The Dangerous Lord Darrington. Sarah Mallory

the mare on the ground, legs flailing, and Davey trapped beneath her. Quickly he dismounted and dashed across to the stricken pair. The bay rolled over and clambered to her feet. She stood, trembling and snorting, but appeared otherwise unhurt as Guy dropped to his knees beside his friend.

      Davey’s face was ashen and one leg was twisted in an unnatural position. He opened his eyes and looked up at Guy.

      ‘Pushing … too … hard,’ he gasped.

      ‘Don’t talk and keep still,’ barked Guy. ‘I need to see just what damage you have done to yourself.’

      ‘Damned fool,’ muttered Davey. ‘Light was going … didn’t see the rabbit hole …’

      There was the thud of heavy boots as two farmhands ran up.

      ‘We saw the fall from the road, sir,’ called the first, grimacing as he gazed down at the injured man. ‘‘Owt we can do?’

      ‘We need a doctor,’ said Guy. ‘And somewhere to take him out of this rain.’

      ‘There’s the barn on t’other side o’ beck,’ offered the second man, coming up. ‘Or t’owd Priory just over there.’

      Guy followed his pointing finger and noticed for the first time the outline of a steeply roofed building in the distance.

      ‘The Priory would be best, if it is inhabited.’

      ‘Oh, aye, Lady Arabella will be at home. She never leaves the place these days.’

      Guy nodded. Quickly he gave instructions for the men to fetch help while he removed his jacket and threw it over Davey. He sat by his friend’s head, leaning forwards to shelter him from the worst of the drizzling rain.

      ‘This is a damned nuisance,’ muttered Davey, wincing.

      ‘Don’t try to move. We will carry you to that house yonder and soon have you comfortable again.’

      ‘Comfort, hah! Didn’t know my legs could hurt so much.’

      ‘You are growing soft, then,’ retorted Guy, secretly relieved to know his friend could still feel pain. He was no doctor, but he suspected at least one leg was broken, but he hoped there would be no more serious damage. He took his friend’s hand. ‘Don’t worry. Help will be here soon.’ Davey gave a slight nod and squeezed Guy’s hand, then his eyes closed and his head fell to one side. Only the tiny pulse throbbing at one side of his neck told Guy his friend was still alive.

      Guy had no idea how long he had sat beside Davey, the sky growing ever darker and the rain falling steadily. It felt like eternity, but he guessed it was less than an hour later when he heard the welcome sound of voices. Half-a-dozen men arrived with a donkey pulling a small cart. Guy tried to ensure that Davey was lifted as carefully as possible into the cart, but he was profoundly thankful that his friend was still unconscious. He winced when the cart rocked on the uneven field; by the time they reached the gravelled drive leading to the old Priory he felt as if he had been walking for miles.

      The stone building towered over them, a black, looming shadow against the leaden sky, but the warm glow of lamplight shone from several of the windows and an oblong of light spilled out from the open doorway and illuminated the steep stone steps leading down to the drive. As they approached, the black outline of a woman could be seen in the doorway. She hurried down the steps and handed a blanket to one of the men.

      ‘Here, you can use this to carry him indoors.’

      Silently Guy watched as the woman issued instructions, directing the men in the best way to ease the unconscious man on to the blanket and how to hold it to cause the least movement as they made their way up into the house. He stopped for a quick word with the groom who came running out to take charge of the horses, then followed behind the ragged cortege, unheeded as they made their way through the echoing hall and up a wide stone staircase to a small chamber where a maid was hurriedly building up the fire.

      Guy retired to the corner, reduced to a spectator. He was ready to advise if necessary, but the young woman was supervising the men as they laid Davey on the bed and Guy did not think he could improve upon her instructions. He watched her as she moved around the room, the candlelight glinting on her flame-red hair. Despite his concern for his friend, Guy found himself wondering how old she was: not a girl, that was certain, for she carried herself with assurance, speaking to the men—all known to her by name—in a calm, low voice. She was dressed in a grey gown that showed her slender figure to advantage and she moved with a youthful grace and agility that was very pleasing to the eye. She was clearly used to running a household. Was she perhaps the Lady Arabella the men had mentioned? He broke off from his reflections as the sound of a hasty footstep in the corridor announced the arrival of the doctor. A large, cheerful-looking man appeared in the doorway.

      ‘Ah, Mrs Forrester, good evening to you!’

      That answered one of Guy’s questions.

      The doctor approached the bed, saying cheerfully, ‘So this is the young man I have been summoned to attend, is it? Thrown from his horse, I understand.’

      ‘Yes.’ Guy stepped out of the shadows. ‘The mare came down on top of him.’

      ‘Hmm.’ The doctor frowned down at the unconscious form now laid out upon the bed. With a sudden movement he began to take off his coat. ‘Then I must get to work. The rest of you should leave me now—except for your footman, ma’am. I will need him to help me undress my patient.’

      ‘I will help you do that,’ said Guy quickly.

      The doctor gave him a searching look.

      ‘I think not, sir. You would be advised to get out of those wet clothes or I shall end up with two patients instead of one! Mrs Forrester, perhaps you will take care of that—and get the rest of these men out of here! They have served their purpose and should all go away now!’

      The red-haired woman immediately moved towards the door.

      ‘Of course. Thank you, everyone. If you would like to go down to the kitchens, Cook has prepared a bowl of punch for you all.’

      ‘Does that include me?’ asked Guy as he filed out of the room behind the others. The young woman’s large, dark eyes regarded him solemnly. She gave no sign that she had noticed his attempt at humour.

      ‘No, sir, you may wait for your friend in the great hall. I will have refreshments brought to you there.’

      Guy followed her back down the stairs. He had not realised how chilled he had become until he felt the heat coming from the fire blazing in the huge fireplace. Thankfully he moved towards it.

      ‘And just who is this man dripping water all over my floor?’

      The imperious voice stopped him in his tracks. He looked round to find an old woman standing on the far side of the room. She was dressed in severe black with a black lace cap over her snow-white hair and she was leaning heavily on an ebony cane. She looked very regal and Guy glanced down at his mud-stained clothes.

      ‘I fear I must present a very dishevelled appearance, ma’am, and I beg your pardon.’ He gave her his most elegant bow. ‘I am Darrington.’

      ‘The Earl of Darrington?’

      ‘The same, madam.’

      Behind him he heard the young woman’s sharp intake of breath and smiled to himself. She had clearly not thought him of such consequence!

      ‘Well, you will catch your death of cold if you remain in those wet clothes! Beth, my dear, what are you thinking of?’

      ‘But Tilly and Martin are—’

      ‘If the servants are busy, then you must take the earl upstairs, girl. Immediately!’

      ‘I assure you, ma’am,’ Guy began, ‘I would as lief stay here beside the fire—’

      Mrs Forrester interrupted him. ‘My grandmother is right, my lord, you should change,’ she said. ‘Pray