Page 102 of Wicked Rivals
Lucien leaned over Ashton’s body. “Good Lord. Is he dead?”
“Help him up, you fool.” Charles hadn’t gotten back in time to stop his friend’s fall, and Lucien’s joking tone was about as ill-timed as humanly possible. “It’s the grippe. Rafe brought it home. They have both been sick the last few days.” Lucien got down and helped Godric hoist Ashton up by his arms and legs.
“The grippe?” Godric paused. “What the devil was he doing out of bed?”
“It wasn’t my intention, but we’ve had some problems,” Charles explained as they carried Ashton back upstairs.
“Problems?” Lucien asked they followed Charles into Ashton’s chambers.
“Yes.” Charles walked over to the dresser where a basin with cool water was waiting for him. He wet a fresh cloth and placed it on Ashton’s brow. “You see, Rosalind—”
Jonathan skidded into the room. “The coach is waiting in the front. We’ll catch those Scot bastards!”
This only confused Godric more. “What the devil are you on about?”
Jonathan glanced at his brother then back at Charles. “You haven’t told them?”
Charles shook his head. “I was about to.”
“Then get on with it already,” Lucien said.
“It’s the bloody Scots,” Jonathan blurted before Charles could say a word. “They tied up Joanna and kidnapped Rosalind and are heading back to Scotland. We were about to go after them.”
Charles stared at Jonathan. “Thank you, Jon. Did I miss anything?”
“Hold on…” Godric paled. “The Scots. Rosalind’s brothers?”
Charles checked the cloth on Ashton’s brow. “We have to go after her.”
“Tonight?” Lucien asked. “We only just arrived. The wives will be here tomorrow afternoon…”
Charles leaned against one of the bedposts, more weary than he’d felt in years. It was a bone-deep exhaustion that threatened to drag him down. But he had to stay on his feet, like his father had taught him. To do what’s right, no matter the cost. Too bad the man had been a bloody hypocrite.
“We have to go,” Charles said. “Rosalind is being taken back to her father. We can’t let that happen. I swore to Ashton I would help bring her safely home.”
“Why?” Lucien asked. “What about her father is so terrible?”
Charles opened his mouth to speak, but Ashton’s exhausted voice came from the bed.
“He’s a brutal man. Rosalind married the late Lord Melbourne to escape the man’s tyranny.”
Ashton was sitting up, his eyes still a bit glassy and his breathing shallow.
“Easy, old boy.” Charles pressed him down into the bed. It scared the hell out of him when he saw Ashton collapse beneath the gentle pressure. It seemed the grippe was getting a second wind in him. He’d never seen his friend so weak, so helpless, with his gaunt face and pale skin. Ashton had always been the strongest of them all, the one with the most control. But now he seemed weak as a babe. It sent shivers down his spine to think that Ashton might not get better.
“So we need to catch up with three angry Scotsmen?” Cedric asked. “I guess I tempted fate this morning when I promised Anne a quiet week in the country.”
“The coach?” Ashton asked Charles.
“Outside,” Charles said.
“Have Lowell pack some clothes for me.” Ashton lifted his body up again, and Charles and the others kept a close eye on him.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Godric asked.
Ashton nodded. “She needs me.”
Charles shared glances with the rest of the League. It wasn’t going to be easy talking Ashton out of coming, not when a woman’s safety was involved. Particularly a woman Ashton had feelings for.
