Page 68 of A Sense of Fate
Flora looked on as Archie brandished the blade in the air with a skilful and flamboyant flourish and swept it down on the hand that was holding the dagger, opening the flesh and cutting bone, slicing through the arteries on Conrad’s wrist and sending a spray of blood across the muddy floor. Conrad looked momentarily surprised, then screamed in a high-pitched wail, looking down at the hand that was now hanging limply from the end of his arm. He fell to his knees, desperately using his uninjured hand to push the other one back into place, uttering little squeals of pain and shock as he tried to staunch the jets of blood.
Archie had overstepped himself and missed his footing in the deep mud. He fell awkwardly onto his injured side with a howl. Flora cried out in alarm and was crouching beside him in the mud in seconds.
‘You foolish, foolish man. Why did you have to do that? There was absolutely no need.’
‘There was every need,’ Archie replied, gritting his teeth through the pain that he’d undoubtedly hoped never to experience again. ‘What sort of man would I be if I’d failed to protect you myself?’
She sniffed, unimpressed and yet deeply moved by his desire to prove himself to her. She pushed the hair away from his brow and kissed his forehead, mindless of the surge of people pouring into the barn who were watching them with avid interest.
‘If I knew it would make you kiss me, I’d fight for your honour more often.’ He winked at her, then groaned, uttered a string of oaths and passed out.
Flora glanced at Pawson, who already had Conrad on his feet, a cloth wrapped around his wrist and a belt cinched tight around his forearm to stop the copious flow of blood. He passed him over to Trench.
‘Confine him in your cellar until he can be taken in charge by the constable,’ he said. ‘Try to make sure he doesn’t bleed to death, and for goodness sake please prevent the local populace from lynching him. His lordship will be wanting words with him when he is recovered.’
‘Right you are,’ Trench replied, pushing Conrad none too gently in the direction of the tavern, ignoring both his protests and his foul language.
‘I was charged by Latimer to bring his daughter home. Felsham attacked me. You all saw it,’ Conrad cried desperately.
‘Help me up,’ Archie groaned, as he regained consciousness.
‘Stay where you are,’ Flora replied in a tone that brooked no argument, gently touching his injured leg, satisfied at least that no bones were protruding from the skin. ‘Melanie, are you all right?’
Melanie nodded. ‘Just a little shaken.’
‘Good girl! I’m proud of you.’ Flora glanced up and saw that Polly had returned and was edging her way into the barn. ‘Go back to the cottage with Polly, my love. I will be there directly. Polly, when you get there, have cold compresses ready and light the fire in the spare chamber. Lord Felsham will be in need of both commodities.’
Polly nodded. She took Melanie’s arm and the crowd of interested bystanders parted to let them through.
‘Mr Pawson, we need to get his lordship back to the cottage as well. He’s in a lot of pain and won’t withstand a jolting carriage ride to Felsham Hall. Can you and Will get him there between you?’
‘I can walk,’ Archie protested.
‘You can do as you’re told for a change,’ Flora replied sternly.
‘Impudent female!’ A flash of humour broke through Archie’s pained expression.
Flora pretended not to hear the curses that slipped from his lips as Pawson and Will hauled him to his feet. With his arms around both men’s necks, Archie was virtually carried from the barn, covered in mud.
And glory.
Flora followed, well aware that Archie would consider the pain worthwhile for the restoration of pride that it afforded him. She shook her head, partly in admiration and partly at the absurdity of masculine nature.
Swamped with relief that Archie’s fall had not been more serious—his fragile bones could so easily have snapped—she had a dozen questions rattling around inside her head.
Exorcisms? What had Archie meant by that? Well, she knew what an exorcism was, obviously, but the Church of England had stopped performing them centuries ago. Was her father somehow involved in having the practice resurrected? It fitted with the clues she had found in her grandmother’s diaries, but the idea was also too awful to contemplate.
Archie had clearly found out more than he had let on during his time in London and had deliberately kept his distance to avoid having to enlighten her.
‘We’ll see about that,’ she muttered beneath her breath as she followed the men back to her cottage.
‘Get him out of that muddy coat and those boots and take him upstairs to the first room on the right,’ Flora said as they entered her home.
‘Is Lord Felsham all right?’ Melanie asked anxiously, appearing in the sitting room doorway, looking pale but relatively composed.
‘He will be, darling. Beatrice, take care of my sister, please. Polly, bring the compresses up.’
She expected Archie to protest at being carried up the stairs, but he was clearly too exhausted to bother.
