“Very good. Then, off you go, coachman! God speed, Jamie.”
Swinging into the saddle, Morris said, “I may continue on to Sevenoaks. An I do, I shall call on you when I come to Town. Have a care, dear boy!”
Naomi, however, had no intention of leaving Falcon until she knew he was in good hands. Managing to open the window, she leaned out, and called peremptorily, “Roger, pay no heed to this person. We will follow them and make sure that Mr. Falcon is carried safely to the inn.”
Rossiter’s shoulder was aching wretchedly, he felt beyond words tired, and his impatience with this bedraggled and argumentative female boiled over. He said irritably, “Good God! Are you still nittering, woman? I vow you’re as witless as you are wet! Unless you crave the attentions of another rank rider, spare a thought for your servants and your horses and refrain from frippering about all night.” He slapped his gloved hand on the rump of the near leader and the carriage jerked forward.
A squeal of rage rang from the carriage as Naomi was flung back against the squabs.
The grinning coachman saluted Rossiter with a wave of his whip, then cracked it over his horses’ heads, and the cumbersome vehicle lurched and creaked away.
Rossiter stared after it for a moment. It occurred to him belatedly that he had no idea of the identity of the infuriating woman, and in the dimness had only been able to ascertain that, as Falcon had said, she’d looked a proper fright with her hair all tangled and askew and herself soaked and muddy. To judge from the way she’d spoken to Falcon, she was probably his latest paramour.
‘His taste is not what it was,’ thought Rossiter dryly.
***
Leaning back against the heavy oak sideboard in the tiny parlour, Rossiter watched the girl seated on the lumpy sofa and thought that in all his life he had only seen one lady who was lovelier. “I wish you will not be so worried,” he said gently. “It did not appear to me that the bone was broke, and your brother seems in excellent health.”
Half an hour had passed since they’d pulled into the yard of the Red Pheasant Inn, with the excited postboys shouting the news of the murderous hold-up. A great stir had resulted; an awed crowd rushing out to hear the grisly details and watch as the wounded gentleman was assisted inside. This had exasperated Falcon, who’d growled a suggestion that the host charge admission to “all the yokels having nothing better to do than gawk” at him. Miss Falcon’s appearance had brought an expectant hush, but although the beauty had turned pale, she had disappointed many by neither screaming nor succumbing to a fit of the vapours. Far from disappointed, Rossiter had ordered that a groom be sent off to summon the constable and the apothecary from the neighbouring village, and the injured man had been borne upstairs.
The constable was small, sour, and annoyed to have been summoned from his fireplace. He had made a few notes, declared importantly that the malefactors would be “dealt with,” and gone away to send the saddler, who was also the undertaker, after the corpse. Now, Falcon lay in the bed he had bespoken for his sister, while the apothecary did what he might to aid him.
Katrina Falcon turned her fascinating and anxious eyes to Rossiter. “I suppose, as a soldier, you have experience of bullet wounds, Captain. I only know that my father deplores pistols, for he says they are so very deadly. Indeed, whenever August fights a duel Papa begs that he will choose swords.”
He smiled. “One might suppose your brother to be very often called out.”
“I have lost count,” she said simply. “Has he challenged you? From what he told me when he was carried in here, I gained the impression he means to do so.”
“He probably does, though it will be some time before he can fight anyone, I suspect. The poor fellow will have to contain his impatience.”
His attempt at lightness failed. She said, “One could scarce blame him for being vexed, sir. To have fired a pistol at another man without taking the time to discover his identity was quite insupportable. In truth, I think your friend must be prodigious hot headed.”
“I wish you will believe ’twas an accident,” he said earnestly. “When a man comes upon a hold-up in the darkness and a fellow rides up with a pistol aimed straight at him—well, he’d be a fool to take chances. Especially when there are already corpses lying about, and—”
At this point, with an irked flush on his pock-marked face, the apothecary joined them, sped upon his way by a blast of profanity.
Miss Falcon stood at once. “Is my brother very badly injured?”
“No, ma’am.” For an instant Rossiter thought the apothecary would add “unfortunately,” but he restrained himself and reported, “I believe the bone was grazed, but if he keeps to his bed and takes the elixir I’ll send round, he should be up and about in a week or so. If not—” He shrugged.
Anxious, she hurried into the bedchamber.
The apothecary glowered at Rossiter. “He says you’re responsible, Captain, and will pay me.” His hard eyes fastened to the fat purse Rossiter pulled from his pocket, and he grumbled, “I work long enough hours in the daylight, and don’t usually come out at night, as I told the man they sent for me. I hope he let you know ’twould be double fee. Five guineas.”
“Nonsense! Do you take me for a flat?”
“’Tis clear you been away at the wars, sir,” wailed the apothecary, watching anxiously as Rossiter’s long fingers paused on the clasp of the purse. “Prices has gone up since you—”
“They have not quadrupled! I shall pay you two guineas, only because of your disturbed slumbers.” He saw the man’s small mouth opening for a protest, and added, “But I do not care to be milked, so if this doesn’t suit we shall have in the host and I’ll enquire of him as to your regular fee, which is likely a crown. Make up your mind.”
The apothecary bemoaned the fact that soldiers were hard-hearted men, but he snatched the two guineas as Rossiter made to draw them away, and then looked so smug it was apparent he’d not expected as much.
Rossiter asked, “What was Mr. Falcon ranting about?”
“My hands was too cold and too clumsy, and the bandage was too tight, and he wouldn’t swallow the medicine I tried to get down his stubborn throat. An he’s a friend of yours, sir, I’m sorry. But he’s a difficult gent. Most cantankerous.”
Miss Falcon came out looking worried. “He desires a glass of brandy. Is it allowed, sir?”
