Chapter 22
“No…No. Your Grace!” Phoebe scrambled down off Cantante so quickly that she slipped more than once in the damp mud to get her bearings. She ran over to Hayward’s side, dropping down to him and brushing the hair back from his forehead, trying to see his face clearly.
There was dried blood on his temple and his eyes were firmly closed.
“Your Grace, please wake up.” She pleaded with him as she prodded him in the shoulder, desperate to rouse him. He made no noise, none at all. With panic and a trembling hand, she lifted her fingers toward his neck, looking for a pulse. “Please, do not be dead. I do not know what I will do if you are.”
Her prayer was answered though and she found his heartbeat, strong and firm, without a flutter to it.
“Thank god,” she turned her eyes to the sky with the words before looking back down at him. “Your Grace, wake up!” she said insistently, desperately. There was a flicker in his face, something moving around his eyes that suggested he had heard her.
She looped her arm around his, knowing she needed to lift his face off the mud. Using her hold on him, she levered him round, until he was no longer on his side, but on his back, with his face turned up the sky. More muscles were twitching in his face.
Kneeling beside him, she leaned down and cupped his face, trying to brush back more of the hair that had been matted in the dry blood.
“Can you hear me?” she begged him for an answer, feeling how strained her voice was with fear.
“I…can hear you,” he whispered at last, his eyes flickering open. Seeing him awake did something to her. She felt tears of worry and relief prick her eyes.
“Can you move?” she asked as he blinked a few times before turning his eyes on her.
“I don’t know,” he said, then winced, trying to lift a hand to his head. She stopped his hand midair before he could touch the wound.
“Best not touch it,” she said, gently taking his hand and pulling it away. “What happened to you?”
“That is a story,” he said, his voice much weaker than normal.
“What are you doing out here alone?” she said with insistence and fear.
“I’m fine, Phoebe,” he assured her.
“You are not fine!” she said, looking around the trees and trying to think of a way to get him back to the house. She could leave him and ride back for help, but the thought of parting from his side was too much to bear. These woods were also so thick that she might struggle to trace her way back to his exact spot. “We need to get you to a physician.”
“Well, I won’t argue with that.”
“Is this really the time for jests?”
“I have to say something to lighten the mood,” he said softly. She looked down to see a small smile appear in his features before it faltered.
“Oh god,” she said, leaning toward him, unable to keep her hands off him as she took his cheek and tried to wipe some of the wet mud off his skin. “I thought you were…” she trailed off, not able to say the words.
“I know,” he said, holding her gaze. “For a minute last night when I tried to crawl through the mud, I thought I was too.” Those words made the tears begin to fall down her cheeks. One of his hands lifted high, reaching toward her, as he took hold of her cheek and brushed away the tears. She didn’t care he was smearing some of the mud across her face, she still leaned into his touch.
“I won’t let that happen,” she said, slowly changing her position beside him. “You’re going to stand, Your Grace. I’m going to get you back to the house somehow.”
“I can’t walk alone. I tried,” he said as he lowered his hand away.
“Then you will lean on me,” she said with meaning and moved to her feet before leaning down and taking his arm. “Take my arm and move to your feet, Your Grace.”
“It seems rather odd that in a situation like this, you are still calling me Your Grace,” he said, his eyebrows lifted.
“Are you dazed from the blow to your head?” Phoebe asked with a frown.
“You could say that,” he agreed as he took her arm. “Call me Francis, Phoebe.”
“But…I can’t.”
“You can,” he said, his voice still quiet and lacking its usual strength. “Call me Francis, please.”
