Page 42 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
Merida made a sound halfway between a gasp and a sob, twisting in Ellie’s hold. “We have to help her!”
Over her head, Ellie met Fawkes’s eyes, sadness uniting their gaze. The child shouldn’t be exposed to the harshness of the world, not this young. The old woman’s language had been bad enough, but to have to see this…
“Come along, Merida,” murmured Ellie, pulling the girl away from the crowd and the distressing sight. “I am certain someone—”
“No!” Merida planted her feet. “Wehave to help her!”
Sighing, Fawkes glanced over the embankment. He was surprised to see the poor creature had worked its way closer to the causeway. The dog was small, but had a fighting spirit, apparently.
A few more minutes in that frigid water, and it’ll lose his fight with exhaustion. Damn.
Cursing himself for a fool, Fawkes shrugged out of his overcoat and jammed the bundle of wool into Ellie’s arms. “Here,” he barked, knowing he was about to do something supremely stupid.
The steps were icy, aye, and he lost his balance more than once. Luckily, he didn’t fall, and made it to the causeway relatively whole. Still muttering under his breath about fools.
“Come here, ye wee dobber,” he called to the dog, whose big brown eyes were full of terror. “Just a bit farther.”
Glancing about, he realized there was nothing on the causeway to help, so he peeled his jacket off, hoping he wasn’t going to have to consign the thing to the rubbish bin after this.
Holding onto the arms of the jacket, he tossed the body toward the animal, using it to extend his reach. “Here ye go, wee one. Come along. Ye can do it, just bite—och!” The animal, finally understanding the assignment, had lunged for the wet wool and missed.
Knowing the current would soon sweep the pup out of reach, Fawkes tossed the jacket out once more, this time releasing one of the arms so that the material could spread out. “Come on, lassie, ye can do—Aye!”
Luck was on their side; the jacket had opened into a sort of net, and the dog had been swept right into it. Determined not to be abandoned, the animal clamped down hard with its teeth, and Fawkes found himself smiling as he pulled the sopping animal out of the water.
“Right, up ye go, lassie.”
Once the dog was on the causeway and Fawkes had cut off the rope tied to the brick, he discovered two things about the dog: 1) she was in fact ahe—very emphatically ahe, in fact—and 2) there was no way the animal would be able to climb the steps himself. For one thing, he was far too small, a mere puppy. And for another, he was shaking so hard he could barely stand.
Sighing again, Fawkes bundled the beast into his jacket, which he’d done his best to wring out but was still cold, and turned back to the stairs. When he did, a cheer rang out from the gathered crowd, Merida’s little voice the loudest.
He tipped his head back and gaped up the steps at all the smiling faces craning down at him, their praises rushing over him like warmth from a fire.
“Hurrah! Good on yer, guv!”
“Oi! Do ye see how small that thing is? ‘e would’ve never survived on ‘is own!”
“Three cheers!”
“Ellie! Ellie, look! Look, Fawkes saved the puppy! Look Ellie!”
And Ellie was grinning down at him, her gloved fingers covering her lips, eyes sparkling with pleasure.
Among the voices, he heard one call out, “Good on yer, Duke! Bit different than usual, eh?” and he twisted. There were many people all along the embankment, and he didn’t recognize anyone…but someone had recognized him.
They’d called himDuke.
The Duke of Death, saving puppies from the river.
Fook me.
Not the reputational enhancement he needed.
Shaking his head, Fawkes bundled the shivering animal against his side and picked his way carefully to the steps, slipping and sliding all the way. Thank the Lord someone had thought to toss down a rope, because he wouldn’t have made it back up without it. As it was, it took all his concentration and several people pulling to get him up the ice-covered steps.
At the top, Fawkes had to stop himself from collapsing, exhausted, on the ground. Instead he placed the dog on his own feet and slowly straightened.
Only to be bowled into by Merida.
