Never Less Than A Lady | Herophine

Chapter Nine

Hero

The five miles to the next village felt longer. By the time they reached their destination, Josephine ached all over. "We've earned a good night's rest in a proper bed."

"We have indeed."

Hero's face was as weary as hers must be. Thankfully an old stone inn called the King's Arms was on the left. They rode together into the courtyard. Creaking in every joint, Josephine dismounted from her sidesaddle as soon as the gelding halted.

Hero swung from his horse. When he touched ground, his right leg crumpled under him. He swore and grabbed his mount to stay upright.

"Hero!" Josephine threw her reins at the approaching ostler and darted to his side. To her horror, she saw that the right thigh of his buckskins was saturated with blood.

Head bent, he panted, "Just. . .a piece of shrapnel cutting its way loose." And he had been riding with that? Idiot man! To the ostler, she said, "Take care of the horses and bring our luggage in when you can." She drew Hero's arm over her shoulders. "Can you make it into the inn?"

"Give me...a moment." After a dozen harsh breaths, he raised his head. "You're too small to be a crutch."

"I've hauled around other men who were too pig-headed to know when they were injured," she retorted.

Hero gave a ghost of a laugh as he straightened and let go of his saddle. "Your rudeness is refreshing. You're usually so ladylike."

"You have an odd sense of humor." Moving slowly, Josephine helped Hero up the steps into the building. He was limping heavily, and she guessed he was dizzy with pain.

Inside, a capable woman in an apron came out to meet them in the hall. "I'm Mrs. Ferguson, the landlady," she said with a broad Scots accent. Her gaze went to Hero's bloody leg. "Trouble?"

"My husband, Major Tiffin, needs a surgeon," Josephine replied. "Is there one near?"

"In Gretna Green."

Josephine uttered a mental oath. They should have stopped in Gretna. "We need a room, hot water, clean linen, honey, laudanum if you have it, a couple of sharp knives, and a bottle of the strongest spirits in the house."

"That would be the local whiskey." The landlady took some of Hero's weight as she guided them along a passage toward the back of the building. "There's one room empty here on the ground floor. How did your husband injure himself?"

"The French did it for him."

"Ouch, the poor man. My youngest is with a Highland regiment." Mrs. Ferguson released Hero and moved forward to open the door to a small bedroom with plain whitewashed walls. "Give me a moment to cover the bed."

The landlady pulled two heavy old blankets from a wooden chest and shook them over the coverlet while Josephine peeled off Hero's coat. He more or less collapsed onto the bed. His black hair was damp with sweat.

"I'll be off for your supplies, Mrs. Tiffin."

"Thank you." Josephine pulled off her cloak and bonnet and tossed them over the back of the chair that stood near the bed. Technically she had also been Mrs. Tiffin when she was married, but she'd always been called Lady Xander. She liked being Mrs. Tiffin a good deal better.

"Your invisibility has vanished," Hero said, his eyes closed. "You sound like Lady Josephine Langford."

"Actually, I sounded like Mrs. Thomas, well-trained midwife and defacto physician and surgeon." She pulled off Hero's boots, grateful that they were well broken in instead of fashionably tight.