Read Online Puritan Bride by Anne O'Brien - Free Book Online Page B

family. Or perhaps he hoped and prayed that God would deal out justice with a fair hand and one day a Harley would return and oust the hated Oxendens. Meanwhile, he would keep faith and oversee the estate to the best of his ability, which was considerable. Whatever the reason, he had proved to be an excellent steward and Marlbrooke could see no need to trouble himself further over any dubious motives that Verzons might secretlynurture. As ever, he rose to the occasion, no matter how unusual the circumstances.
    ‘Is the young man badly injured? I can fetch Elspeth from the kitchen if you deem it necessary.’ Verzons bent over the settle with some concern.
    ‘No. I think not.’ Marlbrooke stripped off his gloves and shrugged out of his coat for the second time that night and handed them to his steward. ‘He fell from his horse at the Common crossroads and hit his head. There is no need, I think, to disturb the rest of the household at this hour. I’ll carry him up to one of the bedrooms if you would send some cloths and warm water, and some wine—for me, if not for him.’
    ‘Certainly, my lord. And there is food prepared when you are ready.’
    Marlbrooke nodded. ‘Is my mother still awaiting me?’
    ‘No, my lord. Lady Elizabeth retired some little time ago. I believe she has not been well today. Mistress Felicity is, I understand, still in the parlour.’
    The Viscount grimaced in recognition of his steward’s bland expression. ‘We will not disturb her!’
    ‘Certainly not, my lord. It will not be necessary.’ Verzons bowed his understanding and vanished into the shadowy fastness of the house.
    Groaning at the strain on his tired muscles, the Viscount bent and lifted the youth, climbed steadily up the main staircase and shouldered his way into the first unoccupied bedroom on the first floor. The lad might not beheavy, but the events of the night were beginning to take their toll. The room was cold and barely furnished, not from neglect rather than simply long unoccupancy, but the bed had fresh linen and newly laundered curtains and a fire had been thoughtfully laid in the hearth. The panelled walls had been recently polished, as had the floor. There was a pleasant pervading scent of beeswax and herbs. As he thankfully deposited his burden on the bed, a servant arrived with candles.
    ‘Robert!’ Marlbrooke smiled his thanks. ‘Perhaps you would light the fire. Even the mice could die of cold in here.’
    ‘Yes, my lord.’ Robert grinned as he knelt to comply. ‘Master Verzons asked if he should send up food?’
    ‘No. Not yet. Let’s see how much damage the lad has done to himself.’
    He took a candle and placed it by the bed as he freed the youth from his enveloping cloak. He had been correct in his first assessment. He was indeed young with a light frame and slender build. His face was ashen, waxy in texture, which roused Marlbrooke’s immediate fears, but his fingers were able to detect a faint but steady pulse beneath his jawline. The short dark hair was matted with blood from a deep gash to the skull. Marlbrooke investigated with gentle fingers. It had bled copiously, as did all head wounds, but was now beginning to clot. A deep bruise was developing on the forehead and temple where the stony surface of the road had made hard contact andremoved a layer of skin in a deep graze. The collar and sleeve of his jacket, as well as the sleeveless jerkin worn over it, were soaked with blood, but hopefully from the head wound only. He appeared to be otherwise unharmed, but the shallow breathing worried Marlbrooke—a blow to the head from a horse’s hoof could be fatal, but there was nothing to be done in the short term but clean the wound and wait for time and nature to take its course.
    But who was he? His clothes were of good quality, if plain and serviceable. Most likely from a local gentry family—of Puritan inclination, since there was none of the lace and ribbons adopted by Royalists. The jacket