Page 2 of If the Slipper Fits
“Well?” From several feet away came a sharp voice belonging to an older woman of some authority judging by her regal tone.
“He’ll survive,” lady amber eyes called in reply, smoothing those silky fingers over his forehead once again. “Now be a good prince and close your eyes,” she murmured.
He huffed out a laugh. Had she just called him a prince? He wanted to ask but found himself more inclined to lie still while her blessedly cool fingers soothed the ache in his head.
***
“Thurgood, can you hear me?” Harrison demanded.
Caden’s eyes opened and he sprang up onto his elbows. “Wha-where am I?”
He sprawled on a couch in a too-warm room with heavy drapes drawn so only meager light squeezed through. His head still ached, albeit more dully than before. How had he got here? How long had he been out?
Long enough to have the strangest dream.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to capture the fading images. He was a boy again, gadding about on the grounds of Chissington Hall, the earl’s estate. His playmate, an obstinate, bossy female with a head of dark blonde hair, insisted she take on the part of the stolen princess, with him in the role of Prince Charming—again. He laughed, then winced as pain lanced his skull.
“Glad you’re feeling well enough to see the humor in the situation.” Harrison drew the curtains open in one swift swipe, and daylight flooded what Caden now saw was a well-appointed parlor.
“We were at the lake,” he stated. “How did I get here?”
“I drafted some of my aunt’s footmen to convey you back to the manse.”
Caden narrowed his eyes at the younger man. “After you brained me.”
With a pained smile, Harrison rubbed his own head as if in commiseration. “Does it hurt overly? I really am terribly sorry. I didn’t expect those damned bees to attack and—”
“—and you panicked, and swung the skiff like a weapon."
He had the grace to look contrite. “Sorry about all that, Thurgood. I trust the medicinal whiskey Stirling sent helped mask the pain?”
And made his mouth feel as if he’d swallowed cotton.
“How is the head now, by the by? You had me nervous for a moment, talking gibberish about Robinhood and Prince Charming in your sleep. You do recall we’re at Femsworth Hall for my cousin’s engagement party?”
“Of course I do.” Caden sat up and swung his legs over the side of the couch. He fingered the knot on his scalp. Yes, definitely tender, but no caked blood. He'd survive.
“No real harm done, eh?” Harrison looked so puppy-dog hopeful that Caden opted to let the matter drop.
He did feel almost normal. He had one question, however.
“What happened to the lady?”
“What lady?”
“The one who tended me after you attempted to crack open my head.”
Harrison eyed Caden with increased concern. “Mayhap I hit you harder than I thought. No one ventured out with us. Although…” He propped a hip against a side table, nearly toppling it in the process. He hopped up, righting the furniture.
Caden pinched the bridge of his nose. Earlier in the week, Randall mentioned something about his younger brother being whip-crack smart, yet a notorious hazard. Caden had laughed. Mayhap he’d laughed too soon.
“Although…?” he prompted.
“I attempted to help you up, only you lay there, limp as a wet noodle and I ran for help. When I returned you’d moved locations. I found you stretched out on your back on the grass as opposed to”—He cleared his throat—“face down in the mud.”
Caden stopped himself just short of slapping a hand against his forehead.
“I'd assumed you'd rolled over on your own. Now I realize, some good samaritan must’ve passed by during my absence. In any case, I can’t tell you how relieved I am at your improved state.”
