Logan couldn’t help but grin at that. Boys were bloodthirsty savages. He’d been no different at James’s age. “I may be bloody, lad, but I was the only one of the two of us left standing by the end of the brawl.”
“That right, then? Plant ’im a facer?” James rubbed his hands together with unmistakable relish. “Sounds like a right good mill.”
“Good enough.” If it weren’t for the blood running down his arm, Logan would consider last night’s visit with Lord Cowden a resounding success. Then again, what were a few drops of blood compared to ninety-six acres of fertile land in Perth? Nothing at all. Not even worth thinking about.
Still, his wounds stung like the devil, and they were the least of his problems. His blood-soaked shirt would frighten the wits out of Juliana if she happened to catch sight of him, and that was to say nothing of the uproar that would follow if Grace saw him.
Well, then. He’d simply have to make sure that didn’t happen. Graystone Court was a large estate, with dozens of doors. How hard could it be to sneak inside without being seen? “Tell me, James. Have you seen your mistress yet today?”
“Yes, sir. She were out a bit ago with Miss Grace, walking in the garden, but they went back inside.” James leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Ye’ll want to avoid ’er, I ’spect, ladies not being keen on blood. No gennelman wants that sort o’ mill, does ’e?”
“Not if he can avoid it.” Logan knew he wouldn’t be able to hide his wounds from Juliana forever, but it would be far better for them both if he could wash and change before she saw him.
James nodded wisely. “Well, I can’t say fer sure, ye see, but I ’spect her ladyship is with Miss Grace, in Miss Grace’s bedchamber. If ye go ’round the back to the music room and go up that staircase, I doubt she’ll see ye.”
Logan breathed out a sigh of relief. “You’re wise beyond your years, James.”
“Ye sure ye can make it all that way yerself, sir? Begging yer pardon, but ye’re looking a bit peaked.” James nodded at Logan’s arm. “Yer bleeding all over yerself.”
Logan glanced down at his arm, his brows drawing tight at the fresh spurts of blood staining his shirt. It had soaked through the white linen sleeve, and was now doing its best to ruin a perfectly good pair of buckskin breeches. He’d tied his cravat in a tight knot above the gash, but it must be deeper than he’d realized. Clean, too, with smooth edges. A sharpened six-inch blade would do that.
Damn thing would take ages to heal.
His other injury wasn’t nearly as bad, though it stretched from under his arm all the way across the left side of his chest. It was a shallow cut, but bloody enough. For all that it wasn’t much more than a nasty scratch, it looked as if someone had sliced his chest in two and torn his heart out through the gap.
Very well. Taken together, it was more than a few drops of blood.
“I’ll be fine, but be a good man, James, and help me into my coat.” The brawl with Cowden’s manservant had left him bathed in sweat, and he’d been foolish enough to take his coat off. Later, when he’d been riding home and he’d become chilled from the blood loss he’d tried to put it on again, but his arm had grown so numb and stiff from the injury he hadn’t been able to manage it.
“Yes, sir. Good thinking, sir. Yer coat will hide most of them bloodstains, eh?”
“That’s the idea, James.”
James held up the coat so Logan could slide into it, but it was tightly fitted to his arms and shoulders. Squirming into the cursed thing turned out to be a more painful business than Logan had anticipated. Worse, it opened up the wound in his chest, which started bleeding like the devil again.
“P’haps this weren’t such a good idea after all, sir.” James eyed him doubtfully. “Ye looked like ye been drubbed when ye came in, and ye look even worse now. Bloodier, I mean.”
Logan didn’t doubt it. These weren’t the worst injuries he’d ever sustained, but they were bad enough to disorient him. By the time he’d got within a few miles of Graystone Court he was shivering with cold, and so dizzy he was obliged to brace himself to keep from toppling off his horse.
He drew his arm free of the coat with a grunt of pain. “Kind of you to say so, James.”
“Beg pardon, sir. Mayhap I should help ye inside? Ye don’t look steady-like.”
Help him? If he dallied any longer, James would have to carry him. “No, no. I’m fine. Thank you, James.”
“Aw right, sir.” James grimaced as Logan swayed unsteadily. “If yer sure, sir.”
“I’m sure.”
Loganhadbeen sure too, right up until he reached the house and tried to climb the stairs to his bedchamber. If they’d cooperated instead of tilting under his feet it might not have been such a challenge, but no amount of cursing would make them be still. By the time he’d staggered to the top he’d broken out into a cold sweat, and his vision had gone blurry.
No sign of Juliana or Grace, though, and salvation was mere steps away.
He stumbled down the hallway, found his bedchamber door, and managed to get inside and close it behind him without falling to his knees. He rang a servant, then went to the looking glass to assess the damage while he waited for someone to appear.
His eyes widened when he saw his reflection.
It was…a bit worse than he’d thought.
