Page 3 of To Wed an Heiress
“Are you going to faint?”
“If I do it’s what you deserve,” she said. She was intensely furious at him, but the effort of saying so seemed suddenly too much.
“You’ve killed Ruthie,” she said. “You’re not only insane, you’re a murderer.”
“Hardly that,” he said. “She’s still breathing, but we do need to get her out of there.”
He pulled off the remainder of the roof easily, dragging it away from the rest of the carriage.
Ruthie, thankfully, surfaced from her faint as he and the coachman were pulling her free of the wreckage.
Mercy had decided to refuse his help, idiot that he was, and make her own way out of the vehicle. She was reminded of her mother’s words a few minutes later when she realized that she couldn’t pull her foot free.
Your father’s pride gets him in trouble, sometimes, Mercy. It’s a good thing to be proud. But it is not a good thing to be excessively prideful.
The stranger returned for her a moment later.
“I can’t move my foot,” she said, annoyed at having to ask for his help.
He didn’t say anything, just crawled into the carriage, removed part of the frame, then grabbed her under her arms, dragging her unceremoniously out of the carriage onto a grassy area not far from the road.
She lay looking up at the clear Scottish sky. At least it wasn’t raining.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“How is Ruthie?”
“I think her arm is broken.”
She closed her eyes.
“I must get her help,” she said.
“I have some experience in setting bones.”
She opened her eyes and moved her head slowly until he was within sight.
“You broke her arm and now you want to fix it?”
“I don’t see any alternative.”
“I really don’t want you to treat her,” she said.
“I don’t care what you want.”
“Are you always so boorish?”
“Yes.”
“You should apologize,” she said, pointing her finger at him. “For both your attitude and crashing into us.”
He didn’t pay her any attention. Instead, he turned to the coachman and was indicating something at the bottom of the hill.
“I’m going to take your friend to my home,” he said, glancing once more at her. “I can treat her there. You’ll be safe here with the coachman until I return.”
Of course she would be safe. Mr. McAdams was a very nice man, one she’d interviewed in Inverness. He had been exceedingly polite and willing to take them this far. Of course, she’d paid him a small fortune so the decision had been an easy one.
Ruthie was lying on the grass with her eyes closed as if she’d fallen into a faint again. Without another word, the man scooped Ruthie up from the grass and cradled her in his arms. Then he was gone, walking down the hill toward the loch.
