Heartless (The House of Rohan 5)

“You couldn’t have taken him,” he said calmly. “He was twice your size and he was playing with you. He could have broken your neck at any moment, no matter how many blows you got in—he was simply taking his time, enjoying himself, like a cat with a juicy little mouse.”

There was no missing her nauseated expression, and that was the last thing he needed to complicate matters. He didn’t bother asking her permission, he scooped her up in his arms with as much gentleness as he could muster, and she lolled back against him, fading out again, sending a dread chill through his chest.

The damned horse was standing nearby, a disgruntled expression on its face. The grass was matted into the mud surrounding them, and if Brandon had learned one thing about the wretched nag it was that it loved to eat. He hesitated only a moment—the horse wouldn’t carry both of them, and even if he put Emma’s limp body up in the saddle he’d have to hold her in place as well as lead the damned slug.

Looking past the bridge, he could see the towers of his brother’s house. He started off at a quick pace, moving as swiftly as he could without jarring her unnecessarily. Her breathing was shallow, and he wondered whether her lungs had been punctured by a broken rib. He moved faster, the horse trailing behind them.

The rain had started again, and his efforts to shield her were wasted. It was cold and miserable, chilling him to the bone, but he was inured to it. She was a Londoner, pampered, protected from the harshness of life—this weather could mean the difference between life and death.

He was barely aware of the fact that he’d almost made it back to the house when people began crowding around him, his brothers, the guests, innumerable servants surrounding him in the rain. Hands reached out to take Emma from him, but he snarled something vicious, and most people fell back, staring at him like he was some sort of wild beast. And then Benedick was there, a strong hand on his shoulder, forcing his attention.

“Let me take her, Brandon. You need looking after as well,” he said gently.

Brandon shook his head fiercely. “I’m fine. Send for a doctor.”

“Already done. And you’re bleeding.”

The man must have nicked him—it didn’t matter. He’d gone through far worse without noticing. “Show me where to take her,” he growled.

Charles made the mistake of interfering. “Don’t be ridiculous, Brandon! Let one of the servants carry her. . . I have no doubt she’ll be perfectly fine. . .”

Brandon looked at him, and Charles stumbled, shaken. “She stays with me,” Brandon said, his voice flat and expressionless.

“Then get her the hell in out of the rain!” Melisande said, pushing ahead of Benedick. “And stop wasting time terrifyi

ng your brothers.”

His humorless laugh surprised him—his sister-in-law was making more sense. Following her into the house, he simply ignored the people that followed them out of the biting rain.

Chapter 11

Someone was trying to lead them up toward the bedrooms, but Brandon kept moving on through the ground floor of the house. Emma had begun shivering, and he needed to get her near a fire, fast. He felt her stir in his arms, and then she opened her eyes, the gray shadowed with pain and confusion.

“You’re awake,” he said. Idiot. “What hurts?”

She managed to focus on him. “Everything.”

“Good,” he replied. “If everything hurts then with luck you’ll just end up with a few bruises.”

“Heartless bastard,” she said with a soft groan.

“That’s me,” he said firmly, holding her a little closer.

She dropped her head against his shoulder, and he felt the last of his blind rage draining away. He’d known animals, babies like that, creatures who’d sink against you in absolute trust, knowing you’d take care of them. For some reason Emma Cadbury, despite her caustic tongue, trusted him.

“What in the world made you decide to go that way?” Melisande was hurrying to keep up with him, and she tried to peer at Emma. “It’s much longer, and likely to flood if this rain keeps up. If Brandon hadn’t found you, you might have been drowned.”

“Rosie,” Emma said faintly, “the maid. She said it was a short cut.”

“It isn’t. It takes your way out of your way. What’s wrong with that girl? Randolph, have someone go find her, would you?”

“And why the hell were you out on your own?” Brandon felt his temper began to rise again, an odd emotion.

“Brandon, dearest, don’t swear at the girl,” Melisande said plaintively. “Can’t you see she’s hurt?”

Emma stirred before he said something he’d regret. “Don’t. . . squawk,” she said sleepily, increasing his worry. He’d seen how trivial a bloody head wound could be, but he’d also seen men take a blow to the head, walk around and joke for hours afterwards, and then suddenly keel over dead. He wasn’t going to let it happen to his Emma.

His Emma? What the bloody hell was wrong with him? He could feel Benedick behind him as he moved quickly down the hall, careful not to jolt her more than necessary, and he knew he ought to hand her over, walk away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d worry about his foolishness later—right now getting her safe was all that mattered.