Kiss the Earl (13 page)

Ella winked up at Iain as she clinked the two purses together and dropped them into her cloak pocket. “Yeah, let him off easy, Patrick. I'm pretty sure his pride will be hurting for a while.”

Patrick dismounted his horse. He walked straight up to Larnsby and his companion, and glared down at them like they were old gum on the bottom of his boot.

“Apologize to the lady.” His voice would have cut steel. “Now.”

“Apologies, miss,” they both mumbled in voices that an owl would have had to strain to hear.

“
Properly
,” Patrick roared.

“Sorry, my lady!” they yelped, voices pitched high from fear.

Ella stifled her laugh, but it quickly turned into a cough. Without taking his eyes from the two miscreants, Patrick tucked her close to his side. Ella snuggled into his warmth gratefully as he continued.

“You will leave here, and you will never again play the fool like this. If you do, I shall see both of you punished severely for your actions. Now leave us, and make haste.”

“No, let them go slowly, so I may torment them along the way.” Iain's black grin sent a shiver down Ella's spine, and she snuggled closer to Patrick. His hand curved around her arm, holding her tight in a comforting grip.

With a yelp, the two boys disappeared down the road, running toward their tethered horses as fast as their legs could carry them.

“Well, that was fun,” Ella said, wondering why she felt so drained. It was like all her strength had simply leaked out. She was really glad that Patrick was there to lean into, because she wasn't really sure she could stand up any longer.

“Ella? Ella!”

She smiled up at his worried face through half-closed lids.

“Imma give you that money…need another dress. Ripped this one.”

She had the distinct impression of being scooped into strong male arms before unconsciousness descended upon her.

Panic sped Patrick's heart as Ella fell against his side. He scooped her up before she could collapse onto the dirt of the road. She was hot, burning like fire in his arms.

“What is wrong?” Iain dismounted and came to Patrick's side, a concerned look on his face.

“Fever.” Patrick strode over to Bacon's side. The horse snorted as Patrick handed Ella to Iain, then mounted. “Hand her up to me.”

Iain did as Patrick asked, and once the unconscious Ella was tucked against Patrick's chest, Iain mounted his own horse and grabbed Kipper's reins.

“Fancy a gallop?” Iain's light words belied his worried tone.

Patrick gave a curt nod. “To the next inn, and we will hire a carriage to get her to Meadowfair Manor.” Bacon tossed his head, clearly sensing Patrick's desire to move, and move quickly.

“The best physicians are in London,” Iain said.

“I know. But she would never forgive me.” Patrick smoothed a dark lock of hair away from her face. Her brows were narrowed, and her breathing heavy. Even senseless, she was in pain. “Old Doctor Thomason passed away not more than six months ago. The new physician from Cromer will have to do.”

“If you say so, Cousin.”

“We must away,” Patrick said, and kicked Bacon's sides. “Yah!”

Dust billowed out behind Bacon's hooves as they streaked down the moonlit road, Patrick clutching Ella tight to his chest the whole while. The miles disappeared quickly, but not quickly enough to suit Patrick. She had been sicker than she'd let on, damn her beautiful eyes. He'd scold her for that when she woke.

He refused to even admit the possibility that she might not wake. Though he'd seen men die from tiny wounds in the war, most likely due to dirty bandages and unclean conditions, he would not believe that she could succumb to this infection. He'd do his best to keep her alive. If only the magic woman that had sent her here could heal this wound… But Ella had said the mirror did not work anymore. Wishing was useless. What Ella needed now was action.

Iain was hard on Patrick's heels, and Patrick couldn't help but be glad for the company, even though they were not much alike. His cousin approached life much differently than did Patrick himself. Where Patrick had sought his father's approval, doing things the way he thought a gentleman should, Iain had taken the opposite approach, infuriating his own sire at every turn. Patrick had come into his title as a polite gentleman, one that society could be proud of; Iain had spat upon the baronetcy, only assuming the title so he could, as his father had so often promised he would, ruin it.

But despite Iain's disdain for his father, he'd proven himself a loyal friend in the past, and Patrick knew he could count on his cousin now.

“The Otterden is just ahead,” Iain called over the sound of their horses' flight. “I shall go on ahead and make arrangements for the rest of the journey, if you like.”

Patrick nodded, and they slowed the horses to a walk. Both Bacon and Kipper were winded, but Iain's steed, King, had bottom to spare. Iain tossed Patrick Kipper's reins, and Patrick wound them around his free arm. He'd not let Ella go for anything.

“I do not want to stop,” Patrick said, adjusting the still-sleeping Ella against him. “Have them pack a basket of food if you like, but as soon as my feet step into that yard, I shall tuck her into the carriage, and we must go.”

Iain nodded. “I shall see you momentarily.”

With a yell and a whinny, Iain and King disappeared down the road. Patrick gave a wry half grin after them. It was clear they'd been pacing themselves to match Bacon's and Kipper's slower speeds. While good, even-tempered mounts, Bacon and Kipper could not match the blooded black that was Iain's favorite stallion.

They continued on at a steady walk. Patrick kept his eyes ahead, focusing on the brightening lights of the inn in the distance. It seemed an age since he had set off to meet Amelia there on that deserted street in Town. But even though he was still a bit worried for his headstrong and impetuous friend Amelia, he was more worried for the woman in his arms.

He looked down at Ella, his heart thumping unnaturally hard inside the prison of his chest. A wee fae woman, Iain had called her. He'd been more right than he knew. There was something magical about Ella, something that seemed to draw Patrick to her, like a thirsty man to water.

Without considering why, Patrick lifted Ella higher, pressing his lips to her forehead. Her skin was too hot, but it seemed slightly cooler than it had before. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, and kissed her soft skin.

“You will be fine,” he whispered against her hair, tucking her head beneath his chin. “I refuse to accept any other alternative. You promised me, you see. Promised to help me find my friend Amelia. I shall hold you to that promise, Miss Ella Briley, so you must get well enough to see it through.”

“Oh… Okay.”

Her voice was breathy, but was hers, and he almost whooped aloud with joy. He looked down, relieved beyond measure to be looking into her beautiful blue eyes.

“Am I in your lap?”

“Yes, you are.”

She frowned a little, an adorable crease appearing between her brows. “This is kind of weird. I've never been in a guy's lap before. Well, other than Santa Claus, but that's different. Well, the creepy Santa we had at the Christmas party last year was a little similar, but totally not in a good way.” This rather odd and rambling statement was followed by a series of wracking coughs that caused her to shudder against him.

“Shhh,” Patrick said, holding her more tightly against him. “Do not try to speak. We will hire a carriage at this inn just ahead—Iain is seeing to it already. Then we shall fly to Meadowfair Manor, do not worry.”

“That's not in London, is it?” Even though she looked like death and clearly felt worse, she was scowling at him. It was a good sign. “Because I swear, if you take me to London right now—”

“Not to worry. I have kept my word. That is my home in Essex, and we'll be there by this time tomorrow night.”

“I thought you said it would take three days.”

“That is if we were on horseback. With a carriage, we can change horses more frequently and ride through the night.”

Alarm flooded her eyes, and she sat up as much as she could, considering the awkwardness of their position. “What do you mean, ‘change horses'? What about Kipper? And Bacon?”

“Easy,” he soothed her, rubbing her back until she relaxed against him once more. “They are hired horses, Ella. They'll be returned to the inn we hired them from.”

For someone as ill as he was sure Ella was, she had no lack of spirit. She glowered up at him. “We've been through a lot together, you know. How can you just send them back like a Redbox DVD?”

“They will not be mistreated.” He couldn't help but be glad that the inn yard was coming closer by the minute. There, in the lantern-lit yard, he could see Iain standing beside a carriage that a stable boy was already hitching horses to.

“How do you know that? Can you promise me?”

He looked down at her. She was staring between Bacon's ears, a determined expression on her face. She wasn't going to give this up easily, that was plain to see.

“They are not likely to be harmed,” he amended his statement. As if in response, Kipper snorted loudly and tossed her mane. He glared over at her.

“What about the money I got from those kids? Could we use that to buy them?”

Bacon stopped by the Otterden stables, and Kipper moved alongside. But Patrick could not move. He was trapped under the baleful stare of one very determined Ella Briley.

“I—well, you see, it—” Patrick relented. “Very well. I shall purchase them both, and they can roam the pastures of Meadowfair Manor and both become fat and lazy as stoats. Would that please you, Miss Briley?”

Ella gave a small smile and nodded. “Yes. They deserve a good life, because they've been so good to us. Don't you think?”

He couldn't help but agree with her, but the good Lord knew that, if she wasn't ill, he'd like to throttle her. Not since Amelia Brownstone had any female managed him with such efficiency and grace.

Damn her beautiful eyes.

* * *

As Patrick handed her down into Iain's arms, she couldn't help but feel a sense of loss as well as a big dose of relief.

What the hell had gotten into her? Had she really just asked Patrick to buy those two stupid horses? Ella sniffed as Patrick dismounted and patted Bacon's neck. She really should invest in a DVR, so she could fast forward through all those freaking sad Sarah McLachlan–humane society commercials. Just the thought of poor Kipper in a cold, lonely, dirty stall made her want to cry.

She set her jaw as Iain started to carry her toward the waiting carriage. No. Wait. Hold up just a second. This wasn't her. She wasn't sure who it was, but it wasn't her. Ella Briley did things for herself. Ella Briley would happily hobble herself to whatever vehicle was waiting and actually preferred it to being carried by a handsome jerk.

“Put me down, bro,” Ella said, tapping Iain on the pec. “I need to walk for a second.”

Iain glanced over at Patrick, and whatever he saw must have convinced him to ignore Ella's request. He just kept walking.

“Seriously, you big Scottish ham, put me down.” She thumped her fist into his chest that time, and Iain grunted.

“Your feet are injured, and you should not—”

He looked down at her then, and she proved that even feeling like crap, her death stare was still up to par.

“My apologies,” he murmured, setting her gently down.

“Thanks.” Ella straightened her cloak, which had gotten twisted in the ride. The heavy clinking in her pocket reminded her—she owed Patrick, for clothes, for the horses, for food…

Gosh, maybe she should take up a career as a highwayman until she got home. She was spending money faster than she could get it, and she was pretty sure there wasn't much call for comic art around here.

Iain stayed close, but he didn't touch her as she hobbled toward the carriage, and she was glad about that. The big guy kind of made her uncomfortable. He was too polished, too urbane, too…well, roguish. It was easy to see that he wasn't a gentleman like Patrick.

Ella winced as too much of her weight came down on her aching foot. Speaking of the earl, if she was going to get away with climbing into the carriage under her own steam, she'd really have to step on the gas—

“What in God's name do you think you're doing?”

Oh
crap.
Ella put some pepper on it, hobbling double time to get away from Patrick's quite obvious irritation. But she wasn't fast enough. His hand closed on her shoulder, and she stopped, weaving where she stood. Damn it. She hadn't expected to get so dizzy.

“I was going to the carriage,” Ella said grandly, putting a hand up against her temple to stop the yard from spinning. “I can walk, you know.”

“You are lamer than a one-legged duck,” Patrick grumbled as he picked her up. “Please do not presume to convey yourself until your foot has healed.”

She crooked a brow at him. “Can you say that in English, please? I don't speak upper-crusty-gills.”

Patrick glared down at her as he waited for Iain to open the carriage door. She smiled as sweetly at him as she could manage. Of course she'd understood what he said. She was just tired of him being so fricking proper all the time. He'd shown some flashes of temper, and it was those times that she really thought she was seeing the true Patrick. But when he hid behind all that flowery language and pomp and circumstance, she kind of wanted to belt him.

“No walking, Miss Briley,” he growled as he deposited her on a cushy velvet seat. “If you need to go anywhere, you may ask either Sir Iain or me for assistance.”

Sitting up straighter than was probably necessary, Ella delivered an exaggerated salute. “Sir, yes, sir, earl sir.”

Shaking his head, Patrick turned and walked back across the inn yard. Ella watched him go, wishing she had something to throw at his head. Then she remembered how she'd just convinced him to buy two horses he didn't want, and she deflated fast.

Sinking back against the cushions, Ella examined the interior of the carriage. It was nice, if a little worn. The crimson velvet was shiny from wear on the seats and the upright backs, but it was of nice quality. There were windows on both sides, framed by dark curtains. And, Ella was quite happy to note, there was a warm brick of some kind beneath her feet. She crossed her legs and let the outsides of her feet rest against the slow heat. Maybe it would help her infected foot. Looking out the window at the door of the inn, she shrugged. There wasn't much that could help it here. She just hoped it wasn't a staph or MRSA infection or something else really bad.

Ella cleared her throat, trying to dislodge the lump that had suddenly appeared there. It was hard to admit how scared she was about this. The inn door got blurry, and Ella blinked hard.

“I took so much for granted,” she whispered to herself, wrapping her arms tight against her middle. “Everything was so easy back home. What do I have to do to make it through this?”

No answer fell out of the sky, and Ella sniffed, rubbing at her cheeks to dry them. The last thing she wanted to do was let Patrick know how worried she was. He was already wigging out about her health, that was easy to see. He probably blamed himself for her condition. But it wasn't his fault. None of this was.

Ella let her finger trail across the cold glass, her gut heavy with the knowledge.

This was all her fault. And she'd definitely pay for it. She just hoped that she'd get away with her life afterward.

After such a heavy, dark thinking session, when she saw Iain leave the inn with a large basket over one arm, she decided that conversation was a little more than she could handle at the moment. Leaning her head back against the cushion, Ella closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing evenly, miming sleep.