Page 23 of The Major’s Mistake (Intrepid Heroines #7)

A hard right caught Julian on the chin but he responded with a shot to the body that drove Angus back on his heels.

A look of grudging respect crept across the groom’s angry face as the marquess refused to buckle under to a flurry of blows to the head.

It was clear he hadn’t expected an elegant gentleman to put up any sort of a fight.

Keeping his guard up, he slid quickly to the left, seeking an opening.

Julian moved to cover the other man’s position, but as he did, his bad leg caught on the uneven earthen floor, knocking him off balance.

His arms dropped for just an instant, and at the same time, Angus let go with a vicious swing.

The full force of it connected with the marquess’s unprotected ribs.

There was a sickening crunch as Julian doubled over and crumpled to the ground.

“Lord in heaven, you’ve got to flee! He’ll see you hanged for this!” cried Jem. He regarded the motionless form before him and added in a frightened whisper, “Do you think he’s ….”

Angus stared at his bruised knuckles as a dash of uncertainty crossed his own features. “I …” he began.

His words were interrupted by a weak voice.

“You’ve naught to fear,” said Julian through clenched teeth.

“I don’t … go … back on my word.” Though in obvious pain, he levered himself up from the dirt, then staggered to his feet.

Catching hold of the heavy post for support, he leaned heavily against it, but after several deep breaths, he took up his coat from where it hung over the bin of grain and began to limp towards the stall where his horse was waiting.

Jem and Angus exchanged worried glances.

“Here now,” said Angus. “You had best let us see you up to the manor house. You ain’t in any condition to ride.”

Julian made no reply but took up his saddle and managed to lift it across the stallion’s back.

With a few labored movements he tightened the girth and adjusted the reins.

His boot, however, could not catch the stirrup.

A grunt of pain sounded in his throat as he tried again.

Then the effort was simply too much to bear.

He sank to his knees and was suddenly, violently sick.

The two grooms hurried to his side. When his retching had subsided, they helped him up.

“We’ll see you to the manor house,” repeated Angus.

Julian shook off their hold and fell back against the edge of the water trough. “No!”

“Well, we ain’t giving ye any choice. Ye ain’t riding out of here tonight. A fine lot of good yer promises would do me if you’re lying dead in some ditch come morning. I’d be clapped in irons faster than a merlin snatches a sparrow.”

Julian’s lips twitched in humor. “Ah, I appreciate your concern for my person.” His eyes fell on the ample pile of straw in an empty stall. “I’ll stay here, then.”

Angus looked at him in disbelief. “You? In the stable? Hah!”

“I’ve slept in far worse places in the Peninsula.”

Jem’s eyes grew wide. “You … you was really in the army?”

The marquess nodded.

“Didn’t think a marquess would ever have to sleep in aught but silk sheets,” muttered Angus.

Julian gave a faint smile. “I wasn’t a marquess then, just plain Major Grosvenor.”

“Major Grosvenor!” Jem darted a startled look at Angus. “Why, my cousin served under you, sir, He said there weren’t no braver or fairer officer in Wellington’s army than you.”

Julian made a wry face, then leaned over to immerse his head in the tub of brackish water.

As the two of them stared at him in some confusion, he ran his fingers through his sodden locks and wiped at the dirt and blood running down his face with the sleeve of his shirt. The slight movement drew a grimace.

“Have you a length of cloth?” he asked quietly.

“Or anything that might serve as a bandage? I think several ribs are broken and I should prefer they don’t puncture a lung.

” His mouth quirked upward. “I would use my shirt, but it might raise rather embarrassing questions if I was to make my way home bare chested.”

Angus spoke a few words in Jem’s ear and the young groom hurried off towards the rear of the stable. He stood in awkward silence for a bit, scuffing at some wisps of straw with his toe.

“I’ll have you know I didn’t mean to strike ye when ye couldn’t defend yerself,” he said haltingly. “It was too late to pull up.”

Julian cut him off. “No need to apologize. I didn’t expect or want any special quarter.

You laid me out fair and square.” He rubbed absently at the bruise on his cheek and winced.

“Hell’s teeth, you can throw a punch near as well as Gentleman Jackson.

Sometime I should like you to show me that slide step to the left—it’s a fine piece of footwork. ”

Angus nodded slowly as he gingerly touched his black eye. “Well, ye ain’t so bad with yer fives either. And ye’ve more bottom than I expected from ….” His words trailed off into an incoherent mumble as he recalled to whom he was speaking.

“From a toff,” added Julian with a lopsided grin.

A hint of an answering grin cracked the big groom’s normally impassive features. “Aye, from a toff,” he agreed.

Jem returned with a roll of moderately clean linen and a stoneware jug. Angus removed the cork and passed it to the Marquess.

“You might want some of this first.”

Julian took a long swallow and pulled a face. “What in the devil is this you’re poisoning me with—horse piss?”

That drew a bark of laughter from the two grooms. “It’s good Scottish whiskey. We brought it with us from home,” piped up Jem.

“I knew there were none but heathens up north,” quipped the marquess as he took another swig. “I shall stick with good French brandy—this is truly awful.” Nonetheless, he took several more pulls before handing it back.

With a resigned sigh, he decided there was little point in putting off the unpleasant task of seeing to his new injury.

His fingers began to work at the buttons of his shirt, a rueful expression tugging at the corners of his mouth as he regarded the once spotless linen, now streaked with sweat and bloodstains, a large rent marring one of the sleeves.

As the front fell open, Jem’s mouth dropped in shock at the sight of the thick red slash that ran from the Marquess’s left collar bone down to the center of his chest. “Is … is that from a saber?” he asked in a hushed tone.

Julian’s mouth compressed as he gave a curt nod.

“And you leg, sir ….Was that?—”

“Shrapnel.”

The young groom regarded him with something akin to awe. “Which battle?—”

“Jem! Leave off pestering him. I’m sure he ain’t in no mood to talk about being sliced or shot.” Angus turned to Julian with a shrug of apology. “The lad’s army-mad.” His tone made it evident he did not approve at all.

Ignoring the pointed rebuke, the young groom went on. “Cor, you must have been a real hero, leading cavalry charges, storming?—”

“No, just young and rather stupid, lad.”

Jem looked slightly bewildered.

“It’s nothing to wish for, to see the suffering and torments men inflict on each other during war,” said the marquess wearily.

“There are precious few heroes—we all find that merely to survive the heat, the hunger, the fatigue and the terror of battle is a daunting enough task.” He shifted his weight off his bad leg.

“And there is nothing terribly romantic about being a maimed cripple,” he added in a grim voice.

“Oh.” The young groom swallowed hard. “That’s … that’s what my cousin said, but I thought mayhap you—this is, mayhap he … was wrong.”

Julian’s eyes pressed closed for a moment.

“No, lad, he was not.” He held out his hand for the roll of linen only to find Angus regarding him intently.

The other man had ceased throwing daggers with every glance.

In fact, there was a flash of gratitude in his eyes for not glorifying the military, as well as a touch of respect and something else that was not as easy to decipher.

“Here, I suppose it would be easier if I was ta give ye a hand with that,” he said gruffly.

The marquess finished removing his shirt. “Thank you.”

“There’s hardly call to thank me—ye ain’t going to enjoy this. Now take a deep breath so I can get it good and tight.”

Julian gritted his teeth as Angus began winding the cloth snugly around his injured middle. The big groom paused once or twice to work the ribs back in place, drawing an involuntary grunt.

“Give me fair warning if ye are going to cast up yer accounts again,” he muttered, still poking at the Marquess’s side. “I don’t have another clean shirt until wash day.”

“I shall try—though I imagine that vile stuff you fed me comes up a great deal easier than it went down.”

Angus gave another slight grin as he finished tying off the end of the linen. “Aye, but it served its purpose.”

Julian was indeed feeling a bit lightheaded and the pain seemed to have dulled slightly.

The other man straightened up. “You are sure ye do not wish to go on up to the manor house?”

“No, I’ve made enough of a cake of myself for one night,” he replied in a voice barely above a whisper.

Angus’s head jerked in the direction of the back of the barn. “Well, ye might as well come along with us, then. There’s an extra cot in our room.”

The Marquess hesitated. “You needn’t put yourselves out. The straw is quite fine.”

A decided glint of humor flashed in the groom’s eyes. “Aye, but there’s another jug of whiskey in the back.”

“Ah, well in that case, lead on.”