he saw it. Blood, livid against her pale skin, running from her temple down her neck. Her dark hair was matted with it, her white apron stained with it, as if she’d used it to try and staunch the flow. Her hands were scraped bloody as well, her palms torn to shreds, and the hem of her gray skirt was ripped.
She was clutching at his shirt, mumbling something about the kitchen garden and footsteps and a locked door, but Gideon hardly heard a word of it. He just kept murmuring to her, his voice low and soothing as he carried her into the castle.
As it happened, Haslemere and his men entered behind him, having finished in the stables. “Darlington, what are you…” Haslemere began, but he trailed off with a curse when he caught sight of Cecilia, limp and bleeding in Gideon’s arms. “Jesus, what happened? Is she—”
“She’ll be all right.” She would be, because Gideon wouldn’t hear of anything else. “But I need to get her upstairs and into bed. Summon Mrs. Briggs for me, will you, Haslemere? Have her find Duncan and Fraser, as well. I want everyone accounted for.”
Haslemere nodded. “Of course.”
“Good man.” Gideon didn’t wait, but turned and hurried up the stairs with Cecilia in his arms. She was shaking like a leaf, her eyes glassy. She didn’t seem to quite understand what was happening, but she let her head fall against his chest with a grateful little sigh.
That sigh went straight to Gideon’s heart. She trusted him. Him, the man half of England feared, and every soul in Edenbridge would swear had killed his wife.
Him, the Murderous Marquess.
She trusted him.
Behind him, he could hear Haslemere speaking to his men. “Search out Darlington’s men, then meet me on the second floor for further instructions. Look sharp, boys. We don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”
“Aye, my lord.” It was Fletcher, Haslemere’s top man. “Ye heard his lordship, lads. Off we go.”
In the end, there was no need for Haslemere to wake Mrs. Briggs. The sound of half a dozen men mounting her staircase was enough to bring her running. She came to an abrupt halt when she saw what was taking place, eyes wide and fingers clutching at the neckline of her robe. “Heavens above, Lord Haslemere. Where did all these men come from? What’s happened?”
“Cecilia’s been injured. I’m not sure of the details, but I believe Lord Darlington would appreciate your presence, Mrs. Briggs.”
“Injured? Oh, my goodness. Yes, of course.” Mrs. Briggs didn’t wait to ask any further questions, but scurried up the stairs, her robe flapping against her ankles.
Amy was pacing and muttering to herself when Gideon returned to Isabella’s bedchamber with Cecilia. When she saw her friend pale and bleeding in Gideon’s arms she gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, no. What’s happened?”
“Something to do with the kitchen garden, footsteps, and a locked door. That’s all I know.” Gideon carried Cecilia across the room and lay her gently in her bed.
“Cold.” Cecilia scrabbled for the blankets, her hands shaking. “So cold.”
Amy made a strangled noise and started toward Cecilia, but she hadn’t gotten a step before Mrs. Briggs swept into the room, instructions already on her lips. “Amy, dear, will you fetch some hot water from the kitchen, and a few rags from the scrap pile, too.”
Amy ran to do Mrs. Briggs’s bidding, but she jerked to a halt when she reached the bedchamber door. Haslemere and his men had joined the party by now, with Duncan and Fraser in tow. The entire castle was gathered outside Isabella’s bedchamber, shuffling their booted feet and whispering among themselves.
Amy fell back with a gasp. “There’s a crowd of men in the hallway!”
“Yes, I know, dear. Those are Lord Haslemere’s men, and I daresay they’re harmless enough. Go on now, there’s a good girl.”
Amy skirted around the men, eyes as big as saucers, and fled down the stairs.
“Now then, Cecilia. No, no, don’t close your eyes, dear. We can’t let you sleep quite yet.” Mrs. Briggs inspected the wound at Cecilia’s temple, prodding gently with her fingers. “It’s quite a gash, my lord. Deep, but not dangerous.”
“Are you certain?” Gideon was hovering over the bed. He’d seen his share of bloody wounds, including a gentleman whose shoulder had been run through with a sword in a duel, but nothing had ever disturbed him as much as the blood smeared across Cecilia’s pale skin.
“There. It’s all right. I’m all done,” Mrs. Briggs soothed when Cecilia