Jane remained still against George, her eyes squeezed tightly shut until she could breathe normally, her rhythmic and slower pattern of in and out setting itself to the pace of the man breathing below her. Who was too still, too silent.
She rolled off him and peered into his ashen face. “George?”
No response.
“Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no.” Her hands fluttered about his shoulders, his face, then she sank trembling fingers into his hair. Thick, silky, then sticky. She pulled her hands away and held them up. Blood coated her fingertips. “Nooo,” she wailed.
She stood and paced, then crouched next to him again. She placed her ear on his heart. It beat. She knew it did. She’d felt its faint thump against her chest, but anxiety gnawed at her. What should she do? She could not drag him back to the house.
She placed her hands on his shoulders. “George. George. Please wake up. Please be okay.”
A moan.
Her heart leapt. “George!”
Nothing this time.
The longer she left him without help, the worse things could be. “I’m sorry. I must leave you now. But I’ll be back.” She moved to stand and leave him, but something stopped her. Some instinct, deep and unavoidable, rooted her in place, drew her nearer him. His thick brown hair fell back from his forehead, and his high cheekbones cut regal slashes across his face. His nose sported the bump of a break, and his finely chiseled lips were slightly parted. He was a handsome man. Heartbreakingly so. She’d always thought so. Everyoneknewso. But he’d never seemed to care.
She’dnever cared. Much.
She drew even nearer until their breaths mingled in the cold air.
She kissed his lips, warm from his breath—that sweet sign he still lived—then laid the side of her face against the side of his. “I’ll be back. You’ll be all right. I promise.”
She stood and ran. She did not stop until she entered the house. “Someone! Eddy! Come quick! Please! It’s George!” Where were all those suitors when she needed them? She ran back out and toward the stables. She could saddle a horse herself and… what? Throw him over the back of it herself? No. She did not have that kind of strength. But she could enlist the help of one of the stable boys.
“Jane!” Edmund ran after her. “What’s happened?”
She didn’t slow down, not even for him. “It’s George.” She spoke heavy words between heavy breaths. “He’s hurt. In the woods.”
Edmund followed her into the stables. “Thomas, go fetch a doctor.”
They had two horses saddled and galloping toward the tree line before Thomas left.
Jane led him to the spot, feeling the pull of George’s body like a magnet. When she finally saw him, still as a corpse among the brown leaves and tree roots, she swung down from her horse and knelt at his side, laying her ear to his chest once more, fumbling to find a pulse at his wrist. She shot upright. “He’s still alive.”
Edmund knelt beside her. “What the hell happened, Jane?”
Finally, tears bit at her eyes. “I had climbed a tree. For the mistletoe. A branch broke. I lost my balance. Fell.” She flung herself down across George’s body, heaving sobs into his chest. “He caught me. His head!” She traced her fingers over his temples, into his hair, and around to the back of his head again, showing the blood to her brother.
“Move away.”
Jane obeyed, trying to press back the tears, to calm her breathing. She had not killed her brother’s oldest friend. He still breathed. He would survive this stupid calamity.
Edmund hefted George’s body up to a sitting position then hugged him tight and stood, lifting him. “Grab his legs.” Edmund grunted and stepped toward his horse.
Jane once more did as commanded and took some of the weight off her brother’s shoulders.
Edmund staggered toward the horse, Jane following. “He’s deuced heavy.” He nodded at the animal. “We’ll toss him over the back. Wish we had a cart or something. Would likely be better for him. But it’s too cold to leave him out here.”
Together, they managed to get George draped over the back of the horse, his head and arms hanging lifeless on one side, his legs heavy on the other.
“That’s not good.” Edmund stooped and gazed more closely at George’s shoulder. “Think it’s dislocated. Didn’t notice at first.” He clicked his tongue. “Take the other horse and go back to the house. Prepare a room with a blazing fire. When the doctor shows, tell him what happened.”
Jane could not look away from his shoulder. It looked… off. She tore her gaze from it only to find the back of his head. She lifted a hand to her mouth to stifle a cry. So much blood—surely too much blood—dripping from George’s dark locks.
“Jane! Look here.” Edmund’s eyes softened. “He’ll be fine. Go. Now!”
