Today's Reading
Certain she must have broken something, she wiggled the toes of one foot experimentally, then the other. All good. Even her gloved fingers moved. Her rough companion had protected her fall. Once again, he had saved her, this time by his own sacrifice. She lay upon his motionless body.
Gingerly, Elise moved off him. He was like a granite boulder, practically unmovable. Her skirts and cloak were caught under his hip. She patiently tugged them free before reaching for a handhold to sit up or even stand, avoiding splintered wood.
Finally, gaining her balance, she asked, "Sir? Are you all right?" There was no response.
He could be unconscious. He could also be—
Elise couldn't take the thought any further. She leaned toward his face. Against all odds, the hat was still on his head. She listened for the sounds of breathing. He was turned away from her, and to be honest, if his eyes were wide open in death, she had no desire to see them. Or to touch his skin to check for a pulse.
"Let me fetch the driver," she said as if he had spoken. He couldn't be dead. He mustn't be.
"Sir?" She shouted the word at him. Still no response.
He'd just saved her life. And she didn't even know his name.
Tears stung her eyes. She willed them back. A Lanscarr never cried, not when there was work to be done, or so her papa had said.
She had her bearings now. She moved, trying to avoid stepping on Mr. Ruffian's body. Yes, she could think of him that way. Someone who had rescued her on more than one occasion deserved a bit of a title out of respect.
Elise grabbed each side of the open door, placed a foot on the edge of the seat, and lifted her body out of the coach. She was tall for a woman. Not as tall as Gwendolyn, but she was strong and managed to sit herself on the open door's edge. The rain made every movement more challenging than it should be. Water ran in rivulets down her face. Her cloak felt heavy from it.
Elise pulled off her hat—it was ruined. She tossed it aside. It landed in the mud. She pulled the hood over her head.
The rain slowed, becoming a light mist. Even the wind went quiet. Elise released a shaky breath. In the oil lamp's wavering light, she surveyed the scene.
The road was lined with the dark shadows of trees in the twilight.
Her suspicion that the singletree attaching the horses to the coach had broken appeared correct. It was a blessing the animals were alive. They had run off still hooked together in their harnesses. Poor beasts. She prayed they weren't tripped up in them.
She did not see the driver or guard. "Hello? Coachman? Guard? Will you help us?" She waited for an answer. The wet air deadened sound. All was silent until she shouted, "We need help."
Then, just beyond the flickering circle of coach light that reached the edge of the road, she saw a pair of boots attached to legs bent at an unusual angle. The rest of his body was a darker shape in the trees' shadows. Her heart almost stopped in distress. The heaviness of death weighed her down.
She turned away, toward the road behind them, and saw the guard. He lay crumpled in the mud as if he'd been tossed by a giant hand. Even at this distance, she knew—
No, she couldn't think on it. The thought was too terrible. And she realized she was completely alone.
Alone and stranded someplace on the road to Liverpool. She had no idea where she was or when, or even if, help would come.
Nor was the storm finished. She could sense it marshaling its forces to come at her again.
She shouldn't have run away. Dara was right. Gently reared women were not supposed to venture out into the world. Perhaps her defiance was the reason this had happened. She may have caused these men's deaths with her willfulness.
In this moment, Elise wished nothing more than to be back in her bed in London, where her only complaint was spending another day watching the happily married couple—
A strong hand wrapped around her ankle.
It pulled on her, threatening to jerk her down. Horrified, Elise grabbed whatever she could reach to hold on to and resisted being tugged into the dark hole of the coach.
...
