Had he seen the shot coming, he might have made himself insubstantial, a wraith that the ball could not touch.
But he had been caught off guard when Claudia raised the pistol and fired. He had been completely vulnerable.
And Claudia had known exactly what to use to hurt him.
Iron. Cold Iron, the deadliest weapon man could wield against the Fane.
He crawled into the hollow of the fallen oak, where brown leaves pressed against him in a rustling cocoon. Each movement sent the poison coursing more swiftly through his body. Each breath brought screaming pain.
Claudia had shot him. Claudia knew what he was. Had Eden told her?
He ground his teeth to fight the greater anguish of that possibility. Had Eden warned her aunt what to expect? How had either of them known the way to disable one of his race?
He had no doubt that Claudia meant his death. But had Eden done the same?
No. He refused to accept it. She had rejected him a second time when she’d not returned to the forest, but she would not seek his death. She could not have known what Claudia intended.
But she must have told Claudia what he was. And made her aunt believe.
Hartley closed his eyes and concentrated on drawing air in and out of his burning lungs. That he was not already dead was a mark of his tolerance for exposure to Iron that would cripple another of his kind. He had handled bits, harness buckles, gates, nails, and other iron implements and tools used in everyday mortal life. He had become used to the constant discomfort.
But touching Iron with his hands and having it planted within his body were two different things. And this wound would even kill a human, for whom the metal was no worse than any other.
He did not dare use his magic to close the wound and stop the loss of blood, for the blood kept the metal from concentrating in his body. He knew what the next few days would bring: stillness, silence, enduring endless pain, and fighting every moment for his life. Fighting with all the tricks his Fane body could devise.
And most of that fight would be utterly beyond his control.
He heard the scrabbling of small animals about him, gathering to the silent call of his distress. They could not help him, either. But he took comfort in their nearness and their gentle, hesitant concern.
It was the only comfort he could find. The thoughts circled about in his head, becoming more bitter with every turn. Did Eden know he had been shot? Had she even thought to help him? Had she simply driven on, watching him bleed into the snow?
And Donal—had he seen his mother’s aunt try to kill his father?
No answers came. But amid the haze of his pain, Hartley clutched at the plans forming in his mind: plans of tracking Eden wherever she might run, of finding her, standing before her and forcing her to confess her perfidy.
And of taking Donal from her, away from this tainted earth.
Healing sleep enfolded him: a sleep that would end with his body whole or dead. It was said that no Fane dreamed like mortals, but Hartley did. In his dreams, Eden lay in his arms and repeated the words she had said once, an eternity past: “I love you.”
In his dreams, he believed her.
On the second morning at the inn in Ambleside, Eden forced herself to rise. She ignored Nancy’s protests and asked the maid to help her dress. Each small motion required utmost concentration, but with her abigail’s help she managed to wash and don her half boots and pelisse.
Nancy insisted that she drink at least a few sips of tea, and she did so, though nothing tasted pleasant on her tongue. She was still very ill. Walking had become as much a challenge as climbing the steepest fell.
But she had to get to London. That was where Claudia would send word. Claudia had Donal. She was keeping him safe from Hartley.
She must be keeping him safe.
Eden had dreamed during her first long period of sleep at the inn, the night after their departure from Hartsmere. She had dreamed, not of Donal or Claudia, but of her father as he had been in his youth: bluff and stout, good natured, more a country squire than a belted earl, casually affectionate with her when he did not forget she existed, and always a little surprised at her detestation of the countryside.