“Charles!” she yelled. “Thank goodness! What happened? Whistler came back, and he's bleeding, and…” As soon as she reached him, she stopped talking to catch her breath.

“Whistler's bleeding?” he asked.

“Yes. The groom isn't sure why, and I didn't know what happened to you, and—What did happen to you?”

“Whistler threw me. I sprained my ankle.”

“Again?”

He looked down ruefully at his right foot. “Same one. I imagine it was still weak from the previous injury.”

“Does it hurt?”

He looked at her as if she were a halfwit. “Like the devil.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose it must. Here, lean on me, and we'll walk back to the Abbey together.”

Charles draped his arm over her shoulder and used her weight to support him as they limped home. “Why do I feel like I'm reliving a bad dream?” he wondered aloud.

Ellie chuckled. “We have done this before, haven't we? But if you recall, we wouldn't have met if you hadn't sprained your ankle last time. At the very least, you wouldn't have asked me to marry you if I hadn't tended to your injury with such tender and loving care.”

“Tender and loving care!” he said with a snort. “You were practically breathing fire.”

“Yes, well, we couldn't have the patient feeling sorry for himself, could we?”

As they neared the house, Charles said, “I want to go to the stables and see why Whistler was bleeding.”

“You can go after I tend to your foot.”

“Tend to it in the stables. I'm sure someone there has a knife you can use to cut the boot off.”

Ellie ground to a halt. “I insist that you go back to the house where I can do a proper check for broken bones.”

“I haven't broken any bones.”

“How do you know?”

“I've broken them before. I know what it feels like.”He tugged at her, trying to shift their direction toward the stables, but the woman had positively grown roots. “Ellie,” he ground out. “Let's go.”

“You'll find I am more stubborn than you think.”

“If that is true, I'm in big trouble,” he muttered.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I'd say you're as stubborn as a damned mule, woman, except that might insult the mule.”

Ellie lurched back, dropping him. “Well, I never!”

“Oh, for the love of God,” he grumbled, rubbing his elbow where he banged it when he fell. “Will you help me get to the bloody stables or do I have to limp there myself?”

She answered by turning on her heel and marching back to Wycombe Abbey.

“Damned stubborn mule of a woman,” he muttered. Thankfully, he still had his walking stick, and a few minutes later he collapsed onto a bench in the stables.

“Someone get me a knife!” he shouted. If he didn't get this damned boot off, his foot was going to explode.

A groom named James rushed to his side and handed him a knife. “Whistler's bleeding, my lord,” James said.