The yard was full of men shouting and milling about and the farm dogs were still barking and that dratted horse was stamping about, looking wild-eyed and dangerous. There was Lord Stratford in the midst of it all. He was lying too still with the horse dancing and snorting with its deadly iron-shod hooves far too close to the man’s prone body as it looked wild enough to lash out with intent to kill.
‘Joe Nicklin, you catch that damned horse right now, before it kills the poor man,’ Marianne shouted over the hullabaloo at the most sober of the men who had gathered to gawp at the chaos and argue about the fallen man at the centre of it. Thankfully Joe listened to her and made a lunge at the animal’s bridle, then wrestled the beast back and away so at least it was no longer within kicking reach of Lord Stratford’s dark head. Seeing Joe spring into action, the rest of the men seemed to snap out of their panicked stupor and ran to help Joe force the foam-flecked and still-protesting horse away from its fallen rider. ‘We will talk about who did what, when and why once I am quite certain His Lordship will survive,’ she added with a quelling glare at anyone still standing about gawping.
‘Right you are, missus,’ Joe’s brother Seth said with an ingratiating smile. He was trying too hard to placate her and her suspicion he had something to do with this disaster hardened to a certainty. Seth was a troubled soul who had come back from the war restless and edgy and inclined to lose his temper without much cause, but he was also a superb horseman. She suspected Darius had taken him on because he recognised the faraway look in the man’s eyes when he spoke of war and her brother had a soft heart under his self-contained manner. But never mind them now, Lord Stratford needed all her attention until he was his arrogant self again and she refused to believe in an alternative.
‘Ride for the doctor as fast as you can go and insist he comes back with you, Seth. Tell him it could be a matter of life and death and say who is injured and if you do it well enough maybe whatever mischief you have been about today need go no further,’ she ordered brusquely and at least he had the shame or wit enough to run off to the stables and not stand about arguing.
‘And you can get that bad-tempered brute out of the way, Joe,’ she snapped as the nag still fought the man’s powerful grip. ‘Put him in a stall and make it as dark as you can get it, then leave him to do his worst. We can worry about him later.’
Now Marianne’s eyes were fixed on Lord Stratford’s prone body as she tried to see if any of his limbs were bent under him at a worrying angle. Somehow the sight of him so vulnerable and undefended made her blink back a tear. She ordered herself not to be such a widgeon and get on with finding out what was wrong with him and whether it could be put right. Her heart was in her mouth as she walked past the men dragging the still-resisting horse away to kneel at his side.
Juno sank onto her knees at her uncle’s side even before Marianne got there. ‘Do not even think about moving him. We must find out how bad his injuries are before we risk making bad worse,’ Marianne ordered when the girl reached out to touch him, then snatched her hand back as if it had been bitten at the thought of doing him more harm.
‘Is he going to die, Mrs Turner? It will be my fault if he does. He would not even be here to be thrown from that brute if not for me.’
‘Pray do not start spouting such morbid nonsense when I need your help. You are the only truly sober person here so do not have hysterics.’
‘What must I do, then?’
‘Stay calm while I find out how badly he is injured,’ Marianne said, and began to explore Lord Stratford’s prone body as gently as she could as she fought back her own panic and this silly feeling that if he was mortally injured it would feel like a personal tragedy. She hardly even knew him. Thank goodness she had a good deal of experience nursing wounded men who stood a better chance of recovery if they could stay with the column than they would in an army hospital.
She decided none of his limbs looked twisted out of shape and began gently winnowing through his crisply curling dark hair until she found a knotty lump underneath it already beginning to swell and explaining his loss of consciousness. ‘He will certainly have a headache when he wakes up,’ she told Juno with as much of a smile as she could manage to reassure the girl.
‘He will hate that,’ Juno said with a wobble in her voice to say she knew how serious head injuries could be, but if hoping for the best would help she was ready to try it. ‘Uncle Alaric hates being ill.’
‘Then he is in for a torrid time. I think he has sprained his wrist as well. Was the gentleman slammed against the wall, Joe?’ Marianne asked the man as
