A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 154 - Hundred And Fifty Four

Delaney did not hesitate. She led them to the slightly less steep side of the embankment, and they carefully slid down the muddy slope together, using the tree trunks for balance.

When they reached the bottom, the sheer scale of the destruction was evident.

"Lord have mercy," Wayne whispered, looking at the shattered wood.

The older farmer immediately went to the driver. The carriage driver was sitting in the mud, holding his left arm tightly against his chest, groaning in pain.

"Let me see, friend," the farmer said gently. He quickly checked the driver’s arm and shoulder. "His collarbone is snapped, and his leg is badly bruised, but he will live. Wayne, help him stand."

Wayne put his strong arm around the driver’s waist, hoisting the injured man carefully to his feet.

Delaney ran straight back to Rowan. She dropped to her knees in the mud beside him. He was still exactly as she had left him, his head resting on floor wrapped with her shawl. His eyes were closed, and his face was terrifyingly still.

"He is over here," Delaney called out, her voice trembling again.

The older farmer walked over and looked down at Rowan. He saw the fine, expensive fabric of Rowan’s dark coat and the shawl soaked with his blood.

"He is a very large man, Miss," the farmer noted seriously. "We cannot carry him up that mud wall in our arms. We will drop him."

"We must use the canvas," Wayne suggested, walking over while the carriage driver leaned against a tree. "If we roll him onto the tarp, we can tie the rope to the corners. I will push from below, and you pull from the road."

"What about the horses?" Delaney asked, looking at the two carriage horses still tangled in the broken leather harnesses. They were shifting nervously, their eyes wide with fear.

"I will handle them," the older farmer said. He pulled a small, sharp knife from his belt. He walked over to the frightened beasts, speaking to them in a low, calming voice. He quickly cut the tangled leather trace straps, freeing the horses from the heavy weight of the ruined carriage. He led them over to a sturdy, low-hanging branch of a nearby elm tree and tied their reins securely.

"They will be safe here until your people can come back for them," the farmer promised.

Then, they began the rescue.

They unfolded the heavy canvas tarp and laid it flat in the mud next to Rowan. Very gently, Delaney supporting his head and the two men lifting his heavy shoulders and legs, they rolled the unconscious Duke onto the canvas.

Wayne tied the thick hemp rope securely to the metal grommets at the top corners of the tarp.

"Go up to the road, Miss," the older farmer instructed Delaney. "You can help me pull the rope."

Delaney scrambled back up the muddy hill. It was easier this time, using the path she had already carved out.

The older farmer climbed up beside her. He wrapped the thick rope around his waist and dug his heavy boots into the dirt. Delaney stood behind him, grabbing the rough rope with her bare, bleeding hands.

Down below, Wayne lifted the bottom edge of the canvas.

"PULL!" Wayne shouted.

The older farmer leaned back, straining his back muscles. Delaney pulled with all her might, ignoring the pain in her palms. Slowly, carefully, the makeshift canvas stretcher began to slide up the muddy slope.

"Keep going! He is heavy!" Wayne grunted from below, pushing Rowan’s weight upward.

They slipped, they struggled, and they stopped to rest twice, but they did not drop him. Finally, the canvas cleared the edge of the ridge. They dragged Rowan safely onto the flat dirt of the main road.

Delaney immediately fell to her knees beside the canvas, breathing heavily. She reached out and touched Rowan’s chest. His heart was still beating a slow, steady rhythm.

Wayne helped the injured carriage driver up the hill next.

"Let us get them into the wagon," the older farmer said, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

The two strong men carefully lifted Rowan and laid him gently in the flat, open bed of the wooden wagon. They helped the carriage driver climb up and sit with his back against the wooden sideboards.

The older farmer turned to Delaney. He took off his flat cap, holding it respectfully in his dirty hands.

"Where are you going to, Miss?" the farmer asked. "The nearest doctor is in the village, about three miles back the way we came."

Delaney shook her head firmly. A village doctor would not have the proper supplies to treat a severe head injury. They needed the safety and resources of a grand estate. They needed the Hamilton doctor.

Delaney replied, her voice clear and commanding despite her ruined appearance.

"The Hamilton estate. We must go to Hamilton House in Mayfair."

The two men froze. They both blinked rapidly.

They looked at each other in sheer confusion, and then they looked back at Delaney. They slowly turned their heads to look at the massive, unconscious man lying in the back of their humble wooden wagon. They looked closely at his ruined, mud-stained clothes, realizing for the first time that the fabric was the finest, most expensive wool available in England.

They realized the injured nobleman lying in their wagon was the Duke of Ford. Duke Rowan Hamilton.

"The Duke?" Thomas gasped, his eyes going as wide as saucers. He quickly snatched his own cap off his head.

"Heaven preserve us," the older farmer whispered, suddenly terrified that he had handled a Peer of the Realm too roughly.

Delaney was surprised by their frozen, fearful look. There was no time to stand around being awed by a title. Rowan was bleeding.

"Do you know the way?" Delaney asked sharply, stepping closer to them.

The older farmer snapped out of his shock. He put his cap back on his head and gave a firm, rapid nod.

"Yes, Miss. I know the main road to the city perfectly," the older farmer said as he got into the driver’s box.

He did not waste another second. He climbed up onto the driver’s bench. Thomas climbed up beside him.

Delaney climbed into the back of the wagon. She did not sit on the wooden bench. She sat directly on the hard, wooden floorboards of the wagon, right beside Rowan.

The farmer clicked his tongue loudly. He snapped the leather reins against the horses’ backs.

The wagon began to move. It was not a smooth ride. The wooden wheels bumped and rattled over the uneven dirt road, shaking the entire wagon.

Delaney knew the shaking was bad for Rowan’s head injury. She quickly shifted her position. She slid closer to him and carefully lifted his heavy head. She laid Rowan gently on her lap, using her own thighs to absorb the harsh bumps of the road and keep his neck steady.

She looked down at his pale, silent face. The bleeding had slowed, but his skin was entirely too cold. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, trying to share her own body heat with him.

She leaned her face down close to his ear.

"Hold on, okay?" Delaney whispered to him, her voice trembling. She stroked his messy, blood-stained hair with her fingers. "Please, Rowan. Just hold on a little longer. We will be home soon."