Free Jamintha by Jennifer Wilde

touch, but the sensations were almost … almost pleasant.
    He stumbled over a rock, crying out in pain, swerving around and flinging his other arm around me to keep from falling. I held him up, my arms around his back, and he clung to me like a child, barely conscious. His head rested on my shoulder, his sagging body flattened against me, both his arms curled tightly around my shoulders. An onlooker would have thought us lovers locked in a passionate embrace, I thought, blushing. I could feel his heart pounding, and his skin seemed to be on fire. Raising his head, Brence Danver winced.
    â€œSorry, luv,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “You must have hated that.”
    â€œI—are you able to go on?”
    â€œI wish you’d left me there to die,” he muttered.
    â€œDon’t be melodramatic,” I said stiffly.
    He managed a weak, sarcastic smile and hobbled around to my side again. It was perhaps half an hour before I saw Danver Hall in the distance. I don’t think Brence was really conscious. His eyes were closed, and he moved like a sleepwalker in the middle of a feverish nightmare. Holding him tightly, every muscle in my body aching, I staggered on toward the trees that stood like sentinels, separating the gardens from the moor.
    I heard a loud retort in the distance, like a door slamming, and in a moment I saw Susie racing toward us, her faded pink skirt billowing like wings, her dark golden hair flying in the wind. Reaching us, she didn’t say a word. She took his free arm and swung it around her shoulder, helping me support him. Brence groaned, his dry lips twisting in pain, but he had no idea what was happening. Susie and I got him through the trees and moved him along the flagstone path, past the lily pond, past the vegetable gardens. We paused at the foot of the back steps.
    â€œI was looking out the kitchen windows and saw you coming,” Susie said in a calm voice. “The horse came back alone. I’m not surprised. Master Brence was frightfully tipsy when he took off this afternoon.”
    We dragged him up the steps. His ankle knocked against one of them, and he cried out sharply, his body stiffening. Susie opened the back door and we moved him down the hall and into the vast drawing room. A fire was burning in the fireplace. We put Brence on the long green sofa. He sprawled out, sinking heavily against the cushions, the injured ankle dangling over the side.
    â€œMister Charles is still at the mill,” Susie said. “Madame is in her apartment. Shall I fetch her?”
    â€œI think not,” I said in a firm voice, and I could see that Susie approved. She nodded and moved briskly out of the room.
    I lifted his head and arranged a cushion under it. He groaned, jerking his head away, and I wondered why I was so calm, so serene. I should have been crumpling with exhaustion after the ordeal, but I seemed to be charged with energy and determination. Susie returned promptly with a bottle of pure alcohol, cloths, a towel and a blue and black striped satin dressing robe which she must have fetched from his room. Placing the things on a table, she regarded me with a cool, efficient gaze, her hands on her hips.
    â€œIf you can manage alone, Miss Jane, I’ll take the mare and ride to the village for Doctor Green. I imagine we’ll be needing him.”
    â€œOf course,” I said.
    She left immediately. A few minutes later I heard a horse galloping around the side of the house. Bending over him, I pulled the damp shirt out of his waistband and shoved it gently up over his chest. Sliding my arm under his broad shoulders and lifting him up, I was able to get the garment over his head, pulling his arms free. I took the towel and dried him off. His naked torso was lean and muscular, his skin a light tan and the texture of silk. I blushed, averting my eyes as much as possible. Brence moaned as I pulled him into a sitting position. Slipping his arms into the