Stand and Deliver Your Love Read Free

dread as they plummeted to the cobblestones.
    “Crash.”
    Byron jolted awake from his habitual nightmare. Somewhere nearby horses neighed in distress. The carriage slowed with a jerk, sliding sideways before he could gather his wits.The driver’s voice carried over the din. “Hold up! Steady there!”
    Byron sat up, bracing himself as the shouts of the driver and footman rang through the air. The n the screech of splintering wood drowned out their cries. The carriage lurched to one side. His valet fell against him. They tumbled to the floor as the carriage tilted onto two wheels. It teetered precariously for a moment before tipping over with a resounding crunch and the tinkling of shattered glass. Byron scrambled to keep from being thrown out of the carriage as it tumbled over and over. Cold mud flowed in from the broken windows and splattered across his face and chest. When he thought he could take the motion no longer, there was a final crunch of broken timber and the carriage flipped onto its roof. It slid to a halt with a sickening thud.
    Byron lay still for a moment trying to discern which way was up in the dim interior. When he regained his orientation he wiped the mud from his face and looked around. The seat cushions were lying on top of him and his valet was nowhere in sight. When he tried to move, a heavy weight across his legs hampered his efforts. Pushing the cushions off, he discovered the valet. He eased out from underneath the twisted tangle of the man’s limbs.
    Despite the lack of light he knew instinctively the man was dead. His head twisted at such an odd angle was a sure sign of a broken neck. He laid his fingers on the man’s throat to be sure but he could not feel a pulse. Kicking the broken door open he crawled out into the rain. As he tried to push himself to his feet with his hands a sharp pain shot through his shoulder. He looked down at his right arm dangling at his side. With a groan he cradled it to his chest and staggered to his feet. Widening his stance he braced against the slick footing and surveyed the scene before him.
    Two of the carriage horses lay unmoving on the ground, their harness twisted around them in tattered pieces. A large tree lay across the road, small flames still licking at the lightning-scarred trunk. He tried to gather his scattered thoughts and wits. Bloody Hell. Has God come to smote us all? A low moan from the other side of the overturned carriage drew his inspection. Making his way through the thick mud to the other side he found the coachman lying pinned from the chest down under the carriage. “Gordon?”
    The man’s eyes opened as Byron knelt beside him. “My lord.”
    “Do not try to talk,” Byron pulled out his damp handkerchief and attemp ted to wipe the man’s bloody face.
    The man sighed and breathed no more. Placing his handkerchief over the man’s face Byron hung his head, letting a moment of grief overtake him. Were there any other survivors? He looked around for the footman but it was difficult to see anything through the steady sheets of rain. A whinny from a nearby stand of trees drew his attention. Lurching to his feet, slipping an d sliding he made his way toward the sound. A flash of lightning gave him a brief daylight glimpse of the horse. Thunder rumbled and Bacchus whinnied again.
    Byron talked low and soft to the frightened animal, “Easy there. Good boy. Whoa.”
    He managed to grab hold of the panicked horse’s bridle, patting and praising the animal unt il it quieted and stood. Running his good hand down the harness he found the buckles to release the horse from his broken carriage shaft. At first his fingers cold and stiff from the rain refused to cooperate. With growing frustration he fumbled with the leather.
    After a few minutes he managed to get the horse free and led him toward the downed tree. The creature snorted and spooked as they came alongside the smoldering trunk. Byron struggled to control the beast with one hand.