Chapter Ten
Augusta sat in front of Duncan on the horse as they managed an uneven trot through the mud-and-snow mixture covering the road.
With one arm in a sling fashioned by Mr. McGloin, Duncan held one rein, and Augusta held the other.
Honestly, she felt like crying. A good release of emotion was what was needed in this grave situation.
But Augusta had developed a vast capacity for adapting to the peaks and valleys of life.
She would remain calm as long as she could.
Remaining calm was difficult when she first saw the scarred side of Duncan’s face.
Thankfully, her first reaction was not horror but sadness and empathy.
To have such perfection ruined. He must have been caught in a fire, and truly, he was fortunate not to have suffered burns over the rest of his body, or at least she hoped so.
What was the story? Obviously, it was hard for him to talk about. Duncan had said as much.
As Augusta soon discovered during her time with Southen, a man wasn’t always what he seemed.
Southen’s charming exterior masked a darker inner nature.
Although he never directed his temper at her—she wouldn’t tolerate that—his demeanor was hollow, lacking genuine emotion.
After the first few years, Augusta realized that Southen was never genuinely in love with her, or perhaps, he was incapable of love at all.
She recognized she had simply been a prize to be claimed.
And her youthful and impetuous love and affection for Southen quickly faded.
Sighing, Augusta leaned against Duncan. He was a solid, muscular wall, radiating warmth and protection. She could get through anything as long as he was with her. It struck her that she had never had that thought about Southen. Not once.
Duncan leaned in and nuzzled her neck. “Are you well?”
Prickles of awareness shot along her spine. Goodness, she hadn’t expected a physical reaction, not so soon, if at all. “My ankle aches. I ache all over, truth be told. I’m very glad I brought a large supply of willow bark powder with me,” Augusta whispered.
“I have a feeling we will both need it.”
A furious gust of wind nearly knocked her sideways, so she clung to Duncan.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured huskily, continuing to nuzzle her neck.
Augusta’s cheeks flushed as her insides fluttered. It had been years since she had such an obvious reaction to a man.
“There it is!” Mr. McGloin shouted, pointing to a house on the left.
Augusta’s heart sank. It was more of a shack than a farmhouse, with a small, dilapidated shed or barn next to it. Duncan pulled on the reins, and she did the same.
“Is there nowhere else?” Duncan asked. “I don’t like the look of that roof. It could blow off in high winds.”
“This is the closest place,” Mr. McGloin replied. “There was a cluster of cottages five miles down this road, but that would take us farther from Stoneheath. The sun is beginning to set. We have no time.”
“We could press ahead and return to Jemison’s,” Duncan mused, then shook his head. “No, you are correct. It would be dark before we arrived, and we do not want to be caught out in this storm any longer than necessary. And Dawn cannot travel any further. Let’s make haste.”
Duncan dismounted then helped Augusta down from the horse.
McGloin secured the horses to a post, then walked over and knocked loudly on the door.
When it opened, McGloin stepped inside, with Duncan and Augusta following.
A woman in a worn wool gown took one look at Duncan and screamed, quickly covering her face with her hands.
“Control yourself, madam!” Duncan thundered. “I am not some monster lurking in the forest; it is a war injury. Cease that caterwauling!”
The woman grew quiet and turned away. Augusta was shocked by the woman’s overwrought reaction. Goodness, his scars were not that horrible, and Augusta did not blame Duncan for his outburst. Augusta looked about the room. The abject poverty was palpable.
“We are Mr. and Mrs. Bamford, and this is our manservant, Mr. McGloin,” Duncan declared in a calm but firm voice.
“We had a carriage accident about two miles from here and need shelter for the night. My servant will be heading to Stoneheath. We also have an injured horse that needs shelter. And you are?”
The man scratched his beard. “John Hansen, and my wife, Ella.”
Duncan set the hamper on the floor, then reached into his pocket. “I am willing to pay.”
“How much, exactly?” Hansen asked, glancing warily from Duncan to Mr. McGloin.
Duncan strode to the table and dropped a handful of coins on it. “This is all I have, it’s close to ten guineas.”
Mr. Hansen snatched the coins and stuffed them into his coat pocket. “There’s a small attic room with a pallet. It’s all I’ve got. ’Tis warm enough. The chimney goes up through the middle of it. You can put the horse in the barn. There’s oats out there. What’s in the hamper?”
“Some belongings we managed to salvage,” Duncan replied quickly. “Assist my servant and take these items to the room.” Duncan handed the hamper to Mr. McGloin. Hansen sneered at Duncan but did as he was bidden.
When they returned, Duncan turned to Mr. McGloin. “Ride swiftly, but take no unnecessary risks. Return here only when it is safe to do so.”
“I will, Mr. Bamford. If not tomorrow, then when it’s safe, as you said.” The men shook hands in farewell. “Dawn is settled in the barn in a stall. I wrapped his lower leg. It will need changing. Some packed snow around the swelling will give him relief while he mends.”
“I will see to it.”
Mr. McGloin handed a cloth bundle to Duncan. “My shirts. Tear them into strips to wrap the leg. There is a mule or donkey in the opposite stall.”
“He’s my mule,” Hansen said.
Duncan ignored him.
“Take care, Mr. McGloin,” Augusta said.
“I will, Mrs. Bamford.” Mr. McGloin opened the door, and a gust of wind whipped a swirl of wet snow inside. Hansen ran to the door to secure it after the valet stepped outside. The storm was worsening, and that had Augusta worried afresh.
“My wife injured her ankle. Please set up the chair before the fire,” Duncan asked. “Do you have any more firewood than what is in that log rack?”
“Aye, outside. Around the side of the house in the log holder,” the man replied.
“You had best bring some in, and sharpish, because it is going to be a long night.”
Hansen crossed his arms. “Here, are you going to order the wife and me about?”
“I am,” Duncan replied firmly. “I paid you enough for the privilege. Think of yourself as a temporary innkeeper. Do you have any food?”
“Not much. There’s stew left in the pot.”
“I have bread and cheese. I will fetch it. First, the chair?”
Hansen grumbled but pulled the threadbare chair, stuffing sticking out of the sides, closer to the fire. With his free arm, Duncan helped Augusta into the chair. “Mrs. Hansen, do you have a stool?”
The woman would not look at Duncan, and Augusta’s anger flared. “Mrs. Hansen, answer my husband, if you please,” Augusta said frostily.
“Aye, I do.” She hurried into the back room as Mr. Hansen slipped on his coat and left through the back door to no doubt fetch more wood.
Duncan leaned down and kissed her forehead. “We shouldn’t become too imperious,” he chuckled. “Or they will throw us into the snowbanks.”
“How dare she not look at you or answer you. How rude!”
“We had best be on our guard. I do not like the look in Hansen’s eyes.”
Before Augusta could ask Duncan what he meant, Mrs. Hansen returned and handed Duncan the stool with barely a glance. He gently removed her boot, lifted her injured foot, and set it on the stool. “We should wrap that as soon as possible. It is quite swollen.”
“I have bits of cloth in my case. Save the ones Mr. McGloin gave you for Dawn,” Augusta replied in a low voice only Duncan could hear. “There is a bag of tea, as well.”
“I will return as soon as I can.”
Duncan took the narrow stairs and disappeared into the attic.
Mr. and Mrs. Hansen stood some distance away, their heads together, whispering in low tones.
As Duncan surmised, something wasn’t quite right.
Desperate people were capable of doing the unthinkable.
Who could blame them for being wary of strangers?
“My husband is bringing some tea I had in my case.”
The Hansens turned to stare at her.
“I’ll boil water, then.” Mrs. Hansen took a pot, stepped outside for a moment, and returned with it filled with water, likely from a rain barrel.
Mr. Hansen grumbled under his breath and went into a room that must be where the couple slept.
Mrs. Hansen set the pot of stew on the grate and laid out bowls and mugs on the table.
“Probably not as fancy as you’re used to, I’ll be bound. ”
“We are very grateful you took us in. Our driver perished in the mishap. We lost everything. It was quite a harrowing experience.”
Mrs. Hansen merely grunted in reply.
Duncan returned and handed the food to Mrs. Hansen. He had one of the quilts folded over his good arm. “Here, my dear. Remove your cape and inner coat. We will dry them by the fire.”
She did so, and Duncan laid the quilt across her lap. Spotting a wooden rack in the corner, Duncan pulled it over to sit in front of the fire, then placed her outerwear, along with his, on the rack. Thankfully, her traveling clothes had stayed mostly dry.
With the gentlest of touches, he wrapped her ankle. “Not too tight?”
“No, it isn’t. Thank you.”
“Here,” Mrs. Hansen called out. “Stew’s in the bowls. Tea’s in the mugs. There’s no milk, cream, or sugar.” She set two mugs and half the bread and cheese on a wooden tray. “We’ll eat in our room. Retire when you like.”
“Where’s the privy?” Duncan asked.
“Out back. Not far from the door.”
And with that, she was gone.
They ate in silence, then Duncan fetched her case, cloak, and boots, and escorted her to the privy.
That brief moment outside, even with her coat on, chilled her afresh.
All remnants of rain and ice were gone. Heavy snow fell from the skies.
After using the privy himself, Duncan assisted her inside.
They warmed themselves by the fire for a time, then Duncan placed their coats and the quilt over his uninjured arm and assisted her up the narrow stairs.
She entered the room to find a candle burning, the other quilt covering the pallet, and two pillows.
“I did my best to make it comfortable. There were candles and matches in the bench seat along with the bedding and pistols.”
“It’s not all that cold in here,” Augusta said.
“The bricks from the chimney are warm enough to keep the chill at bay. Our body heat will do the rest. I found a jar of water in the hamper, along with two mugs. I suggest we each take some willow bark and try to sleep. I am exhausted, and my body aches like the devil, especially my shoulder.”
“Yes, I feel the same,” she said. “We are going to find bruising tomorrow, are we not?”
“Yes. If we had serious internal injuries, they would have shown by now, based on my army experience.”
After they drank the willow bark, Duncan helped her lie down. Then he pulled what looked like a trunk in front of the door.
“Is that necessary?” she whispered.
“I am not taking any chances. I do not trust our hosts.”
“Your experience in the army?”
“Quite so.” Duncan covered her with the other quilt and their coats. He gingerly crawled in beside her and pulled her close with his free arm.
“I am sorry about Mr. Briggs.”
“As am I. His fate will stay with me for a long time to come.”
“It was no one’s fault. How were we to know such a storm would befall our journey?”
“Still, I should have—”
Augusta took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “Do not blame yourself. Try to rest. You need the sleep.” After all, it was as much her fault as his. If she’d been able to travel, they might not have driven right into this storm.
But she couldn’t change what had happened, and feeling bad about it would only make this situation worse.
Augusta sighed contentedly, feeling warm and safe.
Duncan was already breathing deeply. Her thoughts turned to her son.
This was the longest she had been away from him since he was born, and she missed him terribly.
Reese’s sunny disposition always brightened her day.
So far, he was nothing like Southen. That was a mercy.
He did not look like him either. How would her son adjust to this new chapter in their lives?
Would he accept Duncan into their family?
Those concerns could wait. For now, more urgent issues needed attention: the accident and the storm. Whatever happened, Augusta trusted Duncan’s strength, skill, and resilience. It was notable trust, especially since they had only just met.
What a day. What a start to their lives together.
At last, sleep overtook her. She would dream of her new husband. For the entire night.