.”

Duncan knew, deep down, that Patrick’s plan was sound. “Then we must make haste.” Duncan pulled everything from the seat storage. “I am glad I won all that money at the Lyon’s Den, for it will come in handy.” Grabbing a saddlebag, he handed it to Patrick. “The pistols, and some powder. I will take one, you take the other. Here is some fifty pounds, and food.” Duncan opened the hamper and passed Patrick bread, cheese, and part of the venison pie. “Here, take some extra powder for the pistol. Do you require anything else?”

“The lighter I travel, the better. This should suffice. I suggest we bring what we can. The farmhouse did not look prosperous.”

“I think it would be wise not to use our titles at this farmhouse,” Augusta suggested.

“Very astute, indeed,” Duncan replied, impressed. “We are Mr. and Mrs. Bamford and a servant. If asked, I will say I hold a middling position at a bank.” Duncan quickly packed the contents of the bench seats into the large burlap sacks. He tossed a rope to Patrick. “We will tie the duchess’s case and the hamper to Midnight’s saddle for our journey to the farmhouse.”

“You and the duchess ride the horse. I will walk alongside, leading Dawn. With that shoulder, you cannot sling those sacks. I’ll take them. Do you think you can manage Midnight for a mile or so?” Patrick said.

Duncan nodded. “Can Dawn handle the mile walk?”

“He will have to. We cannot leave him here.”

“Then let us depart.”

It took some doing to get everything out of the carriage, but after they loaded Midnight, Patrick and Duncan lowered Briggs into the carriage and shut the door. The rain-ice mixture had already turned to snow. It had grown even colder—certainly not a good sign. The wind was strong, causing drifting snow, and the dark, substantial clouds meant more flurries were imminent. The ride to the farmhouse would be slow, not only because of the weather but also because of Dawn’s injury; they dared not travel any faster.

Duncan grasped Augusta’s hand and gave it a firm squeeze, then he kissed her on the forehead. This marked a less-than-ideal beginning to their marriage. Regardless of what lay ahead, he was determined to protect her at all costs. Already, she had become most precious to him.

Chapter Ten

Augusta sat in front of Duncan on the horse as they managed an uneven trot through the mud-and-snow mixture covering the road. With one arm in a sling fashioned by Mr. McGloin, Duncan held one rein, and Augusta held the other. Honestly, she felt like crying. A good release of emotion was what was needed in this grave situation. But Augusta had developed a vast capacity for adapting to the peaks and valleys of life. She would remain calm as long as she could.

Remaining calm was difficult when she first saw the scarred side of Duncan’s face. Thankfully, her first reaction was not horror but sadness and empathy. To have such perfection ruined. He must have been caught in a fire, and truly, he was fortunate not to have suffered burns over the rest of his body, or at least she hoped so. What was the story? Obviously, it was hard for him to talk about. Duncan had said as much.

As Augusta soon discovered during her time with Southen, a man wasn’t always what he seemed. Southen’s charming exterior masked a darker inner nature. Although he never directed his temper at her—she wouldn’t tolerate that—his demeanor was hollow, lacking genuine emotion. After the first few years, Augusta realized that Southen was never genuinely in love with her, or perhaps, he was incapable of love at all. She recognized she had simply been a prize to be claimed. And her youthful and impetuous love and affection for Southen quickly faded.

Sighing, Augusta leaned against Duncan. He was a solid, muscular wall, radiating warmth and protection. She could get through anything as long as he was with her. It struck her that she had never had that thought about Southen. Not once.

Duncan leaned in and nuzzled her neck. “Are you well?”

Prickles of awareness shot along her spine. Goodness, she hadn’t expected a physical reaction, not so soon, if at all. “My ankle aches. I ache all over, truth be told. I’m very glad I brought a large supply of willow bark powder with me,” Augusta whispered.

“I have a feeling we will both need it.”

A furious gust of wind nearly knocked her sideways, so she clung to Duncan.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured huskily, continuing to nuzzle her neck.