21. Piercing to the Heart of Things

21

PIERCING TO THE HEART OF THINGS

Astonishing, really, how a good bout of fives could invigorate a man. Despite the exaltation bursting through Leo at having reached her at last, not to mention the primal urge to draw her to him and never let go, he possessed the wherewithal to release Susanna when the other man he'd fought with approached. He clapped his palm against the one outstretched before him.

"Thank you," Leo told to the other man. "Your intermeddling was most welcome." No matter that his very being buzzed with the need to toss her over his shoulder, mount Rambler and disappear into the horizon, he maintained enough presence to mind his volume, the words private betwixt the three of them. "In my haste to retrieve her, I failed to consider he might be armed."

A frown beneath the fight-deranged, dark shock of hair and the other man, tall enough to meet Leo's eyes without tilting his head, responded with a flurry of words that whipped silently by."…gone awry… …relieved when I heard…" His expression cleared and he glanced past Leo's shoulder, now including Susanna. "…my surprise when … …told me to watch…warned…"—had he just said beware ?—"…dismayed…"

Whatever the other fellow said now—a Victor Tomball or something similar; he'd caught that much—caused Susanna's fingers to tighten at Leo's waist where she'd taken a position slightly behind him. Worry not , he fair sensed her conveying through her touch upon his side and shoulder. I shall impart all he says later should you not wish to request he slow down.

A heavy sigh gusted from Leo's lungs. Why not tell him? Why maintain secrecy about his hearing—lack of—here? Now?

Because you will never see him again. Why disconvenience the good fellow? 'Twill be a waste of time and breath…

Another gust, this one a bit easier, as he continued to watch the man's mouth—and eyes, not wanting to appear overly focused on another male's lips without reason—and Leo allowed his mind to fill with plans for the next few hours as Susanna and Victor Tomball spoke a handful of sentences more. Her gestures grew more animated and she had moved from her position behind him to stand more in front as they conversed, though keeping hold of his arm. Almost as though she sought to shield him. The notion tickled. Comforted.

How fantastical, that he had caught up with them.

Do you not mean that you just met her?

Pfft . What was time when one found the mate to their heart's longings?

At the first lull between them, knowing she was safe, he pulled gently from her grasp and stepped to the side, telling them both, "I will be but a moment."

He indicated the area surrounding the coach, where the other inside passenger—the swapping, bacon-fed gent—had come to ground, gesticulating wildly, likely berating the driver for the wrangle that caused further delayment.

Also compassing about, the half dozen or so jaunters from up top had jumped down, offering either encouragement or hindrance, he knew not which and cared even less when he spied Nelson Rambler grazing on downtrodden dry grasses near the ditch edging the road. 'Twas past time he found her some water and rest. "I would see to my horse, ensure she came to no harm. Thank you again, good sir."

At Susanna's understanding nod, Leo took his leave of Tomball and headed toward the stage, roaming his gaze over the road and clearing beyond the big tree where they'd all come to such a bounding stop. Forty feet distant, he spied his gloves where he'd discarded them. But the wretch was no longer in sight.

Where had Haggard and Bowyer's man gone? Had he been the only one? Or had others accompanied the weasel? Pity Leo hadn't realized she'd be in peril, else he'd have retrieved his case-knife from his haversack and been prepared to fell the fellow with one throw, not simply slow him down.

And where the devil was his penknife? He'd seen the other man yank the blade from his shoulder with a howl of rage and drop it on the ground just prior to the coachman's whip entering the fray.

Aiming for the pair—coachman and plump, irate passenger—Leo took a crankling, circulary path while, for the first time since racing off in frantic pursuit hours earlier, he allowed his mind to unclench, to drift, following the direction of his gaze…

The soothing rustle of enduring leaves dancing overhead, casting peekaboo glimpses of sunlit slivers to kiss the ground.

The snort and stomp of frustrated, impatient horses, ready to be quit of the lingering that marred their day.

The excited, relieved chatter of Susanna as she engaged with the other passenger, the helpful Tomball Leo would forever feel indebted to, and gladly.

He glanced up and around as he paused—and bit back a flicker of amusement, seeing how many now converged on the driver…

The shouts of crabbed passengers protesting the loss of time—or mayhap the presence of the evil rip he and Tomball had rattled off.

After "hearing" it all, being soothed anew at Susanna's proximity, he focused on the ground, a few more steps and?—

There! A sudden spark seen and gone in the whirr of leaves, and after a few paces, Leo bent to retrieve his penknife?—

A boulder hurtled into him. Knocked him off his feet.

The hard ground collided against his knees and confronted his chin as fire erupted along his shoulder.

His upper arm screamed.

A roar of outrage—his own—and he flung his wounded arm back in an arc. His strong legs and feet gaining momentum as he twisted, slammed to his back, thumping the bastard into the dirt unseen.

But seen was the wicked blade heading downward. Aiming for another slice of his flesh.

Years of fighting, of sparring, of wielding his own knives, not to mention years of command and thinking through pain, had sharpened his ability to react.

His hands seized the wrist before the edge could carve into him again.

He rolled, taking the arm and the swine it was attached to beneath him. Thrusting up with a bellow, Leo smashed the hand against the ground until the chive slid free. One of his hands jailed the whoreson's wrist to the earth; the other slid to the miscreant's throat.

The pitted, red face struggling beneath his confining grip tried to gather saliva and spit at him. Leo firmed the shackle to his throat, subduing the heaving, bucking body beneath his bigger one with more ease than care.

"Bastard." He had no idea whether he yelled or murmured. "You don't go treating women that way." Both hands tightened around their fleshly prisoners. "And you made me lose my penknife again, by damn."

Fraught minutes later, Leo had a protesting Susanna atop Rambler, both her legs to the left, where he could not stop touching her limbs, heedless of how inappropriate.

As soon as he'd guided them a sufficient distance to put them out of sight of the others, he slowed his furious stride to glance upward and study her mouth. "You are injured…to ride."

"Stop your gruntling, sweetheart, lest you splinter a tooth. I am a hearty sailor, used to hours upon my feet. A walk of a few miles is not worth a single fret."

They traveled back the way they'd both come but without haste this time, the leisurely pace allowing not only Rambler to rest, but also granting for stolen touches and cherished words to be exchanged during the next few miles.

His little rescued, reckless female was determined to walk beside him; he was determined she not. One less thing for him to worry over, if he knew exactly where she was, given how a good portion of his attention was now to the sides and behind them, not only in front after that humiliating attack that had caught him unawares.

His preference something Leo had accomplished using his greater strength, simply picking her up and placing her where he wanted her, secure upon Rambler's back. "Nay, lass, I have other plans for you tonight," he told her the next time she protested, squiggling against his light hold as though about to slide down. He allowed the desire to heat both his voice and eyes. "Conserve your strength, hmm?"

That garnered her cooperation—for the most part.

"Let us put some distance between ourselves and that lot behind us. Arrive well ahead of darkness and hire a room before they are all let."

A slight nod from her and he exhaled in sheer relief. In amazement. At everything, as the events of the last twenty or so hours settled around him, stinging and soothing at turns.

He couldn't help but smile at himself as well. His own misunderstanding, one she had quickly put to rights after "Tomball" and the coachman had bound Leo's prisoner, and even now took pains to see the ruffian delivered to the nearest watch-house until the justice of the peace could be summoned. It felt good to have his hands washed of the miscreant.

Not Victor Tomball , he'd learned from her, with a bit of abashment, but Mr. Trumbull, a vicar—what a surprise, that: that a man of God proved so able with his fives, definitely a praise-worthy ally to have on one's side for a bruising.

"Nay, stay put." He patted the top of her thigh, spoke when he felt it tense again—in preparation of jumping down, he feared. "Any groan or laugh you might have heard was not due to pain nor amusement over your restrictive plight upon Rambler, I assure you." More amazement, as the chuckles continued to burst from his chest. Mirth that had been missing in his life ever since the accident. "'Tis rather, only a release of my own tensity. I grant, I am feeling more well-starred than I can remember."

Was another ever as fortunate as he?

A slight jostle of her ankle drew his gaze upward.

"…your arm…" Another frown aimed at his shoulder.

"Please, lass. I know you would see again to my wound, but what you did will work till we get to the inn. I shall let you have another tending-to there."

The layers of his coat and shirt had done little to dim the penetration of the honed edge. But even so, he'd seen enough cuts in his time to know this one wasn't anywhere near as deep as it could have been, the worst of it slicing into the muscle of his upper arm. Hurt like the blazes, but 'twas manageable. A good cleaning as soon as they hired a room, needle and thread—or mayhap only a snug enough wrap—and he'd be well enough.

The blood now? Not horridly copious, but enough to soak his shirtsleeve. To see his reckless lady turn as responsible as any cherisher…

He chuckled. For even now, he wore his sock, turned outside-in, the one she'd absconded with, snubbed against the wound and held in place by her shift, ripped and tied about his arm, his shoulder, and his torso to the point he felt like a trussed hog bound for the spit.

"It hasn't bled through your more-than-adequate efforts thus far." He attempted to soothe her jagged edges. "I daresay we can make the inn without me bleeding to my grave."

One of her booted feet kicked out, toes prodding his hand—as her eyes flashed at him. He grinned anew. "I know. No jesting about my grave. You're determined to keep me hale and hearty into my dotage. And for that, I thank you."

They covered another mile in pleasant accord, the only others seen upon the road a hugesome family in a pair-drawn conveyance, noiselessly singing-arguing-chattering without restraint as they clattered past unheard.

Minutes passed and all remained as it should; no surprise attacks nor unexpected, threatening travelers—from any direction.

Yet for him, the unspoken words battering about his brain kept the everlasting silence from being anywhere near soothing.

The shift and creak of her slight weight atop Rambler's saddle (easily imagined).

The steady tit-tat , clomp-clump of the horse's hooves striking the earth (comforting sounds associated with the light puffs of dirt, even the light squishes of mud the further south they traveled).

The un-comforting gulp he made swallowing trepidation as he readied himself to speak from the heart (this one felt, not imagined).

"While I have you at a bit of a disadvantage," he began, his feet—and his horse's legs following—taking markedly longer, swifter strides, as though he sought to move beyond the nerves wanting to catch up with him now. "Alongside and at my whim, as it were, I need to take advantage . Listen and listen well, if you please.

"And when I am finished, 'twill be my turn to listen , aye?"

An upward glimpse revealed her slow, thoughtful nod; eyes beneath the bonnet's brim were curious, lips closed.

"Susanna, in the time since you boarded the stage?—"

Do not be an idiot. Nor a coward. Halt the horse and face her.

His mouth practically still open, mid-thought, he did, indicated with a click of his tongue and a swing of one arm that Rambler should ease off the road, the very deserted road he could not help but be grateful for. He followed, stopped, and looked at her directly.

"Since you rushed off from the Pig, I have had plenty of time to think. To regret. I apologize for reading your letters without your express permission. But I cannot say I am sorry I did so. For upon evaluating your response, I have come to conclude that mayhap you misinterpreted my own.

" If you thought I harbored any ill regard toward you, you were misgrounded.

"If you thought, perhaps, that I wanted to do harm, Susanna, that I wanted to eliminate certain individuals off the face of the earth, you would have been accurate. Do you know what a horrible wretch I felt, seething with those emotions while holding you against me? While you slept so peacefully within my arms? 'Twas all I could do to control the urge to lock you in the carriage and rail off, to rip asunder every man who ever touched you without your invitation. Starting with the dead slag you wed."

Breath came hard at the end of that, face reddened, he knew, likely appearing to her exactly as he had that morning. This time, not hiding from her, facing her fully, honest in his ire.

Leo stunned Susanna's rampageous thoughts to a halt with that lengthy revelation. For whose mind would not be awhirl at all that had occurred?

From his fierce and instant rescue upon reaching the stage, to the two separate bustles with the rat-faced, chive-armored threat, to the instant rapport full of ease and humor, and sensual awareness thrumming between the two of them… Despite her continued protests.

Leo was the one injured; did he not need to ride? A query he'd met with adamant refusal and a bark of disbelief that would have done Reaver proud. "After that impact of hard earth to my knees? Nay, lass, I shall walk out the aches and give my well-deserving mare a rest. Your weight? Pah. Will be as though she transports a feather."

Pah indeed.

So now both her legs were on the near side, as she perched upon a saddle intended for riding astride and marveled how Rambler did not require any sort of lead or direction at all to stay abreast of her master. The horse slowed when he did, sped when he moved faster.

Susanna? Struggled to take in so much at once…

His fierce mien of that morning, his anger, had not been directed at her?

Granted, she had begun to consider it might be so, but to have it confirmed? And with such decisiveness?

'Twas like springtime hailed forth, blew aside winter's pall and burst upon her soul with all the light and echoes of love she'd lived without these past years.

"And my baby?" she asked, motioning to the air around her belly, shaping where he'd grown within her. "My precious Philip." It wasn't difficult to speak slowly; it was, though, a chore to keep the tears from her eyes, the wrench of guilt from trembling her lips. "Born from violence, conceived under the shroud of uncertainty?"

Something in her expression or the air—or mayhap her soul—reached him and Leo took the stride that separated them, placed both hands on her, his uninjured one at her ankle, his wounded arm—with only the slightest of twinges tightening his countenance—to her hip. His arms braced around her and exerted pressure in a hug, he laid his head along her thigh, the heat and heft of it doing strange, if welcome, things to her middle. Had they been on a picnic, his head would have been in her lap…

"Please, love, banish whatever shadows might still war within your heart, whatever their cause or source." He lifted his head and found her gaze beneath the bedraggled bonnet that shaded her eyes. The tone and volume of his voice lowered. "You think I do not have regrets for some of my actions these last years? Decisions made in the blare of battle? Decisions made to aid one, that might have destroyed another?"

As though both reliving the past and choosing to release it, he stood tall, his voice gaining strength. "We all do what our heart or head tells us is best—at that particular instant—and then must adapt. Whether with celebration or consolation, for life does not always adhere to our plans. As to plans…"

His stern manner relaxed, his beautiful lips quirking in a semblance of a smile, as he took in her mud-stained dress beneath the coat he had once again insisted she wear. "Really, I need to see you outfitted properly, before escorting you to Oliver's—lest I want to end up in yet another unplanned bout of fisticuffs."

The thought of that—Leo wrangling with her brother (and over her!)—brought a true laugh to her lips.

Bracing one hand upon his chest, she stretched to stroke her fingers beneath his chin. "He will know something is amiss, regardless. For you are bruised here." Then she touched his jaw and cheek. "Swelling here as well. Let me see your hands? I'm sure your knuckles have fared no better."

He ignored her request, instead grinned at her, flashed his strong teeth. "At least none of these beautiful grinders cracked."

"Well, if you can jest about it, then you're more intact than you look. Although, anyone we meet is sure to inquire about the hedgehog perched upon your shoulder." Where she'd bandaged the bleeding cut, to her partial satisfaction, but now the wadded fabric surrounding the bunched sock gave him quite the noticeable lump.

"No matter." He frowned at the protrusion drawing his shirt tight against the underside of his arm. The dried blood stiffening the fabric only increased the discomfort. "Hedgehog, eh? I shall retrieve my coat when we near our destination."

No sense alarming those we chance across.

Leo clicked to Rambler and got them both back on the road. "The inn, which we will not make by nightfall if we stay here conversing ," he stressed, hoping his voice conveyed his desire to do so, "with me staring at your mouth. So, reluctantly, my attention is back to that covering distance.

"Fortunate for me, though, you can still listen." As he had noticed he did with Reaver, without intent he touched her. His hand settling itself upon the back of Susanna's boot-clad ankle, so he felt the tiny angle in it as she indicated assent.

Taking his eyes off the road ahead, he swept them to either side and behind, confirming — they continued to be the only ones in sight.

"Unless you have reason to protest, this is how I foresee things happening, and aye, I might be acting the controlling cull here, so I trust you will inform me should you disagree with anything I spout." An upward glance, toward her chin, echoed the tiny "nod" he felt from her foot.

" After we see our mired selves cleaned and secure a blessed night's rest, I will escort you to your brother's property, keeping myself out of sight while waiting for you to gain entrance. Not until I know you have met up with safety will I move off.

"I shall wait a day or two and then arrive with sufficient pomp at the Oliver household, as I was invited." He saw her gasp at that, felt the stiffness of surprise in her limb and didn't try to stifle his smile.

"Aye, that is correct. Your brother sent me an entreaty to spend the holidays with his family this year. I will join you there through Twelfth Night, and it will be everything I can do to woo you under his nose without alerting him to how very much I crave every part of you. That is how we shall salvage any potential taint to your reputation." Leo felt rather satisfied with himself for devising that plan, though the day or two away from her already loomed like a kick to his gut. "Speaking of, my dear Lady Reckless, were you seeking ruination gadding about England without a lady's maid?" Against his light, resting grip, her foot about spun off.

"Nay? Hmmm. All right."

'Twas all he could do to maintain his head and not guffaw till his cheeks hurt at the stinging look she glared his direction.

During their lengthy flirt of the night prior, he'd inquired the same, only to learn she had no personal servants nor the inclination (nor patience) to wait for her sister-in-law's escort, something he'd laughingly chided her over and then, with his lips upon her skin, had expressed his gratitude for, owing that—had she traveled with another—none of their interactions would have occurred.

The sharp kick of her foot—toward air, not him, but very distinct nevertheless—made it even more difficult to subdue his mirth. "Regardless"—he tried to firm both his lips and the dance of his heart—"back to wooing you surreptitiously… When you are ready"—as soon as he could convince her, in fact—"I would love to claim you as my own, and take you to my home, where you shall meet my mother, my sisters, and their spouses and children. Where I hope you will live with me and be mine, and me yours—ah, I yours? I am not certain which is the proper grammar, but?—"

And evidently she cared naught if his phrasing was of the highest order, because rather than kick out or angle her foot, she slid straight past his light hold, boots whispering to the ground as she embraced him on the way down. Her arms clung to his waist and she pressed an array of (he surmised) delighted kisses against his chest and neck and jaw—and his lips as soon as he lowered them.

Some minutes later, she managed to pull herself free. "But, Leo…tell them? They are going to wonder…" She ran her thumb over the growing bruises upon his face.

He just grinned. Grinned big.

Rather out of character, man.

Aye, and it feels grand.

"That, my love, should not pose a problem. Your brother knows me well. I shall simply tell him the truth: A bit of reckless living, and trouble found me yet again."