hell-for-leather speed in an attempt to catch up to her carriage.
At the end of the drive he turned to go down the lane that led to the main road. Less than a minute later, Louise’s carriage came into view down near the end of the lane, too far for the coachman to hear him if he hollered. Marcus gritted his teeth and urged the horse on, barely registering the minor shifting of his saddle on his horse’s back. A few strides later, the horse abruptly bucked. Marcus’ hands tightened around the reins and his legs squeezed together as he fought to maintain his balance and position on the back of the beast. Still, the horse kept running. Marcus willed his body to relax and loosened his grip on the reins. This horse wasn’t yet broken, he didn’t want to spook the horse again. “Come on, boy,” he crooned. “Just a little further.”
The words barely escaped his lips before the horse reared back on his hind legs with such great speed and force that the reins slipped from Marcus’ hands and he fell to the ground with a painful, rib-cracking, leg shattering thud. Gasping for the air which had just been knocked from his lungs, he tried to pull his right foot free from where it was still stuck in the stirrup. Each second became more painful than the last as the horse continued to run, dragging the left side of Marcus’ body over every sharp rock, stick, tree root, and any other debris that littered the lane.
Intense pain and stinging shot through him as his flesh ripped from being dragged over the jagged surface beneath him. He jerked his foot harder, more frantically. He tired again and again to free his boot from the stirrup. It didn’t budge even a fraction of an inch. Without warning, Marcus’ body rolled over on its own accord from the velocity created when the horse changed his direction to follow the bend in the lane, twisting Marcus’ right knee in an unnatural way in the process. Unable to so much as feel his right leg anymore, Marcus was powerless to do anything else in an effort to escape his excruciating torment as the horse continued to run, dragging Marcus’ limp, bloodied body twisting and rolling behind him.
The beast of a poorly trained horse Marcus had been riding only stopped when out of nowhere, a young boy grabbed the reins and pulled the horse to a stop. The abrupt stop jolted Marcus one more painful time before leaving him to rest face down in the middle of the lane. Through the fog of the severe pain and blood loss making him fade in and out of consciousness, he heard Louise’s high-pitched screams and the sound of a young man yelling directives to her coachman. Though he’d never know for certain, he could have sworn Louise went into hysterics about them using her family’s coach to carry his bloodied body back to Ridge Water.
The next months were painful and trying, as the cuts that covered his upper body were tended with brandy and gauze. His leg had to be set and the chances for his survival looked grim as he struggled to recover. Other than his parents, his only company had been that fifteen-year-old boy who’d bravely stopped his horse: Patrick Ramsey, Lord Drakely. As much as Marcus tried to make the lad leave, the sense of responsibility which had been instilled in Patrick from a young age wouldn’t let him leave. Instead, the insolent boy stayed despite Marcus’ nasty behavior toward him and became the greatest friend Marcus would ever have.
By the time Marcus was well enough to attempt walking again, he was well past wanting to hear the name Louise ever again, and nearly throttled Olivia when she’d had the nerve come to see him and sing, “Every little breeze seems to whisper Louise.” And if that wasn’t bad enough, he really did almost throttle her when she took it upon herself to inform him the Duchess of Hampton was expecting.
He wasn’t a fool, he knew who the Duchess of Hampton was. That was the only positive thing surrounding his accident: he hadn’t made the
At the end of the drive he turned to go down the lane that led to the main road. Less than a minute later, Louise’s carriage came into view down near the end of the lane, too far for the coachman to hear him if he hollered. Marcus gritted his teeth and urged the horse on, barely registering the minor shifting of his saddle on his horse’s back. A few strides later, the horse abruptly bucked. Marcus’ hands tightened around the reins and his legs squeezed together as he fought to maintain his balance and position on the back of the beast. Still, the horse kept running. Marcus willed his body to relax and loosened his grip on the reins. This horse wasn’t yet broken, he didn’t want to spook the horse again. “Come on, boy,” he crooned. “Just a little further.”
The words barely escaped his lips before the horse reared back on his hind legs with such great speed and force that the reins slipped from Marcus’ hands and he fell to the ground with a painful, rib-cracking, leg shattering thud. Gasping for the air which had just been knocked from his lungs, he tried to pull his right foot free from where it was still stuck in the stirrup. Each second became more painful than the last as the horse continued to run, dragging the left side of Marcus’ body over every sharp rock, stick, tree root, and any other debris that littered the lane.
Intense pain and stinging shot through him as his flesh ripped from being dragged over the jagged surface beneath him. He jerked his foot harder, more frantically. He tired again and again to free his boot from the stirrup. It didn’t budge even a fraction of an inch. Without warning, Marcus’ body rolled over on its own accord from the velocity created when the horse changed his direction to follow the bend in the lane, twisting Marcus’ right knee in an unnatural way in the process. Unable to so much as feel his right leg anymore, Marcus was powerless to do anything else in an effort to escape his excruciating torment as the horse continued to run, dragging Marcus’ limp, bloodied body twisting and rolling behind him.
The beast of a poorly trained horse Marcus had been riding only stopped when out of nowhere, a young boy grabbed the reins and pulled the horse to a stop. The abrupt stop jolted Marcus one more painful time before leaving him to rest face down in the middle of the lane. Through the fog of the severe pain and blood loss making him fade in and out of consciousness, he heard Louise’s high-pitched screams and the sound of a young man yelling directives to her coachman. Though he’d never know for certain, he could have sworn Louise went into hysterics about them using her family’s coach to carry his bloodied body back to Ridge Water.
The next months were painful and trying, as the cuts that covered his upper body were tended with brandy and gauze. His leg had to be set and the chances for his survival looked grim as he struggled to recover. Other than his parents, his only company had been that fifteen-year-old boy who’d bravely stopped his horse: Patrick Ramsey, Lord Drakely. As much as Marcus tried to make the lad leave, the sense of responsibility which had been instilled in Patrick from a young age wouldn’t let him leave. Instead, the insolent boy stayed despite Marcus’ nasty behavior toward him and became the greatest friend Marcus would ever have.
By the time Marcus was well enough to attempt walking again, he was well past wanting to hear the name Louise ever again, and nearly throttled Olivia when she’d had the nerve come to see him and sing, “Every little breeze seems to whisper Louise.” And if that wasn’t bad enough, he really did almost throttle her when she took it upon herself to inform him the Duchess of Hampton was expecting.
He wasn’t a fool, he knew who the Duchess of Hampton was. That was the only positive thing surrounding his accident: he hadn’t made the
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