Page 21 of The Lyon’s Last Gamble (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #80)
C hristopher groaned. It felt like he had the weight of a hundred men on top of him. He must have been dreaming because he could have sworn that he heard Whitney’s voice. But that was impossible.
He heard it again, but it sounded so far away.
Trying to sit up, he hissed sharply. He could barely move. And he definitely had some broken ribs. Whatever was on top of him was heavy. He tried pushing against it, but it hardly budged.
“Whitney,” he tried to call out, but it came out as more of a croak than anything decipherable.
He gave the object on top of him a shove, ignoring the pain that lanced through his chest and shoulder. He would never get out from under this if he didn’t try.
Shoving again, it slid slightly to the side, but enough that it eased the pressure on his chest. It hurt to take a deep breath, so he tried to keep to small gulps of air. Looking around it appeared he was in an alley. Nay doubt those bastards that jumped him threw him here after he’d been knocked out.
“Whitney,” he croaked out again, hoping to gain someone’s attention. Anyone’s attention at this point. He needed to make his way back to Colthrop Hall.
“Over here!” He heard someone yell and he felt the weight being lifted off of him. “Sir! My lord!”
He tried to focus on the face that appeared in front of him, but his vision was blurry. He recognized the voice though. It was John, one of his coachmen.
“How?”
“Don’t speak. Save your energy. Can you stand?”
Christopher thought he was just trying to be kind. It was obvious that he couldn’t.
“Whitney,” he asked.
“Lady Campbell is here.”
Relief flooded through him at the same time anger raced through his veins. What the hell was she doing in this part of the city?”
Then pain pierced his chest as John and another man he didn’t recognize, lifted him from where he’d been dumped, and carried him to the carriage.”
“Oh my heavens!” Whitney exclaimed as they loaded him into the carriage. “What happened? Christopher. What happened?” She cried.
“Is it that bad?” He managed to ask before his world went black again.
The next time he awoke, he was in his own bedchamber, in his own bed, propped up by a mountain of pillows behind his back.
His vision was limited, and he assumed his eyes were swollen. Not surprised. They’d taken quite a few hits.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his throat parched. His body sore all over.
“You’re awake.” Whitney’s face appeared in front of his and he tried to smile, but his lips hurt.
“Ye found me,” he eked out. “I thought I heard your voice.”
She frowned. Wringing out a cloth, she dabbed at his face and he winced.
“You have a lot of explaining to do—once you’ve healed some,” she added quickly. “You look like a right mess, right now. What the hell happened?”
Her gaze held no shame at the curse she’d just muttered. His admiration grew for her. “Did ye come looking for me?”
She dabbed his brow and the cloth came away bloody, so she rinsed it again before repeating the gesture.
“You left,” she accused. “I, I thought you…” She drew in a shaky breath.
Reaching out a cut and bruised hand, he captured hers. “I am no’ that bastard that used you for his selfish reasons. I would ne’er,” he coughed, the pain in his ribs felt like the stab of a hundred daggers.
Concern etched her brow.
“I respect ye too much to do that to ye, lass.”
“Maybe so. But why were you where all the gambling hells were?”
He wanted to laugh, but fought from doing so because of the pain it would cause. “A daft lapse in judgment.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Old habits die hard. I came to my senses though.”
“Is this what coming to your senses means? Who did this to you?”
He grabbed her hand that was dabbing at his cuts and brought it to his bloodied lips, placing a kiss on her soft skin. “I promise ye, I will ne’er step foot in a gambling hell again. ’Twas the universe’s way of telling me to stop.”
She frowned.
“This was the work of Jensen.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know who that is.”
“Ye do. He’s the other man that was vying for your hand.” He coughed and clutched at his chest, groaning.
Concerned marred her features, her hands gentle as she tried to make him comfortable. “The doctor says it will be some time before you are running about. Your ribs are broken. Your shoulder was dislocated. And the cuts and bruises are numerous.”
He gave her a half smile since a full one hurt too much. “I feel all of those.”
“I am certain you do. I will get the law to round up Jensen. Why would he do such a thing?”
“Nay, lass. ’Tis no’ worth the trouble.”
“You could have died! If John had not found you, who knows what would have happened?”
“I just need rest. And ye’re taking such good care of me, I shall heal in nay time at all. Jensen was letting out his frustration at losing. He’ll get over it. And since I’ll ne’er set foot in a hell again, he willna be able to find me again for a chance to finish the job.”
She frowned, and he could tell she didn’t like his answer. “I dinna want any more trouble, lass. I’d say he and I are e’en now. There isna any need to get anyone else involved.”
He closed his eyes. He felt bone weary, but happy to be home. Thankful that Whitney had come looking for him. If she hadn’t he’d more than likely be dead.
“Come here, lass.” He patted the bed beside him.
“I shouldn’t. I don’t want to hurt you any more than you already are.”
“Ye willna. Having ye close will help me heal.”
Gently, she climbed on to the bed next to him, taking care not to shift the bed too much. He hissed when she leaned into his side, and she immediately sat up.
“’Tis alright, lass.” He pulled her back to him. “I’m sorry I made ye concerned. I promise no’ to do that again.”
And he meant it. He was done with gambling. He had a beautiful wife and they would build a life together. What more could he ask for?