No Choice but Surrender (24 page)

"By all that is holy!"
She gave a quick sob, relieved that she didn't know how to shoot the pistol.
"Orillion!
How did you know to come here?"

"He's been here before," Avenel answered behind her. Having dismounted, he now grasped his wounded leg, wavering on the brink of collapse. "I tied the horses." He talked like a drunkard; his loss of blood already slurred his words.

"Good." She walked over to him. Gently she put her arms about him and helped him into the cottage. She swallowed her revulsion as two large rats eyed her from the windowsill. Noting a straw-covered pallet on one side of the room, she walked Avenel over to it and helped him lie down. With every movement, he groaned, and Brienne couldn't help but feel faint herself in sympathy with his agony.

"Let me get us some light. Then I will bind your leg." Before turning to the dusty fireplace, she went over to the soot-blackened door and shut it. A shiver ran down her spine when she thought of what, or who, might be lurking outside the cottage in the darkness. But she forced herself to ignore her fears. She had to be brave; there was no other choice.

Finding a small stack of wood in one cobwebbed corner, she piled a few logs under the flue. Then, blessedly, a flint was found on the mantel, and soon a cheering fire crackled in the hearth. When that task was completed, she went back to Avenel.

"Let"—she swallowed, seeing the dried blood on the hand Avenel had placed over his wound—"let me know if I hurt you."

"How ironic that
you
should be tending my wounds," he said with a grim smile.

Smiling tremulously in return, Brienne bent down and grasped the hems of her particularly fine batiste petticoats. She tore them into strips to use as bandages. In the soft firelight she slid the knife from Avenel's boot and started cutting the leg of his breeches. It took a painfully long time for her to cut through it, but when he was finally free, she took the strips of cotton and bandaged his wound. The shot had seared the muscular flesh of his thigh. It was an ugly wound, and Avenel moaned several times during her ministrations. With each sound he made, her heart skipped a beat. When she was finished, she dropped her shaking hands and gratefully moved to the hearth, seeking the fire as a balm to her overwrought nerves.

She stirred up the fire with a suck, quickening the flames. Hearing a rustling noise behind her, she nervously looked around and saw that Avenel had slid over to the side of the pallet nearest the wall. He patted the straw beside him, indicating that she should join him. He watched her with an intensity she had never before witnessed. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought it was tenderness.

"There's hardly enough room for you," she whispered. "I might hurt your leg."

"You're small enough, my love. You can do nothing worse than keep me warm." Again, he patted the empty place beside him.

Brienne left the hearth and slowly walked over to him. Feeling awkward and not a little bit reluctant, she lay down beside him, but she quickly found she could not avoid touching his body lest she fall onto the floor. Avenel laid one well-muscled arm around her and forced her to relax against his broad chest. Quickly his breath deepened in slumber, but Brienne found sleep elusive. She attributed this to the hardness of the grass pallet, but deep down she knew the sensual warmth of the hard, masculine body next to hers was what kept her awake.

Christopher!"

Brienne awoke at the cry, abruptly rising from the pallet. Although the fire had died down to red embers, she was drenched in perspiration. Looking down, she found the reason for this. It was Avenel, and he seemed to be burning with fever. "It's all right, please," she whispered to him in the dark. Hoping he was simply having a nightmare, she tried to wake him. But her efforts were to no avail.

"Christopher, my God!" He cried out his brother's name with agonizing clarity. Then his body went rigid upon the pallet, experiencing anew the excruciating pain that gave him such a terrible dream.

"Avenel, Avenel!" Touching his arm, she made a tentative move toward him. But then to her surprise his ice blue gaze met hers squarely. It was dim in the cottage, but nonetheless Brienne could discern the glazed-over appearance of his eyes. It frightened her.

"Who are you?" he demanded in a surprisingly strong voice.

"It is I, Brienne." She brushed his damp black locks from his forehead and frowned at the alarming heat emanating from his skin.

"You are some peasant girl?" He looked at her tattered, dusty skirt and the grass clinging to her bodice. Self-consciously she brushed some of the straw off her garments and then pulled and twisted her hair from her face.

"I'm Brienne, Avenel. Don't you know me?" Her eyes grew wide with concern.

"I know of no woman named Brienne. How is it I know you then, maiden?" He cocked an eyebrow and looked at her intently.

"I am the earl's daughter," she began again, twisting her hands in nervous agitation. "We met at
Osterley
Park
." Hesitating, she whispered, "You do not recall?" She bent down, failing to conceal the worry lines on her forehead.

"You are the earl's daughter?" Avenel laughed madly. "In those rags you have done yourself up in? I hardly think you should be impersonating Lady Venetia when you cannot even dress the part."

"I do not claim to be Lord Culpepper's daughter," she said sharply. Looking down at his feverish visage, she softened. "I am afraid I'm the daughter of the Earl of Laborde."

"You?
The daughter of the Earl of Laborde?
How is it you are so old, then?" He laughed as if she'd made some hilarious jest. Then he tried to sit up against her gentle, restraining arms.

"I am not so old. Perhaps in my disheveled state I give that impression." She pulled him back onto the pallet but found him amazingly strong to grapple with.

"What are you?
Eighteen if you be a day."
He laughed loudly. "Now, how could the earl have an eighteen-year-old daughter?"

"I am nineteen. But please do not concern yourself with these frivolous matters now. You must rest—" She pulled him down again, frightened by his ramblings.

"Frivolous matters?" "'It's all right. Everything will be all right," she said, mostly for her own reassurance; Avenel was raving like a madman.

"You ate a lying, little wench, aren't you?" He sat upright, scaring her so badly that she jumped back.

"No. I only want to help you."

"You care for me, then?" He turned his glassy eyes upon her. "Are you perchance my mistress?"

"No." Her voice caught in her throat, and she made a courageous attempt to get nearer to the pallet. "I am who I said. I'm Brienne."

A crazed half-smile was on his lips. "You are my mistress. We have been familiar with each other." He caught her hand and gently started to pull her on top of him.

"Nay, stop this! You are wounded and ill. This will not do!" She forcibly backed away, wondering how she would handle him in this state if he chose to force himself upon her. He was strong—amazingly strong—despite his present affliction. While he labored his movements, the wild, hot gleam in his eyes would not leave.

"Admit we have been lovers!" he demanded, still gripping her hand. "I know I find you more than desirable. Tell me I haven't let you pass me by."

She looked down at him and saw his expression become mournful. He seemed to want so badly for them to have been lovers that she finally gave in to his wishes, hoping then that he would be satisfied and find his rest.

"You have not passed me by, sir. We have exchanged some—"

"I am your lover then. Say it," he demanded.

She paused and then lied with a pensive frown. "You are my lover."

"Aha!" He shot up, grabbing her with two very powerful hands. "Then you were lying! You are not related to the earl!"

"I am not lying." She swallowed hard and attempted to pry his fingers from her arms, for they were bruising her.

"You're a beautiful, lying piece of baggage! How can we be lovers when you claim to be my daughter? What kind of father would I be?" He lay back on the pallet, triumphant and exhausted, obviously waiting for her confession.

"Your daughter?
I am not your daughter, Avenel. Look at me, at least. I am much too old." Chiding him, she wiped down his brow with an extra piece of her petticoat.

" 'Tis
as I said. You lie." He mumbled this tiredly, and she saw his eyelashes flicker. "You are not the earl's daughter! You are not the earl's daughter, because I am the Earl of Laborde." As soon as the words left his mouth, he fell back into a tormented sleep, leaving her utterly confused.

The next morning when Brienne opened her eyes, several moments passed before she could remember why she was sleeping on a hard pallet in a beggardly abode. With stiff, cold motions she raised herself up on her elbows and saw in the unnatural darkness a man sleeping on the pallet next to her. Then she remembered where she was and what had befallen herself and Avenel. She walked over to the hearth to rebuild the fire. Next, she tentatively opened the oaken door and was delighted to find Orillion sitting on the threshold. He saw her familiar face, and his tail drummed against the door in greeting.

"There you are! I had almost forgotten about you!" She bent down to give him a couple of reassuring strokes on the head. "Let's see how the patient is doing." She stood up, allowing the dog to enter, and then she anxiously walked over to the mean little bed now bathed in the orange glow of sunrise.

How still and pale Avenel was as he lay upon the straw! For a second her heart twisted in her chest, for she thought him dead. But then to her unspeakable relief his lips moved in undecipherable, feverish whispers.

"Avenel?"
She touched his arm.

"Am I dead, then?" His lips parted dryly with the words, and he raised his head. His eyes were still glazed, but the madness in them of the previous night seemed gone.

Brienne gave him a tired little smile and said softly, "On the contrary."

He sighed and rolled his head back onto the pallet. "Good. That's good."

"Are you in much pain?"

He shook his head.

"I don't know how we're going to do it, Avenel. But we have to get back to the Park." Tenderly, she wiped his brow.

"I know. Get the horses." He closed his eyes as if preparing for the ordeal to come.

"I'll be right back."

"Brienne?"
He called to her before she could go.

"Yes?"

"Take the pistol."

"Yes." She clutched the walnut-handled weapon to her breast.
"Of course."

It was late in the day when they arrived back at the Park. Avenel had begun bleeding again halfway through the ride. By the time they reached the edge of Osterley's formal grounds and were spotted by some of the grooms in the stable block, he had nearly fallen unconscious from the loss of blood.

"Take him!" Brienne cried as Cumberland and the two burly Norwegian gatesmen ran up to her from across Osterley's courtyard. They pulled Avenel down from Idle Dice and laid him on the grass.

"
Hans,
get the physician from the township. Tell some of the lads to come here and give us a hand getting him back to the house!" Cumberland called out orders, ignoring Brienne for the time being. Hans took off, and soon an army of young footmen showed up; they took their master into their charge and quickly removed him to the house.

"I didn't know if he would be able to make it." Brienne hugged her grimy green riding jacket to her. Chilled and shaken, she was worn out from the ride. Cumberland, noticing her state, put his arm around her and tried to comfort her. As they walked back to the house, she was able to gather her wits about her somewhat. "I thought you and Rose would still be in London."

"Yes, yes. Well, we had a delightful time. But neither of us felt easy about leaving the Park. In London, we received news that the Earl of Laborde had returned to England. I'm afraid I suspected something like this would occur." After Cumberland spoke, Brienne noticed the deep lines of worry that were etched on his pleasant face.

"Then it was my father." Her whole body seemed to quake with the statement; her fears were confirmed. "Every time I'd see Avenel leave the house, he always carried a pistol. But there was no way he could defend us. We were just attacked. . . ." She couldn't go on. Gratefully, she felt Cumberland's arm tighten around her.

"When you didn't return from your ride, we sent out a search party. I'm glad you were both able to return on your own. Rose and I are not very brave. I'm afraid we feared the worst."

"Perhaps I should have waited at the cottage for help. I don't know if I did the right thing letting Avenel ride." Thinking of the way the footmen had had to carry him off, Brienne suddenly found tears in her eyes. She wiped at her muddied cheeks; her eyes glowed like two sparkling amethysts in her soiled face. She knew she looked terrible, but she didn't care about that now. Seeing Avenel almost unconscious had been more than she could take after all they had been through.

"You did exactly the right thing. Avenel will recover. He's been through worse."

"Worse?" Brienne stifled a sob and looked at Cumberland. She couldn't imagine anything worse than what had happened in the clearing.

"Let's not speak of such things now, my lady. I think it's time you were attended to. I might add that Vivie has been worried sick. We all have been." He hugged her before they mounted Osterley's steps.

"Is there s-something I can do to help Avenel before the physician arrives?" she stuttered once they were inside, not wanting to retire to her room. Although she desperately needed food and a bath, she felt she would go mad if she were forced to wait upstairs for news.

"No, no, my dear.
You've done enough. Rose will take care of him now." Cumberland paused and studied her face. "It seems that you have acquired a fondness for Avenel in the days we've been away."

The statement caught her unawares. But there was little need to argue. She knew her feelings for Avenel must show. Her very heart had fallen, torn and bleeding, with him when they'd pulled Avenel off his horse.

Seeing her stricken face, Cumberland nodded in resignation. He then murmured enigmatically. "I don't know if that is good or bad. But your feelings for him have at least kept him alive."

Before Brienne could question him, Rose met them in the" hall. She ran up to them and placed her gentle arms around Brienne.

"How is he?" Brienne asked her.

"He is in the bedchamber," Rose replied. "I'm waiting for the physician, for I dare not remove the bandages without the doctor's approval. I fear he will bleed further."

"I—I tried to help him. Truly I did." Brienne shivered.

"Avenel owes you his very life. But never fear! He may look bad, but he's as strong as an ox. No doubt it would take more than a flesh wound to put him away. I am sure he will be all right." Rose took Brienne's icy hand. "Come along. I'll take you to your chamber. I think it's time someone took care of you for a change. Cumberland?" Rose turned to her husband.

"I will let you know as soon as the physician arrives." Cumberland looked at both women, and Brienne noticed how old and gaunt he had grown since the wedding. That had been less than a week before, but it seemed as if years had passed since the morning she and Avenel had watched them leave for London.