Page 35 of Barbarous

“Yes, their cottage is one of the larger ones on Malcolm’s estate.”

“I do not believe they were arguing about a dog.” He shrugged and glanced around. “If I remember correctly, there should be a shortcut that leads to a rather pleasant meadow.” He shot her a challenging look. “Do you care for a gallop?”

Daphne could see the notion of besting her on horseback amused him. “You must mean the South Meadow? Yes, there is a rather nice path just ahead.” She pointed over his shoulder and when he turned to look, she snapped her reins and Carmel bolted toward the real path.

Delighted laughter echoed behind her. “She plays us foul, Pasha!”

Daphne grinned as she reined in to guide Carmel down the twisty path through the section of woods. The trail was seldom used these days and branches clawed at her hair and habit. The sound of hooves and shouted curses behind her told her the low-hanging branches were even harder on the huge man and his big horse.

Sunlight bathed the path ahead of her and she leaned low and gave the frisky mare her head, exploding from the woods into the meadow.

Daphne had ridden this stretch of land hundreds of times and knew it like the back of her hand. Even so, she expected the magnificent Pasha to overtake her much smaller Carmel any moment. But Hugh had still not caught up with her when she reached the rise at the other end of the bowl-shaped meadow. She reined in, expecting him to fly past and surprise her. But when she swung Carmel around and swept the meadow, all she saw was Pasha, prancing near the trailhead into the woods. Riderless.

“Good God!” She drove Carmel back down the hill, her pace beyond reckless. Hugh’s body lay crumpled in the grass a short distance from his saddle. Daphne slid gracelessly to the ground before Carmel had even stopped and dropped to her knees, lowering her cheek against his nose and mouth, holding her own breath to listen. A puff of warm air grazed her skin and she choked back a sob and kissed him hard on the mouth, weak with relief.

Naturally he chose that moment to open his single eye. His lips moved.

“What was that?” Daphne leaned closer.

“The lengths to which a man must go for a kiss,” he whispered and then laughed, the action sending a spasm of pain across his face. “Blast!” He squeezed his eye shut and that was when Daphne noticed his head rested on a rock, and there was a smear of red on it.

Cold fear slithered down her spine. “Hugh, can you move your hands and feet?”

He opened his eye and shifted his legs and arms, wincing.

Crippling relief replaced fear; thank God he was not paralyzed as Thomas had been after his fall.

She met his puzzled gaze. “You hit your head. Hold still while I check.” She pulled off her gloves and tossed them aside before sliding her fingers into his hair. There was a sizeable goose egg oozing blood, but not heavily.

“Where else do you feel pain?”

He lifted a hand to shield his eye from the sun and then quickly lowered it. “It feels like I have broken my collarbone, something I’ve done before.” He gave her his standard teasing smile, but it was shadowed by pain. “It is also bloody uncomfortable when I breathe.”

That sounded like broken or bruised ribs.

“We need to get you back to the house, and I think a carriage would be the best thing.”

His face wore an expression she’d never seen before: embarrassment. He nodded. “While it crushes my masculine pride to agree with you, I doubt I could mount Pasha at this point.”

“I’m going to fetch your saddle and put it under your head so you are more comfortable.”

His saddle lay not far from where Pasha was calmly cropping grass.

She lifted it and swept a hand beneath it to flip the girth-cinch on top and keep it from dragging. That’s when she noticed it was only half as long as normal. She peered at it and saw the tightly woven strap was torn: the tear straight and without ragged edges. Almost as if it had been . . . cut. Her body froze while her mind raced. This wasn’t an accident, this wasn’t—

Movement in her peripheral vision reminded her of the man who lay injured and waiting, and she swallowed her worry, hefted the saddle higher and carried it toward him. He watched in silence as she removed her riding coat, folded it into a square, and slid both saddle and coat beneath his neck, adjusting them until some of the tension seemed to drain from his body.

“Better?” she asked, her hand stroking the damp hair from his forehead before she knew what she was doing.

His wicked smile had returned. “Much better, thank you.”

“If your skull is concussed you should not sleep—try to keep your eyes open. Count sheep or doubloons or . . . or women to keep awake.”

His white teeth flashed. “I’ll count Daphnes.”

Daphne had to swallow down her heart, which had leapt into her throat yet again. “I will be back as soon as I can.” She began to push herself up.

He caught her hand, his single pupil large. “Be careful, Daphne.”