Page 41 of A Raven Reborn

With the briefest movement of Ash’s chin, the two men grabbed Patrick, one on each arm, and began hauling him away.

“Damn you, Ash,” he called over his shoulder. “Damn you to hell!”

ChapterFourteen

Rosalyn was startled awake. Had someone just shouted her name? She rushed to the window and saw Patrick being dragged away by two large men, still shouting over his shoulder. He was angrier than she’d ever seen him, but so obviously hurting, as well. She needed to stop him. To tell him she was sorry.

She wrapped herself in her robe and hurried out into the hallway. About halfway down, she was stopped by a familiar voice.

“Rosie?” She turned and peered through the doorway. On the bed lay Finch, his face so horribly bruised and battered, he was almost unrecognizable.

“Finch?” He peeked through swollen eyelids, and despite his injuries, he attempted a smile. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she neared his bed. Why had someone hurt him like this? He had a splint on one arm, and every inch of him that she could see was bruised or scabbed. Her heart broke for him.

“Giving his lordship hell then, are you?” He chuckled, and she was pretty sure he tried to wink.

Rosalyn laughed under her breath. None of this was funny, but somehow Finch always managed to bring levity to every situation.

“That wasn’t my intention, but it seems that is exactly what I’ve managed to do.”

“Why don’t you sit down and tell me about everything?” He turned his head toward the chair beside his bed. “He’s a stubborn, bullheaded fool, and I know I shouldn’t speak so of my employer, but he’s also my dearest friend.”

Rosalyn sat down in the chair, her hands clasped between her knees. “Will you tell me the story of how you came to work for him? The real story I mean. I assume, it’s not exactly the done thing to be friends with one’s valet.”

“I will, even though he won’t thank me for telling the story.” He shifted in the bed, and groaned quietly, wincing from the pain. “It was about 13 years ago, now.” He let out a sigh. “Leaving a… let’s say tête-à-tête… with a man.” He cleared his throat. “If you haven’t already deduced as much, I am not normal when it comes to men and women, and apparently that makes me a depraved reprobate.” He gave a slight shrug with his unencumbered arm.

She’d always imagined such men to be more akin to demons, based on what her stepfather had said about them. Finch was kind and caring, so clearly she’d been misinformed.

“Well, at least we’ll both be going to hell together then.”

He laughed, but immediately groaned and wrapped his good arm around his ribs.

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry, Finch. Please continue.”

One side of his mouth tipped up a bit, stretching his scabbed lips. “Well, I stepped out the back door of an establishment into an alley, and there was Patrick.” His eyes stared straight ahead, but he looked at nothing, as if he was watching the incident again inside his mind. “He had the barrel of a gun held against his temple.”

Rosalyn gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. Finch’s gaze turned to meet hers and he nodded. “I doubt he’d ever admit it, but he had every intention of ending his life that day.”

Rosalyn swallowed back tears. “Why?” The word was barely a whisper.

“Well, the truth is, we never discussed it. He was under the effects of too much whiskey and a good dose of opium, but mostly, I think he was lonely and bored.”

“Bored?” Rosalyn was horrified. Boredom was hardly a reason to take one’s own life.

“As the second son, I think he lacked a sense of purpose.” She remembered Patrick calling himself ‘the spare’. Clearly, there was more truth to that than she’d realized. Finch took a sip of water from the glass on his bedside table before continuing. “I didn’t ask a lot of questions. I simply convinced him to give me the gun, then I helped him back to his flat, and have basically refused to leave his side since.”

Rosalyn smiled. Although it was heart wrenching to think of Patrick in such a state, their friendship was nothing short of sweet. Thank God Finch had been there at that exact moment, and willing to step in the way he did. Most people probably would have just turned a blind eye.

“I’m not the hero the story makes me out to be, really. I had been sacked that day and thrown out on the streets, with nowhere to go and no reference. So you see, he saved me every bit as much as I saved him.”

Rosalyn took Finch’s uninjured hand in hers then bent to place a soft kiss on his forehead. “You are truly heaven sent, Finch.”

He snorted and shook his head. “Now, Rosie, it’s your turn. What on earth happened that brought you here with him shouting your name to the rooftops outside?”

This was going to be difficult. Afterall, she couldn’t explain everything without sharing very private details about her life, and her relationship with Patrick. Finch had trusted her enough to share very personal things, though, so perhaps she could trust him just as much. She let out a long sigh, and started from the beginning.

... “So that’s how I ended up here,” she finished up some time later. Rosalyn walked around the bed and poured herself a glass of water. “I’m not sure why he’s here. He seems to be furious with me, though.”

“Oh, Rosie,” Finch said, shaking his head. “He’s not furious with you.”

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