Page 42 of The Major's Mistake
Angus gave a derisive laugh. “And be transported for thrashing your titled hide? It’s tempting, but not worth it.”
“You’ll suffer no consequences—you have my word of honor.”
The other man hesitated.
“I assure you, a gentleman is bound by his word. You have nothing to fear, except being knocked on your arse,” added the marquess.
Angus gave another bark of laughter. “Not bloody likely.” He shook his head slowly as he appeared to consider the matter. “Nay, it’s hardly fair—I’m not in the habit of darkening the deadlights of a cripple.”
Julian’s face paled. “There is nothing wrong with my fists, you lumbering oaf.”
The big groom’s eyes narrowed. “Very well, then.” He took off his own frayed jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “And a rare pleasure it will be, too,” he snarled under his breath.
“Angus!” came an apprehensive voice from the shadows. “Ye must be daft to consider risking such a thing! You’ll end up?—”
“Stay out of this, Jem. This is between this bloody bastard and meself.”
The two men warily circled each other in the pool of light cast from the lantern. Each threw a few quick jabs, measuring the other’s reactions, then the blows began to fly in earnest. While Angus had the edge in size and strength, Julian countered with savvy and quickness. Amid the parrying and feinting, both of them were able to land a number of hard punches. In a short time, the groom’s left eye was swelling considerably and a trickle of blood was oozing from the marquess’s mouth.
A hard right caught Julian on the chin but he responded with a shot to the body that drove Angus back on his heels. A look of grudging respect crept across the groom’s angry face as the marquess refused to buckle under to a flurry of blows to the head. It was clear he hadn’t expected an elegant gentleman to put up any sort of a fight.
Keeping his guard up, he slid quickly to the left, seeking an opening.
Julian moved to cover the other man’s position, but as he did, his bad leg caught on the uneven earthen floor, knocking him off balance. His arms dropped for just an instant, and at the same time, Angus let go with a vicious swing. The full force of it connected with the marquess’s unprotected ribs. There was a sickening crunch as Julian doubled over and crumpled to the ground.
“Lord in heaven, you’ve got to flee! He’ll see you hanged for this!” cried Jem. He regarded the motionless form before him and added in a frightened whisper, “Do you think he’s ….”
Angus stared at his bruised knuckles as a dash of uncertainty crossed his own features. “I …” he began.
His words were interrupted by a weak voice. “You’ve naught to fear,” said Julian through clenched teeth. “I don’t … go … back on my word.” Though in obvious pain, he levered himself up from the dirt, then staggered to his feet. Catching hold of the heavy post for support, he leaned heavily against it, but after several deep breaths, he took up his coat from where it hung over the bin of grain and began to limp towards the stall where his horse was waiting.
Jem and Angus exchanged worried glances.
“Here now,” said Angus. “You had best let us see you up to the manor house. You ain’t in any condition to ride.”
Julian made no reply but took up his saddle and managed to lift it across the stallion’s back. With a few labored movements he tightened the girth and adjusted the reins. His boot, however, could not catch the stirrup. A grunt of pain sounded in his throat as he tried again. Then the effort was simply too much to bear. He sank to his knees and was suddenly, violently sick.
The two grooms hurried to his side. When his retching had subsided, they helped him up.
“We’ll see you to the manor house,” repeated Angus.
Julian shook off their hold and fell back against the edge of the water trough. “No!”
“Well, we ain’t giving ye any choice. Ye ain’t riding out of here tonight. A fine lot of good yer promises would do me if you’re lying dead in some ditch come morning. I’d be clapped in irons faster than a merlin snatches a sparrow.”
Julian’s lips twitched in humor. “Ah, I appreciate your concern for my person.” His eyes fell on the ample pile of straw in an empty stall. “I’ll stay here, then.”
Angus looked at him in disbelief. “You? In the stable? Hah!”
“I’ve slept in far worse places in the Peninsula.”
Jem’s eyes grew wide. “You … you was really in the army?”
The marquess nodded.
“Didn’t think a marquess would ever have to sleep in aught but silk sheets,” muttered Angus.
Julian gave a faint smile. “I wasn’t a marquess then, just plain Major Grosvenor.”
