“My wife and I had a carriage accident,” Oliver said, and Emily did her best not to flinch at the word ‘wife’. “Is there anywhere to shelter our horses?”
“He has a broken arm,” Emily said. She couldn’t quite bring herself to say the word ‘husband’.
“Oh you poor lambs. Of course, you must come in at once.” She held the door open, and the delicious scent of roasted meat filled the stone hallway. Emily’s clothes dripped miserably across the floor. Their host shut the door firmly behind them. “Gregory,” she hollered. A lean man appeared in the doorway. Like her, he appeared in his forties, his build defined by years of hard labour. “There are four horses in the yard. Stable them, if you please. We can put the two mares in a stall to share tonight, if needs be. Now, you come this way, my dears.” She led the way down the stone hall, then right into a dining room. Like the hallway, the floor was made up of large stone flags, and Emily found herself grateful for the lack of carpets. Four children stared at them with wide eyes from where they were seated on a bench by the table, which groaned with food. Emily’s stomach gave a large gurgle.
“I don’t suppose you might call for a physician?” Oliver asked, his voice a little faint. “And a change of clothes. I have some money—”
“We don’t need money to help folks in need,” the lady said firmly. “Though I don’t think we’ll get a physician to you inthis weather. But there our stable hand, and he knows his way around a broken bone. Seems every year, a cow or horse breaks something and he has to set it.”
Oliver’s face turned near white in the firelight, and he swayed on his feet. Emily felt a burst of pity for him.
“Do you have anything for his relief?” she asked, one eye on the children, who were looking at them avidly. “Laudanum, perhaps? Or even just some brandy?”
“We’ll have something.” The lady led them forward in a decisive swish of her skirts. “Now, you’re very fortunate that we have a spare room. Don’t often do, except my eldest recently married.” She cast a glance at them both. “I’m afraid the bed is narrow, and—”
“Quite all right,” Oliver gasped. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“No you won’t. Not in your condition. I’ll sleep on the floor,” Emily told their kind hostess. “If there’s a truckle bed of some description. Or I can take another room entirely. I’m almost unhurt, so—”
“There’ll be a bed somewhere, I’m certain of it.” Their hostess led them up a set of narrow stairs to a small, neat room with one slanted wall of the roof, and a window inserted into it, looking at the sky. A single bed lay underneath it, and a heavy set of drawers were set against the opposite wall. Aside from a threadbare rug and a painting of a pig beside the door, the room was empty.
“I’ll fetch you some clothes to change into,” she said. “Clean and dry, that’s what you need. And I’ll ask my old man for a bottle of something to take the edge off. And a tray, before the youngsters eat it all.” She beamed with such good humour and kindness, Emily could do nothing but smile back. “My name’s Susan Chambers, by the way, and my husband is Gregory Chambers.”
“Mr and Mrs Oliver Beaumont,” Oliver said before Emily could speak—fortunate, for the name sounded entirely more natural on his tongue than it would have on hers.
“But please,” Emily said, with all the smiling goodwill she could muster, “call me Emily.”
“Right you are, ma’am,” Mrs Chambers said. “I’ll be back in two shakes of a duck’s tail.” She closed the door and whisked herself away, leaving them alone.
Chapter Seven
OliverstaredatEmily,her curls a dark brown from the melting snow, her face flushed from the sudden heat. At least her lips held colour now—small mercies. Now they were closeted in this farmhouse, he had doubts about his plan. The prospect of having his arm mauled by a farmhand who knew how to set animal bones made him feel as though his nerves were on fire.
“Are you all right?” Emily asked, her brows drawing together. There was still a hint of dried blood on the side of her face, and a large purple bruise. He wondered idly where his handkerchief had gone.
“Define all right.” He reached out his good hand to brace against the wall. “I’m alive.”
“We need to get you out of that coat and shirt,” she said, starting forward, but he stepped back.
“Absolutely not. I refuse to let you manhandle me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I put your arm in a sling, didn’t I?” Somehow, despite her obvious discomfort, she had the gall to look put out by his refusal. “I can help.”
“I would rather you made no such attempt,” he said stiffly.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, very well. It’s your arm.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
The door opened, and Mrs Chambers bustled back in, the children behind her, peering in. Oliver grimaced. He’d been around children plenty enough; his sister’s son was an unruly chap, always running off to cause mischief. But he would much rather his suffering had no audience.
“Here,” Mrs Chambers said, laying two piles of clothes across the narrow bed. “I’ll get working on a tray to bring you when you’re decent.”
“Would it be possible to have a little assistance?” Emily asked, and the saccharine note in her voice ought to have been the warning he needed. “My husband’s clothes will have to be cut off in order to free his arm.”
“Oh! Of course, my dear. I’ll send my husband up. Come with me, and I’ll get you nice and dry in a jiffy.” She beckoned Emily out of the room, and although Oliver should have felt relieved by the fact, he felt a little panicky. Pain, he knew, was causing his mind to work overtime, coming to countless irrational conclusions. What if something were to happen to her out of his sight?
His head ached. He felt hot and cold all over.
