Lord Maxwell’s Quest, page 22
He then held out the reins to her, his hands shaking.
“I will not hurt you. I just need to escape.”
“Yes, Miss,” he answered then gulped. “But Mr. Fernsby will have my hide when he finds his favored horse gone.”
Were those tears.
“Do you need this employment?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I’m an orphan, it’s all I have.”
“Not any longer.” She held out a hand. “Come with me and help me get into town.”
He shook his head.
“Are you so afraid of Fernsby.”
He nodded vigorously. “And his men. They are mean.”
It was just like Rylan to terrify a child. “I promise you will be safe.”
The boy glanced at the stable door one last time, then accepted her offer before he climbed on the back of the horse. Once she found help, saved Max, and returned to London, she’d hand the lad over to Victoria. He’d do quite well at Westbrook House. But, she needed both her and Max to survive first.
She nudged the horse forward, and soon he was running out of the stables and to the road. “Which way,” she called to the boy.
“To the right.”
She tugged on the reins, hoping it worked, and the horse turned in the correct direction. Now, they just needed to get into town and find a watchman, and then a doctor. She had to save Max.
Chapter 32
Max closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the trunk of the tree. It didn’t matter what happened to him now. Rosemary had escaped. He’d watched as she rode from the stables. He also noted the lad on the back of the horse but didn’t care. All that mattered was that she was safe, and if she were lucky, would bring help before it was too late.
The pain in his shoulder had lessened, but not gone. At first it had been as if a hot poker had been shoved through him. His shoulder now throbbed, and whenever he attempted to use his arm, searing pain shot from his neck to his elbow. At least he could move his hand and make a fist, but the arm was useless.
He’d lost a lot of blood. More than he’d thought one should from a shoulder wound, and Rosemary’s frail handkerchief had done nothing to stem the flow. His once white shirt was now permanently stained in crimson. He’d been told that loss of blood could make a person dizzy, but he had no idea that it could also bring a man to his knees. Which almost occurred and Max knew without a doubt that he would have been face down in the dirt in front of Fernsby’s manor had Rosemary not rushed to his side and helped carry some of his weight.
He looked up, through the trees. Few stars twinkled above. It was a very dark night, getting darker by the moment. Weakness spread throughout as well as numbness. Any strength he once possessed was gone.
Thank God neither Rylan nor his men had found him because Max couldn’t fight even though his very life depended on it.
He wasn’t ready to die. But if it meant that Rosemary was safe, he’d gladly relinquish his life. His only regret was that he’d not had more time with her and wishing he’d confessed his heart sooner.
As darkness invaded further, Max knew that his time on this earth was likely at an end.
Chapter 33
Voices. Whispered and low.
He couldn’t make out what they were saying.
So hot.
Skin on fire.
He’d arrived in hell.
Max tried to push at the weight upon him, not certain what held him down, but no matter how much he struggled, it wouldn’t let up. With each movement, agonizing pain tore through his body. Not just his shoulder, but his body and head.
So hot.
Thirsty.
Parched.
He ran a tongue over his lips. They were dry and would likely crack soon, further pain that he must endure.
Had he been so horrible that he’d been vanquished to hell?
While he hadn’t been a model citizen, he hadn’t been bad either. He wasn’t a thief, miscreant, or murderer. He wasn’t religious either and hadn’t been to a church since he was forced to attend at Eton.
He was a sinner, and now this was his eternity.
At least he’d kissed Rosemary.
Longing and depression settled deep at realizing he’d never see her again, and he wished he had more memories to sustain him.
Why had he been such a bloody fool?
Max couldn’t die. Rosemary wouldn’t allow it.
“Why can’t you do something?” she demanded of the doctor.
“I’ve done what I can.” He put his instruments into his bag.
For two days Max had languished. He rarely gained consciousness, but when he did, his eyes were glassy and unfocused. She’d held his hand, talked to him, but there’d been no improvement.
This doctor was useless.
He’d claimed that more damage would be done if he attempted to pull the ball from his shoulder than leaving it there.
She was to prepare herself.
Rosemary refused.
She would force Max to live.
“I fear an infection may be setting in as he is now fevered.”
Panic surged. “Then do something.”
“There is nothing I can do.” He placed his hat on his head. “I hope he made peace with God.”
She looked to Benedick, pleading, though there was nothing he could do either.
“I’ve sent for Lady Olivia. She should arrive shortly.”
Knowing that her friend would soon be here brought a small measure of peace, but would Olivia be able to save him?
Olivia studied medical journals and secretly attended medical lectures dressed as a male, but would her friend even know how to treat Max? As far as she knew, Olivia had never removed a lead ball from a shoulder.
“You should sleep,” Benedick suggested.
She couldn’t sleep, even though she hadn’t in days. Not since before they arrived at Fernsby’s manor. Then they escaped, Max had been shot, and she’d ridden to find the doctor. At the same time, she’d come across Benedick and others he knew, asking for direction to Fernsby.
He’d mentioned to Victoria and Olivia where she and Max were off to, and it was overheard by another Thames River Policeman, who said he knew Fernsby, and that he was a madman who belonged in Bedlam. Further, that Fernsby was dangerous and was seeking relics that could cure him. Benedick had left immediately to warn Max and Rosemary, but he had arrived too late.
After she took him to Max, they brought him back to the village where the local doctor attempted to treat him, and Benedick again rode out to the manor. Fernsby was dead. A knife in his chest. Neither Rylan nor any of his men were around, and the horses were gone. They’d run and likely took what they could to sell since their employer would no longer be providing an income. They’d disappeared. Rosemary gave descriptions of each while the doctor treated Max, and another man returned to London where the descriptions would be distributed around the docks so that they could all be arrested for kidnapping if they tried to escape the country.
Rosemary didn’t hold out much hope that they’d be found.
But they were not her concern now.
They’d also found the carriage loaned to them by Bridges. The driver had gone to the village seeking assistance because he knew that it wasn’t right when another told him to return to London. He’d also sensed the danger and decided to leave in order to seek help, but nobody was willing to be of assistance, even though they believed him, because they feared Fernsby. The driver was on the road to London, driving as fast as he could, seeking help when possible when he and Valentine crossed paths.
Max was her only concern now, and she couldn’t let him die. Not when they had a beautiful future planned, and he was finally going to be hers.
He couldn’t leave her now.
“Where is he?” Olivia asked from another room.
Rosemary sprinted from her chair to meet her friend.
“I’ve already told Miss Fairview that nothing else can be done,” the doctor stated.
“You can leave now,” Rosemary ordered.
“Very well.” He nodded and made his exit.
“What has been done for him?” she asked as she withdrew items from her bag.
Rosemary quickly explained the ball was lodged too deep and Max had developed an infection.
“We shall see if that is true.” She glanced to Benedick. “You’ll need to hold him. This will be painful.”
Immediately, Benedick was on the other side of Max. A hand braced on his shoulder to keep him in place.
Olivia removed the bloody bandage, then poked around the wound. Her index finger going deeper and deeper.
“That foolish doctor.”
“He was wrong?”
“He could have gotten it when the wound was fresh. There is now inflammation, and infection.” Olivia picked up forceps. “I can still get it but be ready with towels as there will be blood.” She glanced up at Benedick. “This will be even more painful.”
He gave a quick nod.
Olivia spread the wound further apart, not that it could widen much, then slipped in the long, narrow forceps. They went deeper as Olivia bit the corner of her lip.
Rosemary’s stomach threatened to revolt, but she remained steadfast, holding Max’s hand.
“Got it!” Olivia exclaimed and pulled the ball from the wound.
Blood immediately followed and Rosemary placed towels upon the opening to staunch the flow the best she could.
Olivia then removed a bottle of alcohol from her bag.
“Gin?” Rosmary asked.
“Infused with various herbs to help fight infection and reduce inflammation,” she answered right before she tipped the bottle and poured some into Max’s wound.
He struggled and fought, as if it pained him, but it wasn’t enough to bring him to consciousness.
Olivia then stitched and bandaged his wound and covered him with the blanket.
“He will live?” Rosemary asked.
“It is my hope, but until his fever breaks…”
At least the ball was out of his shoulder, and Olivia had done far more than the village doctor. There was hope, and it was better than being told that she should prepare for the worst and hoping that Max had made peace with God.
Chapter 34
Had Satan taken pity on him? Had he somehow earned favor? Max wasn’t certain what he’d done, but the heat was gone. Not only that, but his entire body was cooling, a gentle breeze across his limps, as if he were lying naked under a shade tree on a spring day.
He’d never thought of clothing in hell, but he assumed the devil would delight in mortals who had sinned on earth to be humiliated by spending eternity naked as the day they were born instead of in robes as he assumed everyone was gifted in heaven.
It was raining, and not ash, for the cool drops struck his torso, and streamed down his side, gathering beneath him where they warmed again. He was lying in dampness. Had it rained and he was in a warm puddle?
He nearly sighed when dampness bathed his brow.
Someone in hell had taken pity on him, and if he only had the strength to lift his eyelids, he’d thank them.
His shoulder burned and ached, but he didn’t mind, as he was finally cool, but so very tired. Yet, he feared sleeping and fought as darkness tried to invade his mind. He wanted to stay beneath the shade tree and enjoy the drops of rain and sink into the puddle. If he slept, would he once again wake to the fires of hell nipping at his back and burning his body?
“His fever has broken.”
Max frowned and fought the darkness. Was this further torture? That they’d send someone to sound as Rosemary?
Further reality of hell to be reminded of what he’d be denied.
Is that what hell was? An eternity of pain and heat, then relief, then taunted with desires never gained?
If he reached out, to grasp hold, would they vanish and the fire return?
“We should cover him. A chill could harm him.”
Who else spoke?
He didn’t want cover. He wanted the cool rain.
As the weight pressed upon him, Max tried to lift his arms, to push it away, but the searing heat of his shoulder was too much, and he cried out, which pulled him completely from his darkness.
“He needs laudanum,” someone said. “Brew some tea and we’ll try to get him to drink.”
Pain relief wasn’t given in hell.
Max used what energy he had left and forced himself to open his eyes. Above him was a ceiling, which was once possibly white, but now yellowed with age. He attempted to turn his head, though he couldn’t move far as such movement hurt, and his shoulder ached nearly more than he could bare, but there was an open window and the light curtains danced on the air. That had been what cooled him.
“Max! You’re awake,” Rosemary cried.
He prayed that it was her and turned toward the sound not caring how much it hurt. He needed to see her.
At the sight of her beauty, her dark hair a mess of ringlets about her face, and tears in those light brown eyes, he nearly cried with relief. He wasn’t dead! And she was here, safe.
“Don’t move,” she ordered. “We’ll give you something for your pain.”
Yes, the laudanum, but he didn’t want it. He didn’t want to go back to that darkness. “No.”
“It will help you rest,” she argued.
“No,” he said again. Except, he wasn’t certain she heard or understood. His throat and mouth were parched. “Water.”
“Benedick,” Rosemary called.
The Thames River Policeman was by her side in an instant.
Why was he here?
Why was Benedick Valentine helping Rosemary?
Fear and jealousy ate at Max almost instantly.
Had he lost her?
What had happened and how did he get here. Why was he here?
Valentine moved to the opposite side of the bed, blocking the breeze that had brought so much relief to his body.
“This will hurt, but you need to drink,” he said right before Max was lifted. Hot sharp pain tore through his body and he screamed in pain.
“I’m so sorry,” Rosemary said, more tears in her eyes.
“Don’t cry,” Max said just before she placed the cool glass of water to his lips.
He drank deeply, soaking up the liquid the way his mother’s plants had done when they’d gone too long without rain.
The coolness spread through his chest.
Rosemary took the glass away.
“More,” he croaked.
She glanced behind her, as if asking permission.
Max followed her gaze to where Lady Olivia Westbrook stood.
Why was she here?
“Where am I?”
“Lavender Thistle Inn,” Rosemary answered. “A coaching inn south of Luton.”
It didn’t make any sense. “Why?”
“Don’t you remember what happened?” she asked.
There were fragments of memories. Of a jail cell, with Rosemary. She loved him. “I love you.”
She smiled and placed a hand upon his cheek. “I love you too.”
Thank God he remembered that correctly and it hadn’t been imagined.
“We were in jail,” he said.
“Not exactly, we were in a cell in a cellar.”
Cell in a cellar? “The sword.”
“Was worthless and a ruse Fernsby used to get you to his home.”
At the mention of the name, anger swept through Max, and he concentrated on trying to remember why. Then he recalled visiting the man, Rylan and his men were there. They locked him and Rosemary away. She picked the lock. Then what?
“How did we get out?”
She frowned. “Don’t you remember?”
He had no memories of anything after the cell door was finally open.
“Sometimes the most recent memories are lost when there is a head injury.”
Max looked into Rosemary’s brown eyes. “I injured my head?” It was his shoulder that hurt like blazes.
“I left you against a tree, after you’d been shot, and went for help. When we found you, you’d fallen over and struck your head on a stone. We didn’t know if you were unconscious because of your head or shoulder.”
Apparently, he’d been shot in the shoulder. “Fernsby?”
“Dead,” Benedick answered.
“Did I kill him?” Even though he’d just escaped hell, Max hoped he’d been the one, and not Rosemary.
“Yes,” she answered.
At least he would no longer cause them trouble. “You are unharmed?” he asked her. He should have asked that first.
“I am well, Max. I’m only worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine,” he assured her. He needed to be. She loved him. He loved her. They were going… “Greece.”
A smile burst on her lips, and she swiped tears from her eyes. “We are going to Greece the moment you are well enough to travel.”
“You must marry me first,” he insisted.
“Nothing would make me happier.”
Epilogue
Rosemary stood at the edge of the dock, waiting as Max tied his yacht to the post and joined her. It was his last quest, at least for now, and he’d forbidden her from accompanying him.
She was still angry, and she was going to remind him.
A smile broke on his face, and his grin grew wider as he drew near. Before she could utter a word however, he pulled her close then kissed her deeply.
Some of her anger melted, but she’d not let him charm his way out of her irritation.
When he pulled away, Max bent, cradled her large belly, and place a kiss upon the top. “How is my little Frigg doing?”
“We are not naming her Frigg!”
“Why not?” Max asked, looking up at her with innocent eyes. “You denied my request of Thor for our son. I’d even purchased a hammer for his little fist.”
Rosemary rolled her eyes. “First, it’s an insult to name a child after a Norse god or goddess while living in Greece. Second, imagine the pressure they’d feel to live up to such a name.”
