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“There,” he said, so relieved that he was shaking. “It’s over, Frances.”
Her head fell back and he saw that she had fainted.
“I’m proud of you, love,” he said as he gently laid her back on the ground, her riding jacket beneath her.
She regained consciousness very quickly and blinked up at her husband.
“It’s over,” he said, gently stroking her cheek. “You’ll be all right now.”
Her face lost its pallor and turned a light shade of green.
“You want to vomit?”
Frances swallowed convulsively. She shook her head.
“It’s natural. Here, my dear, close your eyes and hold very still.” He sat beside her, his back against an oak tree, and eased her head onto his thighs. He began to speak, softly, slowly, to distract her. “I remember the first time I did that, I was in Spain. One of my men had been thrown from a horse, just as you were. He had the very same reaction, but felt human again by the following day. It is curious that you felt no pain until it was all over. No one seems to understand how you can not even be aware of an injury until your mind is released from its urgency.”
“I was terrified for Tamerlane,” she managed in a thin voice.
“Yes, you were, and you kept your own injury at bay until you’d taken care of his. I remember after one particular battle, Grunyon got to me and demanded how I could have gotten so much blood on my boots. I had a thigh wound and wasn’t even aware of it.” He chuckled at the memory. “After he pointed it out, I of course felt the most awful pain imaginable.” He paused. “Do you feel better?”
“Yes,” she said, sounding a bit surprised. “I don’t want to retch anymore.”
“You will be bruised.”
“Hawk, why?”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. “I don’t know.” The question had been swirling about in his brain, but with no answer. “Have you dismissed one of your lovers?” he asked, lightly ruffling her hair. “Did he not take it kindly?”
She wanted to laugh, but tried a brief chuckle, but it hurt too much. “What if I had been riding Davie?”
Riding Flying Davie indeed, he reflected, his thoughts striding down a new avenue.
“Are you ready to go home?” he asked, not yet wanting to answer her question.
“All right,” she said.
Hawk stripped off his coat, lifted her in his arms, and placed the coat about her shoulders. “Now, don’t try to do anything, Frances.”
It wasn’t easy to get her on Ebony’s back without causing her a great deal of pain, but Hawk finally managed it. “Now, just lie back against me and try to relax. We’ll take it very slowly, love.”
Frances felt as though hot pokers were embedded in her shoulder, but she refused to give in to the pain. “I think,” she said, “that I should prefer a beating.”
He dropped a kiss on top of her head. “The next time you infuriate me, I’ll consider it,” he said, grinning over her head.
He realized after some moments that she’d fallen into a stupor, and felt relief. He urged Ebony into a gallop.
When they reached the stableyard, he saw Belvis’ face go from relief to profound concern.
“She’s all right,” Hawk said quickly. “She dislocated her shoulder, but didn’t realize it until all the excitement was over.”
“I’ll send one of the boys for a doctor,” Belvis said.
“I fixed it already, but I do want Simons to take a look at her. Hold Ebony, will you, Belvis.”
Hawk eased her down, keeping her tightly against his chest. Now that the crisis seemed to have passed, Hawk thought, striding toward the house, he was beginning to feel very shaky himself. He cursed quite fluently, but it didn’t help ease the feeling of intense helplessness, the feeling of murderous rage. Why? And who?
The doctor, Mr. Simons, examined her, and pronounced Hawk a fine practitioner. “She’ll be just the thing in a couple of days, my lord. Your quick action saved her interminable pain. You are lucky in your husband, Lady Frances.”
