Page 26 of Feathers in the Wind
Adam forced air into his tortured lungs. ‘My horse,’ he said, and ignoring his brother, turned to his beloved bay gelding, which lay quivering in agony, his eyes rolling in terror and pain.
‘Sorry, old boy,’ he whispered in his ear as he put the pistol to Florizel’s head, ending the animal’s pain.
He stroked the animal’s neck until the last of the life slipped away, and only then did he turn to face his brother, letting the pistol fall as he tried to stand.
To his surprise, his left leg refused to work. He fell back against the body of his horse and slid to the ground, his back against the dead animal. With curious detachment, he looked down at the blood welling darkly from a wound in his right thigh. He couldn’t even recall being hit but now the pain flashed across his eyes in a red mist.
He looked up into Denzil’s flushed and triumphant face.
‘You always were a damned poor shot, Denzil,’ he said as the world started to close in on him. Before he passed out, he thought he heard Denzil call his name.
When he came back to his senses, he lay flat on the ground. Someone had removed his helmet and rain spattered his face. He groaned as sensation in the form of a burning brand on his leg returned. He tried to sit up but a firm hand pushed him back down again.
‘Lie still, damn it. You'll start bleeding again.’ It was Robin’s voice, annoyance masking a genuine concern.
Adam opened his eyes and swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. ‘Where's Denzil?’
‘Counting his spoils,’ Robin said. ‘Our intelligence said twenty wagons and there are only six here. I take it you split the convoy?’
Adam managed a grim smile between gritted teeth. ‘Now that would be telling.’
‘Well, well. Adam Coulter.’ Denzil's voice boomed from above him. ‘A bloody rebel. Why am I not surprised.’
He squatted down and Adam saw no mercy or quarter in his brother’s eyes. ‘What am I going to do with you?’
‘You're going to get him to a chirurgeon,’ Robin interposed.
‘Now, Rob, no need for haste. Adam is a damned sight tougher than he looks. He’ll make it to Oxford before we need to bother with the surgeons. But before then he can tell us where the rest of the convoy is.’
Denzil rose to his feet and when Adam didn’t respond, a well-aimed boot caught Adam’s wounded leg. He rolled over, retching in pain.
Robin rose to his feet. ‘Christ, Denzil. No prisoner should be treated that way.’
‘He’s the only one who can tell us where the rest of the convoy is.’
‘Who cares? We have six wagons of stout cloth.’
‘We wanted twenty.’
‘Then send the men out to look for them. They can’t be too far behind.’
‘You are coming perilously close to insubordination, lieutenant.’
In the ensuing silence, Adam opened his eyes to see his brothers standing toe-to-toe over him. To his surprise, Denzil backed down first, turning on his heel and striding off, barking orders as he went. Robin squatted down beside him again.
‘Damn it,’ he muttered. ‘The wound’s bleeding again.’
‘Is it bad?’ Adam took a shuddering breath. It felt bad.
‘The ball’s lodged quite deep, I think. Heaven alone knows what it took with it. There’s nothing more I can do. You really do need a surgeon.’
Adam grasped his brother’s sleeve and hauled himself into a sitting position, wincing as he realised he had several cracked ribs to add to his misery. He leaned back against his dead horse.
‘You’ve already done more than you needed. Denzil will do what he wants and neither you nor I can sway him. If he means to make me ride to Oxford, there is nothing I can do to persuade him otherwise. Except maybe die.’
Robin shrugged and sat down next to his brother with his arms across his knees. ‘Damned weather,’ he said. ‘I thought the rain would let up by now, but I think it’s just getting heavier.’
Denzil appeared again, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction. ‘The king will be happy with this little lot,’ he said. ‘On your feet, Coulter.’
