Page 31 of A Raven Reborn

“Go away!” Patrick shouted at the door.

But the door swung open, and Ash burst into the room. He looked at Rosalyn then Patrick and back to Rosalyn again, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Rosie.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Patrick shouted, stepping towards Ash, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “Get out!” He pointed at the door.

Ash didn’t move. “It’s Finch,” he said quietly. “He’s been attacked.”

“Attacked?” Patrick’s brow furrowed. “Where is he? Is he… Is he hurt?”

“He’s still alive. He’s at my place and a physician is already with him.”

“Why is he at your place?” Rosalyn could hear the confusion and fear in Patrick’s voice as he spoke.

“He was meeting with a friend nearby, apparently.” Ash’s eyes flicked briefly to Rosalyn, as if the words were some sort of code. But why? “We’ll discuss the details later, Patrick. You need to come.”

“But Rosie and I were?—”

But Ash cut him off. “Now. I’ll wait in the hall.” He turned then, and left, closing the door behind him.

Patrick turned to her. “Rosie, I’m so sorry.” He grasped her hands, his eyes pleading for her forgiveness. “Ash wouldn't be here if it weren’t extremely serious.”

“Of course.” Rosalyn nodded. Clearly Finch was in trouble. “Is there anything I can do?”

Patrick shook his head. “I know this is a terrible time for me to leave you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Go.” She pulled her hands from his and pointed at the armoire. He looked down and only then seemed to realize he wasn’t dressed. He rushed across the room and started throwing clothes on.

When he was dressed he returned to her once more. “Please, just promise me you’ll stay here until I return.”

Rosalyn nodded.

“Promise me,” he repeated, looking deep into her eyes.

“I promise,” she said, with another nod. “Now go.”

He squeezed her hands and kissed her forehead lightly before turning and rushing from the room. A commotion of rustling, male voices, and heavy footfalls receded as they thundered down the hall away from her. The door closed behind them with a thud, followed by the scraping of locks. Then silence. She stared at the open doorway for a moment before shuffling slowly back to the chair and collapsing into it.

A pounding ache began to swell at her temples.

Massaging them wasn’t helping. This was simply too much. She needed something to dull the onslaught. She needed a drink… or two. She made her way down the hall to Patrick’s study and went straight to the decanter. Just as it had the last time, the first swallow burned a path all the way to her belly and she choked and sputtered. It didn’t deter her from drinking more. If men could drink brandy by the glassful then so could she. She breathed in deeply before pouring the rest of the liquid down her throat. Then she refilled the glass and settled into Patrick’s chair. There must be something in the massive desk that would tell her more about who he was and where he came from. Why he lived in this small apartment, but apparently had multiple country estates. She needed answers, and perhaps with him gone, she could finally find some.

* * *

Finch was completely still apart from his chest which still rose and fell slowly. Thank God for that, at least. By the looks of his injuries, he was lucky to be breathing at all. Both eyes were swollen shut and stained a deepening purple. His broken arm had been set and was in a splint, and the gash across his stomach had been stitched shut. The doctor had assured Patrick that if he made it through the night and regained consciousness, he would recover completely, as long as infection didn’t set in.

“The bastards marked him!” Patrick growled at Ash, who sat silently in the corner, rhythmically tapping the head of his walking stick against the wall. He met Patrick’s eyes and nodded.

“I know,” he said quietly.

Patrick looked back down at the P that had been crudely carved into Finch’s cheek before slamming his fist into the stone fireplace surround. Finch was a good man and he didn’t deserve this. He’d never been anything but loyal, kind, and caring. He was more than a valet to Patrick. He was one of his closest friends. What difference did it make if he was attracted to men? Why did so many people insist that it made him somehow innately evil? Patrick scrubbed his hands through his hair. He had warned Finch to be more careful.

“Damn it!” He paced across the room, shaking his head.

“Sit.” The quiet command came from Ash. “Cursing won’t actually help him recover.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes. “He’s my friend, Ash.”

Ash nodded. “Do you think I would have interrupted you and Rosie if I didn’t know that?”

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