Sarah Mallory - Regency Beauty

The light through the trees indicated that there was a clearing ahead. She pushed her way through the remaining low tree branches and found herself standing on the lip of a steep slope. The land dropped away to form a natural bowl and the ground between the trees was dotted with early spring flowers, but it was not the beauty of the scene that made Zelah catch her breath, it was the sight of Nicky’s lifeless body stretched out at the very bottom of the dell, a red stain spreading over one leg of his nankeen pantaloons and a menacing figure bending over him.

Her first, wild thought was that it was some kind of animal attacking Nicky, but as her vision cleared she realised it was a man. A thick black beard covered his face and his shaggy hair reached to the shoulders of his dark coat. A longhandled axe lay on the ground beside him, its blade glinting wickedly in the spring sunlight.

Zelah did not hesitate. She scrambled down the bank.

‘Leave him alone!’ The man straightened. As he turned towards her she saw that beneath the shaggy mane of hair surrounding his face he had an ugly scar cutting through his left eyebrow and cheek. She picked up a stick. ‘Get away from him, you beast!’

‘Beast, is it?’ he growled.

‘Zelah—’

‘Don’t worry, Nicky, he won’t hurt you again.’ She kept her gaze fixed on the menacing figure. ‘How dare you attack an innocent boy, you monster!’

‘Beast, monster—’ His teeth flashed white through the beard as he stepped over the boy and came towards her, his halting, ungainly stride adding to the menace.

Zelah raised the stick. With a savage laugh he reached out and twisted the bough effortlessly out of her grasp, then caught her wrists as she launched herself at him. She struggled against his iron grip and her assailant hissed as she kicked his shin. ‘For heaven’s sake, I am not your villain. The boy tripped and fell.’ With a muttered oath he forced her hands down and behind her, so that she found herself pressed against his hard body. The rough wool of his jacket rubbed her cheek and her senses reeled as she breathed in the smell of him. It was not the sour odour of sweat and dirt she was expecting, but a mixture of wool and sandalwood and lemony spices combined with the earthy, masculine scent of the man himself. It was intoxicating.

He spoke again, his voice a deep rumble on her skin, for he was still holding her tight against his broad chest. ‘He tripped and fell. Do you understand me?’

He is speaking as if to an imbecile! was Zelah’s first thought, then the meaning of his words registered in her brain and she raised her head to meet his fierce eyes. She stopped struggling.

‘That’s better.’ He released his iron grip but kept his hard eyes fixed upon her. ‘Now, shall we take a look at the boy?’

Zelah stepped away, not sure if she trusted the man enough to turn her back on him, but a groan from Nicky decided it. Everything else was forgotten as she fell to her knees beside him.

‘Oh, love, what have you done?’

She put her hand on his forehead, avoiding the angry red mark on his temple. His skin was very hot and his eyes had a glazed, wild look in them.

The man dropped down beside her.

‘We’ve been clearing the land, so there are several ragged tree stumps. He must have caught his leg on one when he tumbled down the bank. It’s a nasty cut, but I don’t think the bone is broken.’

‘How would you know?’ demanded Zelah, carefully lifting away the torn material and gazing in horror at the bloody mess beneath.

‘My time in the army has given me considerable experience of injuries.’ He untied his neck-cloth. ‘I have sent my keeper to fetch help. I’ll bind up his leg, then we will carry him back to the house on a hurdle.’

‘Whose house?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘He should be taken to West Barton.’

‘Pray allow me to know what is best to be done!’

‘Please do not talk to me as if I were a child,’ she retorted. ‘I am quite capable of making a decision.’

He frowned, making the scar on his forehead even more ragged. He looked positively ferocious, but she refused to be intimidated and met his gaze squarely. He seemed to be struggling to contain his anger and after a moment he raised his hand to point towards a narrow path leading away through the trees. He said curtly, ‘Rooks Tower is half a mile in that direction; West Barton is at least five miles by carriage, maybe two if you go back on the footpath, the way you came.’

Zelah bit her lip. It would be impossible to carry Nicky through the dense undergrowth of the forest without causing him a great deal of pain. The boy stirred and she took his hand.

‘I d-don’t like it, it hurts!’

The plaintive cry tore at her heart.

‘Then it must be Rooks Tower,’ she said. ‘Let us hope your people get here soon.’

‘They will be here as soon as they can.’ He pulled the muslin cravat from his neck. ‘In the meantime I must stop the bleeding.’ His hard eyes flickered over her. ‘It will mean moving his leg.’

She nodded and squeezed Nicky’s hand.

‘You must be very brave, love, while we bind you up. Can you do that?’

‘I’ll try, Aunty.’

‘Your aunt, Nicky? She’s more of an Amazon, I think!’

‘Well, she is not really my aunt, sir,’ explained Nicky gravely. ‘She is my stepmama’s sister.’

Zelah stared, momentarily diverted.

‘You know each other?’

The man flicked a sardonic look towards her.

‘Of course, do you think I allow strange brats to run wild in my woods? Introduce us, Nicky.’

‘This is Major Coale.’ The boy’s voice wavered a little and his lip trembled as the major deftly wrapped the neckcloth around his leg. ‘And this, sir, is my aunt, Zelah.’

‘Celia?’

‘Zee-lah,’ she corrected him haughtily. ‘Miss Pentewan to you.’

‘Dear me, Nicholas, you should have warned me that your aunt is a veritable dragon.’

The scar cutting through his eyebrow gave him a permanent frown, but she heard the amusement in his voice. Nicky, clinging to Zelah’s hand and trying hard not to cry, managed a little chuckle.

‘There, all done.’ The major sat back, putting his hand on Nicky’s shoulder. ‘You were very brave, my boy.’

‘As brave as a soldier, sir?’

‘Braver. I’ve known men go to pieces over the veriest scratch.’

Zelah stared at the untidy, shaggy-haired figure in front of her. His tone was that of a man used to command, but beneath that faded jacket and all that hair, could he really be a soldier? She realised he was watching her and quickly returned her attention to her nephew.

‘What happened, love? How did you fall?’

‘I t-tripped at the top of the bank. There’s a lot of loose branches lying around.’

‘Aye. I’ve left them. Firewood for the villagers,’ explained the major. ‘We have been clearing the undergrowth.’

‘And about time too,’ she responded. ‘These woods have been seriously neglected.’

‘My apologies, madam, if they are not to your liking.’

Was he laughing at her? His face—the little she could see that was not covered by hair—was impassive.

‘My criticism is not aimed at you, Major. I believe Rooks Tower was only sold last winter.’

‘Yes, and I have not had time yet to make all the improvements I would wish.’

‘You are the owner ?’

Zelah could not keep the astonishment out of her voice. Surely this ragged individual could not be rich enough to buy such a property?

‘I am. Appearances can be deceptive, Miss Pentewan.’

She flushed, knowing she deserved the coldness of his response.

‘I beg your pardon, that is, I—I am sure there is a vast amount to be done.’