Page 4 of The Wise Daughter

Nora sprang across the bridge to the sodden earth below before her mind could catch up, but once it did, questions surfaced with a speed to rival her racing heart.

Was the man alive? Was he breathing? What horrible accident had befallen him?

How severe were his injuries? The road above was silent.

He needed help, and no one was coming to his aid.

It would have to be her.

Removing her gloves, she lightly brushed back his wet hair and felt his forehead.

His skin was startlingly cold, but his chest was rising and falling, which eased some tightness in her own breath.

A nasty bump swelled above his temple, and a small cut in his hairline left a thin trail of blood down the side of his face.

With a leg entirely in the water and an arm half in, he had to be moved immediately to a safer distance from the river.

The mud was slick, and the sky was threatening rain.

All it would take to sweep him away would be for the river to swell a little or for him to turn the wrong way.

“I’ll have to drag you out of the water, sir, but first, I must relieve you of this soggy cloak.”

She didn’t think she could find a secure enough hold on him with all that extra fabric.

Silently planning, she poked him in the shoulder.

When he didn’t budge, she undid the clasps at his neck and let the wet fabric fall off his shoulders.

With another quick assessment, she loosened his black cravat as well.

So much black. Was he in mourning? A new wave of sympathy washed over her.

Her cheeks warmed thinking of how close she was and how much closer she would have to get to this man who might have been doing all sorts of scoundrel-like things before meeting with misfortune. Was she saving a criminal?

She tried to hush these thoughts. He was in need. That was all that mattered, but now that the cloak was gone, it did relieve her a little to see the well-tailored shirt and waistcoat of a prosperous gentleman. It wasn’t enough to vouch for his character, but she chose to take it as a good sign.

It also helped, though her cheeks burned deeper to admit it, that he had a strong jaw, handsome features, broad shoulders, and an athletic build. His dark hair was too wet to discern its actual color, but she liked the way the curls fell across his forehead.

Thoroughly convinced he was unconscious, she found relief in speaking her thoughts aloud. “I hope you feel honored by my attention, sir. I am not the sort of woman to freely bestow it. I wonder what color your eyes are.”

She instantly chided herself for being silly. Maybe that wish on the bridge had clouded her good sense.

The man shuddered, making her jump back a step. He coughed out several sputters of water, gasped, then lay still, never opening his eyes.

“Sir?”

She gave his arm a shake but stopped when her fingers accidentally slipped through his torn sleeve and brushed against his skin.

Even with such a brief touch, it was impossible not to notice the strong contours of muscle beneath his wet sleeve.

Who might have bested him? He looked quite capable of defending himself.

She took his hand and nestled it between hers to rub out some of the iciness in case it would help him wake up.

“Sir, you must get away from here, or you’ll be swept away. Sir?”

When he didn’t respond, she moved behind him and braced herself, lowering to one knee and sinking her traveling boots into the mud.

“I hope you’re not a scoundrel.”

After some adjusting, Nora slipped her arms under the man’s, soaking one of her arms in the edge of the river, and pulled. The muddy bank provided little purchase. Her feet slipped several times as she tried to stand, landing herself right back in the mud.

“Blast it!” she whispered. “You must weigh as much as a horse!”

The man groaned. This time, after wrapping her arms around his chest and clasping her hands together, she dug her heels in deep, and leaned back.

The mud finally relinquished its suction-like hold on him, but with all the force she was using, she lost her foothold again and fell on her back with the man falling right on top of her.

“Oh no!” Nora pushed and squirmed until she rolled him off and was free. Cold mud covered her riding habit and seeped into her gown. She could feel it weighing in her hair and easing its way past her stays to her flushed skin. Huffing, she caught her breath and refused to be mortified.

Positioning for a better grip on her next attempt, she slipped her arms under his again and pulled. Slowly, she dragged him up to higher, dryer earth by the side of the bridge where she patted his cheek in rapid succession.

“Wake up, sir! I’m trying to help, but I’m losing patience.”

Throwing him a glare, she returned to the edge of the water to clean her hands and splash her face.

Swiping her fingers down her arms, she wiped as much mud as she could from her riding habit, and boots, but the stubborn mud clung to the fabrics.

She was nearly soaked by the end of her endeavors.

Cupping her hands, she carried water to the man and splashed his face with the drops that hadn’t spilled out.

His eyes flew open. He bolted to sitting. “Get back! I–” Taking in his surroundings, he groaned again, clasped his side, and sank back to the ground. “Where am I?” His voice was hoarse.

“Be calm, sir. I’m a friend.” Nora couldn’t quite see the exact color of his eyes in the evening’s shadows as she took a seat on the ground a small distance from him.

“Friend?” He put a hand to his head, smearing mud on his face. Either the idea of a friend was novel to him, or he was struggling to remain conscious. Perhaps both.

“You are by the bridge at the southeast edge of Ravenglass, just a few paces from where I found you. I pulled you here so the river wouldn’t wash you away, which it was shockingly close to doing.

As far as I can tell, there is no immediate danger, other than our being extremely wet in this chilly air. ”

“You found me?” His eyes locked onto hers, stirring her insides like a fire iron. “You pulled me here?” He looked her over as if taking her measure.

“Yes.” Nora scooted back a ways and held her knees to her chest, deciding what she thought of him now that he was awake.

“Thank you.” He breathed heavily as he clutched his stomach and sat straighter, leaning against the stone wall. “I’ll have you know I am much lighter than a horse.” He met her gaze with the smallest tilt of mouth.

“You heard me?” What else had he heard? “If you were conscious, why did you make my task so difficult?”

“I thought I was dreaming. I couldn’t pull my mind out of the fog until you splashed my face with water.” He let out a small, wheezing cough, then groaned again. “Do you often promenade through villages rescuing nearly drowned men?”

It was difficult to tell with his raspy voice, but she thought he was teasing her.

“Oh, yes. I save every drowning man I come across, and you, my good sir, have the honor of being the first.”

He tried to laugh, but the movement tightened to a wince.

She wanted to help further if she could but didn’t know what to do next.

If she simply took her leave of him, was he capable of bringing himself to safety?

Had he any broken bones? She had no money to spare on him, but perhaps all he needed from her was a little humor, something to lighten his heart.

Truthfully, being able to jest lightened hers too.

“I’m honored, indeed.” He smiled at her, then looked over himself. “Do you know what happened to my cloak?”

“I’m afraid I had to take it off you. It appeared to be choking you, and I couldn’t get a decent grip under your arms with that slippery thing in the way.”

“Yes, but where is it now?”

“I left it by the water. I’m sorry, but I think the current washed it away.” She bit her lip, unsure how embarrassed she should be.

“Ah well.” He shrugged. “I suppose you had other matters pressing you, like how to save my life. At least, it wasn’t a favorite.”

“That’s a relief. It gave you a much too rapscallion appearance anyway.” She pinched her lips together, hiding her smile. Where had this brazenness come from? All she knew was that after the exhausting journey from West Riding, the tension inside her was finally loosening.

“Rapscallion?” he repeated. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely. I’m glad to finally be able to say it. How awkward it was keeping that in while I pulled you up here. In any event we’re even. Saving you has cost me my dress and riding habit, which were favorites.”

“That’s a pity but not quite the same. The river hasn’t carried off your things. And I'm guessing a fine lady like you has several other favorite gowns to choose from.”

The jesting inside her withered. “No, actually. I don’t.”

She didn’t need to see his face to feel his gaze on her. Hugging her knees tighter, she waited for the question that would follow, asking her to explain what she meant.

Instead, he asked, “What is your name?”

She almost didn’t tell him, but there was something about his face and smile and easy way of talking in the midst of this strange trouble that made her less afraid of him.

“Honora Lacy. My father is only just up the road at the inn,” she added in an effort to still be cautious. “He’ll be looking for me any minute, I’m sure.” She waited for his reaction in case he was contemplating anything unvirtuous, but this statement did not seem to bother him at all.

“Do you have anything to drink, Miss Lacy?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t. There’s a tavern at the inn, but…”

“No, that won’t do.”

He pushed to his knees and stood, but after one step and a deep grimace, he reached for the bridge’s stone wall and fell back to the ground on his knees.

Something must have been wrong with his leg or foot.

The same urgent tug on her sympathies that struck her when she first saw him washed over her again.