The Countess by Catherine Coulter

yourself now. You did very well. You saved all of us. No, don’t relieve yourself

on me in your excitement. Good boy.”

John carried George over to me. He came down on his knees beside me. “Are you

all right, love?”

I slowly nodded. I had no words. We were surrounded by carnage. The smell of

blood was thick in the air. I heard my father groan. “I’m all right,” I finally

managed to whisper.

He kissed me quickly, lightly, on the mouth, patted my cheek, and rose. “Let me

bind up your father’s shoulder. We need to get to the Manor and have Dr. Boulder

fetched as soon as possible. I must also free Boynton from that shed.” He paused

and said over his shoulder, “I am very proud of you, Andy. You are brave.

However, I don’t think it’s possible that you can love me more than I love you.”

My father moaned again.

John immediately sat down and began to bind the wound tightly. “Don’t worry,” he

said, not looking up. “I was a soldier for six years. I have had a lot of

practice doing this.”

I rose slowly, and picked up the other gun. There was only one bullet left. It

was enough, I thought. Neither of these two men cared what had happened to their

master, only Flynt, and he didn’t care about anything now.

I took a deep breath. All of us were alive. I heard another groan of pain. No

matter what my father had done, I didn’t want him to die.

I prayed in those moments, prayed that he would survive, prayed with all my

heart.

My father did survive.

He now lay between a drugged sleep and unconsciousness, Dr. Boulder remaining at

the Manor to take care of him.

Rucker hauled the two men off to the local gaol, and he was none too gentle. I

remember John holding me against him, I remember the touch of his mouth against

my hair. I remember Boynton wringing John’s hand in relief. I remember Thomas

and Amelia holding each other, Amelia crying. I remember everyone, their horror

at what had happened. And I remember eating in the study, by the fire, John

beside me. Then suddenly, without reason really, things just seemed to fade into

nothingness. I tried to open my eyes, tried to speak, but I couldn’t. What was

happening to me?

“It’s just been too much,” I heard John say, and I knew he was carrying me. “She’s

just closed down.”

I knew there were people about, I heard them speaking, very quietly, as one

always speaks when around a person who is ill. Was I sick or something? I didn’t

know. I just knew that I was deep inside myself, and I couldn’t escape it.

I slept and I dreamed.

I dreamed I heard Peter’s voice, dreamed he was holding my hand, lightly running

his fingers over my cheek, telling me to wake up, that it was only four days

until Christmas and it was rude of me not to welcome him. Had I even bought him

a present?

But I couldn’t wake up. I floated on blackness, felt emptiness surround me,

cocoon me.

And there was Miss Crislock holding up my head, telling me to drink, and so I

did, and then I slept so very deeply. Mrs. Redbreast was feeding me, nice warm

chicken broth, and I swallowed it. I heard her say that it was lucky that I

would swallow it, otherwise I would just wither away and that would be the end

of me. I wanted to tell her that I liked it very much, that it slid right to my

stomach, and felt marvelously warm. I wanted to tell her that I didn’t want to

do any withering.

I heard Judith’s voice, and she said good morning to me, in a Virginian accent,

she told me. Her “morning” stretched to a good half minute. Miss Gillbank

laughed, patted my hand, told me to wake up soon, she missed me. I wanted to

tell her that I missed her, too. So many people around me, all of them

whispering, all of them lightly touching me, patting me, and I wanted to open my

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