Finn
The plan was simple. Brilliant, even.
Take the boy for a walk. Get them "lost" in the woods. Find shelter in the old groundskeeper's hut near the eastern boundary. Let the Duke work himself into a state of panic. Then, let him find them: the brave tutor, selflessly shielding the precious heir from the elements.
The Duke would see him as a hero. A man of character. Someone you'd let your guard down around.
"Do you think we'll see a badger, Mr. Vale?" Julian asked, his face alight with excitement as he scrambled over a log.
"It's possible," Finn said, his "Peregrine Vale" voice smooth and encouraging.
He led the boy off the main path. The sky, which had been a clear blue, was now a dark gray. The wind was starting to pick up.
Perfect.
"I believe this is a shortcut to the upper meadow," he lied, steering them toward what he thought was the direction of the hut. "A bit of an adventure."
An hour later, the adventure had turned into a disaster.
Every tree looked the same. Every patch of ground seemed identical to the one before. The shortcut had been a dead end and when he'd tried to backtrack, he'd lost his bearings completely.
He was lost.
A cold knot of fear tightened in his gut. Not for himself. He'd survived worse than a bit of rain in the woods. It was for the boy. Julian was starting to shiver, his cheeks pale.
Shite.
A dead heir wasn't part of the plan.
"Are we still on the shortcut, Mr. Vale?" Julian asked, his voice trembling slightly.
Finn forced a calm, reassuring smile on his face. "Of course. The best adventures are always a little longer than you expect."
Then the rain started.
Within minutes, it was a downpour. Julian whimpered..
"Right," Finn snapped, the accent slipping. "Shelter. Now."
He grabbed his hand and scrambled up a muddy bank, pulling Julian behind him. His boots slipped in the slick mud. He was halfway up when his left foot slid out from under him.
His ankle twisted on a rock hidden in the muck.
A searing, white-hot pain shot up his leg. He clamped his jaw shut, biting back a curse.
He looked down. Blood was soaking through the wool of his trousers just above the ankle.
"Mr. Vale! Are you alright?" Julian cried, his face a mask of terror.
"Fine," Finn lied, gritting his teeth.
He pushed himself to his feet, his ankle screaming in protest. He had to get the boy safe. That was all that mattered now.
He half-limped, half-dragged himself and Julian to the top of the ridge. And there, through the rain, he saw it.
A hut huddled under the trees.
Not the one he'd planned on finding, but a hut nonetheless.
He practically threw Julian inside, stumbling in after him. The place was a ruin. It stank of damp earth, rot, and mice. Rain dripped through the decaying roof.
Julian was shaking uncontrollably, his teeth chattering. Without a second thought, Finn stripped off his own soaked coat and wrapped it around his shoulders. The sodden wool was heavy, but it was a layer against the wind.
"We're alright, Julian. We're safe now," he said, his voice hoarse.
He sank down onto the damp floor, his injured leg stretched out in front of him. The pain was nauseating. He looked at the gash. It was deep.
He huddled with Julian in the corner, pulling him close for warmth.
He didn't know how long they sat there. An hour. Two. The storm raged outside.
Then, through the howl of the wind, he heard it. Shouting.
A horse's whinny. And then a man's voice, roaring. "JULIAN!"
The door exploded inward, ripped off its hinges.
Lord Theron Ashworth stood there, framed by the storm. Rain streamed from his hair and his face was a mask of fury.
His eyes found Julian and the rage vanished, replaced by gut-wrenching relief.
Then his gaze snapped to Finn. He took in the scene. Finn, pale and shivering in his shirtsleeves. His coat wrapped around Julian. The blood.
Theron moved. He crossed the hut in two long strides and knelt, his hands checking Julian over, his voice an urgent murmur. "Are you harmed? Are you alright?"
"Mr. Vale gave me his coat," Julian whispered. "He hurt his leg."
Theron's head snapped up. His eyes locked on Finn. The fury was back, but sharper.
Without a word, he moved from Julian and knelt in the dirt before Finn.
"Let me see," he commanded.
Before Finn could protest, the Duke's hands were on him, carefully ripping the bloody fabric of Finn's trousers away from the wound. The touch was firm and sent a jolt straight up Finn's spine.
The gash was deep. Finn hissed in pain.
Theron's jaw tightened. He ripped a clean strip from the hem of his own shirt and began to bind the wound.
"Can you stand?" Theron asked, his voice a low growl.
"I'm fine," Finn bit out, pushing himself up. He tried to take a step and pain shot up his leg. He stumbled, crying out.
Theron's arm shot out, wrapping around Finn's waist, pulling him hard against a chest as hard as stone. Finn's hands flew up, pressing against the Duke's shoulders to steady himself. They were chest to chest. He could feel the thundering beat of the Duke's heart, or maybe it was his own.
"Lean on me," Theron growled in his ear.
He had no choice. Humiliation burned through him as he slung an arm over the Duke's shoulders.
The walk back was hell. Every step was an agony.
The rain continued to pour, plastering them together. Finn was forced to move in sync with the Duke, their bodies pressed close, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder.
He hated it. He hated the solid strength he had to rely on.
He glanced up and saw the desperate, possessive way the Theron's gaze clung to him.
They finally stumbled out of the woods and made it back to Blackwood manor. Theron didn't bother with the front door. He shoved open a side entrance to the kitchens and dragged Finn in.
Beatrice, the cook, shrieked and dropped a pot when she saw them. A young footman watched them with his mouth hanging open.
"Someone fetch the physician!" Theron roared. "Now!"