Page 15 of His Unforgettable Bride
Peaches darted past, almost close enough to snare. Like a ninny, Juliet lunged for the creature, only to stumble and fall, landing hard on her chest with anoomph. She winced. Pine needles poked at her face, and she slowly rose onto her elbows. Grime clung to her sleeves and skin as she peered over her shoulder to determine what had caused her stumble.
A pair of legs poked out of a pile of brush. Real human legs. With bare, pale feet.
Her pulse jumped in her veins. What in the world?
She pushed up until she was kneeling and could see more clearly. It was a man, based on the size of his feet. Was he dead? Of course, since he was lying on his belly motionless and halfway buried in the woods.
The whistling bird dove past. Only this time, Juliet ignored the critter’s teasing, stood, and focused on the body. Who was he? Had someone killed him? If so, how long ago?
Unfortunately, she’d seen dead bodies in Manchester, and not just her grandfather’s. People died on the streets for an assortment of reasons—fights, starvation, diseases, and who knew what else.
But what if this fella hadn’t taken his last breath? What if he was merely unconscious?
Juliet crouched and brushed debris off his back and head. Dried blood matted his dark, wavy hair. His shoulders were broad, his middle whittled, and his legs extra-long. Even though his face pointed away from her, she noted the start of a beard on his cheeks and chin. An angry, long, red scratch on his forearm. Her best guess had him stepping into his twenties not too long ago.
Tentatively, she reached for his wrist. Was he dead or alive? There was only one way to find out. Her pulse quickened even more as she pressed her fingers against his cold skin.
Life pumped through his body.
Juliet surged back to her feet and glanced in the direction she’d come from. The man required shelter and medical know-how. But could she drag him to the house by herself? If she left to fetch help, would she be able to find him again? Somewhere, a dog howled, or perhaps a wolf. Uneager to learn the answer, she hitched her skirt to unsheathe her knife laced with a leather cord to her calf.
She squatted and sliced off a dingy white portion of his drawers below his knee. Why did he wear nothing but filthy underclothing? It was odd, but the entire day was strange. She trimmed the cloth into a dozen smaller pieces.
Determined to save his life, she quickly returned her knife to where it belonged and retraced her steps, dropping makeshift breadcrumbs along the path. She broke through the dense trees and raced toward the carriage house as heaven began to dump more rain on her chilly frame. She flung open a side door and crossed the threshold in a flurry.
The sisters stopped rummaging through a crate stuffed with straw in the room’s heart to stare at her. Tabitha’s brows rose toward the ceiling, and Livy clutched her cameo.
The room lacked furnishings but had plenty of parcels, boxes, and hampers. Plus, it reeked of horses. She knew little about tearooms, but the dirt floor, partially constructed walls, and a high loft-like ceiling with open beams fell far short of what she pictured.
Then her attention snagged on a lean native gripping a dainty teacup and standing beside a row of barrels toward the back end. The yellow-orange light from a nearby lantern brightened his carved jaw and sleek black hair that reached his shoulders. He wore gray trousers, a white shirt, and a black eye patch. Maybe he had reached the age of thirty.
The fellow nodded at her. “I’m Icala, part-time cook and jack-of-all-trades. Hello.”
“Hello.” Winded, Juliet placed her hands on her knees before straightening. “A man in the woods isn’t moving, but he’s alive.”
“Oh my.” Livy rushed forward, wringing her hands.
Tabitha strode slowly, her nose scrunched, and her eyes narrowed to examine Juliet’s dirty apparel. “You’re wet again, muddy from top to bottom.” She reached for her tan coat strewn over a nearby barrel. “Did you say he’s in the woods?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why were you there?” Tabitha shoved her arms through the sleeves, her brow creased.
A knot formed in Juliet’s belly. She had to confess that Dearest Peaches escaped. Even if she lost her new job, it was the right thing to do. “When I left your house, so did your bird. I chased her until I tripped over the body. I’m truly sorry.”
Tabitha finished donning her coat. “Don’t despair over the parakeet. She belonged to Father, and I’m afraid she’s an afterthought these days.”
Juliet swallowed hard, and a sense of kinship to the creature stirred inside her.
“The cage’s latch must have broken again,” Livy said.
With her thumb, Juliet pointed toward the woods. “I need to fetch the fellow before he dies. Who will help me?”
“I will.” Icala returned the teacup to the crate, collected a folded tarp from the ground, and moved toward her with long, graceful strides. “Plenty of folks have helped me. Seems it’s my turn now.”
Why did he wear the patch over his eye? An injury? Why was his English perfect? The closer he drew, the lighter his skin appeared. Perhaps he had one non-native parent.
Livy’s eyes widened. “Oh, Tabby. What if it’s Alex? We must bring him home posthaste.”
