Love's Misadventure (The Mason Siblings Series Book 1) (34 page)

“Yer little miss is gonna meet ’er maker,” he sneered in his gravelly voice.

Lane looked again at the cabin, his heart in his throat as the flames licked at the dry wood, spreading rapidly.

Bloody hell!
He hadn’t much time.

* * *

Anna cried out as the wood covering the window splintered in her already cut fingers. She shook her hands and darted her gaze about the dark cabin for something to use as leverage.

She gasped, then coughed; the cabin was filling with smoke. Someone had lit it on fire!

As quickly as she could, Anna rushed to the small table and knocked it to its side. She felt her way to the legs of the table, then straightened her back. Lifting one foot into the air, Anna stomped her foot against the table’s leg with as much strength as she could muster.

Naught happened but a small
crack
. Anna breathed deeply and stomped again, releasing a very unladylike grunt as she did so.

Crack!
The leg split from the table’s top, and Anna eagerly scooped it up. She spun, wobbling on her unsteady legs as she strode to the window. She wedged the narrow end of the leg between the wooden board and the window’s frame and pulled.

Her hands stung, and her body quavered and ached. She gasped for breath, very much afraid that she would not be able to free herself.

A hoarse cry of anguish resounded beyond the door to the cabin, and Anna’s heart stalled.

Terror gripped her, and she pulled harder on the table leg. She put the whole weight of her body behind it. She suddenly was possessed of a strength that she did not know she had, and the nail popped easily from the window’s frame, the board falling to swing loosely from the other nail.

Without forethought, Anna averted her face and smashed the window with the table’s leg, knocking away the shards of glass around its edge.

The opened window seemed to encourage the fire; an inferno of angry flames climbed up the walls and to the roof.

* * *

Lane watched in horror as the fire engulfed the cabin.

In the face of the red-haired man’s wicked laughter and punishing blows, Lane miraculously garnered his strength and lowered his hand to his boot. He scarcely took notice of the fists connecting with his flesh and bone, as his fingers reached the hilt of his blade. He slid it up his palm to grasp it firmly.

Lane waited until the wretch’s hand was raised, ready to deliver another excruciating punch, when Lane plunged his dagger into the bugger’s ribs.

With a cry of agony, the red-haired man fell to the ground, clutching his wound.

Lane’s heart fluttered with renewed anxiety as Charles appeared before him, his hand extended. Lane accepted and stood, glancing back at the sputtering form of Frenchie, who lay on the ground with Charles’ sword protruding from his stomach.

Despite the considerable amount of pain Lane was in, he forced his legs into a run. “
Anna!
”

Charles kept pace beside him, looking as frantic as Lane felt.

They reached the blazing cabin, and Lane stopped to look at the weakened door. “Help me get my coat off.” Lane struggled with his left shoulder and his numerous other injuries, but with Charles’ assistance, he removed his coat and draped it over his head. “I’m going in!” he called over the din of lapping flames.

He took two steps forward, when a loud
creak
and
groan
made him hesitate. He pulled his coat from his head in time to see the roof of the cabin collapse.

“
No!
” He leapt forward, but a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind, pulling him back. “Let me go!
Anna! Anna!
” His heart felt torn from his chest.

“I will not allow you to enter,” Charles shouted in his ear. “It has to be
me
. You are injured and not fit to retrieve her.”

A tear slid down his cheek, and Lane realized that he was crying. He would be embarrassed, but at the moment he did not care. “Nothing will stop me!”

“What about me?”

Lane and Charles both turned to see Anna round the corner of the blazing cabin, the flickering orange light illuminating her dusty cheeks, fallen coiffure, and blood-streaked dress and hands. She looked affright, but his heart leapt to see her standing.

“Anna!” Lane pushed past the pain searing through his body as he ran to her, pulling her into a tight embrace. “I am so glad that you are well.” He pulled back slightly to look down at her face through his tear-filled eyes. “You
are
well, aren’t you?”

“I am sporting many cuts and bruises, and I am positively parched and famished, but otherwise I am unharmed.”

Lane held her lightly, his soul-deep desire to envelop her in a crushing embrace notwithstanding, and leaned down for a short kiss.

“I will never leave your side again,” he murmured in her ear. “I love you so very much, Annabel.”

She leaned up and kissed him back. “I love you, too, Lane. Now, shall we return home?”

Charles appeared beside them, glowering. “I am pleased that you are well, Annabel.” He glanced between the two of them. “But I am still unsure how I feel about the two of you.”

Anna withdrew from Lane’s embrace and stepped before Charles. “I am pleased that you are well, also, Charles. But I am afraid that there is nothing you could do that would separate Lane and me.” She paused while a fit of coughing overtook her, the force of them causing her to stagger. “You will find that I am rather inflexible on the matter.”

Charles sighed and pulled Anna into his familial embrace. “Very well, little sister.”

“Hyd—Major!”

The three of them spun around as five men entered the clearing. One Lane recognized as Mr. Thomson.

“Pardon me,” Charles muttered as he went to greet them.

“Who are those men?” Lane asked as he weakly led Anna further from the flames of the cabin.

“I haven’t the faintest notion.”

Lane’s vision went blurry, and he was abruptly afraid that he would perish before ensuring that Anna knew how he truly felt. “I meant what I said, Anna. I do not wish to be parted from you again. I—I felt as though my heart had been ripped from my chest when I saw that fire begin, then it nearly failed me when the roof fell in. I could not bear to lose you, my love.”

“Nor I, you.” Her eyes appeared glazed as she cupped his jaw with her hands.

“I truly wish to marry you.” His words had slurred slightly, but Anna did not appear to notice.

She coughed again as she threw her arms around him. Lane grunted through ground teeth at the pain. His vision distorted, and he struggled to catch his footing.

Anna quickly pulled back in concern. “Oh, Lane!” Her gaze travelled over his person then stopped at his shoulder, her eyes growing wide. “You have been shot! We must get you home and summon Dr. Claridge directly.” She turned from him and shouted at Charles, who was directing the other men in taking the half-conscious Frenchie and the red-haired man away. It appeared that he also sent two men to search for where Billy had hidden.

Lane’s eyes rolled in his skull, and he briefly wondered why Anna’s voice sounded so far away. He watched the scene through blurred vision that he tried to blink away.

He felt himself waver before everything went black.

Chapter 41

Charles sat at the desk in his study, attempting to concentrate on the letter before him. He had assumed that after the interrogation and trial, his plight would cease to haunt him, but he was sadly mistaken. He had failed to find Billy in the days since the fire at the hunting cabin. He sorely wished that he had shot the man while he’d had the chance. The red-haired man, whose name they had discovered, was Samuel Aspil, and Frenchie had managed to stay alive long enough for questioning. Aspil, however, had died from his dagger wound shortly after the interrogation, and Frenchie, two days following.

He raked his fingers distractedly through his already dishevelled hair. “Damn, but this is tiresome,” he grumbled to himself.

Anna had been confined to her bed, as ordered by Dr. Claridge. Apparently, more damage had been done to her than Charles had originally assumed. According to the doctor, in addition to her cuts and bruises, Anna had inhaled enough of the smoke for it to be a potential danger to her and, quite possibly, the baby. She also suffered from dehydration and malnourishment during the time that she had been in their clutches. The combination had created a rather serious affliction.

Lane had been in and out of consciousness for four days. Dr. Claridge had been there to see the three of them every day.

Despite having agreed upon a truce with Lane, Charles had disagreed with the notion of Lane remaining as a guest in one of their spare bedchambers. Upon returning from Canterbury, however, Anna had insisted that they be hospitable, and,
damn it
, in her condition, Charles was not inclined to begin an argument. The man was injured, and as much as Charles wished to deny it, it was simpler for the doctor to pay calls on them when they all resided under one roof.

Lane’s words had haunted him since they had recovered Anna. The man was entirely correct in his assertion that Charles had changed into a “damnable bugger” since his return from war roughly seven months ago. He had wished that he would not have to behave in such a way, but…
Damn it
, he would behave in any manner to keep his loved ones safe.

He raked his hand through his hair once more.

To Charles’ everlasting annoyance, Bridget had seen fit to visit Lane in his unconscious state, and to sit in with Anna to share news, exchange gossip, and discuss the newest books at Hatchard’s. Lane’s other sisters, Emaline and Katherine, and his mother, the Dowager Countess of Devon, had also been by to call. Those, however, did not concern him as much as the company of the statuesque, white-blonde-haired, green-eyed beauty, who posed a danger to herself and her family just by visiting.

A soft knock sounded at his door, and Charles looked up, grateful for the distraction from his wayward thoughts.

“Come.”

The door opened, and Dr. Claridge entered.

They exchanged greetings as the doctor closed the door behind him.

“Please, have a seat.” Charles gestured to the armchair opposite his desk and waited while the man lowered himself into it. “How fares my sister?”

The doctor took a deep breath and placed his large black doctoring bag on the floor beside him. “I believe that she is improving. It will likely be a slow recovery, but she has regained her colour, and her appetite is returning. The baby appears to be fine, but we will only be able to tell as her pregnancy progresses. She continues to cough, but I suspect that it is only temporary and no long-lasting ill effects will come of it. The weight she has lost will likely return with the babe, as well. I strongly suggest that she remain in bed for one more week and maintain a full diet to feed that baby. I shall return and inform you of any changes, should they occur.”

Charles nodded. “I see. I am glad.” He cleared his throat. “And has she made any comment or given any indication that would lead you to believe that her abductors…abused her at all?” His stomach knotted as he awaited an answer.

“No.” He shook his head. “She has not made any allusions to suggest anything of the sort. Nor have I seen any evidence to support your assumption.”

Charles let out the breath he’d been holding. “Very good. Now, I wish to inquire after Lord Devon. How is his condition?” He was rather eager to have the man out of his home.

“Lane’s fever has broken, but at this point in his recovery, the only thing we can do is wait.”

“And what of his regaining consciousness? Now that his fever has broken, should he not—”

Dr. Claridge interrupted him with a shake of his head. “The lack of a fever, while fortunate, does not guarantee that he will awaken.”

Charles inclined his head. “Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Dr. Claridge.”

“It is my pleasure to be of assistance.” He stood, picking up his doctoring bag and straightening his coat. “Are
you
well, Major Bradley? You appear fatigued and, dare I say, wan.”

Charles shook his head. “My health is of no concern. I merely require a good night of sleep.”

“It is nearly nine of the clock in the morning, Major; did you not sleep last night?”

He raised a sardonic brow at the doctor, then forced it to clear. “Have no worry for me, doctor. I will sleep.”

“As you wish. But as your physician, however, my recommendation is plenty of rest and full repasts. No skipping meals, Major.”

Charles waved a hand at the man. “Yes, yes. I understand.”

Dr. Claridge gave him a nod and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.

Charles sat back in his chair as he heard the click of the latch.
What the devil am I to do?

* * *

Anna sat up in her bed, enjoying her morning hot chocolate. The last four days had been trying ones, but Anna had begun to feel more the thing. Her coughing fits came less frequently, and they no longer made her become ill.

She did, however, feel constantly concerned over Lane’s wellbeing. She had not been allowed to see or visit with him since Dr. Claridge had confined her to bed. Unbeknownst to them, however, Anna had waited until everyone was asleep before she snuck out of bed and stole into Lane’s bedchamber undetected. She spent several hours with him each night, curled up beside him, shushing him when he became restless.

This morning she had awoken feeling refreshed and pleased. Lane had not felt feverish last night, nor had he shifted agitatedly in the few hours she had spent with him. She had managed to return to her bedchamber before Marie had come to check on her.

Anna took a bite of a lemon teacake, worry still clutching her heart. Would Lane awaken?

A soft knock echoed through her bedchamber, and she looked up. “Come in.”

The door opened, and Bridget strode through.

“Bridget! What a pleasure it is to see you this morning.” Anna smiled up at her.