Whirlwind Wedding

Chapter 8

Thunder cracked as loudly and suddenly as a gunshot.

Breathless and close to panic, Elizabeth arrived at the stables just past midnight. Mortlin had obviously retired as he was nowhere to be found. Without hesitation, she lifted the first saddle she saw, grunting under its weight, and quickly outfitted Rosamunde. It wasn't until she'd led the mare outside that she realized she'd used a gentleman's saddle. Without a thought to the impropriety of her actions, she employed a move she hadn't used since arriving in England. Hitching her skirts up to her thighs, she mounted the horse, sitting astride. Her muscles creaked in protest, but she ignored the discomfort.

Turning Rosamunde, she studied the series of paths leading into the forest. Which one would lead her to Austin? Closing her eyes, she emptied her mind forcing herself to concentrate. Left. Take the left path.

Without hesitation, she headed down the left path, her eyes searching the darkness, her pulse pounding. Rosamunde followed the dirt trail, and Elizabeth kept concentrating, forcing the image of Austin into her mind's eye. They were getting closer… she knew it. But would she be too late?

Another roar of thunder split the silence. A lightning bolt streaked across the black sky, briefly illuminating the gloomy surroundings.

And she saw it in the distance.

The stone tower she'd envisioned. Urging Rosamunde into a brisk gallop, she headed directly toward it. Twigs snapped at her arms, and a branch whipped against her shoulder, but the stinging pain barely registered. Raindrops began falling, gently at first, but within moments they turned into a cold needlelike spray that pelted her unmercifully. She emerged from the fringes of the forest and galloped full bent across the meadow. The outline of the tower flashed before her with every slash of lightning.

When the tower loomed no more than thirty feet away, she reined Rosamunde to a halt and squinted into the darkness. Where are you, Austin? Lightning flashed. The tower rose before her. A riderless black horse grazed by a low stone wall.

A figure lay sprawled facedown on the ground.

"Austin!" Her heart leapt with both relief and fear. Thank God she'd found him… but was she too late?

She slid from the saddle and ran to him, stumbling across the slippery ground. Heedless of the mud, she dropped to her knees beside him. With her heart lodged in her throat and a prayer on her lips, she pressed her fingers to his neck.

His pulse throbbed against her fingertips.

A relieved sob bubbled inside her, but she firmly pushed it aside. Now was not the time to allow her emotions to get the better of her. She had to determine the extent of his injuries.

As gently as possible, she turned him over, shielding him as best she could with her body from the driving rain. The metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils and her stomach knotted with fear. Blinking the rain from her eyes, she peered into his face. His eyes were closed and blood oozed from a nasty gash on his temple.

She ran her hands quickly down his body, searching for additional injuries, praying he hadn't fallen victim to the gunshot she'd heard in her vision. She soon determined that he hadn't been shot, but her fingers discovered an egg-sized lump on the back of his head.

She gently patted his face. "Austin, can you hear me?"

He remained perfectly still and frighteningly silent.

Lightning flashed again. Glancing up, she saw an arched opening in the base of the tower. She had to get him out of this weather to treat him. Rising, she grasped him under his arms and pulled. Dear God the man weighed a veritable ton. Thank goodness she only had to move him a short distance.

Her heart pinched when he moaned. Although she tried desperately not to hurt him, she knew the sharp rocks scraped him. Her back ached from the heavy weight, and she slipped once, landing hard on her bottom. Gritting her teeth, she dragged him the last few feet into the shelter of the tower. Then she dashed back into the rain and snatched her medical bag from Rosamunde's saddle. Rosamunde and Myst had moved close to the tower. She didn't tether them in case they grew frightened and wanted to bolt, in which case she suspected they would simply head back toward the stables.

Back inside the tower, Elizabeth dropped to her knees next to Austin's inert form, then immediately opened her bag and set to work.

First she removed a small lantern and lit it. Holding it close to his head she examined his wound. She could see at once that he required stitches, but she was more concerned by the fact that he hadn't regained consciousness. If he was bleeding inside-

She ruthlessly cut off the thought and concentrated on the matter at hand. Controlled calm settled over her. She knew exactly what needed to be done for his wound. And it needed to be done immediately.

Pulling two small wooden bowls from her bag, she ran outside and quickly filled them with rainwater. Again kneeling next to Austin, she mixed roots and herbs together with quiet concentration.

After washing the wound she closed it with a series of tiny, precise stitches, then snugly wrapped his head with a long strip of fresh gauze.

Resting her hand on his face, she was relieved that his skin remained cool and his breathing was slow and steady, good signs that his lungs were clear and his ribs uninjured.

All she could do now was wait for him to awaken.

And pray that he did.

After carefully replacing her supplies, she stood to rub her tense, aching back muscles. Fatigue washed over her with a vengeance and she stretched her hands over her head to relieve the strain in her lower back.

"Elizabeth."

Austin's voice was barely more than a hoarse rasp, but her heart jumped when she heard it. Thank God. Her exhaustion instantly forgotten, she dropped to her knees beside him and smiled down at his pale, handsome face. "I'm right here, Austin."

He moved his head and winced. "My head hurts."

"I'm sure it does, but at least you're awake."

Austin wasn't sure he was glad to be awake. White hot pain sizzled through his skull and he sucked in a sharp breath. Damn, it felt as if someone had smashed a rock over his head. In fact, he'd be hard pressed to name a body part that didn't ache in one form or another. And why the hell was he wet?

His gaze settled on Elizabeth. She appeared in a state of dishevelment, a fact that didn't surprise him.

"Where are we?" he asked his eyes slowly scanning the room.

"Some sort of ruins. On the bottom floor of a tower."

He stared at her, his mind a blank. "Why?"

"You don't recall what happened to you?"

He forced himself to concentrate and suddenly he did remember. A note from Kinney. Information. The ruins. But Kinney never came… no doubt because of the storm. Starting back to the house. Lightning striking close by. A crack of thunder. Myst rearing. Falling…

"Thunder and lightning spooked Myst. He reared tossing me." He lifted his hand and winced when his fingers brushed a bandage on his forehead. "What is this?"

"You suffered a deep cut on your forehead that I cleaned stitched and dressed. There's also a sizable lump on the back of your head."

Bloody hell, no wonder his skull hurt so much. His head actually had collided with a rock. "Is Myst all right?"

"Yes. He's outside. With Rosamunde. Now that you're awake, I'll check on them. I'll be back in a moment."

She exited through the arched doorway and returned several minutes later leading both horses by their reins. She walked them to the far side of the room, then spent some time patting each animal, speaking to them in comforting tones. Austin closed his eyes, listening to her. He couldn't make out her words, but her voice sounded soft and soothing.

She returned to his side and knelt beside him. "They're both fine. How are you feeling?"

"Sore, and my head is pounding like a legion of devils is hitting me with hammers. Other than that, I believe I'm all right." He attempted to sit up, but nauseating dizziness washed over him.

"Don't try to move, Austin," she said, laying a gently restraining hand on his shoulder. "It's too soon."

"Perhaps you're right." Closing his eyes, he swallowed and waited hoped for his equilibrium to return. After several deep breaths, the nausea passed and he risked opening his eyes.

She knelt next to him, watching him, and his gaze searched her face in the dim light. Her hair was a wet tangle of curls surrounding her shoulders. Her eyes were wide with unmistakable concern but suspicions intruded niggling at him. How had she located him? Had she followed him? No one had known he was going to the ruins. The only person he'd seen had been Mortlin, and he'd dismissed him for the evening. Had he told her what direction he'd taken?

"How did you find me?"

She hesitated then drew a deep breath. "I was awakened by a vision of you. I knew you were in danger. I saw you. Hurt. Bleeding. By some sort of stone tower. I dressed saddled Rosamunde, and allowed my instincts to lead me… to you."

The bark of disbelief that would have, should have, risen to his lips, died in his throat. Honesty and concern glowed from her eyes like beacons in a storm. As mad as her words sounded he found he couldn't discount them. But surely there had to be another explanation… a logical explanation.

"Did you see Mortlin at the stables?"

"No. It was after midnight. He must have retired."

After midnight? He'd left the house just before ten, and according to Caroline, Elizabeth had retired a half hour before that. If she'd remained in bed… how could she have known where he was? Or what had happened? If she actually had the ability to see things in her mind… but no, he simply couldn't credit such an outlandish idea. She was merely greatly intuitive, as his mother had been during his childhood always sensing when her sons had fallen into mischief. And Rosamunde was familiar with the paths leading to the ruins…

But he'd have to consider that later, when he felt more himself. When his head wasn't threatening to detach itself from his shoulders. Still, one thing was certain.

Elizabeth had undoubtedly saved his life. Who knows how long he would have lain bleeding on the ground if she hadn't happened along? She'd not only somehow found him, but had treated his injuries as well.

"I owe you a debt of gratitude and my thanks, Elizabeth."

A frown creased her brow and what appeared to be anger sparked in her eyes. "You're welcome. However, if you'd heeded my warning about riding at night, this would not have happened."

He stilled. By God she had warned him… told him there was danger. Bloody hell, get hold of yourself man. 'Tis nothing more than a coincidence. There's always a risk of injury riding in the dark.

"What on earth possessed you to ride at night?" she asked.

He debated whether to tell her the truth, and decided to do so, to gauge her reaction. Watching her carefully, he said "I hired a Bow Street Runner to find information about a Frenchman I saw with William shortly before he died. The Runner had discovered something and was supposed to meet me here at the ruins."

"Supposed to meet you?"

"He never showed up, no doubt delayed because of the storm, but I'm certain he'll contact me as soon as possible."

Surely if she had any knowledge of Gaspard or his connection to William, she would look anxious, guilt ridden, or in some way suspicious. Surely she wouldn't look irate.

"Heavens save us," she fumed. "Can you explain why it was necessary to meet this man outside! On horseback? During a storm? Have you never heard of a drawing room?" She waved her hands at him. "Never mind. Don't even try to explain. 'Tis just fortunate that your mulish head is so hard lest you might have been killed."

Damn it, he needed to bring this woman to task for her disrespect. He opened his mouth to do just that, but before he could utter a word she said "At least you weren't shot."

He stared at her. "Shot?"

"Yes. In my vision I was certain I heard a gunshot, but I suppose it was thunder… yet I sensed death. Very strongly." Her expression turned grave. "Are you certain it was thunder that spooked Myst? Could it have been a gunshot?"

An immediate "no" rose to his lips, but something in her expression made him pause and consider her question. "It happened so quickly. I remember lightning, crashing thunder… then falling. It seems highly unlikely someone was out and about shooting during a storm."

"Yes, I suppose so. Obviously I was mistaken."

"Obviously." He cleared his throat. "And I am not mulish."

She cocked a clearly disbelieving brow. "I think that the fact that you are lying here, injured is proof that you are. However, if you prefer that I call you pigheaded, I'm happy to oblige."

"I do not prefer. In fact-"

"I refuse to argue with a wounded man," she interrupted in a brisk tone. "Are you cold?"

"Cold?"

"Yes. It is an American word meaning 'not warm.' You're soaked to the skin, but I have nothing to cover you with."

It took him several seconds to recall that he was indeed wet. His gaze swept over her and he realized that she, too, was wet, her plain gown molded to her lush body as if it were painted on. His attention riveted on her full breasts and her clearly visible erect nipples.

Heat streaked through him. "No, I'm not cold." In fact, he was growing warmer by the minute.

He watched mesmerized as her chest rose and fell with every breath she drew. Forcing his gaze upward his breathing stalled at the sight of her. The subdued glow flickering from the lantern illuminated her glorious hair. The unbound mass of damp curls spilled over her shoulders and down her back like a satin curtain, the ends brushing the stone floor around her where she knelt. He instantly imagined her in his bed wearing nothing but that incredible hair and a smile on her luscious mouth.

Her luscious mouth… His gaze riveted on her lips and in spite of his numerous aches and the relentless pounding in his head, a surge of lust and desire slammed into him. An agonized groan he couldn't squelch filled the silence.

"The pain is bad?"

He gritted his teeth and snapped his eyes closed. "You have no idea."

She shifted away and he heard her moving around nearby. He grasped the opportunity to try and will his throbbing erection away. He pretended she was ugly. He desperately tried to convince himself he hated lilacs.

But nothing worked. His arousal pulsed and he groaned again.

"I want you to drink this," she said.

He opened his eyes. She sat next to him, holding a wooden cup. "What is that?"

"Just a mixture of herbs, roots, and rainwater." She gently raised his head enough to drink. "It will relieve your pain. It is too dangerous to attempt returning to the house until the rain stops. In the meanwhile, you need to rest and regain your strength."

There was only one thing that would relieve his pain and it was not in that cup, but because her eyes made it plain she would tolerate no dissention and he was too tired to argue anyway, he drank.

"Yeck," he said, grimacing as she gently laid his head back down. "That's the worst-tasting stuff I've ever had."

"It's not supposed to taste good. It's supposed to make you feel good."

His entire body shuddered from the bitter elixir. "Nothing that foul could possibly make me feel good." But even as the words passed his lips, an odd languor stole through him, relaxing his tight muscles, easing his aches.

He looked up at her, riveted by the unmistakable warmth and concern in her eyes. He could not recall any woman, save Caroline or his mother, ever looking at him with such a tender expression. Unable to stop himself from touching her, he lifted his hand and sifted his fingers through her damp curls. The auburn skeins brushed over his skin like a silken caress. "You have beautiful hair."

Surprise flickered in her eyes, prompting him to say, "Surely many people have told you that."

"Actually, no. I'm afraid that beautiful and my name are two words that are rarely heard in the same sentence."

"Beautiful," he repeated. "Soft." He twirled a curl around his finger, brought it to his face, and inhaled. "Lilacs."

She drew in a quick breath and he wondered how she would react if he touched more than her hair. If her breath would catch in that husky way if he trailed his hands down her body.

"I distill my own lilac water," she whispered, her eyes wide but steady on his.

He inhaled again, allowing her fragrance to infuse him. "An abundance of lilacs bloom in the gardens at Bradford Hall. Please feel free to pick as many as you wish for your water."

"Thank you. You're very kind."

No, I'm not. A kind man wouldn't be contemplating how long it would take to peel that wet gown from your body. A kind man wouldn't be imagining you naked, trembling for him.

He squeezed his eyes shut to banish his sensual thoughts. A kind man would force himself to arise and get them both back to the house before anyone discovered their absence. Before her reputation was destroyed. Before he gave in to the longings that licked at him like relentless flames.

No, he was not a kind man.

He gently tugged on the curl wrapped around his finger. "Come here."

She scooted nearer. "Closer."

She inched closer, until her skirt-clad legs pressed against his side. "Closer."

Amusement flashed in her eyes. "If I move any closer, Austin, I'll be on the other side of you."

He twined his hand deeply in her hair and slowly pulled her head toward him. "Your mouth. Closer. Now."

Her amusement vanished and her breath hitched. "You want to kiss me."

His hand stilled and he searched her eyes… eyes filled with concern and longing. I want to make love to you. Desperately. "Yes, Elizabeth. I want to kiss you."

"You must rest. And I don't want to hurt you."

"Then come here." He again pulled her downward until their lips touched. His pulse galloped and he nearly laughed at his strong reaction. Damn it, he'd barely touched her and already his heart was hammering at thrice its normal speed. What the hell would he do if he ever saw her naked? I'd make love to her, slowly, for hours, then make love to her again. And again.

"Austin." Her warm breath whispered against his lips and he barely suppressed a groan. Sinking his fingers deeper into her luxuriant hair, he pressed her lips more firmly against his.

When his tongue sought entrance to her mouth, she parted her lips with a breathy sigh that filled him with the subtle taste of strawberries. He'd never kissed any woman who tasted so sweet, whose skin felt so soft beneath his fingers, who made him want to be only inches away from her so he wouldn't miss out on a single waft of the gentle fragrance clinging to her skin.

She rested her hands on his shoulders and touched her tongue to his, igniting him. Wrapping his free arm firmly around her waist, he tugged her downward, shifting her, until the upper half of her body lay on his. Her soft breasts flattened against his chest, enflaming his skin through the layers of their clothes.

The kiss became an endless blending of heated sighs and pleasure-filled moans. Just one more… just one more will be enough… I'll have my fill of her.

But it wasn't enough. He couldn't get her close enough, feel her enough, taste her enough. His hands wandered restlessly up and down her back, first tunneling through her silken hair, then spanning her waist and cupping her rounded bottom, pressing her closer to him. He wanted to shift, to roll over so he lay on top of her, but the languor easing through him grew more pronounced with each passing second, relaxing his limbs until he felt as weak as a newborn babe.

She moaned softly and eased back from him. His eyelids drooped and he fought to open them, but the battle was lost.

"I'm so tired," he whispered.

"Just rest. I'll be here when you wake up."

He tried to answer, but he could not seem to move his lips. Oblivion eased over him like a velvet blanket.

Elizabeth watched sleep overtake him. She knew his body needed the rest, but she needed to watch him and awaken him at intervals to make sure that his sleep remained natural and that he did not slip into unconsciousness due to his head injury. She listened to the deep, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, and laying her hand on his forehead noted that his skin was dry and cool, both good signs that he was merely sleeping.

Relieved she gently trailed her fingertips down his face. His features were perfectly relaxed his dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. With no hints of sadness or bitterness firming his lips, he looked completely worry free. Brushing back a strand of raven hair that fell over his bandaged forehead he reminded her of a vulnerable boy.

Her eyes swept down the length of him and she nearly laughed at herself. There was nothing boy-like about this man.

His broad chest rose and fell in his sleep, drawing her eyes to the intriguing bit of dark hair visible at the opening of his shirt. The need to touch him was so overwhelming. So tempting…

Unable to stop herself, she parted his dirt-streaked shirt and laid her palm on his chest. His heartbeat thumped against her fingers, sending a frisson of warmth down to her toes. A sudden flood of tears gushed into her eyes.

"Dear God I almost failed again. I almost lost you." That frightening image of him, lying unconscious on the ground flashed through her mind. "My visions… I've always considered them nothing more than a nuisance, something that kept me from being like everyone else. But tonight I thank God for them because they helped me find you. I'll not let anything hurt you again. I swear it."

While the storm continued outside, she sat vigil, watching him sleep, stroking his face every quarter hour until his eyes flickered open, assuring her he wasn't unconscious. Dawn was approaching when she was finally satisfied that his sleep was natural. Fatigue overcame her and she allowed herself to lie down… just for a moment. The cold stone floor offered little heat, so she snuggled next to Austin's side for warmth.

I'll only rest my eyes for a moment. But in less than a minute, she was dozing off. A frown knitted her brow, pulling her back from the edge of sleep. Something… something wasn't quite right… in her vision… she'd been so certain she'd heard a gunshot…

But her tired brain couldn't figure out what was niggling at her, and exhaustion overcame her.