He had all but fainted from the initial shock and pain, but now he was fully conscious again and mainly concerned about how the fuck he was going to free himself.
It was a fine fall morning and a brisk walk had seemed a grand idea, until he’d decided to cut across the woods and stepped on the gin trap concealed in the leaf mould. A quick appraisal of the situation had told him that there was no way he would be able to pry the vicious jaws apart, rusty and ancient though the device appeared. He shuddered at the thought of what that dirt and rust might be doing to the wound in his leg and called out for help, although he didn’t expect that there would be anybody around to answer.
To his surprise and relief, he heard a dog barking and a rough voice calling it to heel. He shouted again and a shaking of the undergrowth and more excited barks presaged the appearance of the dog. Fortunately, he’d always had a way with them and he called the animal over, speaking to him gently and rubbing his ears.
“Well, what ‘ave we ‘ere? Looks like you’ve properly put your foot in it.”
He looked up to see the dog’s owner, clearly a gamekeeper, judging by his cord breeches and gaiters as well as the shotgun he was carrying. The man strode over and crouched by his side,
“You don’t look like a poacher, though. More like a gentleman.”
“I’m not a poacher. For pity’s sake get me out of this barbaric device. It’s not the Middle Ages. These things must be illegal.”
“Aye, they are and it were never set by me. It must’ve been the man before me, or even the man before him.”
He inspected the trap and looked up at the prisoner,
“Y’er lucky. This model has offset teeth, otherwise it’d nearly have had your leg off.”
“I don’t feel lucky. It hurts like the devil, offset teeth or no.”
“Well I’ll need to go back to the cottage and fetch me tools. Here. For medicinal purposes.”
He thrust a battered hip flask into the man’s hands and whistling to the dog, walked rapidly away. The rough liquor helped deaden the pain, but still he counted the minutes until the gamekeeper returned to free him.
Once the jaws of the trap had been pried open, and his leg eased out, the keeper cleaned the wound and poured what was left of the medicinal brandy over, before binding it up. Helping the man to his feet he supported him through the woods to the small cottage, where he led him inside and lowered him into a wheel-backed chair by the fire. He busied himself with the kettle making tea.
“Look, I can’t thank you enough. My name is Mortensen, Viggo Mortensen.”
“Pleased to meet you. American are you? I’m Mellors, His Lordship’s gamekeeper. You were trespassing in His Lordship’s woods, you know.”
“I know, but I didn’t think about it. I was just enjoying the morning and the countryside. I’m a mining engineer, here on business and I am used to living in the city. The last thing I expected was to step into a man-trap.”
“Where are you staying? The Dog and Badger?”
“Yes. Simple, but comfortable and plain home-cooked fare.”
“Well, you’ll not be able to walk back there today. I could go up to the ’all and ask His Lordship for transport, but ‘e never takes kindly to trespassers.”
“I’d rather you didn’t. It’s a little embarrassing, but you’ll get rid of that infernal trap, won’t you?”
“Aye, I will. It could have been me trod on it as easy as you, but I rarely go down to that edge of the woods.”
He took off his cap and jacket, hanging them on the hook behind the door and sat down opposite Mortensen, looking at him speculatively.
“You could stay here and I can get a message to the pub to say you’ve met with an accident. What about your work.”
“I was all but done here. I was going to spend a couple of days exploring the area, before returning to our London office.”
Well simple, plain fare I can provide. There’s but one bed, though.
“I couldn’t turn you out of your own bed.”
“I weren’t suggesting that you should.”
In the silence, a log fell in the fireplace and raised a shower of sparks, while the dog lying on the hearthrug snuffled a little and turned to toast his other flank.
Mortensen laughed softly, while Mellors gave a predatory grin,
“I accept your kind invitation. How did you know?”
“Takes one to know one, they say.”
“How will you get me upstairs?”
Mellors stood and pulled Mortensen over his shoulder into a fireman’s lift, then staggered from the room amid laughter on both sides and up the narrow stairs, where he deposited him on the bed.
“And how will you get me down again?”
“Oh, until that leg’s healed, I’d say you’re trapped!”
Summary: Mellors comes to Viggo's rescue
Rated: PG
Categories: Crossovers Pairing: Oliver Mellors/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 880 Read: 777
Published: 13 Nov 2010 Updated: 13 Nov 2010