Page 84 of The Devil's Pawn

“Yeah, that’s his name. I named him.”

I don’t respond, because I’m not sure what I’ll do yet. My first instinct is to sell him on, but she’s givenhim a name already, which means she’s attached. The last thing I want to do is upset my wife over a damn horse.

As I set her on top of her bed, she clutches the hem of my shirt. “Do you hear me? Don’t take it out on him, Alexander.”

“Shush.”

“I’ll shush when you agree.”

I growl. “The horse will be fine. I’m not in the habit of punishing helpless animals.”

The doctor arrives, as does half my family. Word travels fast, but after reassuring them that Imogen isn’t badly hurt, I shut the door in their faces and stand at the foot of the bed while she’s examined.

“No concussion, but that cut in your head needs a couple of stitches.”

“Will you need to shave my hair?”

“No. I can stitch it without doing that.” He opens his bag and gets to work. Once he’s finished sewing her up, he prescribes twenty-four hours of bed rest and tells her to keep the cut dry for three days.

“Greasy hair. Lovely,” she says after I’ve walked the doctor to the door, where Richard waits to see him out.

“Are you hungry?”

She nods. “I could eat some soup. Tomato. And a few crackers, maybe.”

I call the kitchen and order the food. “Anything else?”

Patting the mattress, she says, “Stay with me.”

I perch on the bed and run my thumb over her chin. The bruise is visible now, and it’ll only darken as the hours pass.

“Does it look ugly?”

“It’s only a bruise. It’ll heal soon enough.”

“When I’m asked, I can say, ‘you should see the other guy.’ I’ve always wanted to say that.”

A lump crawls into my throat. I swallow it down. “You could have been seriously hurt.”

“But I’m not.”

“You scared the shit out of me.” My voice is hoarse as though I’ve yelled so much, I’ve damaged my vocal cords. “I saw the whole thing in slow motion.”

“You saw?”

“Yeah. My rooms overlook the stables, remember? When you didn’t move, I thought…” I swallow the next words because they’re too painful to say out loud.

“I’m okay. I don’t mean to be flippant, but it’s how I deal with things I know could have been worse.”

I don’t get to reply, because Maisie arrives with her soup. She fusses around Imogen for a few minutes until she catches the glare in my eye and hastily leaves. Imogen finishes the bowl of soup and all the crackers, then sinks into the pile of pillows behind her head and yawns.

“I’m kinda beat.”

“It’s the shock. You should get some rest.”

I rise to leave, but she catches the hem of my shirt again. “Stay with me. At least until I fall asleep.”

When I sit back down on the bed, she shakes her head. “No, I want you to lie with me.”

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