Chapter Eighteen #3
“Stop!” Dalmere pleaded, his voice thin and pathetic now.
“I should kill you,” Oliver said in a snarl. He grabbed Dalmere and brought him to his feet. “But I’ll let the law do that.”
Dalmere kicked out and caught Oliver in the shin. Oliver swore and grabbed Dalmere’s arm and pulled it back until he heard it pop. Dalmere howled in pain and Oliver shoved him out the tent door and onto the gravel path. The thug was standing there, looking down at Dalmere.
“Did you hear his confession?” Oliver asked the thug.
“I did,” the thug replied, looking down at the pitiful sight before him.
Dalmere was still swearing and spitting blood onto the path.
“Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.”
Oliver went straight back to Lisbeth’s side.
Lisbeth looked up at him and started to cry. He could tell she was in pain, and he wanted to soothe her. He picked her up, kissed her on the forehead, and said, “Hush now. You’re safe, Lisbeth. I have you.”
She nodded and rested her head on his shoulder.
Tony appeared beside him. “I’ve tied Dalmere up. Tom here says there is a surgeon at the balloon ascension.” He pointed to the thug.
“I could go fetch him for you,” Tom offered.
“I’d be much obliged,” Oliver replied.
Tom took off at a run. Tony indicated to a bench and Oliver sat down with Lisbeth in his lap. Her breaths were shallow and harsh but at least she was breathing.
“I’ve never been so scared in all my life. I am so sorry, Lisbeth. I should never have left you with him,” he whispered into her hair.
“It’s a good thing you didn’t kill him,” Tony said, glancing back towards the moaning Dalmere. “It will be so much the better to send him to some place resembling hell, before he actually ends up there.”
Oliver could only agree but he didn’t care about what was to happen to Dalmere as long as the dastard couldn’t get anywhere near Lisbeth again.
The sound of carriage wheels heralded the arrival of the surgeon, who jumped out and began to examine Lisbeth immediately.
“Well?” asked Oliver impatiently, as the surgeon took his time examining Lisbeth’s neck.
“She’s lucky to be alive,” he replied. “I won’t know the extent of the damage to her vocal cords until she has had time to rest.”
The surgeon then spoke to Lisbeth directly. “You must not talk under any circumstances, Lady Blackhurst, until I am satisfied you are ready. Is that clear?”
Lisbeth gave the slightest nod but winced again.
Her throat felt like she had swallowed broken glass.
The surgeon gave her a sympathetic smile and then ordered her to be put into the carriage.
Inside, Oliver gathered her up in his arms again.
The surgeon climbed in, frowned at the scene, but tapped on the ceiling to tell the driver to go.
Lisbeth was glad of Oliver’s warmth and did not care what the surgeon may think of them.
“How long until we know the extent of the damage?” Oliver asked the surgeon.
“A few days at least, maybe a week. She has some nasty abrasions from the rope which will take some time to heal. Her voice, if it has not been too damaged, will still be hoarse for some time. She will have some trouble swallowing. The bloodshot eyes are from the pressure. They should also heal within a few days.”
“She seems to still have trouble breathing,” Oliver stated.
“Yes, she will be quite shallow of breath for a while, and the wheezing is also normal. I will, however, be keeping a close eye on her for the next twenty-four hours.”
“Thank you. I am glad you will be attending her.”
Lisbeth listened to the conversation but of course stayed silent even though she had a million of her own questions. Oliver smoothed her hair. It felt nice. It felt right to be in his arms. She had her eyes closed but was fully aware of where she was.
There was so much she wanted to say. Needed to say. But for now, she would have to be content to be in the embrace of the man she loved. He had come to save her. Did that mean he loved her? But what did it matter if he did?
Lisbeth’s eyes flickered and then opened. She saw the balloon rising high into the air through the window, saw Oliver looking down at her. Saw his concerned smile, and then felt his lips on her forehead again.
She took his hand in hers and squeezed it.
He squeezed back. Her throat hurt and her head hurt.
In fact, all of her hurt and she was so very, very tired.
She was glad she had been able to see the balloon had gained its freedom and was even now rising higher and higher into the murky gray sky.
She was glad she’d had Oliver with her when she saw it.
She only wished she had the energy to lift her hand and touch his face.
That she had enough breath to tell him how much she loved him.
She closed her eyes again and let the sway of the carriage and the whispered tones of Oliver and the surgeon soothe her.
“Tomorrow,” Oliver whispered into her ear, “all will know of your innocence, Lisbeth. I will make sure of it.” Oliver’s voice had an edge of determination in it.
She tried to smile but it hurt too much so she just squeezed his hand again and was happy when he gathered her closer to his chest so she could hear his heart.