“Miss Asprey?” The figure called out to her as he stumbled along the path. “Is … is that you, my dove?” He tripped and fell, coughed and spluttered. “God damn.”
Despite her fear, Rose stepped forward to help him. Taking hold of his scrawny arm, she assisted him to his feet. From the black marks on his face and the stench of smoke on his clothes, he must have come from the manor.
“Can you forgive a man for his stupidity?” His breath smelt like rotten meat mixed with claret. The man’s bloodshot eyes and skeletal features would have scared the Devil away. “I should not have left you in there to perish. Thank the Lord you escaped.”
She’d never set eyes on the man before. But for some reason he recognised her. Then again, he did seem delirious.
“You’ve mistaken me for someone else, sir.” Rose batted the fellow’s hand away from her arm. “Have you escaped the fire at the manor?”
“Fire?” He appeared dazed, unsteady on his feet. “Oh, the fire, yes.” A length of spittle hung from the corner of his mouth. “There’s nothing left you know. But what a clever dove you are.”
Clearly, the man had lost all grasp of his faculties. Trauma did that to a person, made them lose all hold on reality.
“Was there anyone else with you at the manor?”
“Only you, my angel. And I’ll not make the mistake of losing you again.” In a move as swift as it was sudden, he grasped a lock of her hair.
“Ow! Let me go. Have you lost your mind?”
He examined the hair in his fist. “Your hair is as gold as the sun, not red as fire.”
The man spoke in riddles. If the manor accepted patients, he would be a prime candidate. “What on earth are you talking about? Release me at once.”
“Wait! You’re not my dove.” Keeping a firm hold of her hair, he turned and scanned the woods. “Miss Asprey? Miss Asprey, are you out there?”
Rose tried to prise his bony fingers apart but to no avail. But then the sound of snapping twigs caught her attention.
“Listen. Do you hear my dove approaching?” He tugged Rose’s hair until her head almost touched her knees.
“Please. Ow! You’re hurting me.”
A deep growl sliced through the air. “Get your bloody hands off the lady, now!”
Rose tried to look behind but couldn’t move her head more than an inch.
“Bugger off. You’ll not take her from me again.”
“I swear I will drive my fist through your heart if you do not release her this instant.” The gentleman spoke more clearly now, and she knew at once it was Christian. Thank heavens he was safe.
“I told you. She’s with me now.”
“He’s not right in the mind,” Rose called out. “He thinks I’m someone else. Someone from Morton Manor.”
Christian approached them. He grasped the man’s hand and squeezed until she heard the crack of bones. “Release her. I’ll not tell you again.”
The man cried out in pain, but as soon as he let go of her hair, Christian punched him hard on the jaw. The fellow fell back and landed on his backside in the ferns.
Christian turned to her. “Are you all right?” He stroked her cheek, gazed into her eyes.
Rose nodded. “I came looking for you.”
“I told you to remain at Everleigh.”
Rose didn’t have a chance to answer because another man came charging through the trees. Christian stepped in front of her to act as her shield, and she clung to his waist.
“My lord! Where are you? Lord Mosgrove?”
Christian squared his shoulders. “Who are you?”