Page 5 of My Duke, The Stranger
“No, no,” her father waved Marcus down. “You did the right thing.” He bit into his lip as he considered the duke’s body. “We can’t leave him on the floor. Isolde, your bed will have to do for now.”
“Father!” she cried as if she meant to protest.
“Quickly now.” Her father ignored her as he gestured to the other farmers. They were quick about lifting the duke, and just as quick about carrying him into Isolde’s room and dropping him on her bed.
Isolde remained in the doorway, arms folded, glaring at the unconscious duke.
Why does it have to be him? And why does he have to be here?
Conflict raged within Isolde as she considered the situation. She knew deep down that this was the right thing to do. The duke needed help, and she was not one to deny a caring hand to anyone who asked for it. That was, after all, her entire purpose in life.
On the other hand… this man might not have ruined her life, but he had not tried to help either. With wealth such as his, he could have saved her father’s parish without even blinking, but he chose to ignore her plea and mock her instead. Why, it had seemed as if he enjoyed turning her away… as if he enjoyed her suffering.
Everything I had heard about him was true! Even worse, in fact.
“I know this isn’t easy…” Her father limped toward her, his eyes sad. “But it is the right thing to do, Isolde. He needs our help, and he is our duke.”
She sighed. “I know it is, Father. And while I will not turn him away, I will not pretend that I am happy either.”
He chuckled. “That’s about as good as I can ask for.”
The farmers left shortly after, as did Marcus. He was sure to tell Isolde and her father that if they needed anything, they could send for him. But Isolde got the sense that Marcus and the others were not so much leaving as they were fleeing. Even though they had helped the duke, they all knew of his reputation, and he was just as likely to punish them as he was to praise them.
While waiting for the physician, Isolde stayed in the doorway of her room, wary about getting too close to the duke.
It struck an odd scene, she thought. Even unconscious and utterly helpless, there was no denying the man’s power. First, one couldn’t ignore his physical size and his sheer strength. He was dressed in his fine clothes with clean hair and washed skin. He did not belong in this place, and Isolde’s room looked pitifully humble and wanting in comparison.
The sooner he is awake, the better. Hopefully, he will leave immediately, with no need to say anything, and no need to thank us. I do not want his thanks.
The physician arrived shortly after.
He was a tiny man, bent of back, with a long face filled with pockmarks. His clothes were practically rags, as his charges were the farmers of the estate, and she doubted that he had ever attended someone of such high prestige as a duke before.
Indeed, as he observed the duke, whispering to himself, Isolde could sense how wary he was; he was scared to make a mistake, as if his life were on the line. He applied a wet rag to the duke’s head and made sure the pillows under him were soft and centered, but there was little else he could do.
“A bump to the head, by the looks of it,” the physician said after some time. It was raining at that point, and the sound of it slapping at the roof and walls was deafening.
Isolde sighed. “Yes, we know that. But how long until he wakes up?”
“Isolde…” her father sighed as if tired.
The physician looked at her pointedly. “The injury is superficial. I can’t see any reason to think that his skull might be broken, or that his brain…” He swallowed. “Possibly some swelling, but we won’t know the extent of the damage until he wakes.”
“And then what?” Isolde said.
The physician shrugged. “We will find out.”
Night fell quickly. The storm came with it. Marianne and Thomas were sent to their father’s room because Isolde thought it was best to keep them away; better that they have as little to do with the duke as possible. A single candle was lit on the table by the duke’s head, while Isolde remained in the doorway, still careful to get too close.
“We will have to send word to the manor,” her father said to her as they watched the physician tend to the duke. “No doubt they are worried about him.”
“In this storm?” Isolde looked at the window and grimaced. “We are likely to fall and hurt ourselves worse than he has been.”
Her father nodded. “Once it clears, we will send for someone. Perhaps by then, His Grace will have woken up, and he will tell us what to do.”
Although Isolde wanted the duke to wake up so that he might leave, she worried about what would happen when he did. Would he remember her and what had happened? And did she even want him to?
Also, she wondered if maybe there was a chance that he would be so grateful for what they had done that he would offer to help their parish. She wanted to believe that if he did so, she would turn him down on principle. Just as she knew that this was not an option. As prideful as Isolde was, she was also pragmatic…
