"Fling me on the poop deck and strip me to my skivvies," Winston growled. "Step up the pace, ya old bag o' bones. I won't be stoppin' to haul yer wheezin' arse along. I'll be leavin' ya here to rot."

"I can keep up just fine," Grimsley puffed. "I am simply minding my new footwear."

"Don't want no scratches on yer prissy shoes, do ya?" Winston sneered. "God save me from fussy old butlers. Worse than bleedin' babies."

"I was Captain Albright's personal valet-"

"Yeah, yeah. And I was 'is right hand, God rest 'is soul. You tell me which is more important."

"A valet, of course." He sniffed loudly. "And at least I don't smell."

A chuckle escaped Winston. "You do now, old Grimmy. Best mind yer shoes a bit better when yer walkin' behind a horse!"

Their voices droned on, but Hayley ignored them and concentrated on her surroundings. The forest was darker than the inside of a cloak. Leaves crunched beneath the horse's hooves. An owl hooted nearby, nearly stopping her heart. Surely she must be mad to have embarked on this excursion. But what choice did she have? She closed her eyes and imagined Nathan or Andrew, hurt and alone. God knows she'd want someone to aid her brothers. She couldn't leave until she knew if anyone needed her help-even if the effort scared her witless.

Several minutes later the horse stopped. Nickering softly, he pawed the ground and laid his ears back. Hayley dismounted, took the lamp from Grimsley and held it aloft, bathing the surrounding area with a soft, golden glow. They stood on some sort of precipice. She walked to the edge and peered down, her gaze traveling the length of a steep rocky slope. The gentle gurgle of a stream rose from below.

Grimsley peered over her shoulder and gingerly wiped his shoe on a patch of grass. "Do you see anything, Miss Hayley?"

"No. There's a steep bank and I hear a stream…" Her voice trailed off as a low groan drifted up to them.

"Wh-what was that?" Grimsley whispered in a shaky voice.

"It's just the wind, ya crusty old coot," Winston said, his voice laced with disgust.

Hayley pressed her hand to her stomach and shook her head. "No. Listen."

Another groan, barely audible but still unmistakable, floated up from the darkness below.

"There's someone down there," Hayley said, her voice grim. Without a thought for herself, she started down the steep slope. Halfway down she lifted the lantern, arcing a beam of light toward the stream.

And she saw him.

Lying facedown, the lower half of his body submerged in the water, was a man. A cry of alarm escaped her. Hayley half ran, half slid down the slope, ignoring the sharp rocks and twigs tearing at her clothing and skin.

"Miss Hayley! Are you all right?" Grimsley's frightened voice drifted down.

"Yes, I am fine. But there is an injured man down here."

She reached him seconds later. Unmindful of the icy creek water and her now ruined shoes, she dropped to her knees and gently turned him over.

His face was filthy and covered with scratches. Blood oozed from a nasty gash on his forehead. Mud, leaves, and grass clung to his torn clothing. His dark jacket was flung open, revealing a bloodstained shirt.

Hayley pressed her fingers to the side of his neck. To her profound relief she felt a pulse-a weak, thready pulse, but at least he was alive.

"Is 'e dead?" Winston's voice called out of the darkness.

"No, but he's badly injured. Quick! Bring down the supply bag." She ran light, probing fingers over the man's head, searching for additional wounds. When she touched an egg-sized lump on the back of his skull, he groaned slightly.

The sickly sweet odor of blood filled Hayley's nostrils and she fought back the urge to panic. She needed to clean his wounds and dared not waste the precious minutes it would take Winston and Grimsley to reach her. So instead she yanked down her petticoat, tore off a long strip, and dampened the fabric in the cold stream.

With gentle strokes she bathed the mud and blood from the man's face. In spite of the poor light and the filth covering him, she could see he was striking. He certainly didn't look like a robber.

"Can you hear me, sir?" she asked, rewetting the material. He remained completely motionless, deathly pale under the grime.

"How is 'e?" Winston asked when he and Grimsley arrived with the supply bag.

"His head is bleeding. So is his upper arm. Badly." She leaned down and sniffed at his torn jacket. "Gunpowder. He must have been shot."

Grimsley's eyes widened. "Shot?" He glanced quickly about as if expecting pistol-toting highwaymen to materialize.

Hayley nodded. "Yes. Luckily it appears to be only a flesh wound. Help me pull him out of the water. Be careful. I don't want to hurt him any more than necessary." Grimsley held the lantern while Hayley and Winston grabbed the man under his arms and dragged him from the stream.

Hayley pulled out a knife from the supply bag and cut his jacket and shirt away from the wound. With Grimsley clutching the lantern, she examined his upper arm. Blood oozed from a nasty gash. Flecks of dirt dotted his skin, as did numerous scratches. Gritting her teeth, she pressed her fingers to the injury and nearly swooned with relief.

"It's only a flesh wound. Bleeding, but no lead ball evident," she reported after a short, tense silence. Knowing they would need more bandages than the emergency few contained in the bag, she indicated her discarded petticoat with a jerk of her head.

"Tear that into strips, Grimsley."

Grimsley squinted at the garment and gasped. "But that's your petticoat, Miss Hayley!"

Hayley took a deep breath and mentally counted to five. "These are dire circumstances, Grimsley. We cannot stand on ceremony. I am sure Papa would do the same thing were he here."

Winston's eyes bugged out. "Captain Albright never wore no petticoat! Why 'is crew would have flogged him! Tossed 'im to the sharks!"

Once again Hayley mentally counted-this time to ten. "I meant Papa would not have stood on ceremony. He would have done whatever was necessary to help this man." God, give me patience. Do not force me to cosh these two dear, infuriating men.

Without further discussion, Grimsley tore the petticoat into bandages and passed them to Winston. He in turn wet them and handed them to Hayley. She bathed the wound as best she could, then applied pressure to it using clean bandages from her bag. Her eyes constantly flitted back to the man's face. She feared that every breath he drew might well be his last. Don't die on me. Please. Let me save you. When the bleeding finally slowed to a trickle, she bandaged his arm.

She then turned her attention to the nasty gash on his head. The bleeding had nearly stopped. She bandaged it as well, first bathing the dirt away. After that, she gently touched his body looking for further injuries. A low groan passed his lips when she pressed his torso.

"Broken or cracked ribs," she remarked. "Just like Papa suffered back in '11 when he fell from the porch railing." Winston and Grimsley nodded in silence. She continued her examination down his long frame, her hands gentle but firm.

"Anything else, Miss Hayley?" Grimsley asked.

"I don't believe so, but there's always the chance that he is bleeding inside. If so, he will not live through the night."

Grimsley surveyed the surrounding desolate area and shook his head. "What are we going to do with him?"

"Bring him home with us and take care of him," Hayley answered without hesitation.

Grimsley's wrinkled face paled visibly. "But Miss Hayley! What if he's a lunatic of some sort? What if-"

"His clothes-what's left of them-are fine quality. He is no doubt a gentleman, or employed by one." When Grimsley opened his mouth to speak again, Hayley held up her hand to silence him. "If he turns out to be a murdering lunatic, we will knock him on the head with a skillet, fling him out the door and send for the magistrate. In the meantime, we are bringing him home. Now. Before he dies as we speak."

Grimsley sighed and his gaze traveled upward to where the stallion stood. "I somehow knew you were going to say that. But how are we going to get him up the hill?"

"We're gonna carry 'im, ya wheezin' old fossil," Winston hollered close to Grimsley's ear, causing the older man to wince. "I'm strong as an ox, I am. I could lug this bloke twenty miles if I 'ad to." He turned to Hayley. "You can count on me, Miz Hayley. I'm no wispy bag o' bones-not like some people we know." He shot Grimsley a narrowed-eyed glare.

"Thank you. Both of you. Grimsley, you lead the way with the lantern."

"I'll carry his feet, Miss Hayley," Grimsley said with dignity. "You carry the lantern."

A weary smile tugged at Hayley's lips and her earlier annoyance at the elderly man vanished. "Thank you, Grimsley, but I am already dirty and you are much more skilled at navigation with a lantern than I." Hayley saw that Winston was about to make a remark and she sent him a killing glare. Winston rolled his eyes heavenward and snapped his lips together.

"Now," Hayley continued, "we must hurry and get him back to the house and into a warm bed as soon as possible."

Winston grabbed the man under his arms, while Hayley struggled with his feet. Dear God, the man weighed more than Andrew and Nathan combined, and her brothers were no flimsy wisps. She may have spared Grimsley's feelings, but her back would hurt for it tomorrow. For the first time in her life, she gave thanks for her unfeminine height and strength. Perhaps she towered over most men's heads and couldn't dance with any amount of grace, but by God she could lug her share of a heavy man up a hill.

They slipped twice on their way up, and both times Hayley's heart ached when the man groaned, hating that they were hurting him but unable to avoid it. The ground was treacherous with mud and rocks. Her clothes were beyond ruined, and her knees scraped raw from the sharp stones, but she never considered giving up. In fact, her discomfort only made her more determined. If she was suffering, the man was suffering more.

"Blimey, this bloke's heavier than 'e looks," Winston panted when they finally reached the top. After resting for a brief moment to catch their breath, they carried the man back to the gig with Grimsley leading the stallion by the reins. The man groaned several more times, and Hayley's heart clenched. The going was slow, but at least Winston and Grimsley had ceased bickering.

When they arrived at their vehicle, Hayley instructed, "Let's lay him down across the seat. Make him as comfortable as possible." That accomplished, she breathed a huge sigh of relief. He was still alive. "Grimsley, you watch over the man. Winston, drive the gig. I shall ride the stallion."

The journey home would take another two hours. Sitting astride the huge horse, Hayley pressed her heels to the animal's flanks and offered up a silent, fervent prayer the man would survive that long.


* * *

In a dark alley near the London waterfront, a plain hired hack drew to a stop. The sole occupant of the coach watched through a slit in the curtain as two men approached.

"Is he dead?" the occupant asked in a low whisper.

Willie, the taller of the two men, curled his lips back. "'Course 'e's dead. We told ye we'd get rid of the toff and we did." His beady eyes flickered with menace.

"Where is the body?"

"Facedown in a stream 'bout an hour's ride from Town," Willie said, then gave exact directions to the location.

"Excellent."

Willie leaned forward. "The job's done, so we'd be likin' our blunt now."

A hand swathed in a black leather glove reached out the window and dropped a bag into Willie's outstretched hand. Without another word, the curtain closed. A signal was given to the driver and the carriage disappeared into the night.

A satisfied smile curved the lips of the occupant of the hack.

He was dead.

Stephen Alexander Barrett, eighth Marquess of Glenfield, was finally, finally dead.

SHAPE \* MERGEFORMAT

Chapter 2

Stephen was dreaming.

Hands, many hands, were carrying him, buoying him as a boat bobs along a sparkling stream. He felt weightless, like a cloud floating in a bright blue summer sky, drifting in a warm breeze. Something deliciously cool touched his brow. The scent of roses filled his nostrils. Voices surrounded him… soft, comforting voices. And then suddenly all was quiet.

With an effort he dragged his eyes open. He saw a woman. A beautiful woman with shiny chestnut-colored hair. She smiled at him.