Virtue's Reward (12 page)

In which case, why had he come to Cornwall and so casually married her? A debt to Edward, of course. But was that enough to make him marry a stranger? She remembered the earl’s words at King’s Acton. One of the Salisbury daughters would just as surely have given him possession of Acton Mead. But for better or for worse, they were wed, and he had offered her a new beginning. She was determined to grasp the opportunity with both hands.

Marrow Hill proved to be a rocky prominence bristling with trees. As they began to ride up the narrow trail through the dark woods and leave the green fields behind, Helena felt as if she were entering a foreign land.

“As boys, this trail was the place for grand deeds of derring-do!” Richard said suddenly. “Here we could be Charlemagne or Sir Lancelot. A suitable spot for dark intrigues and swashbuckling adventures, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s more a place for hanging on to one’s saddle and closing one’s eyes,” Helena replied.

A cliff plunged down to her right into the gorge of a little stream. The resulting chasm seemed to be entirely too close to Bob’s hooves as he walked steadily up the path. To her left, a thick growth of trees began to block the sunlight. They were passing a final brave stand of huge oaks before the woods became dense with undergrowth.

“Yes, but the view from the top is worth it,” Richard said.

And with those words, Bayard exploded.

As Bob jumped out of the way of the charger’s flailing hooves, Helena was almost thrown from the saddle. She grasped at the reins, but the reliable chestnut had already come trembling to a halt and she was able to look back over her shoulder.

Bayard was still airborne. Half a ton of horseflesh slammed down with a twist, then bucked again. Richard stayed with him, still firmly in the saddle, but with the next leap the animal’s hind hooves landed at the very edge of the trail. Earth crumbled and gave way. Bayard lost his footing and staggered backward. White flashed around panicked eyes, and the charger rolled down into the gorge.

The dreadful sound of rending branches and the harsh crash of rock echoed, as boulders were dislodged and bushes uprooted by the horse’s flailing body tumbling over and over to the streambed below.

Helena screamed, then clamped one hand over her mouth.

Richard had already sprung from the saddle to catch at the branch of an overhanging oak. In a shower of leaves he dropped back to the ground, but then he immediately swung over the edge of the cliff to go after his horse.

“For heaven’s sake, Richard!” Helena called out. “He must have been killed.”

“That brave creature saved my life many times. I damned if I’m going to let him die in a stinking little toy canyon in England.”

In a tangle of skirts, Helena slithered from Bob’s back and ran to the edge of the path.

“But he almost killed you—”

There was no reply. Richard was climbing steadily down into the ravine. His bright head moved in and out of the sunlight, and a lithe play of shadows ran across his shoulders. Then he disappeared from view beneath a canopy of leaves.

Helena stood absolutely still for a moment as silence settled over the woods. Somewhere below Marrow Hill the stream that had carved the chasm must surely emerge onto more level ground. There was no way to bring a horse back up the cliff. So if Bayard was not dead and Richard could lead him out, that would be the only way.

Leading Bob by the bridle, she picked her way back down the path, her pulse thundering in her ears.
Richard could have died!

At the bottom of the hill she led Bob around the edge of the woods until she met the stream gurgling out among the trees. So she had been right about that. She tied her horse to a low branch and started to follow the water’s edge into the chasm.

She walked straight into Harry.

He grinned at her as if nothing in the world were wrong and greeted her with a quote.

“ ‘How now, spirit! whither wander you?’ ”

His black hair was encrusted with twigs. His jacket looked much as if he had slept in it—or raced carelessly down from Marrow Hill?

Helena wanted to take him by the lapels and scream at him, but a cool voice cut in before she could speak.

“
‘Over hill, over dale, / Through bush, through brier, dear brother.’
” Richard turned to Helena. “It’s all right. Bayard is hurt, but he’s not dead. With ropes and some men, I can get him out.”

Leaving Helena ready to weep with relief and frustration, Richard issued rapid explanations and orders to Harry.

Harry grinned at her as he went up to Bob and stripped off the sidesaddle.

“Having left my nag on the other side of Marrow Hill, I’m obliged to borrow your noble steed, ma’am, but how the devil do you ladies ride in these things? If I meet anyone, I shall be the laughingstock of the county.”

“Unless you get back in five minutes with help, you will wish for such a wholesome result,” Richard said. “Get going, damn you!”

Harry saluted and galloped away.

Richard instantly plunged back into the woods. Helena followed.

His long legs caused him to pull away from her unless she trotted like a child, and there was no trail. Several times they scrambled over fallen rocks and once squeezed through a narrow cut in the cliff, the stream gurgling at their feet. Richard reached back to help her just that once in an absolute silence. There was no point in stating the obvious: A horse could never come out this way. It was hard enough for a man to get in.

They emerged into a small clearing. The bay charger, stripped now of Richard’s saddle, stood tied to a tree, head hanging. His once glossy coat was dark with sweat. Liberally scraped and cut, the horse might have been wrung in a giant mangle.

As Richard came up, Bayard lifted his head and nickered.

“It’s all right, old friend,” Richard said, running his hand down his horse’s neck. “We’ll get you out of here.”

“You have a remarkably generous spirit,” Helena said. “He just did his damnedest to kill you.”

“Did he? Then he’s paying for it. He’s lame in the stifle and may have pulled a tendon in front.” He smiled as the horse pushed at his shoulder with its sensitive nose. “It’ll be a little while before he gets the chance to try again.”

Richard’s nonchalance infuriated her. “But why did Bayard do such a thing? Are you mad to ride such an unpredictable horse?”

She thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then his voice came back to her as casually as if they were in the drawing room.

“As for the first, I can’t tell you. And the second? I don’t know.”

For the first time since the disaster began, she felt like weeping—in distress, in rage?

“For God’s sake, your father was right. You are entirely too irresponsible for the duties of the eldest son.”

Richard threw off his coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “And how do you know that the noble and blue-blooded Earl of Acton has such a sad lack of paternal feeling?”

“Because I overheard him say so at King’s Acton, if you must know. Since his voice rang like church bells, I could hardly help but hear it.”

“I can imagine,” he said dryly.

Helena knew she was scarlet. She picked up Richard’s jacket.

“Eavesdropping is not actually an everyday pastime, just one I allow when extremely provoked.”

“And no doubt you learned plenty for your edification. You may have married into my family, Helena, but I advise you not to indulge yourself in too close an acquaintance with them.”

“What about Harry?”

Richard was washing Bayard’s wounds with his handkerchief made wet in the stream. The water ran pink off the animal’s flanks.

“I would particularly recommend that you don’t try to interfere with Harry.”

“How can I avoid it when he breaks into the house in the night? And what was he doing so conveniently on the scene today? It has not escaped my notice that he had just left you when you were shot in the arm. Is Harry always around when your life is endangered?”

“No, as a matter of fact, he is not. What are you trying to say, Helena?”

“That it seems to me that it would have been very convenient for Harry if you had gone over the cliff with Bayard today.”

“But I didn’t, did I? For God’s sake, Helena! I don’t remember seeing any Gothic romances in the library at Trethaerin that would account for such an overactive imagination. Harry is my brother.”

“Yes, exactly,” Helena said.

Several men followed Harry up from Acton Mead. The procession was led by the estate manager riding a sensible white cob, and brought up in the rear by a stout wagon drawn by two massive Suffolk draft horses. Various ropes and pulleys and bundles of canvas were piled on the wagon, and Bob was tied on behind with another great Suffolk Punch. Some of the men were walking, but most were perched among the rescue equipment like birds in a nest.

Harry, mounted on a hack, was entertaining himself by cantering in circles around the cavalcade, while still inexorably leading them to the right spot.

Helena had followed Richard back out from the wood, leaving Bayard standing quietly by the stream. She hung Richard’s jacket from a nearby branch and watched as he issued orders. The men leaped to obey as if Napoleon’s troops lay hidden among the oaks, instead of the innocent creatures of an English wood. The wagon was left at the bottom of the hill, while some of the men were sent into the gorge and others followed Richard back up the narrow trail, bringing the single Suffolk Punch with them.

Harry rode up to Helena and swung down from his horse.

“Please, don’t worry, Lady Lenwood,” he said quietly. “Brother Richard is superb in any emergency, so there’s no reason you shouldn’t watch the rescue. Here, let me give you my arm and we’ll march up Marrow Hill together.”

Helena looked up into his guileless blue eyes, her heart thudding.

“Thank you, but I can manage,” she said.

Harry frowned as if she had just broken his heart. Biting her lip, Helena wrapped her hand into his elbow, and they followed Richard and the other men up the hill.

Richard looked around as he saw them approach.

“Ah,” he said. “Just what I need: my brother being useful. Are you in the mood to climb trees, Harry? Take this!”

Harry caught the large pulley Richard tossed to him and flung a coil of rope over one shoulder. Undeterred by his burden, he scrambled up a nearby oak and fixed the pulley to a stout branch.

Meanwhile, some of the men fashioned a sling out of canvas. A long rope soon ran from the sling through the pulley, with the other end attached to the harness of the big Suffolk horse. Richard tossed the canvas sling over the edge of the cliff to those waiting below.

The chestnut coat rippled over powerful muscles as Richard gave the signal for the draft horse to be led forward. The horse strained. The rope pulled taught and groaned in the pulley.

Sitting above them in the tree, Harry began to chant gently.

“An earl’s son rode perfectly well / But was languishing under a spell / It was cast by his wife / And near cost him his life / When his horse tried to send him to hell.”

“Are you trying to suggest, dear brother,” Richard said. “That this accident was my wife’s fault?”

“I’ve no idea how it happened.” Harry laughed and dropped to the ground. “I wasn’t here, worse luck! Either old age is softening your faculties, or it’s the disturbing presence of Helena. But it does seem the oddest thing for you to let your horse fall off Marrow Hill.”

“Senility, obviously,” Richard said calmly.

Minutes later, Bayard was hauled up over the rim.

The horse was blindfolded and his legs were caught in a cat’s cradle of rope. He couldn’t struggle against the canvas under his belly, yet he could still gain some purchase on the rock as he was dragged up the cliff. His body was bundled in more canvas and padding, and each leg had been wrapped in cotton and bandages. The Acton Mead grooms had no doubts as to quite how precious this horse was to their master.

With the help of Harry and one of the men, Richard managed to position the charger so that his hooves would land on the path. Bayard scrambled a little as he felt solid ground once again, then stood quietly under the soothing hand of his master as the sling and the ropes were removed.

With infinite care and patience, Richard gentled Bayard down the path. Limping seriously, the horse followed as faithfully as a puppy. At last they reached the wagon, which had been backed against a shallow bank. Richard led his charger aboard and stood at the horse’s head. Bayard was to be carried home.

Helena retrieved Richard’s coat, still hanging where she had left it. She hugged the jacket to her breast, as if by shielding his clothing she somehow could protect him. The most absurd emotion! She had been completely superfluous throughout the entire rescue, while he had been—as Harry had predicted—magnificent.

She walked up to the wagon and held up the jacket. Richard smiled down at her, seeming only confident and carefree now that Bayard was safe.
Thank God! Thank God!

Something pricked her finger and brought up a bead of blood. Helena changed her grip, then gasped as her hand was punctured again.

“Careful!” Richard said quietly so that no one else could hear.

“What is it?” she asked.

“If you look in the pocket, you’ll find something smooth and hard with a vicious point. However, I pray you will not take it out and cause too much of a
frisson
of excitement among the tenants. There were two of them, but the other must have come out and been lost on the cliff.”

Helena felt the pocket carefully. “It’s some kind of dart?”

“Exactly! But don’t, my dear, set up the hue and cry, will you? Harry will take you home.”

She looked down, biting her lip, and without another word gave him the coat, but she could have screamed aloud. Bayard hadn’t tried to kill his master. Someone else had. Someone who had hidden in the woods with a blowpipe or bow of some kind, or maybe just a strong throwing arm and a deadly aim, and had felt no compunction in wounding an innocent beast if it might hurt his rider.