Page 16 of The Major's Mistake
As the boy’s hand crept out to snag another treat, the marquess began to ask him a few tentative questions about the sorts of things that interested boys of his age. It took little urging before Justin was chattering away, stopping only long enough for frequent nibbles.
Julian leaned back on his elbows and closed his eyes, letting the music of his son’s high, clear voice wash over him, payingscant heed to the actual words. It was at once wonderful and frightening. The vagaries of war had tested his emotions in many ways, but they had never quite prepared him for this?—
“… Can we, Major?”
Julian forced himself out of his musings. “Er, can we what?”
“Can we ride over to see the new lambs?”
“I don’t see why not.” He reached over to take up the leftover shortbread and his brows rose slightly as the sight of the once generous pile reduced to naught but crumbs. With a shrug, he tucked the empty oilskin in his pocket and followed Justin ‘s eager steps back to the horses. The sight of the lad trying a futile leap or two to reach the saddle pommel brought a smile to his lips.
“Here now.” His hands came around Justin’s middle. “Up you go.” For a brief moment, he savored the feel of his son in his arms—the sweet scent of lavender and little boy, the warmth of Justin’s soft breath against his cheek—before lowering him into the saddle.
Justin waited patiently as the Marquess slowly mounted Zeus, then indicated the direction they should take. Julian kept up a series of questions, but it seemed that the answers were becoming briefer and briefer. In another few minutes they died out altogether. A furrow creased the marquess’s brow as he searched for some other suitable subject to bring up.Horses.The lad seemed enamored of all animals, so perhaps he would care to hear about?—
“Major,” came a small voice. “I don’t feel very well.”
Julian reined his stallion to a halt. “Why, what’s the matter, lad?”
“My tummy hurts.”
“Ah ….” He regarded the upturned face. It did indeed look very pale. A stab of concern knifed through him. What couldhave happened in such a short time? “Perhaps I should bring you home.”
Justin clutched at his saddle and nodded miserably.
Julian took hold of the cart horse’s bridle and urged his own mount into a brisk trot. It wasn’t long, however, before he was brought up short by a loud sob. He turned to see the little boy in a pitiable state, hunched way over, his head nearly buried in his horse’s mane.
His own face paled as well. With awkward haste, he dismounted and took the lad in his arms. The small arms wound tightly around his neck as another sob burbled forth.
“Mama! I want Mama,” he wailed.
“Steady, lad. I shall have you home in a trice.”
As his hand brushed against Justin’s forehead, which felt hot and clammy to the touch, the marquess grew even more alarmed. Was it possible that the boy had been taken seriously ill? With a silent prayer to the heavens, he remounted and threw all caution to the wind, spurring his stallion into a gallop.
The jarring pace caused his son to moan even louder. Julian gritted his teeth and tried to suppress a rising wave of panic.
Dear Lord, he thought.Don’t let the boy die now, when they had found each other.
The answer was hardly encouraging—Justin was suddenly, violently sick.
It seemed like ages before they reached the stone pillars marking the entrance to Lady Thornton’s home. The stallion thundered up the winding drive, skirted the stable and approached the main house.
Before the marquesshad pulled the lathered animal to a stop by the front entrance, Miranda had already flung the door open.”
“What have you done to him!” she cried, taking in the sight of Justin’s pallid face, streaked with tears and vomit. Without waiting for an answer, she snatched him from Julian’s arms before he had a catch to dismount.
“He’s ill?—”
“I can see that!” she snapped. Her mind raced over the possibilities. There were any number of poisonous plants or berries for a curious little boy to come to mischief with. Her throat was seized with fear.” Plants! Did he eat some sort of plant?”
“I … I don’t think so,” stammered Julian.
“Justin, darling. Tell Mama exactly what you ate,” she said, as she smoothed the hair off his brow.
“Shortbread,” he croaked.
“Shortbread!” She turned back to the marquess, her gaze straying to the mess on his elegant riding jacket. “Pray, how much shortbread?”
