Page 13 of Jaxon (Gentlemen of War #4)

Jaxon

I glanced briefly back at Diggs as he led the two women and the man, who I presumed to be the footman, toward the lodge while I ran down river. There’s one more man out here… but where?

Though I didn’t have time to process the particulars of what just occurred, I was thankful I had been outside addressing the needs of the horses in the stable when I heard the crash and subsequent screams. Had I been inside the lodge, it is unlikely I would have heard them and perhaps found the wreckage and bodies the next morning.

Rushing along the riverbank, I wished my torch hadn’t been doused in the rain as I could barely see through the inky darkness. Luckily, frequent sparks of lightning allowed me to scan the river for splintered pieces of the coach in various locations. The smaller pieces had readily washed away with the fast-moving current, but the larger sections remained caught on obstructions in the waterway, conceivably large branches or rocks. Aside from the lightning, my only other saving grace was my knowledge of the terrain. I simply had to be cautious and careful not to misstep and end up in the water myself.

O’Keefe arrived at my side only a moment later with a flame encased in a glass lantern protected from the continued deluge. I directed him to shine his flame toward the water as I relegated the truth that the situation could have been significantly more tragic.

I had only managed to cut two of the four horses loose from the harness before I heard the glass shattering from inside the coach. If I hadn’t, the Bays would have towed the occupants to their immediate death.

By the time I managed to climb up and on top of the coach lying on its side, I heard one woman screaming and the other speaking as calmly as the situation might allow. Her composure astonished me, but I didn’t have time to marvel at her restraint, for they were not going to get out of that carriage without my help.

After I lifted the first woman up and out, I knew immediately which one was which, for the calm one had sent the panic-stricken woman out before her. I passed her over to Diggs who quite capably got her to the bank. When I reached down for the presumed lady, the coach shifted, and I nearly toppled over the side.

Clinging to the frame protected from the sharp edges of the glass by a simple blanket, I looked back down into the coach. The woman had fallen against the squabs when the carriage moved but quickly tried to steady herself. I thrust my hand down just as she gripped it and I lifted her upward, the weight of her sodden dress making the task significantly more challenging. I was grateful that she continued to hold her sentiments in check, for I could hardly handle two women in hysterics.

“There, O’Keefe!” I shouted as I spied a pair of hands clinging to the side of a splintered piece of wood. As I drew closer, I noticed a head bobbing up and down along the surface. My mind raced with ideas on how to reach him. The coach moved significantly slower now than it did upriver due to entangled branches or disproportionate rocks, though both provided unstable solutions for me to run and leap aboard.

We dashed ahead and past the curve in the bend, noting a large grouping of boulders that would either stop the approaching coach or shatter the rest of the carriage to pieces. I picked up a large branch with a thickness greater than that of my bicep, watching the coach totter its way through the river. I would only have mere seconds to pull off this save.

Fixing my gaze on the hands still gripping the wreckage, I silently ticked off the seconds as the coach rounded—its pace easing ever so slightly—mere moments before it would smash into the jagged rocks. Seizing the moment, I leaped forward with use of my sturdy branch, landing precariously on the fragment of the carriage where the man clung to. Teetering off balance, I crouched low, my fingers digging into the frame to anchor myself against falling into the churning water below.

Once steady, I reached down and wedged my hands beneath the man’s chest, hauling him upward until his head remained above the surface. To my relief, his frame was slight. I looped one arm around his torso, my other hand clamping onto the seat’s iron supports as I steeled myself for the inevitable. The carriage collided with the rocks in a splintering crash, the impact splitting it apart once more and sending the left wheel to its immediate destruction. Nearly thrown from my roost, I tightened my grasp on the man and edged along the seat toward the right wheel, still close to the safety of the bank.

O’Keefe set his lantern down as he stepped closer to us. With all the strength I could muster, I gripped the driver tightly and dove toward the edge. O’Keefe caught the man by the arm, pulling us both onto solid ground. Despite patches of soft grass, we hit the dirt hard and for the second time tonight, my breath got knocked out of me.

Breathless and exhausted, I rolled to my side while O’Keefe kneeled before the man. “He’s not breathing, sir!” he cried.

Though I had not yet recovered my full breath, I scrambled to my knees and felt past his coat for his heartbeat, something I had unfortunately done many times in battle.

Nothing!

I pushed him to one side and thumped his back with force. “Come on!” I shouted, desperate to expel the water he’d most certainly swallowed. O’Keefe loosened the man’s neckcloth, while I stripped off his coat as the rain continued to fall all around us. I rolled him to his side once more but at a precipitous angle until a faint sound escaped his lips—a small but welcome sign, though far short of the relief he needed.

Gathering my strength, I hoisted him into my arms and slung him over my shoulder, breaking into a run toward the house, O’Keefe falling in step beside me. We were much farther from the lodge now.

“Let me take him, sir,” Diggs said, as he appeared on my opposite side and lifted the sodden weight from my grasp. I relented and kept pace behind him with determined strides, my reserves nearly spent from the earlier rescues.

I watched the man’s lifeless body bounce over my man’s shoulder. Small recollections of a similar incident came to mind during Hunter’s house party. Patrick, Evie’s son, went missing in the rain. Zachary spoke of a medical intervention he had participated in at Waterloo—one that saved a man’s life, so he proceeded to do the same on Patrick. As several people vigorously rubbed his chest and limbs, blood and warmth circulated and subsequently saved his young life.

We could surely do the same for this man.