“Father,” Matthew said quietly, wiping the blood from his lip. “You had us very concerned. How do you feel?”
Adam’s eyes were barely open, his lips pale as he spoke. “I can see how concerned you were, fighting at my bedside. What idiots I have raised.”
The brothers did not even bother looking at each other, knowing he was right but neither one willing to admit it. Mark put his hand on his father’s arm.
“Thank God you have survived,” he said, sounding more like a frightened child than a man. “What on earth possessed you to throw yourself in front of a carriage? How could you do that?”
Though barely lucid, Adam managed to give a good attempt at a scowl. “Dolt, I did not throw myself in front of the carriage. I just did not see it.”
Matthew did look at his brother, then. For all of the awful things Mark had said, Matthew almost shouted his relief that Alixandrea had nothing to do with it. But Mark did not look at his brother; his attention remained focused on his father.
“Then… it was just an…?” He could not seem to say the words. It did not make sense to him. “How could you not see a racing carriage?”
Adam’s eyes closed. “Easy enough when the mind is elsewhere,” he murmured. “I must have wandered into its path, for I remember little but a strong blow. How badly am I hurt?”
“A few broken ribs, a broken leg,” Matthew said. “What had you so distracted that you would wander into the path of a moving carriage?”
Adam did not open his eyes. “Many things, Matthew. You heard your wife; she had much to say to me. Am I going to recover?”
It was apparent he did not want to elaborate on what had him so distracted that he would put himself in danger. Matthew let it go, for now. Frankly, he was relieved on so many levels that it was difficult to focus. “The physic says you will heal.”
“I shall heal if you two will stop fighting in my chamber,” Adam muttered. “Get out of here, both of you. When I am well enough, I shall beat you both severely.”
He drifted off to sleep without another word. With a lingering, hostile glare at his brother, Matthew quit the room. He found Caroline standing in the hall.
“Where is my wife?” he asked her.
The redhead shook her head. “I do not know, Matt. I have been with Aunt Livia for some time.”
Unworried in the least, Matthew set off to find his wife. In the doorway, Mark watched him go, now more than ever determined not to tell him what he knew. The woman had been the cause of too much misery in their lives. They were better off without her. Moreover, there was some sick sense in Mark that did not want to see Matthew happy. Why should Matthew be happy with his wife when Mark was, in fact, not? There was too much jealousy and bitterness in Mark to be kind to Matthew at the moment. He wanted to see his brother suffer.
An hour later, Matthew still had not found Alixandrea. Mark got his wish; Matthew was indeed suffering.
*
When she awokewith her face pressed against the wet grass, it was night. In the sky overhead, a night bird sang somewhere and all was still across the land. Unsteadily, she pushed herself up, disoriented. The moon cast some light on the landscape but she did not recognize any of it. She remembered Adam’s accident and she remembered walking in the rain, but little else.
Her legs were weak and wobbly as she stood up, wondering where to go. Off to her right were a few outbuildings in the distance and what looked like a church. She could see the rise of the bell tower. Deciding that would be the best place to go, she staggered in the general direction.
The field stopped and she ended up on a road. The church was further than she had thought and it took her some time to reach it. Her delicate slippers were not made for the water, dirt and walking that she had forced upon them and they were nearly falling off her feet by the time she reached the church. She banged on the door, as much as her strength would allow.
The door was a long time in opening. The great iron hinges that held the oak door to the masonry structure creakedand groaned as the panel opened slightly. A suspicious head appeared, the crown shaved, indicating a monk. He was small, pale, and dirty. Alixandrea opened her mouth to speak but ended up coughing instead.
“Brother,” she rasped. “I am in need of shelter for the night. Will you help me?”
The monk peered at her. “We are not an inn, my lady.”
“I am not looking for an inn. I am in trouble and in need of your help.”
“What manner of trouble?”
“Please. I am lost.”
He took another look at her, noticing she was wet, disheveled, and looked as if she had met with some misfortune. After a reluctant moment, he stepped back and opened the door wider.
“Come in,” he said.
She stumbled in the door. The sanctuary was cavernous and dark, smelling of mold. The monk held the only taper in the entire place. After he bolted the door, he looked at her rather curiously. She was shivering and pale.
