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“How . . . how did you know?”

“Your sister’s mare found us at the pond. As soon as I saw it, I knew.” He strained to see her expression in the dark. “Were you thrown again?”

She stiffened. “I had to get off.”

Alexander recognized her fear. She had reached her limit. “Are you hurt?”

“I will be well.”

It was not the reassurance he’d hoped for. She was hiding something. “What of Asher?”

The bundle she held against her had not moved. “He’s still breathing and is warmer than when I found him, but he has yet to stir or make a sound.”

“We must take him to Bloxley Hall. It’s closer than Charwell Park.” He glanced back to where his stallion stood waiting. “May I help you to your feet?”

“I . . . I do not think . . . Forgive me, I do not think I can rise.”

There it was. “Tell me what is wrong, Jane.”

“I dismounted when I came upon this gully,” she said. “Only afterward did I see the broken glass reflected in the lantern light.”

“The jar containing the frogs,” Alexander guessed.

“Yes. It led me to Asher.” She tightened her grip on her precious bundle. “I saw his body lying beside the bush from the upper rim. I had to get down.”

“Tell me you did not jump from that height.” He’d been so consumed with finding his own way into the gully that he had not stopped to consider how Jane had made her way there.

“I lowered myself down as far as I could—and then I dropped.”

“Merciful heavens, Jane. What were you thinking?”

“Do not chastise me, Alexander. I would do it again—in a heartbeat. The pain has subsided, and I truly do not believe I have done any lasting damage.”

He took off his cloak and laid it on the ground beside her. “Wrap Asher in my cloak,” he said. “I will lift you onto the horse and then hand him to you.”

Jane unwound Asher from her own cloak and tenderly lowered him onto Alexander’s. Asher’s eyes were closed. His thin arms and legs made him look all the more fragile, and Alexander was filled with an overwhelming desire to watch him grow up to be tall and strong.

“Come,” he said. With renewed urgency, he gathered Jane into his arms and rose to his feet. Her long, wide skirts trailed over the ground as he carried her to his horse. “Sampson is well trained, but he may shift as I lift you onto the saddle,” he warned.

“You will be here,” she said as if that were all that mattered.

He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Yes, I will.”

His stallion nickered as he approached. “Steady, Sampson,” he said. The horse stilled. “Are you ready, Jane?”

“Yes.”

In one sweeping movement, he lifted her onto the saddle. She reached for the pommel and clung to it as she shifted back on the smooth leather. His stallion sidestepped, and she gasped.

Alexander took the straps and placed his hand on Sampson’s neck. “Steady, boy.”

“I am well, Alexander. Fetch Asher. We must hurry.”

Handing Jane the reins, he hastened back to the little boy. Scooping him up from the ground, he carried him back to his waiting horse and placed him carefully into Jane’s outstretched arms.

“I’m coming up behind you,” he said, placing one foot in the stirrup and swinging himself onto the back of his horse.

With his arms on either side of Jane, he took the reins. Riding double was not ideal, but Sampson could manage the poorly distributed weight for a short time; the horse was, by far, the fastest way of getting them to safety.