Page 80 of Crash Landing
All hope of questioning the villain had now faded.
Trajan took a moment to search through his clothing for any identification, but he had none on him. There was nothing left to do but carry the broken body back to Gull Hall.
None of the footmen recognized the man, but perhaps someone else on staff would. Trajan hated to ask the maids, but ladies were often sharper about these things than men, and one of them might have seen him or had a friend in a neighboring estate who knew him.
Trajan suspected he was one of Frampton’s crew of ruffians, although he was not among the four who routinely followed Frampton wherever he went. Yet this man had to be in Frampton’s pay.
He glanced up at the moon that was tinged red at its edges. A blood moon.
How prophetic.
“Your Grace, let me help you,” Edgar said, coming to his side to give him a hand when he began to reel as they climbed the stairs that seemed infernally endless.
“I’ll be all right.” However, he did allow Edgar to assist him, since he was beginning to feel lightheaded and it would not do to tumble down those stairs and end up as dead as his assailant.
When they finally reached the top of the stairs, he called off the search and ordered everyone back to the house. “I doubt he had accomplices. The dogs would have picked up other scents.”
“But what if therewereothers?” Edgar asked. “Should we not alert the neighbors?”
“No, this man had a specific target in mind and is no danger to anyone else. I’ll not have my men scouring neighboring properties and be mistaken for villains in the dark. Everyone is to return to Gull Hall.”
Trajan would have loved to barge into Frampton Court and haul that malevolent little toad Frampton out on his arse, but what good would it do? Much as he wished to confront the man, he was in no fit condition to do it.
And why give that toad the satisfaction of seeing him wounded?
“Will you allow us to search for clues come morning?” Edgar asked, trying not to sound as frustrated as he was.
“Yes,” Trajan said, now worried he was about to cast up his accounts. Fortunately, he managed to quell his roiling stomach.
He returned to the house and marched straight upstairs, ignoring his stomach, which was once more in revolt, and his spinning head that felt as though Thor’s hammer was pounding on it.
Florence and her aunt were sequestered in Hermia’s bedchamber under Sebastian’s watch. He walked in quietly and watched Florence as she paced across the carpeted floor like a caged tigress.
She flew into his arms the moment she realized he was back. “You clot!” she cried, and hugged him fiercely. “You look green! Sit down before you faint.”
Hermia uttered a short prayer of thanks that he had returned safely.
Florence nudged him onto the lounge chair by the hearth. He offered no resistance, for his body had reached its limit of endurance. She sat beside him, remaining pressed to him, as though he needed her warmth.
Or perhaps she needed his.
“You fool,” she said with trembling voice. “You gloriously wonderful fool. Why did you save me?” She was sobbing now. His return had burst the dam of control she had been holding back. “This is all my fault. How can I ever forgive myself? How canyouever forgive me?”
“It isn’t your fault.” He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head, for she was more torn up about his injury than he was. “We all know Frampton is to blame.”
“But can you prove it?” Sebastian asked, raking a hand through his hair, obviously distressed.
“No, unfortunately. At least, not yet. The assailant is dead. He had no identification on him. Someone might recognize him, but will they be brave enough to come forward and link him to Frampton? I doubt it. Anyway, Andrew and Nathan have gone off to summon the magistrate.”
“And Timmons sent one of the grooms to fetch the doctor,” Sebastian said. “The lad tore off on horseback as soon as you marched off to search the grounds.”
“I’m sure the doctor will be thrilled to have to return here,” Trajan said dryly. “After he takes care of stitching my wound, I’ll have him examine the dead man. The magistrate will ask him to do it anyway, since he’ll demand a full report.” He winced as his head began to reel. “Will you help me, Florence?”
“Yes, of course. What do you need me to do?”
“Help me to my quarters. You too, Sebastian.” He needed more than a simple lie-down, for his wound needed to be cleansed immediately. The doctor would do a professional job of it once he arrived, but that could be another hour yet. Or longer if he was off on another call.
Trajan had an excellent bottle of brandy in stock that he had been intending to share with his cousins, but he would now apply that fine blend to the area of the wound. It was merely a flesh wound, so proper application of the brandy and a temporary binding of a clean cloth around his arm to stem the bleeding would go a long way to treating the injury and preventing infection. The doctor would no doubt clean the area of the nasty gash again and make certain no bits of lead remained buried under his skin before he stitched his arm.
