Thirty-seven

The ground was pillow soft. Marcus rubbed the flatness. Cool cloth, not grass, grazed his palm. He pushed up on one elbow, head throbbing.

“Samuel, he’s awake.” Adam Beckworth’s voice.

Marcus opened his eyes and pinched them shut at pain slicing his temple. He sat up, his stomach roiling with the need to retch. Marcus touched his head. A bandage. Sticky moisture. He examined his hand.

Blood spotted his fingers. “Where am I?”

“You’re on my bed,” Samuel announced, a lit taper in hand.

“Not a place I want to be.” Marcus swung both legs over the edge. His boots hit the floor, and he bit back the need to vomit. “Sorry, Samuel. I like you, but not that much.”

“The sentiment is mutual. I’d rather a softly curved woman was in your place.”

Bracing himself, Marcus stood and took a step. The floor spun. He wavered, catching the bedpost. Samuel rushed to his side.

“You need rest. Physician’s orders.”

“Thank you, but I can rest at home.”

“Better that you stay here. When you fell, your head hit a small stone in the grass. You lost a lot of blood but suffered no serious damage that the physician could see. We’ve all taken turns watching over you.”

“Thanks, but I prefer my nurses softly curved. If you could help me get to Pallinsburn…”

“That’s no good.”

“Why not? Genevieve will take care of me.”

Samuel raised the candlelight to eye level. “Marcus, she’s gone.”

Air squeezed from his lungs, and he hunched over. He gripped the bedpost, bile at the back of his throat again.

“That’s not possible… The Prussian was knocked cold.” He pushed off Samuel’s bed.

“The Prussian didn’t take her. She left of her own accord.”

“What?” Marcus wavered, waiting for the world to stop its spin.

Samuel strode forward. “You need to rest, Marcus. I’ll explain everything in the morning.”

“Morning? What time is it?”

“Twilight I think. Alexander went on an errand in the village, and then he was going to feed the horses.”

The race had been in the morning. He’d been out all day. Concentrating on the plank floor, he forced himself to stand and put one foot in front of the other. He pushed past Samuel, his steps surer as he maneuvered the hall and stairs.

Samuel was at his elbow. “I can’t convince you to lie down?”

“I’m not tired,” Marcus groused. “What happened?”

“You tell me. One minute, I was afraid I’d have to shoot the foreigner. The next, I see his own man club him with the butt of a pistol and two ruffians drag him off to Barnard’s carriage.”

Marcus slumped on the entry hall’s wooden bench. His redingote and hat hung from hooks on the wall. He rubbed his forehead with the heels of his hands to clear the fog. He needed to get Genevieve.

“Want some whiskey?” Samuel offered.

“No. Watered-down ale or cider if you have any.”

“Adam, get a bowl of broth and some bread for Lord Bowles and see if we have any cider.”

Samuel lit the sconces, brightening the hall. “Care to explain what happened?”

“Genevieve—”

“Is safe. Now tell me. The Prussian.”

“I met Avo Thade at the Red Swan yesterday. I gleaned from conversations with Genevieve and Barnard that the man viewed Genevieve as a distraction from their cause.” Marcus scrubbed his face and accepted the cool cider Adam offered. “I gambled on him not wanting her in tow. I was right.”

He emptied the mug, his throat parched. But this was no siren call for whiskey. His body thirsted to be quenched, as did his heart.

He set the mug on the seat beside him. “Thade said he’d bind Wolf in the carriage and keep him that way until their ship set sail.”

“What was that bit with the papers? Why risk the Prussian’s ire if you knew Thade agreed to work in concert with you?”

“I had to get the indenture. For Genevieve.” He rubbed his breastbone, a twinge sharpening there. Genevieve had left. Why? He’d never told her he loved her. He’d meant to. As soon as he returned triumphant with her indenture papers.

What happened when a good man made heroic choices and still lost?

“Why did she leave me?” He stood, his legs a tad unsteady.

Posture military straight, Samuel’s arms folded across his chest. “What you did—selling Khan—affected us both. It was a good thing, heroic. To her it was devastating. She blames herself, said you were cornered into making the sacrifice because of her.”

“It’s no reason for her to leave. I have to find her.” He reached for his redingote. “I did it because I love her.”

“She was quite firm in believing you’d be better off without her.” Samuel paused. “She saw the letter about Miss Rutherford.”

Marcus swore under his breath.

“I’m guessing you didn’t tell her you loved her.” Samuel handed Marcus his hat.

“My gravest sin.” He took the hat and set it carefully on his bandaged head. “I’ve never told a woman I love her.”

“I’d say you’re about to.”

He opened the front door, an eye to the barn. “I need to go after her. May I use one of your horses?”

Samuel followed him with papers in hand, swinging on his frock coat. “You know you’re in no condition to ride.”

Marcus ignored that. “I assume she took one of the stagecoaches. Are you going to tell me which one?”

“The twilight coach to London.”

He frowned. “Alexander’s errand to the village? You should’ve told me right away.”

“Chivalry first, my friend.”

“I have a good idea where to catch the coach.” Marcus grinned, inklings of his old self returning. “Convincing her to stay is my bigger concern.”

“Then give her this. Might help.” Samuel handed over a yellowed, thrice-folded foolscap. The Prussian’s indenture contract. Folded beneath it was their marriage license. “One of Atal’s footmen delivered it right after she left.”

“Thank you,” Marcus said, tucking the papers inside his redingote. He slid them into the pocket over his heart.

“No, thank you, my friend.” Samuel’s smile slashed a bold white line.

Wordless understanding passed between them. What had been done today was done in the name of friendship and love. Marcus wasn’t going to fight what he wanted anymore. Sacrifice in the name of friendship and love had shown him the need to seek his own path. He’d been fighting what he wanted and who he was for too long. A simpler path with horses and a plain cottage and a woman who gave him unconditional acceptance.

He loved Genevieve, and he’d shout to the world she was his wife…if she’d have him.

But he knew what she needed first. It comforted him to be the one to give it to her.

Marcus nodded at Samuel. “I’m off to ask my wife to marry me again.”

Samuel opened the barn door for him. “Take my gelding. And don’t break your neck.”