He still needed to move the saddle back to its place in the tack room near the back door. He eyed the offending exit, knowing his thoughts were irrational. Sancerre and Ratford were dead.
A racket erupted behind him, several thuds reverberating off the wall like shots. He dropped the saddle. Then in one swift movement, he dipped to a crouch, grabbed his knife, and spun. Hand already in throwing motion, he took in the face of the person entering. He tried to pull the knife back, his mind screaming its dismay, but it was already too late.
The knife left his grip and flew directly at Miss Prudence.
Chapter 19
Acry of pain echoed off the walls at the same time Alan screamed, “No!”
The knife had buried itself in the toe of Miss Prudence’s boot. He ran toward her, so angry with himself he could barely see straight.
“Prudence,” a familiar voice rang out.
Grace slid around the stable door, her breath heaving as if she’d run from the house.
“What happened?” she cried out when she saw her sister rocking on the ground, gripping her ankle, tears streaming down her face.
Alan wished the floor could swallow him whole. He was a savage. A brute who couldn’t control his mind enough to not let a little noise bother him.
He dropped to the ground in front of her. “It’s my fault.” His voice broke on the words. “She startled me and I…” He couldn’t finish.
Grace’s eyes widened as she stared at the knife embedded in what was most likely one of Miss Prudence’s toes.
“I didn’t mean to, Grace. You must believe me. I never wanted to hurt anyone.” He wiped at the moisture on his face, but he couldn’t tell if it was sweat or tears.
Grace put an arm around her sister’s shoulders. “We’ll need a surgeon.”
He jumped to his feet. “I’ll go fetch one.”
“No,” she said. “I need you to carry Prudence to the house.”
His hand shook. “Are you certain that is wise?”
She rose to her feet and took his trembling fingers in her own. “Alan, I am not strong enough. It is cold and she shouldn’t be left in a dirty stable.”
He nodded. Only when he had Miss Prudence in his arms did he realize Grace had called him by his Christian name. He doubted it was from any affection. It was the fastest and easiest way to get his attention when she knew he was a complete wreck.
Miss Prudence whimpered as he trotted toward the house, Grace following at a close distance behind.
“I am so sorry,” he murmured. “So very sorry.”
She sucked in a breath and then blew it out. Through gritted teeth, she said, “It’s not all your fault. Grace is always telling me to mind myself, that I’m going to give someone apoplexy one day with my sudden movements. I never thought it would be someone as young as you, though.”
How could she be so forgiving? She’d even tried to jest with him, but he could not muster a smile. If he’d recognized her two seconds too late, she’d be dead. When he was calm, he only aimed to injure, but his addled brain was not nearly as accurate and didn’t always think through actions before completing them.
“It really is alright, Lord Gladsby.” Miss Prudence seemed to relax. “The pain is not as bad as it was at first, and I am certain I will not die from a sliced toe.”
He nodded, but his mind would not let go of his failure. Grace caught up as they reached the stairs that led to the large front doors. Taking them two at a time, she pounded on the doors until Thatcher opened them, allowing Alan to rush through with his armload.
Once Miss Prudence was situated on a sofa in the sitting room, he sent Thatcher for the surgeon. All the commotion brought the rest of his guests from other parts of the house.
“What on earth?” Mr. Lenning said when he entered.
Mrs. Lenning’s eyes widened at the sight of the six-inch throwing knife still protruding from Miss Prudence’s boot. She grabbed hold of her husband’s arm and leaned into him; her face a little pale.
“Shouldn’t someone remove it?”
Grace shook her head. “Not until Mrs. Gibbons brings us rags to press into the wound. We don’t know how deep it is or how much it will bleed.”
