The Lord and the Banshee (Read by Candlelight #13) - Gillian St. Kevern Page 0,52

of the oak seared into Thomas’s vision, at the moment it split in half. His ears welled with unbearable pressure, and then he was flung from his feet, glass shattering around him.

Thomas lay where he fell. Water struck his face, but he could not hear the storm. Had the crashing thunder rendered him deaf?

A pressure eased. Julian raised himself onto his knees. He shook glass from his jacket sleeve.

The window. Thomas struggled to sit. Julian had tackled him out of reach of the shattered glass. But where was Pip?

Julian’s expression give way to anguish, his mouth forming a howl that Thomas could not hear. He followed Julian’s gaze to the bough, smashed through the window, and the still figure trapped beneath.

“Pip!” Thomas’s heart squeezed tight. He lurched to his feet.

Rain and wind beat through the window, pushing him back. Thomas grappled with the branches of the fallen tree, struggling to move them. All at once, the tree gave way, Julian adding his strength to Thomas’s. As Thomas watched, Julian flung the bough aside.

Julian’s strength was always unnerving, but this time Thomas didn’t spare it a second thought. He dropped to his knees, grasping Pip’s hand as he scanned his love. Was he—?

Pip lay on his back, his eyes fluttering open. He raised a hand to his face, disclosing a hand sticky with blood. “Thomas?”

Curse the thunder! He could not tell if Pip’s voice was faint, or if his ears were still affected. He squeezed his hand. “I’m here.”

Julian dropped to his knees beside them. “Father!”

“Are you hurt?” The rain thrown into his face made it hard to see.

Pip made as if to get to his feet. With Julian’s help, Thomas supported him away from the window, across the library to where the fire, flaring and dropping as the wind howled, still burned. Pip sank onto the floor beside it. He was pale, his damp hair sticking to his forehead. Numerous small cuts peppered his face where the branches had struck him.

Julian gripped Pip’s jacket, pulling the sleeve away to disclose a mess of blood running down his arm. A shard of glass had struck him, leaving a deep wound.

Thomas cursed. He pulled off his own jacket, rolling up his sleeves. “Julian, the medical chest.”

Julian didn’t respond. Thomas tugged at his arms, snapping his fingers in Julian’s face. That got his attention. “The medical chest.”

Julian looked blankly at him.

Thomas thrust a finger across the room to where the medical chest was set out beside the Hand of Glory. “The chest.”

Understanding flickered in Julian’s eyes. He sprang to his feet.

“Can’t hear,” Pip rasped. “The thunder… Can barely hear myself.”

Thomas grunted. With his more sensitive hearing, the thunder would have dealt Julian a much harder blow. “Try to move as little as possible.” He raised Pip’s injured arm. First order of business: stemming the flow of blood.

Julian set the medicine chest down beside him. Thomas placed Julian’s hands where his had been, so he kept Pip’s arm raised as he searched for bandages. He bound the wound as tightly as he dared. It was an amateurish attempt. Pip needed medical attention.

Where were the servants? Hadn’t they heard the noise—

Thomas snarled. “Confound it! So that is why he wanted them gone.” He’d planned this—the sneaking, crafty bastard. All along this had been his aim!

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“Thomas?” Pip’s voice shook.

He made a determined effort to control himself. “Don’t alarm yourself.” He patted Julian on the arm, and stood.

Julian followed him to his feet.

Cross laid his hands on Julian’s shoulders. “Your father needs medical attention,” he said. “You must fetch Harriet.”

Julian grimaced, patting his ears.

How badly had the thunder affected his hearing? Should this be permanent—

No, Cross told himself. One thing at a time. He mimed a stethoscope, then pointed in the direction of Harriet’s cottage.

Julian’s expression cleared. He looked down at Pip, watching them from his seat on the floor, and his jaw tightened. He nodded, gripping Cross’s hand tightly, and pausing to pat Pip’s shoulder before making his way out of the door.

Cross breathed out. Julian could reach Harriet faster than anyone else. They would not be alone long. His job was now to make sure nothing else happened to Pip before aid reached them.

Pip shivered. “It’s dashed cold, isn’t it?”

His skin was pale, his voice shaking. Shock—or the effect of the loss of blood?

Cross’s jaw clenched. “Let’s do something about that then, shall we?”

There was not much he could do about the broken window. He gave it and the shattered glass a wide berth, dragging