He wedged his foot between the spokes of the mangled wheel lying crushed under the weight of the carriage and vaulted up before dropping down inside.
“Is she alright? Tell me she’s alive! Tell me all is well.”
“At least give me a minute to look,” he shouted with some frustration.
Alexander placed his fingers to the woman’s neck. “She’s alive.” Although her pulse was weak and she had yet to regain consciousness. He ignored the blood, the sight causing a pang deep in his belly. Rolling the woman into his arms, he stood and lifted her closer to his chest, shuffling her up over his shoulder so he could use his hands to climb out.
It was not an easy task.
“You’re going to drop her.”
“I am not going to drop her. If you’re so worried why don’t you put the lantern down and help me, damn it.”
“There’s no need to curse and shout. I am only …”
Her attention was drawn away, and he followed her gaze to the cart clattering into view further along the road.
Without a word, she ran forward and held the lantern high in the air. “Stop, please we need your help.”
There were two men in the cart, one being the innkeeper, Fred Harlow, and the other he assumed was their coachman.
The cart stopped directly in front of them, and the men jumped out.
“I’m sorry, miss, for going off and leaving her,” the other man said. “I took the horses and went to get help.”
Fred Harlow came up to the carriage. “Do you need help, my lord?” he said, failing to hide his surprise.
“If you could take her arms, I think that would be best. We’ll lie her down in your cart so we can treat the wound to her head.”
“As you say, my lord.”
The men carried the old woman to the cart and used a stuffed sack as a pillow while Alexander examined the cut. “It will need a few stitches before you can take her anywhere. Hopefully, after a few days’ rest, she’ll be up on her feet.” When no one volunteered for the task, he turned to the lady. “What’s your name?”
“My name?”
“I assume you have one.”
“It’s … it’s Miss Bromwell.”
“Miss Bromwell, you will climb into the cart and hold your aunt’s hand while I stitch her head. If she wakes and is startled, I fear I’ll do more damage.”
“Do you even know what to do?” she said as she climbed up opposite him. “Have you done this sort of thing before?”
“Would I attempt it if I didn’t?”
She sighed when she looked at the old woman, took the ghostly pale hand and brought it to her lips. “Don’t leave me, Aunt Bea. Don’t leave me here alone.”
Alexander swallowed. The overpowering scent of blood made it more difficult for him to concentrate and the odd feeling in the pit of his stomach sent his thoughts into disarray.
“Just hold her still while I sew.” The quicker he got on with it, the quicker he’d be rid of them.
Miss Bromwell ignored his harsh tone and sat through the whole procedure without looking away once. She continued to stroke the woman’s hand and whisper endearments while he covered the wound with a bandage.
Alexander glanced down at the innkeeper. “There, all done. Take it steady on the way back and you’ll need two to lift her into bed.”
Fred Harlow shook his head. “There’s no room at the inn for them tonight. What with the cockfight in Brier’s field and the road closed near Setley, we’re having to put ‘em up in the barn.”
Alexander jumped down and pulled the man to one side. “I’m sure you will find somewhere suitable. I shall make it worth your while.”