For all he knew, Holt was still falling into the void.
Daniel was curled over when he came out again, arms wrapped round himself. Curtis looked at his sodden shoes and at his face, and said, “Hold on now,” then he tied the shoes round his neck by the laces, and picked Daniel up in his arms.
It was not an easy walk. Daniel wasn’t bulky, but he was not far off six feet tall, and he slipped out of consciousness within a few moments, so that he was dead weight. Curtis was uncomfortably aware that he couldn’t afford to fall on the scree, in case his knee gave way. He was damned impressed with how it was holding up so far, in fact. Maybe the doctors had been right to tell him to use it more, although this might not have been quite the exercise they had intended.
He paced along the dimly moonlit road, step by step, with Daniel limp and heavy in his arms. His right fist hurt like hell, and he could feel blood trickling down his forearm where Holt had caught him with the knife, and he had no idea what to do now.
It was close to three in the morning. He would not make any decent speed with Daniel to carry. The Armstrongs would be expecting Holt back. Would James come looking?
Where should he go?
The only telephone for miles would be Peakholme’s. Newcastle was thirty miles away. And he needed to get Daniel warm. He could ask for help if he saw a shepherd’s hut or farmhouse, except that he had seen nothing at all for miles in this godforsaken bleak landscape, and he knew all too well the dangers of seeking shelter in enemy territory.
That thought led his tired mind to memories of scrambling through the brush in Boer territory, looking for somewhere to hole up, and then to the little rocky kraal, the ruins of a farmhouse topping a small isolated hill, where his handful of men had retreated…
Stone-walled, defensible ruins on a hill.
Was that a brilliant idea, or a terrible one? He wasn’t sure. He wished Daniel was awake to ask. He wished Daniel was awake to walk. But since he wasn’t, Curtis set his teeth and trudged on, one foot then another, covering the two miles back to Peakholme.
It was half past four when he got there, every part of him aching. From the last vantage point, he had seen no lights in the house. He had to skirt round through the woods to reach the folly without coming in sight of the windows, but he was reasonably sure he would not be troubled with gardeners at this hour. The last incline, up to the folly, with Daniel’s weight working against him, was one of the hardest things he had ever done, each staggering step a defiance of gravity and exhaustion, but at last he was at the door, fumbling it open, getting Daniel inside.
He half-dragged him up the winding stairs, and there, spent, he flopped down on the oak floor, moved the other man to lie against him, and allowed his muscles to shriek their complaints.
After a few minutes, when the blood was no longer pounding quite so loudly in his ears, he checked Daniel. He was much warmer. The close contact had been good for that, at least, and Holt’s blasted heavy overcoat was a good one. He checked Daniel’s wrists and saw to his relief that the fingers looked normal again.
“Daniel?” he murmured.
Daniel’s breathing was deep and even. He lay heavily in Curtis’s arms, and Curtis hesitated, wondering if he might be permitted this, then slid his fingers over Daniel’s face, barely touching, running them along the lines of his jaw and brow, over the skin of his cheeks, and finally, daringly, over his lips.
Curtis didn’t expect him to wake, but Daniel’s eyelids flickered and he gave a little moan. Curtis cursed his own selfishness. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “You’re safe. Go back to sleep.”
Daniel’s mouth moved, then his eyes snapped open and he jerked convulsively. Curtis grabbed him to stop him struggling, realised that was a bad idea as he started to cry out, and slapped a hand over his mouth, feeling an utter swine as he stiffened with fear.
“It’s Curtis, you’re safe. Stop, damn it! You’re safe, I’ve got you. Stop,” he hissed, and felt Daniel slump back into his arms at last. He moved his hand away.
“Curtis?”
“Here.”
“Curtis,” Daniel repeated, with a hint of satisfaction. He shut his eyes again, and Curtis thought he was going to sleep, but after a few moments he said, “I was in the cave.”
“Don’t think about that.”
“In the cave, in the dark. It—dripped. Over and over. And that hole—” His voice was shaking.
“Stop it. It’s done.”
“You came.”
“Of course I did.”
Daniel was silent a little longer, then he said, “Did you kill Holt?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t like violence. Doesn’t solve anything.”