“Oh, my God! Hugh!” she cried.
Hugh looked up, blood and sweat blurring his vision, her image only a white-clothed figure glowing with an angel’s golden aura. His lips twisted into a travesty of a smile. “Hello, Vanessa,” he managed before the churning blackness finally engulfed him.
Chapter 14
“The ribs will give him discomfort for quite some time, but I venture to say it’s his head that’ll ache the most when he wakes. Nasty bump and cut. A concussion, most likely. You know what to look for.”
The words came filtering through a great fog to Hugh’s mind. He lay there trying to make sense of them. Memories of a pallet in Spain swirled in his mind, but surely they were only memories. Yes, memories, for then it had been his shoulder on fire. He realized he heard water pouring, the rustling of fabric. He wanted to open his eyes, but they were still so heavy, recalcitrant to his desires.
“Lucky fellow he didn't take a direct hit. I’ve seen my share beyond hope. There’s a man I tended ain’t much better than an idiot now after taking a bad blow, ’' the voice went on conversationally.
There was the gentle murmur of a softer voice, but the words were indistinct.
“He’ll come around soon, and when he does, give him that sedative draught I’ve prepared. Eh? Yes, a cool compress would probably help. Keep him quiet for a few days, though by the looks of him, I’ll grant you that might be difficult," the voice said, chuckling.
Concentrating, Hugh heard the snap of a lock and footsteps walking away. Somewhere a door opened and closed. Hugh sighed deeply, then grimaced at the painful pull to his side. A rustle of fabric followed his action, and he felt something cool touch his brow. He also smelled lavender water. There had never been any lavender water in Spain. His thoughts were fuzzy, impeded by the constant pounding in his head. This was absurd. There were no soft pillows and mattresses in Spain. Dreaming.
“Devilish business. Had two horses shot out from under me,” he said seriously, struggling to sit up despite a wave of giddiness sweeping over him. His eyelids fluttered weakly, but resolutely he ordered them to open.
Gentle hands on his shoulders pressed him back down among the pillows. “Rest now, it’s all right.”
The soft, warm words came from a blurred image. Hugh blinked, willing his eyes to focus despite the increasing pain pounding his temples at the effort. His vision refused to clear, but he knew the form to be female.
“Nonsensical,” he stated flatly.
“To be sure,” said the pleasing voice. “Here now, take this.” A supporting arm lifted his head and helped him drink an evil-smelling concoction.
He made a face at the taste of the medicine, drawing a watery chuckle from his ministering angel. Angel. Something about an angel, but the thought eluded him, and tracing the thought increased the pressure in his head. He reluctantly gave it up. It didn’t seem to matter now anyway; he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Blissfully he slid into sleep.
Tears clung to Vanessa’s lashes though a smile gently curled her lips. She leaned forward, brushing her lips across his brow in a whisper of a kiss, then sat back in the Windsor chair she’d drawn up beside the bed, her eyes never leaving Hugh’s still form.
* * *
Vanessa woke abruptly. The blackness of night had deserted her room for the gray gloom of dawn. She lifted her head, peering at the ormolu clock on the mantel. It was but a few minutes after six. Hurriedly she rose. Pulling her crisp white lawn nightdress over her head, she let it fall carelessly to the floor as she rummaged in her armoire for a dress she could don without assistance. She settled on blue-printed cambric with creamy lace trim. Dressed, she sat in front of her vanity and frowned helplessly. At midnight, when Leila had come to relieve her at Hugh’s bedside, she’d fairly stumbled to her bed; the perturbation she’d felt at seeing Hugh bloody and battered inordinately fatigued her.
She had not possessed the energy to lay a hand to her hair, and this morning it showed to no good effect. Ruthlessly she pulled pins from her hair until it tumbled down her shoulders. She brushed it vigorously, finally twisting it into a knot on top. The hair that was cut shorter in front of her ears, which she dressed in curling papers every evening, looked smashed and limp. Deftly she coaxed and teased each curl into a semblance of their normal shape, pinning a few recalcitrant ones in place.
When she finished, she glanced again at the clock, pleased to see how swiftly she’d dressed. Rising, she left her room, moving quickly down the hall. She stopped in front of Hugh’s door and knocked softly.
Leila opened it and frowned at her. “What are you doing about so early, Miss Vanessa?”
“I came to relieve you.”
The older woman snorted. “I bet you ain’t even had yore breakfast.”
“No, but I’m not hungry. How has he been?”
“He was a mite restless earlier, but now he’s sleep’n restful like, and not likely to wake real soon. So, chile, you just take yoreself off and git some food in that belly lest you git too weak to do anybody any good.” Her arms akimbo, her features set fiercely, the woman spoke with the authority of a longtime family retainer.
Despite her concern for Hugh, Vanessa smiled. “All right, Leila. I’ll be back shortly. But if he should wake . . . .”
“Yes, Miss Vanessa, I know. I’ll come a bustl’n after you just as I said I would last night.”
Vanessa had to be content with that and agreed. Leila watched her go down the hall, then slowly closed the door. She turned to look at the man sleeping on the bed and clucked her tongue.
“Young man, you best appreciate my girl, or may the spirits plague your soul,” Leila said decisively, then crossed herself and returned to her seat at his bedside.
More than an hour passed before Vanessa could return to the sickroom. Trevor Danielson came by early with the expressed intention of remaining until Hugh awoke. He ate a hearty breakfast with the family and regaled Vanessa with the details of the assault, for she’d not heard them the night before, busy as she was with Hugh’s welfare.
