The next lady would be quite different.
Giles sighed. That was the understatement of the year, and it was only January.
The first leg of his journey brought him back to the inn—and Royce. It had stopped snowing when he arrived, though the light was fading and he’d have to spend the night.
Royce was in the taproom, nodding as Giles walked over to him, removing his gloves.
“Have you decided?” he asked, wasting no time on the formalities.
“Yes.” Royce looked at him, his face revealing none of his thoughts. “I’ll go to Wolfbridge and serve your Lady.” One eyebrow quivered slightly. “In whatever way she desires.”
Giles heaved an inner sigh of relief, but kept his own emotions well-hidden. “Good. We’ll leave early in the morning.”
“I’ll be ready.”
And it was done. Just before dawn the carriage was made ready for the last leg to Wolfbridge and Royce was standing beside it as Giles emerged from the inn.
Pleased at his punctuality, Giles began to cross the courtyard to the coach, but a distant sound resolved itself into a clatter of wheels and hooves, and another carriage tore onto the pavement at a reckless rate of speed.
Giles darted backward out of the way, and Royce leapt to the horses’ heads, grabbing their reins as the fools who drove so carelessly yelled and hooted, slowing down for a few brief moments.
During that second or two, a body was flung out, dropping, rolling and tumbling onto the bricks, and ending up at Giles’s feet.
Catcalls, whistles and yells of“buggering cull”,“dirty sodomite”,“molly”, rang through the morning air as the carriage rolled out of the inn and on down the road.
Giles gulped, and then bent to the heap of bloody rags at his feet.
It moved.
“Royce,” he shouted. “He’s alive. Help me.”
The driver and the postilions were already calming the horses, so Royce let go of the reins and hurried to Giles’s side, bending down to join him as he looked over the man who lay there, his eyes closed, his face mottling with bruises.
“He’s taken a beating, all right,” said Royce, finding the man’s pulse. “But he’s alive. And breathing.” He leaned forward toward the face. “Bloody nose, probably two black eyes, I’d say maybe…” he gently opened the man’s jacked and touched his shirt.
The man groaned and whimpered.
“Yes, broken ribs, I think. Can’t tell much else here.”
The man’s eyes opened and fixed on Giles’s face. They were as green as the spring grass at Wolfbridge. “Help me…please…”
His voice was low, rough, but his words were well-spoken. This was no yokel, or bully-boy. Giles looked at the hands, long-fingered and elegant, and the clothing spoke of a good tailor with an eye to style.
“What is your name, sir?” He pushed the hair away from the man’s face. It was white-gold where it wasn’t bloody or dirty.
“Gabriel,” he answered, choking down a cough and wincing. “Gabriel Parr.”
Royce lifted his head and looked at Giles. “You heard those insults.”
“I did. We can’t leave him here. I don’t know if they’d even tend him.”
“True.”
Giles sighed and trusted his instinct. It had yet to let him down. “Let’s get him into the carriage. We’ll take him to Wolfbridge with us.”
ChapterFive
All the lights were on at Wolfbridge as the carriage pulled up to the front steps, and Giles was thrilled to see the door fly open even before they’d stopped.
