“Where is Jeremy?” Royce asked, dodging the implied question. “He hasn’t been here since we brought her in.”
“I’m not sure,” she replied, worried that she had no better answer. “He seemed terribly upset. Perhaps he is taking some time to deal with this. With the fact she’s been so badly injured and that she ended up here. As someone’s horrid idea of a gift.”
Royce nodded. “Perhaps.” He looked back at the figure in the bed. A bandage around one side of her face showed signs of blood; the wound that had opened her skin from eyebrow to scalp was not deep, but had been bleeding heavily, as head wounds are prone to do.
Her eye was black and blue on that side, and swollen shut, and the rest of that part of her face was distorted.
She’d been punched, without a doubt. “She’s lucky her jaw isn’t broken,” said Royce, more to himself than Gwyneth.
But she heard. “She was beaten, wasn’t she.” It was a statement, not a question.
Royce sighed. “Yes, she was beaten. And restrained far too roughly.”
“What on earth could she have done to warrant such treatment?” Gwyneth shook her head in disbelief.
“I doubt she did anything that bad.” Royce turned to Gwyneth. “Better to ask who on earth could perpetrate such treatment. Anyone who acts in that violent a fashion toward a woman…well, I don’t need to tell you my sentiments about that…”
“No, indeed not.” Gwyneth touched his arm. “And you’re right. We have to find out who did this to her. Perhaps when she awakens…”
“She may not want to speak of it, my Lady.” Evan’s voice joined theirs. “I brought a little broth in the hopes she might have recovered enough to try it, but I see I was precipitate in my actions.”
“Not to worry,” said Royce. “It will be good for her if she wakes. And it will keep, Evan. It’s a good thought.”
Evan nodded, put down the small bowl on a table, and walked to the bed. “Such a slender thing, she is.” He gently touched her cheek with his finger. “And so badly hurt.”
“We were just speaking of that.” Gwyneth beckoned him away so that Susanna would sleep. “Royce and I both agree that we would like to find out whoever did this to her.”
Evan’s handsome face fell into firm lines, betraying his anger. “As would I.”
“Where’s Gabriel?” asked Royce. “We should have him look at her injuries.”
“Why?” Evan blinked.
Royce opened his mouth to answer, but Gwyneth forestalled him. “Mostly likely because Gabriel has had the most experience with beatings like this, Evan.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “He’s healing. Learning to be the man he was always supposed to be. But I know he’s travelled a road that many would not survive in order to get here. If he can help us—help Susanna—I believe he will do so.”
Royce nodded. “You know him well. And me too, which is rather unnerving. But you’re right.”
She smiled briefly at him. “We’re all learning. Me most of all. But as Lady of Wolfbridge, I vow here and now that we’ll get to the bottom of this. Susanna may only be a distant connection to the Manor—by virtue of Jeremy’s rescue—but the fact remains she was literally thrown at our feet…as if she was some sort of rubbish. And I don’t like that. I don’t like that at all.”
The sound of footsteps made both Royce and Gwyneth turn their heads to the door. Jeremy followed Gabriel into the room and his gaze darted past everyone to the woman lying still beneath the covers. Silently, he walked to her side, then knelt by the bed and took her hand, raising it to his lips. “Don’t leave me, Susanna,” he murmured. “Not again, please?”
Gwyneth whispered to Gabriel, telling him of the young woman’s injuries.
He nodded and joined Jeremy on the other side of the bed, delicately turning Susanna’s face and then lifting the sheets to look at her chest and torso.
His face was grave when he turned to Royce and Gwyneth. He shook his head.
“No,” muttered Jeremy. “Please God, no…”
In the quiet that followed, Susanna took a harsh breath and coughed, choking as blood leaked from her lips. Her eyes widened, then closed.
“Royce…” Gwyneth ran to the bedside to stand beside Jeremy.
“There’s naught I can do,” he answered, his voice thick with agony. “Nothing…”
Jeremy sighed deeply and kissed her hand once again, holding it briefly to his cheek, then laying it across her chest. “You don’t need to,” he said softly. “She’s gone.”
*~~*~~*
They stood together as one, as Wolfbridge, Gwyneth and her gentlemen, Gabriel, Evan, Jeremy and Royce. All staring down as the coffin was lowered into the ground.
Gwyneth herself had been near death as the Dowager Countess of Kilham; only the sanctuary of Wolfbridge had saved her life. But she had learned about strength and resilience, recovered her health, and now led the Manor with a firm and loving grip. Her four gentlemen were hers to command. Hers to love. And she did, wholeheartedly, passionately and without reservation.
Royce’s hand directed Wolfbridge, a hand firmed by war and forged by experiences in his past that had forced him to question what life was all about. But settled now in the country, he was also discovering his potential, thinking less about the darkness and more of building a sturdy future for Wolfbridge.
Evan and Jeremy were the most familiar with the Manor, since they had been there the longest, and Gabriel, with his pale hair and vivid blue eyes, was the most recently arrived.
The death of the young woman they were saying farewell to at this moment had been a terrible shock for all of them.
Vicar Thomas of St. Polycarp’s had officiated at the quiet ceremony, gently offering her soul to the Lord and what comfort
