Page 7 of The Wise Daughter
This wish, the first in so many years, would be a small gift to herself, a miniscule moment of bliss that would mean nothing to anyone but her. Stretching both hands across the stone, she closed her eyes and wished.
And wished and wished until her chest ached.
When she opened her eyes, her heart nearly tumbled over the stone wall to the river below. Covered in shadow and mud was a man lying unconscious on the riverbank.
Chapter 4
Nora sprang across the bridge to the sodden earth below before her mind could catch up, but once it did, questions surfaced with a speed to rival her racing heart. Was the man alive? Was he breathing? What horrible accident had befallen him? How severe were his injuries? The road above was silent. He needed help, and no one was coming to his aid.
It would have to be her.
Removing her gloves, she lightly brushed back his wet hair and felt his forehead. His skin was startlingly cold, but his chest was rising and falling, which eased some tightness in her own breath. A nasty bump swelled above his temple, and a small cut in his hairline left a thin trail of blood down the side of his face. With a leg entirely in the water and an arm half in, he had to be moved immediately to a safer distance from the river. The mud was slick, and the sky was threatening rain. All it would take to sweep him away would be for the river to swell a little or for him to turn the wrong way.
“I’ll have to drag you out of the water, sir, but first, I must relieve you of this soggy cloak.”
She didn’t think she could find a secure enough hold on him with all that extra fabric. Silently planning, she poked him in the shoulder. When he didn’t budge, she undid the clasps at his neck and let the wet fabric fall off his shoulders. With another quick assessment, she loosened his black cravat as well. So much black. Was he in mourning? A new wave of sympathy washed over her.
Her cheeks warmed thinking of how close she was and how much closer she would have to get to this man who might have been doing all sorts of scoundrel-like things before meeting with misfortune. Was she saving a criminal?
She tried to hush these thoughts. He was in need. That was all that mattered, but now that the cloak was gone, it did relieve her a little to see the well-tailored shirt and waistcoat of a prosperous gentleman. It wasn’t enough to vouch for his character, but she chose to take it as a good sign.
It also helped, though her cheeks burned deeper to admit it, that he had a strong jaw, handsome features, broad shoulders, and an athletic build. His dark hair was too wet to discern its actual color, but she liked the way the curls fell across his forehead.
Thoroughly convinced he was unconscious, she found relief in speaking her thoughts aloud. “I hope you feel honored by my attention, sir. I am not the sort of woman to freely bestow it. I wonder what color your eyes are.”
She instantly chided herself for being silly.Maybe that wish on the bridge had clouded her good sense.
The man shuddered, making her jump back a step. He coughed out several sputters of water, gasped, then lay still, never opening his eyes.
“Sir?”
She gave his arm a shake but stopped when her fingers accidentally slipped through his torn sleeve and brushed against his skin. Even with such a brief touch, it was impossible not to notice thestrong contours of muscle beneath his wet sleeve. Who might have bested him? He looked quite capable of defending himself. She took his hand and nestled it between hers to rub out some of the iciness in case it would help him wake up.
“Sir, you must get away from here, or you’ll be swept away. Sir?”
When he didn’t respond, she moved behind him and braced herself, lowering to one knee and sinking her traveling boots into the mud.
“I hope you’re not a scoundrel.”
After some adjusting, Nora slipped her arms under the man’s, soaking one of her arms in the edge of the river, and pulled. The muddy bank provided little purchase. Her feet slipped several times as she tried to stand, landing herself right back in the mud.
“Blast it!” she whispered. “You must weigh as much as a horse!”
The man groaned. This time, after wrapping her arms around his chest and clasping her hands together, she dug her heels in deep, and leaned back. The mud finally relinquished its suction-like hold on him, but with all the force she was using, she lost her foothold again and fell on her back with the man falling right on top of her.
“Oh no!” Nora pushed and squirmed until she rolled him off and was free. Cold mud covered her riding habit and seeped into her gown. She could feel it weighing in her hair and easing its way past her stays to her flushed skin. Huffing, she caught her breath and refused to be mortified.
Positioning for a better grip on her next attempt, she slipped her arms under his again and pulled. Slowly, she dragged him up to higher, dryer earth by the side of the bridge where she patted his cheek in rapid succession.
“Wake up, sir! I’m trying to help, but I’m losing patience.”
Throwing him a glare, she returned to the edge of the water to clean her hands and splash her face. Swiping her fingers down her arms, she wiped as much mud as she could from her riding habit, andboots, but the stubborn mud clung to the fabrics. She was nearly soaked by the end of her endeavors. Cupping her hands, she carried water to the man and splashed his face with the drops that hadn’t spilled out.
His eyes flew open. He bolted to sitting. “Get back! I–” Taking in his surroundings, he groaned again, clasped his side, and sank back to the ground. “Where am I?” His voice was hoarse.
“Be calm, sir. I’m a friend.” Nora couldn’t quite see the exact color of his eyes in the evening’s shadows as she took a seat on the ground a small distance from him.
“Friend?” He put a hand to his head, smearing mud on his face. Either the idea of a friend was novel to him, or he was struggling to remain conscious. Perhaps both.
