Everything seemed to slide away from her at once. The last thing she remembered, before the spinning world closed in, was Trev's muff led face above her, his arms catching her up just before she hit the ground.

She was already awake before they conveyed her into the Green Dragon. She knew it was Trev who carried her; she heard him snarl a fierce command at the others to stand back, but she couldn't seem to gather her wits to speak or even lift her head. And then he was gone somehow, and she was lying on a sofa surrounded by a great number of anxious onlookers, bewildered as to how she had got there.

"Hubert?" she mumbled, trying to sit up.

"He's penned all right now, my lady, good and tight." She recognized her drover's familiar voice. "Don't you worry."

She could trust Shelford's own drover, who had handled Hubert since he was a baby calf. She subsided for the moment, closing her eyes, allowing someone to take her hand and squeeze it reassuringly. The top of her head hurt abominably. She wanted Trev, wanted him to be holding her close while she ripped his char acter to shreds, beginning with his unforgivable fool ishness and continuing through his criminal negligence and winding up with his unpardonable stupidity, and then starting on it all over again, louder.

"Was anyone hurt?" she mumbled.

"Only a few scratches." She thought it was Mr. Price who spoke. "But for you, my lady. You took a sharp rap, eh? The doctor's on his way."

A vial of hartshorn appeared under her nose. She wasn't fond of smelling salts, but just at this moment, a deep whiff went straight to her brain and cleared some of the mist. "The animals?" she asked, blinking her eyes open.

"We're making a head count," he said. "No injuries or losses reported yet. We may be fortunate, thank the good Lord. Only there was a good deal of damage to property. But don't you try to talk, ma'am. We've sent word to Shelford."

"Oh no," she said, with a drifting vision of Lady Shelford's reaction to this news. "Where's—" She broke off, realizing that she shouldn't ask openly for Trev. She looked about her and saw him standing at the foot of the sofa, his scarf slipped down off his nose and only covering his mouth. His expression was white and set, almost frightening. She wanted to tell him that he should take care, but her brain was a little confused, and she thought it better to say nothing rather than risk a mistake.

She wondered vaguely, since Trev was standing there, who it was holding her hand. Peculiar lights seemed to go off in f lashes when she turned her head, but she discovered Major Sturgeon kneeling at her side, rubbing his palm over the back of her hand.

"Oh," she said and sat up, pulling free.