Mrs Brown continued her dabbing. ‘It’s just a graze, my lord,’ she said. ‘The men gets worse cuts at haying time.’
‘I told you,’ Garrick said to Ellie. She smiled absently. Damn it, they needed to talk about what had happened and then make some sort of plan to get her to safety.
‘I’ll just fetch a bit of liniment and we’ll bandage you up,’ Mrs Brown said. She bustled off into what must be the scullery.
‘What do we do now?’ Ellie asked.
‘Now we have to get you back to your brother. He came looking for you at the cottage.’
If anything her face grew paler. ‘You’ve met William?’
‘Yes.’
‘At the cottage?’
‘Martin brought him.’
She winced. ‘He knows, then. About us.’ Her look of devastation pained him worse than the wound on his arm.
‘Ellie, we’ll be married right away. Everything will be all right.’ He hoped.
Her lips tightened. She got up, taking the bowl of water to the sink under the window. He had the strangest feeling of loss, as if it wasn’t mere feet, but miles she’d put between them.
She turned to face him, her back against the sink, her expression hidden by the light from the window behind her. ‘What is going on, Garrick? Caleb, the man you found on the floor, said you arranged my abduction. Why?’
Garrick shot to his feet. ‘Ellie, no. You can’t possibly believe—’
Mrs Brown bustled back into the kitchen with a jar of something yellow and a roll of white bandage. The kindly woman must have sensed something amiss, because she hesitated, looking from one to the other. ‘If you would sit down, your lordship, I’ll have you better in a trice.’
‘Thank you. You are a wonderful nurse.’ He smiled at her.
She bridled like a young girl. ‘Go on with you, my lord.’ She waved her pot. ‘Hold still now.’ She removed the paper cover.
Garrick almost choked on the dreadful smell. ‘By Gad, that stinks.’
The woman smeared a dollop on his arm and proceeded to wrap the bandage around it. ‘We use this on the horses. Heals ’em up lovely, according to my John.’
She cut the end of the bandage with scissors and tied it off in a knot.
‘Thank you.’ Garrick reached for his shirt and pulled it on. He thrust his arms into his waistcoat and coat and knotted his cravat at his throat. ‘Mrs Brown, I wonder if there is somewhere Lady Eleanor and I could converse for a moment or two?’
‘Oh, yes, my lord. What was I thinking? Me keeping you here in the kitchen, with my parlour much more the thing. This way.’
She led the way to the front of the house, to a room full of highly polished chairs, their seats stuffed with horsehair and covered in plush. It reminded Garrick of a visit to his grandmother’s house when he’d been a lad. ‘Will this do, my lord?’ Mrs Brown bobbed, all formality and humble apology now he looked more like himself.
‘What a beautiful room,’ Ellie said. ‘Thank you.’
Mrs Brown beamed.
‘Yes indeed,’ Garrick said. ‘A well-appointed chamber, and the view is very good.’
Mrs Brown smiled. ‘I’ll bring you that tea.’ She left, closing the door.
‘Good people,’ Garrick said.
She nodded. ‘They’ve been good to Martin, while he’s been living and working here.’ There were shadows in her eyes.
Garrick crossed to her side. ‘Ellie, I had nothing to do with your imprisonment or the ransom. An overheard conversation between my uncle and Matthews led me to you.’
‘Matthews?’
‘The man I shot at the cottage.’
‘Oh. They called him Sarg. He said—’
Anger clawed up his spine. ‘I don’t care what he said. I had nothing to do with it.’
She recoiled.
God, now she was afraid of him. He fought for calm. ‘I would never do anything to hurt you, Ellie. I swear it.’
He held her gaze for a very long moment, saw acceptance slowly dawn on her face with a deep sense of relief.
‘I didn’t want to believe it,’ she said softly. ‘They made it sound true.’ A sob caught in her throat. ‘I should have known better than to think so ill of you. I’m sorry.’
He caught her to his chest and patted her shoulder. ‘Please, chérie, don’t cry. None of this is your fault.’ He tipped her chin with his hand and his heart clenched at her tremulous smile. He brushed a wayward tear with his thumb and something welled in his throat. Tenderness. It didn’t mix well with rage. It felt strange, confusing. He wanted both to comfort her and kill the men who had caused her harm. ‘That’s better.’
‘Why did they blame you?’ she asked.
He took her hand, kissed her small fingers briefly and gazed into her face. ‘I think you should sit down.’
Gripping her hand as if it could anchor him to rational thought, he led her to the sofa. She sank on to the seat, clearly worried. He braced for the coming storm.
She gazed at up him, her eyes fearful. ‘They said they wanted something from William.’
He wished he couldn’t guess what they wanted. He wished her chance remark did not lead him into hell and he could deny all knowledge. He took a deep breath. ‘Le Clere is behind your abduction. Without my knowledge, I promise. I believe it has something to do with Piggot’s visit to your father.’
Silent, eyes wary, she stared at him. His palms felt suddenly damp. ‘There was an accident. Years ago. My mother fell down the staircase at the Court. Piggot accused me. He said I pushed her deliberately. Then he fled.’
‘Did you?’ she asked.
He glanced down at their interlaced fingers. Dammit. He was avoiding her gaze and yet he didn’t want to see her revulsion. ‘I don’t know.’
She pulled her hand away. ‘How can you not know?’
‘I can’t remember.’ He got up and went to the window. Looked out at the very fine view of English countryside, rolling hills, neat fields and woodland and saw only black-and-white tiles, black hair and white limbs sprawled…
‘I remember nothing.’ He glanced over his shoulder. She was watching him, her face serious, her eyes huge, her sweet lips pressed firmly together. ‘Except her body on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, and Piggot, a footman, accusing me.’ He did it on purpose. ‘He disappeared. The other day you mentioned he visited your father. I can only assume he told him the tale. But unless you heard something, or your brother did, I can’t understand my uncle’s actions. Did you hear Piggot’s story, Ellie?’
‘No.’ Her voice was a whisper, full of shock and horror. ‘Did you…?’
He hadn’t wanted to tell her like this, with so much at stake, and so much doubt in his heart. His voice grew thick and rough. ‘I loved my mother. Adored her. I can’t believe I would have hurt her, not deliberately. And yet…’ He swallowed. ‘The Le Clere blood carries a taint. Blind rage with the strength of several men. The blood of Norse berserkers shows up every generation or two. Good for battle. Not good around people. That’s why Beauworths are always soldiers, not politicians.’ He hated it. ‘Uncle Duncan, my father’s cousin, believes what happened to Mother was an accident.’ He’d