Page 32 of Road Trip With a Rogue (Her Majesty’s Rebels #3)

Daisy recognized the ominous signs about an hour later. At first, she’d dismissed the headache and the stiffness in her shoulders as a result of being slammed into the stable wall, then tied up in the cart, but the worsening pain in her head brought a horribly familiar sense of impending disaster.

She was about to be extremely unwell.

To call the episodes she occasionally suffered “just a headache” was like calling a severed limb a “little graze.” The pain in her head would gradually increase, and she’d start to see dark spots in her vision, or little flashes of black and white, like spinning discs, in the periphery.

Soon the pain would get so bad she’d vomit.

She was almost at that point now. She tried breathing through her mouth and ignoring the pounding in her skull, but her head felt like it was being crushed in a vise.

“Stop. Let me down!”

Lucien reined in immediately and she slid from his lap as quickly as she could.

“What’s the matter?”

She couldn’t answer him. She simply staggered a few feet away from the horse, sank to her knees in the scratchy heather, and retched up what little was in her stomach.

She heard him dismount behind her as Finch said, “Maybe it was the blow to her head? Sometimes make’s ’em sick like that. I’ve seen it before.”

Daisy shook her head, feeling utterly miserable. “It’s not that. It’s a dreadful kind of headache that makes me ill. It happens a few times a year.”

Her stomach rebelled again, and she spat into the grass, humiliation warring with the throbbing pain. “Go away, Vaughan.”

She heard him snort. “Don’t be ridiculous. You think I’ve never seen anyone cast up their accounts before? I’ve dealt with all three of your brothers when they couldn’t handle their drink. Do you need to eat something? Drink?”

“It won’t help. I just need to lie down in a dark room until it passes.”

“We’re only a few miles from Carisbrooke Hall. Let’s get you there and put you to bed. Is there some medicine you can take? A tincture of some sort?”

“Laudanum helps.” Her sluggish brain made it hard to think.

“Wait! There’s some in that vial I tried to give to you, at the inn.

” She patted her jacket pockets in sudden recollection, but they were frustratingly empty except for her knives.

Anger made her head throb even more. “Those bastards must have taken it.” Or perhaps it had fallen out during the fighting.

“There’s laudanum at the house. Can you stand?”

She nodded and rose on shaking legs. She felt so unwell she could barely see straight. Lucien took her arm and guided her back to the horse, and she managed to support herself long enough for him to haul her back up.

Instead of placing her astride, he positioned her sideways, across his lap, her head resting against his chest as his arms came around her to hold the reins. It felt precarious, but she didn’t object. He wouldn’t let her fall.

The wind blew her hair against her cheek, and she pressed her face into his jacket and took deep, calming breaths.

“Close your eyes.” His deep voice rumbled in her ear. “Don’t worry about trying to stay upright. I’ve got you.”

The world was spinning unpleasantly, so she did as he suggested, trying not to wince as her head pounded with every jolt of the horse’s hooves.

The rest of the journey passed in an endless, pain-filled blur.

She concentrated on counting each individual breath.

In. Out. Exhale the pain. When that didn’t work, she savored the reassuringly steady thump of Lucien’s heartbeat, then catalogued the delicious scent of him instead of the pressure hammering her skull.

Perhaps she should ask Finch to choke her unconscious again?

She was barely aware of their arrival at Carisbrooke Hall.

At any other time, she would have been craning her neck to note every detail of Vaughan’s ancestral lair, but she barely opened her eyes.

She had a brief impression of a long, tree-lined drive, tall stone walls, and a set of wide, curved steps.

A huddle of servants appeared. Lucien passed her down into a pair of waiting arms, then dismounted himself, and Daisy only managed a murmur of protest as he swept her back up into his arms. She was too exhausted to walk, too dispirited to argue. Everything hurt.

He strode through a huge doorway and into an echoing marble hall, and the agonizing flare of lanterns inside made her squeeze her eyelids tight again. There was a flurry of concerned conversation, his commanding tones a low rumble where she rested against his chest.

She would not be sick on his coat. It probably cost more than she earned in a year.

“Master Peregrine and his new bride arrived earlier,” someone said. “But they’ve already retired.”

“Not surprisin’, on their weddin’ night,” Finch snorted with a chuckle.

“He said you’d be bringing a guest,” an older, female voice said. “I’ve readied a suite in the east wing, Your Grace.”

Daisy didn’t care where they put her, as long as it was dark and had a bed. The blessed oblivion of sleep beckoned.

Lucien carried her upstairs, just as he’d done at the inn, only this time she was grateful for the assistance. When he finally stopped moving, she opened her eyes to a pretty room decorated in shades of cream and gold. A servant rushed to light the lamps, but she groaned in protest.

“No light, please. It hurts my head.”

The servant paused, and she felt Lucien’s arm tighten around her as he adjusted his grip.

“Dark,” Daisy mumbled. “It needs to be dark.”

“We have darker,” he said decisively. The world spun as he turned and marched back out onto the corridor. The servant scurried after them.

“Fletcher, bring me a bowl in case she needs to be sick again. And laudanum.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Daisy cringed inwardly. God, she hated to be so weak, so helpless. Why was her body being so bloody uncooperative?

Dark paneling, gilt mirrors, and huge paintings passed by in a blur as Vaughan strode along a hallway and entered a room that was blessedly, deliciously dark.

No lamps or candles pierced the Stygian gloom, and she moaned in relief as she was deposited gently onto a bed, and sank into the heavenly softness.

“Oh, thank you.”

The pain in her head was so intense she wanted to cry. She curled up onto her side and pressed the heel of her hand into her right eye socket to try to relieve the pressure.

“What else helps, other than darkness?” Vaughan’s voice was low, but brisk, and she appreciated his no-nonsense approach. If he showed her any pity she would crumble.

“Cold things. Like ice wrapped in a cloth on the back of my neck.”

He glanced at the door as the servant returned.

“Laudanum, my lord.”

“Thank you. Do we have any ice?”

“I’m afraid not, Your Grace. We haven’t restocked the icehouse, since we didn’t expect you or Master Peregrine to be here until the end of the season.”

“Fine. Go and wet a cloth. With the coldest water we have, from the well in the orchard.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Daisy?” Lucien’s voice was softer as he spoke to her. “Can you sit up and drink this laudanum?”

“Yes.”

She might be sick again, but it was worth trying. She’d drink hemlock if it made the pain stop. There was the sound of a bottle being unstoppered and the faint glug of liquid as she pushed herself upright, keeping her eyes closed.

“Open your mouth. I have a spoonful of it here.”

She obeyed, dutifully swallowing the bitter-tasting medicine with a grimace.

“It tastes vile,” he murmured. “I know. I used to take it for my burns. But at least it should help you sleep.”

She nodded and lay back down, stretching out against the blissfully cool pillows. The mattress sagged as he sat down next to her, but before she could protest, his big hands were on her head, massaging her skull with just the right amount of pressure. She managed a groan.

“Ohhhh, that’s nice. Thank you.”

He’d removed his gloves. His fingers circled the tense muscles of the neck and she arched up like a cat in silent appreciation.

“I wish Ellie and Tess were here.” She sounded pitiful, but she didn’t care. She was beyond mortification. Lucien had seen her at her absolute lowest ebb. There was no point in trying to be brave or sophisticated now.

“I’m sorry they’re not.” He sounded genuinely regretful. “But is there anything else I can get for you?”

The laudanum was beginning to work. The sweet lassitude was creeping over her, the pain starting to dull just a fraction. It was like floating on a pitch-black tide. Her body felt as if it was made of lead; it was a struggle to lift her arm, but she managed to reach up and encircle his wrist.

“Stay.”

The tendons in his hand flexed. “Here? With you?”

She managed to nod, fighting the urge to slip under the beckoning wave of darkness.

“Please,” she whispered.

The mattress shifted as he lifted his legs onto the bed and propped himself up against the headboard, his hip next to her head. He twisted his hand so she released her grip on his wrist, and she felt the brush of his fingers smoothing over her hair.

“I’ll stay, if you want me to. Sleep now.”

With a deep sigh, Daisy allowed herself to drift off, her lips curving wryly despite the lingering pain. Who’d have imagined she’d ever find Vaughan’s presence relaxing ?

Well, maybe “relaxing” wasn’t the right word. He was not a relaxing person. But there was no denying that the thought of him there, watching over her while she slept, brought her a great deal of comfort. He was like a fierce and loyal watchdog, lethal to everyone but her.