Page 62 of A Duke Under Her Spell
“As I too suspect,” Felix agreed, frowning.
“She would also not have left me without stopping to say goodbye and to look in on my recovery.”
“I am going out to the croft now to seek answers.”
“I will go with you,” Oliver stated attempting to stand up from the bed but fell back down, too wobbly to maintain an upright position.
“You are still healing from the attack. You must lie still and allow your body to heal. I will report back to you anything I might learn upon my return home.”
“I will anxiously await your news,” Oliver answered, allowing Betty and Mr. Wheatly to aid him in getting situated back beneath the covers.
Felix nodded and left the room. It was disconcerting to know that Marybeth had not stopped to look in on Oliver. Such a lack of action told him that something was very wrong. His mind whirled with all of the possibilities. He thought of everything from Lady Cordelia’s actions to the possible involvement of Lord Enfield. Walking out to the stables, he had his horse saddled, and then rode out for the croft.
He rode into the forest with only the dim light of the stars to guide his way. As he crossed over into the tree line, the path became nearly indiscernible. He had always been blessed with excellent night vision, but even he struggled on a moonless night such as the one he rode through now.
A short distance into the woods Felix stopped to allow his eyes to adjust. As he sat something hit him from behind. A sharp pain splintered through his skull as he lost consciousness and fell from his horse to the ground. The last thing he remembered seeing were the soles of a mud-covered boot coming down to stomp on his face.
Chapter 28
Marybeth stayed awake the remainder of the night. The intruder’s presence had been seared into her mind and she had a hard time in letting go of her fear. She was alone and she felt every agonizing moment of it. She spent all the next day cleaning the croft from top to bottom in an attempt to erase any and all memory of the invasion into her much beloved home. However, no matter how much she scrubbed it still felt tainted, just as the forest had felt after she had learned the truth of her mother.
Her thoughts turned to the Dowager Duchess and Oliver. She hoped that they were safe and comfortable. Guilt for leaving them as she had overwhelmed her, but she had had no choice. She would not risk the Duke’s life. The Earl of Bredon had been quite specific in instructions.
Felix will most likely have announced his engagement to the lovely Lady Cordelia by now. A cruel choice to be sure. He deserves better than such a fate.
Shaking her head to clear it of such agonizing thoughts, Marybeth returned to her cleaning efforts. By the time she was done, she doubted that the croft had ever been so clean. In her attempts to scrub away the man’s negative presence and her own fear with it, she had nearly worn grooves in the furniture and flooring. That night, Marybeth made sure to bar the door and went to bed with her sheathed knife under her pillow. She was not about to be caught unawares for a second time.
The next morning, she was awakened to a beating sound on her door. Marybeth groggily made her way to the door, fear quickening her heartbeat and clearing the fog from her brain. “Marybeth!” Alexander’s voice called from the other side of the door. “Marybeth!”
“What do you want?” Marybeth called through the thick wood of the door.
“It is Stephen! He has taken a turn for the worse and you are needed at Enfield to save his life. Without your aid he will surely die!”
Marybeth removed the bar from the door and opened it to find the worried face of her older brother on the other side. “Has the wound become inflamed? Has he a fever?”
“Yes,” Alexander answered, his eyes fervent as he took her hand in his. “I know that you have cause to hate our father, but I beg of you, please save our brother. Stephen has never harmed anyone. It is not within his nature to be cruel. He may be our father’s son and heir, but he does not have one jot of our father’s nature within him. Please, Marybeth.”
Marybeth stood frozen in indecision for a brief moment, her fear overpowering her healer’s heart, but in the end, she was unable to resist the need to help. She could no more have left her brother to die than she could have Oliver. Helping people was so engrained a part of her being, that she could not deny its pull had her very life depended upon it, and where Lord Enfield was concerned it very well might.
Packing her supplies, Marybeth followed Alexander out to his horse and allowed him to lift her up into the saddle behind him. Marybeth wrapped her arms around his middle so as not to fall off. Her medicinal bag of herbs was slung over her shoulder and beat against her back with every step of the horse. She hoped that Lord Enfield would not be present upon her arrival to his home, but she highly doubted that she would be so fortunate.
Upon their arrival at Enfield, Alexander leapt from the back of his horse, throwing the reins to a waiting groomsman and lifted Marybeth from the saddle. “Stephen is this way. Follow me,” Alexander instructed, taking her hand in his and leading her into the house.
The house was magnificent, combining the old and new together into a masterpiece of color and texture. Armor lined the walls of the entrance hall. The stairs were covered in portraits of long dead lords and their ladies. Marybeth shivered at a particularly haunting portrait of a man with coal black eyes that peered down at her with hatred gleaming in their depths. If the artist had captured the man’s true nature, Marybeth found herself to be quite relieved that he was dead.
Alexander led Marybeth down a long corridor and opened the door at the farthest end. “Stephen,” Alexander greeted, releasing Marybeth’s hand. “I have brought our sister, the healer. She will see you to rights.”
“I will do my best,” Marybeth promised coming around to examine Stephen. It was clear from a single glance that he was burning with fever. Sweat dripped from his brow as he moaned in discomfort. His eyes were glazed over, and he was barely coherent. “Why did you not send for me sooner?” she asked Alexander.
“When we discovered your origins, we did not wish to cause you anymore harm or discomfort than you had already endure at the hands of our family. We are not as our father was. We were blessed to have a loving mother to show us the true ways of a gentleman,” Alexander explained. “When it became clear that Stephen was growing worse, I came looking for you at Arkley Hall, but was told that you had gone to Bath.”
“How did you know that I had returned?” Marybeth asked suspiciously.
“I did not know. I had come to your croft in hopes of finding something to aid Stephen, herbs and such.”
“Were you in my croft the night before last?”
“Nay, I was here. Why do you ask?”
