Willson yelled, “No, my lord!” but Alex ignored him. He was a strong swimmer and had dived off cliffs during his duty tours in the Caribbean. Carefully choosing a spot as close to the valet as possible, he plunged headfirst into the water. Fiske’s clothes would pull him under rapidly, and he doubted the young man could swim even if he weren’t stunned.
It seemed a very long way down. The icy shock of the water blasted the breath from his body, vicious currents tearing at him as he surfaced and looked around for Fiske. The boy had vanished, so he dived under at the spot where he had last seen the valet. It took three endless, lung-bursting dives before he grasped a piece of fabric and dragged the limp body to the surface. Fiske had a red line across his forehead with droplets of blood forming, but he coughed and spat water and began breathing again.
Alex struck out for the thin crescent of beach to the right. The turbulence threatened to pull both of them under the surface, and it took all his strength to move forward and keep Fiske’s head above water. In a quick glance to the shore, he saw Willson racing down the path to water level. The distance to the beach seemed much longer than it had from above, and he could feel his strength ebbing rapidly in the near-freezing water. It became harder and harder to avoid the jagged rocks as he stroked his way toward the beach.
A bare fifty feet from safety, a giant wave grabbed and twisted, smashing Alex’s left side into a submerged rock. It was the same place where he had received his worst wounds the year before, and there was a shattering explosion of pain that almost caused him to lose his grip on Fiske. He was immobilized in the water for precarious moments before he could continue paddling toward the shore. Every stroke was agony, but the waves were now helping, pushing them toward the shingle.
Willson was waiting on the beach, and he plunged waist-deep into the water, grabbing Fiske and pulling the young man ashore. The groom had grown up on the coast and knew the tricks of lifesaving. Rolling the valet onto his stomach, Willson pressed on his back, forcing the water out. After a few moments he was rewarded by a vigorous fit of coughing. Reassured that the valet was in no danger of drowning, Willson turned to see how his master was faring.
Alex had used his last particle of strength to pull himself ashore and slumped into unconsciousness when he was barely above the waterline. Willson knelt at his side and gently turned him face up, hoping that the viscount was just exhausted by his efforts. With a shock of fear, the groom found Lord Kingsley’s left side drenched with blood.
Chapter 16
Annabelle had progressed to solid food, and Christa induced her to eat toast, porridge, and tea for breakfast. As she gathered the tray, the maid remarked, “It is a good day to be snug inside, Miss Annabelle. Snow flurries are beginning, and the head gardener said at breakfast we are going to get one of your famous North Sea storms.”
Annabelle glanced at the window. “You don’t think Alex will try to travel in this, do you?”
“I’m sure he’s still safe in Norfolk. He thought it might take up to a week to straighten out his business.”
“I hope so,” Annabelle said with a frown. “He might have tried to hurry back to help me with our guests.”
“Your brother has sailed in this weather and worse,” Christa laughed. “I’m sure he can take care of himself.”
Annabelle leaned back and smiled. “I’m acting like a nanny, aren’t I? I scarcely worried about Alex at all for those years in the navy when I didn’t know what he was doing. Today I just feel concerned for some reason.”
Christa had also been feeling a nagging, undefined anxiety. “I expect it is because of the coming storm. The air feels different and makes people nervy.”
Annabelle accepted her explanation and soon drifted into a doze while Christa sat by the bed and worked her way through a pile of mending. The morning was well advanced when a sharp knock on the door brought her to her feet. In a flash of intuition Christa knew that she was about to discover the source of her worries.
Opening the door, she saw Bob Willson, the groom who had accompanied Lord Kingsley on his trip north. He was mud stained and weary, apparently just arrived home. Speaking softly so as not to wake her mistress, Christa asked urgently, “Is there a problem, Bob?”
He nodded, his face tight. “It’s his lordship. A cliff crumbled under Fiske, and Lord Kingsley dived in to rescue him. He got smashed into a rock pulling the boy out, and I think one of his old wounds broke open. He’s hurt bad, Christa. I thought I should tell Miss Annabelle, but Morrison says she’s been ill. Would it be better to keep it from her?”
Christa pondered briefly. “No, she is on the mend, and she has the right to know.”
From behind her, Annabelle’s voice called, “Is that Alex come home?”
Christa stepped aside to let Willson in, and he swiftly told his story, adding more detail. Annabelle sat up in bed, her eyes round with shock. When the groom stopped, she gasped, “Where are they now? Has a doctor seen them?”
“They’re at Stornaway. I was able to bring down the horses so both men could be carried over the causeway to the house. It was a rare piece of fortune the tide was down. It’s a lonely stretch of coast, and nary another house for miles. The master had the keys because he’d planned to stop by if possible, and there was fuel and blankets and some food in the house. Fiske just had a knock on the head, and as soon as he warmed up, he started taking care of his lordship.”
Willson stopped to drag a tired hand across his forehead before continuing. “I stopped at the nearest town and left word with the doctor’s housekeeper, but the man was away and she had no idea when he might be able to go to the island.”
At this point the group was enlarged by Sybil and her mother, who were passing in the hall and had been attracted by the sounds of worried voices. The story had to be repeated once more, and at the end, Willson said, “I’m going to go back now, but I thought you should know. I’d hoped Miss Annabelle might go with me, but . . .” His voice trailed off.
Sliding from the bed, Annabelle said, “Iamgoing with you.” She took a few shaky steps, then would have fallen if Christa hadn’t caught her. She was weeping with frustration when Christa and Willson put her back to bed. Looking at Sybil, she cried, “Please, can you go to him? You love him, and he needs you.”
Sybil was shocked and frightened by the news. From the groom’s voice, she knew that her fiancé’s condition must be very grave. She certainly didn’t want anything to happen to Kingsley, at least not before they were safely wed. But to go on a journey in such weather? “Are you mad?” she said sharply. “There’s a blizzard coming. We’d never make it. He has his man there, and the doctor will be with him now. What couldIdo?”
Everyone present looked at her. Sybil was wearing an elaborate sapphire blue and silver striped morning gown, her hair in a complicated arrangement of ringlets and twists. It was hard to imagine her being of use anywhere, much less in a sickroom.
Annabelle was shaking, her face distraught and tears running down her cheeks. Christa put an arm around her shoulders and said clearly, “I will go. I have had a great deal of nursing experience. Miss Debenham has not. There is no point in her risking her life to no purpose.” She looked at the two Debenhams. “If you do not mind leaving the room? Miss Annabelle is not well.”
Sybil was delighted to make her escape and satisfied with Christa’s recognition that a lady of quality was unsuited to squalid nursing jobs. The French girl had a way with hair, too; as she followed her mother to the morning room, Sybil considered hiring the maid away from Miss Kingsley.
In Annabelle’s bedchamber, Christa was organizing the expedition. She studied Willson carefully. For all his weariness, he was a burly man of oxlike strength. To be sure, she asked, “Bob, will you be able to make the return journey? You must have traveled most of the night. Would it be better if one of the other men went?”
He shook his head. “There aren’t any that know that country as well as I do. With the storm that’s brewing, knowing the lay of the land will be essential. Give me some hot food and an hour’s rest and I’ll be right as rain. But we must leave as soon as possible—if we get there after mid-evening, we’ll miss the tide. If the storm is really hard, the causeway may be impassable for days. And the roads too.”
