Aria watched in stunned disbelief. Was he communicating with the animals? Had the birds been trying to save him? If it was true and he really could communicate with animals, then it was probably true that he was somehow responsible for the death of George Gable.
When the others stopped screaming, the rest of the men ran out of the coffee house.
The marquess tried to stand but clutched the back of his head and only rose to his knees.
“Easy,” Aria soothed, moving to help him. “You were hit hard. Is there a physician at the castle?”
“Yes, but…what happened to the birds?”
She looked over her shoulder at the window. It was quiet. “They…they were trying to break the glass. I think they were trying to get inside.”
“Inside?”
“Yes, to get to you.”
He looked at her, giving nothing away in his stoic expression. “Why would they want to get to me? Do you think they wished to harm me?”
“I used to think they didn’twishanything. But no. I think it’s clear who they wanted to hurt.”
He didn’t answer but managed to rise to his feet.
“My lord, you could have a concussion. Let me help you to the carriage.”
“I must check on Ghost. I dreamed…” he stopped, unsure if what he said was correct. “I dreamed she was going to kick the front door down. I didn’t want her to do it and be feared among the villagers. Men kill what they fear.”
Aria listened and couldn’t help but remember what Sarah had told her happened fifteen years ago. Men had killed the animals after what happened to Harry Gable and his father.
“We’ll have to send someone to come and get Ghost. You can’t ride. Don’t be stubborn—”
She snapped her mouth shut when he reached for her cheek and ran his fingertips over it. “The last thing I remember is fading out and knowing you were alone. Were you hurt at all?”
His tenderness was difficult to resist. “No, my lord.”
“Grayson,” he corrected with the slightest smile. “Gray.”
He wasn’t well. In fact, there was a trickle of blood dripping down his neck. That had to be the reason he was speaking so tenderly to her and telling her to call him by his first name.
“Let’s get you to the physician and then we can discuss what to call each other.” She took his arm and led him out of the coffee house.
When they stepped outside, she scrunched up her shoulders and looked up at the sky. It was free of birds. The ground, however, was not.
They saw the bird’s bodies in the grass under the window. Gray broke free of her aid and reached them first. He gazed down at them, his eyes sparkling with tears that didn’t fall.
Aria watched him bend and gently gather the dead birds in his arms. She remembered him shoveling the Gable’s front yard and stopping the shovel before it hit the small dead bird in the snow. She scolded him gently while following him just beyond the tree line. Was the forest safe? She looked up at the tangle of bare branches above her. Were those birds?
When he laid the bodies down and began covering them with rocks, she knew he meant to bury the poor birds, and she thought she understood why; they died trying to save him. But she said nothing else and helped him carry the rocks instead.
Perhaps not so remarkably, Ghost pushed him toward the carriage with her long nose and followed behind without a tether when they started moving.
Now, that the marquess’ presence filled the small space, the inside of the carriage felt infinitely smaller than it felt on her way to the coffee house.
Sitting across from him, Aria found herself breathing harder at the touch of his knee against her thigh. She was glad he was half hidden in shadow.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, rather than ask if what was settling over her was some kind of paranormal, monumental truth. He could communicate with animals. Really and truly. It made her heart race and skip. And why should it not be true? Was it more monumental than traveling back in time a couple of hundred years? She felt on the verge of an anxiety attack like never before. How had her life gone from the drab, daily grind of teaching to keep her family afloat to some Aria in Regency land spectacle?
“You might want to wear breeches when you leave the castle from now on,” the marquess told her, sounding quite well. “It will be easier if you need to use your legs to kick.”
“Oh, so you finally accept that I can fight?”