I Am A Lady #Wattys2015

Chapter Thirty Eight

It was a long ride. The horse seemed to have tired miles away from its destination and the gallops had become slower and slower. He thought back to the request he had made in the presence of Lord Edwards. It was a foolish thought entirely. To think a wholesome man, as respectable as Lord Edwards would abide by his request. He was titled to an extent but not tilted enough to command and direct. He cursed under his breath, for fifth time.

He thought of his dear grandmother rolling in her grave. If she could hear him now, she would definitely throw a fan at his head and call for a bar of soap to wash his mouth out.

His thigh muscles tensed, the horse felt them too. He dug his heels to its sides to try to urge it to go faster but it was no use. The animal was tired. How it had made it to the Edwards estate was beyond him. It had come at a such a speed. A speed far to fierce for a horse not run enough.

He let his muscles relax as he enjoyed the breeze of a slow gallop.

Just as he was about to ease back and relax he heard hooves. Many hooves. Then voices. Shouting. He turned around to try locate the sounds but he was the only one on the path. He was the only man on the path.

He turned back to face forward and had not braced himself for the oncoming army of horses. They ran into his stallion, knocking it off its balance. Its legs could not hold as more horses charged towards it. Dust was flying in the air. The horse jerked and tried to hold its balance, as it threw its rider to the side. Losing the battle against gravity it hit the ground, unfortunately in time for a hoof to stab into its neck. The stallion struggling to find its rider tried to jeer itself back onto its feet, only to be met with a another round of half a dozen horses. It lost its battle for life.

George lay on the ground, his eyes closed but his body aware. Aware of every pain that burned through him. 'Here is the man,' a thick voice spoke above him. He tried to move but it hurt. He felt cold. His shirt was pasted to his skin by the blood that had now dried. His eyes were sealed shut as was his mouth, as much as he tried to part his lips, his struggles were not reaping him any benefits. He heard a chuckle that came form a much softer voice. The voice of a woman. 'So now what?'

He felt a boot on his stomach. He had no strength, not even for a small breath to escape his lips as the weight of the boot became heavier. 'The boss said to make sure he dies.'

'He's dead,' another voice spoke.

'How do ya know?' This one was more southern. He sounded like he came from a small village. He smelled cigars. Only the gentry smoked cigars.

'I know a dead man when I see one,' she said. The weight of the boot lifted off him, he could finally breath. He made sure not to let his chest rise and fall so openly. He heard a few more muffled sounds before footsteps began heading away from him. There were sounds of tugging and strapping before he heard horses galloping away.

Now he lay alone.

He was awake but not conscious. He was helpless, a certain lady flashed across his mind and he smiled. He let his body drift off to sleep, maybe, a sleep he would never wake from.

The stable hand burst through the door calling for Lady Annabelle. Her father had forbidden her to walk in haste, but the tremors in the boys voice sent her flying from her room. She descended the stairs at a pace so fast it surprised even her. The door to her father's study opened as she reached the bottom. The look of anger on his face first directed at her then to the man who had run into his home screaming. 'It's Sir George,' he said breathlessly. Lady Annabelle felt her heart sink. It sunk so low she found it hard to breath. She held the fabric on her dress around her stomach so tight her knuckles turned white. What she had been afraid of had happened.