To the side of the bridge stood two bedraggled travelers, an elderly gentleman hunched with age and a woman in a muddied cloak. The woman was in hysterics, her frantic cries loud enoughto rise above the rushing water and pelting rain. “He’s still inside! Please, help! Someone help him!”
From within the trapped carriage came a moan and a thud, followed by a weak cry. James did not wait to hear more. He turned to the men beside him as he shrugged off his coat. He pointed to a brawny man and one he recognized as the inn’s groom, his voice crisp and commanding.
“Steady them! We only have minutes to rescue the poor soul trapped inside.” He consigned his coat to the mud, wiping rain out of his eyes. “As soon as we are clear of the carriage, cut the traces and pull the horses free from the bridge.” James hurried toward the precarious scene and the pleading cries.
The woman cried out as he passed, “Please, sir. My son! He snuck back into the carriage to rescue his dog and now he cannot get out. Help him, please!”
He made his way with measured determination to the carriage, careful to steer clear of the panicked horses. When his feet reached the remaining wooden planks of the bridge, he cautiously tested each one before moving forward. He forced a breath past the tightness in his chest.
The wood was warped and slick with water, creaking ominously with each step he took, the rushing river water dangerously close to the top of the bridge. He clung to the side of the carriage for support. His muscles tensed as he struggled to keep his grip on the slick surface.
Through the window of the carriage, he spotted a small boy of perhaps six or seven years curled into a ball. He lay on the velvet seat against the far corner, the river slamming against his door and rattling the windows. Despite shivering violently and sporting a gash on his forehead, the little boy clutched something gray and furry in his arms.
“Hello there,” he said to the boy, his calm voice at odds with the churning in his gut. The boy lifted his head, his eyes wide with fright. “I’m Brenton. What is your name?”
“A-Arthur, sir,” came the shaky reply.
“Arthur, I need some assistance, and I wager you are just the lad to help me.”
“Well, my pa always says I should be a gentleman and help people, but I don’t know if I can help you much, sir. I cannot even get out of this blasted carriage.” He blinked in horror. “Please don’t tell my ma I said that. She doesn’t like me to spend time in the stables.”
James felt a small smile touch his lips. This boy reminded him of himself at that age. “I promise not to tell her, but I was not jesting when I said I needed your help. You see, to get off this bridge we must rely on each other. Can you crawl on the bench toward me?”
Arthur eyed the distance warily. “I’ll do my best, sir, but poor Leo is scared.”
“Can you be brave for Leo?” James glanced at the mass of soggy fur. The boy nodded fiercely. Still clutching his dog, he slowly crawled toward James. Without warning, the carriage tipped and Arthur slid back down the bench.
Icy fear gripped James’s chest, an echo of the last time he had been too late to save someone.
James ignored his memories and the screams from the riverbank and focused on the boy. If James could get closer, the lad wouldn’t need to climb so far, but any weight he added to the carriage risked tipping it completely into the river. He grabbed the door handle and swung it outward slowly while struggling to maintain his grip on the coach, his fingers numb with cold.
The coach dipped backward and then righted itself, the movement knocking James’s head into the edge of the carriagedoor. The world tilted for a heartbeat, his vision flashing. He shook his head to clear it.
“Steady on, Arthur. That was a valiant effort. I need you to try again, but this time, I will be there to catch you.” James reached out his hand to show him he was in earnest. “I promise, lad, I will not leave here until you are safe.”
Arthur’s small frame trembled for a fraction of a second before the boy set his jaw, hitched Leo higher beneath his small brown coat, and forced himself upward toward the carriage door. Water rose over James’s boots, and the air smelled of damp and desperation. He held his breath as Arthur crawled toward him, inch by agonizing inch.
James felt the crack before he heard it. His pulse punched hard, pure instinct roaring to the surface. He shouted at the groom to free the horses and felt the carriage tilt with their release. He moved without thinking, instinct overriding danger, and in one giant lunge, reached into the carriage and wrapped his arm around Arthur’s body, small and shaking, and hurled them both clear from the wreckage.
The carriage clipped his arm as it overturned into the torrent of water, but he managed to clear the wreckage before it dragged them with it. He landed hard on the wooden planks, the little boy and his dog on top of him as they watched the swollen river carry away the broken carriage. He could only gasp ragged breaths, lungs burning.
Arthur’s weeping mother rushed to their side and gathered her son into her arms. “Oh, Arthur! Don’t ever do that again!” She tried in vain to wipe the rain from his face, clearly needing reassurance her boy was unharmed.
“I had to save Leo, Ma! I just had to. Besides, Brenton here knew what to do and saved us.”
With Arthur clasped tight against her, the woman turned to James, who pushed himself to his feet before wiping a filthy hand down his face.
“Sir, how can I ever repay you? You have my deepest thanks.”
“Madam, I am only grateful that I could be of service. Now,” he said, bending to retrieve his mud-splattered coat, “may I suggest we all return to the inn?”
“Yes, that is an excellent idea.” She snuggled her face into Arthur’s hair once more before handing him over to the older gentleman, a man James assumed was the boy’s grandfather.
James was drenched and utterly exhausted but thankful the boy was safe and that Stephens had packed him a fresh change of clothes. All he wanted now was dry garments, sleep, and to see Kate. Not necessarily in that order.
As he crossed the inn’s threshold, he could hear the crackle from the fireplace on the other side of the room, but too many bodies blocked the heat. He used his size to his advantage and made his way through the crowd. He searched for Kate, concern for her rising until he saw her by the hearth, pouring a cup of tea for Arthur’s mother, who was wrapped in a blanket and listening with the rest of the crowd, absorbed in the innkeeper’s story. “The earl dashed out onto that bridge without a moment’s hesitation. Most reckless thing I ever saw, but blast if he didn’t manage it.”
James changed direction toward the staircase. As much as he craved the warmth of the large blaze, he did not want the attention or adulation. He belonged out of sight. He slowly mounted the stairs to his quarters, his boots leaving behind a trail of mud. As he reached the landing, he caught a glimpse of Kate watching him from the fireside. Her steady gaze held his, her luminous eyes full of respect. And for the first time, he wondered what it would feel like to step out of the shadows and stand in her light. Even for a moment.
