“Fell?” That would explain the various aches and pains.
“Off your horse.”
His brow furrowed more deeply. “Ifell off ahorse?” He might not be able to recall when he last fell off a horse, but he was certain it wasn’t a common occurrence. He was offended by the very notion.
“Actually your horse slipped on an unexpected patch of very slippery mud and threw you. Don’t you remember?”
He stared at her.Don’t you remember?He started to shake his head, but stilled as the blacksmiths started hammering on his skull again. He tried to sit up, but his head swirled horribly and for a moment he feared he would throw up.
The nausea faded.
“You gave me a terrible fright, I can tell you. There was blood everywhere.” She smiled. “But you’ve come through it now, and you’re looking so much better than you have the past few days.”
“Days?”
She nodded. “The accident happened two days ago.”
Two days?He closed his eyes, willing the thumping on his skull to quiet. Nothing made sense.
“So if you will just tell me your name and your intended destination, or even your home address, I will send a message to your family. They will be very worried about you by now.”
His family?He stared into her heart-shaped face with its sweetly troubled expression. Her eyes were deep golden brown, the color of brandy.
“My horse, was he badly hurt?”
She looked surprised. “No, it scrambled to its feet and trotted off—don’t worry, the boys caught it. But—”
“And he’s all right? Not injured at all?”
“He’s perfectly hale and hearty,” she assured him. “We stabled him at the vicar’s, about a mile from here. We don’t have anything big enough.”
He nodded slowly and closed his eyes.
Maddy straightened the bedclothes, puzzled. He seemed more worried about his horse than he was about his relatives who would be worrying. Maybe he had no relatives? Maybe he was an orphan like herself and the children.
Or perhaps he didn’t want her to know his name. He might be a wanted man. He didn’t look like one, though.
“The vicar doesn’t mind—he’s the kindest man. And the boys are horse mad, so it’s a treat for them, really. They’d look after it even if it wasn’t their responsibility. They tell me it’s a beautiful animal. What’s its name?”
“Name?” he repeated blankly.
“Yes, the boys have been wondering. The girls, too, for that matter.” They’d all wondered about the stranger’s name, too, but since he seemed reluctant to trust her with that . . .
“Girls, too,” he repeated, bemused. “How many?”
“Three girls, and Lucy is only four, but she does like to name animals. They all do. It’s a nuisance because it makes it very difficult to kill any of the chickens even if they don’t lay anything, because you cannot sit down to a fricassee of Mabel or a meal of roast Dorothy, can you?”
She was talking too much, running on about nothing, but his silence was unsettling. That, and his frown and the way he was staring at her with those blue, blue eyes.
And the thought of what had passed between them earlier.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked him. “Are you thirsty? Hungry?”
“A jar?”
She brought it.
“Is he awake?” John glanced at the bed as he set down a pail of cool well water. His shadow, Henry, followed him in.
