Free The Prodigal Daughter by Allison Lane Page B

confusion. He felt like he had stepped into a dream. The fire had continued to haunt his sleep, the recurring nightmare awakening him just before dawn that very morning. Or had it?  This outspoken, managing woman could not possibly be here. Was he trapped in the otherworld?  Dizziness made it difficult to remain sternly upright. Every movement sent sparks of pain knifing into his eyes and down his neck. He couldn’t seem to think straight and was not even sure if he was still conscious.
    “Where am I?” he murmured as the horse jolted into motion.
    She looked at him sharply, then relaxed. “Where do you think you are, your grace?”
    “In a dream.”
    “Why?”
    “Nothing seems real.”
    “You are perfectly fine,” she assured him. “And you are wide awake.”
    “Then what are you doing here?” he asked again, shaking his head to try to clear it and only making the pain worse. It was difficult to believe he was awake, yet the woman did not look the same as he recalled. She seemed better fed, with a higher color. Or was that due to sunlight and a soot-free face? 
    “I live here,” she explained patiently.
    “But you were at the Blue Boar.”
    “Like you, I was a guest that night.”
    “I know, but—”
    “I had been in London since leaving Belgium, but finally decided to return home. I grew up here.”
    He raised a shaky hand to his head, trying fruitlessly to ease its pounding. “I’ve forgotten your name.”
    “Mrs. Morrison, your grace. How is Mr. Fitch?”
    “Dead.”
    “I am sorry, though I feared it. I have seen too many like him.”
    “It was his own fault. He was safely outside, having escorted an elderly lady from the inn, but he chose to return.”
    “An admirable man. How dare you blame him for dying!  Or are you piqued that his selflessness deprived you of his services?”
    “Devil take it!  You are both impertinent and misguided, to say nothing of insulting. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Fitch had no business coming back inside.”
    “Ah,” she said in sudden understanding. “Guilt. He went back for you, didn’t he?  Greater love hath no man, that he would lay down his life for a friend . Even more so for an arrogant employer. And now you must live with that burden, whether you deserved such devotion or not.”
    “Not in the least,” he growled, infuriated by her observation and unsure why. “I am merely saddened at an unnecessary death.”
    “Was it the other leg?  Dr. Matthews tries to save as much as possible, but sometimes he is wrong.”
    Norwood grimaced. “My London physician said it was fever. He agreed the leg might heal, but we couldn’t get his fever down.”
    “Putrefaction in the burns, most likely. It’s common enough. Dr. Matthews must have been run off his legs with all the fire victims.”
    “No. He died that night.”
    Amanda choked in horror, involuntarily jerking the horse toward the ditch. Norwood grasped the ribbons and pulled them to a halt.
    “How?” she asked, staring at him with pain in her eyes.
    Norwood was shivering from the memory. “A man was trapped under debris and could only be extricated by removing his crushed leg..” His voice broke. “A wall came down during the surgery, killing everyone.”
    “Don’t blame yourself, your grace,” she murmured, understanding the self-reproach in his voice even through her own grief for yet another friend now dead. “You were in no condition to help, having suffered too much already that night..” She flicked the horse into motion, eyes again facing forward to hide their sheen of tears.
    “You were very heroic from what I have heard,” Norwood continued in a different vein, unable to agree with her, yet unwilling to argue the matter. “They say you woke most of the guests, allowing at least a score to escape unharmed who might not have gotten out at all.”
    “It was nothing,” she demurred. “Anyone would have done the same.”
    “I doubt that.”
    “Cynical