He caught it in his own and pressed it to his heart. “Don’t move. Save yourself.”
Why? Where is…?“Luc? Is he here?”
“Ma chérie, c’est moi!” Her brother’s gaunt face appeared above her. Soft, dark hair, matted and long to his collar, his eyes weary but compassionate, like their father’s.
Her heart leapt. Then, just as Luc had done when they were children, he winked at her and gave her leave to rest easily. “Go to sleep.”
“No. You must…”What must he do?Another question dawned. “Rafe?”
“Here too. We did well tonight.” Evan hugged her to him with delight. “We have the woman, too.”
“Zeph?”
Evan grinned down at her, irrepressibly happy. “Her, too.”
Fantasy, this was. She dreamt, oui? She tried to sit up, but failed again. “Not a dream, then.”
“Look at me, my love.” Evan grew stern, now ordering her about. He put one finger to her cheek. She lifted her chin and yelped. Why did her throat hurt? “You are injured. La Mèreused her blade on your throat beneath your ear. Do you understand me? Do not speak. Nod in answer.”
She did as she was told.
“Luc found a surgeon who came and stitched you up. You fainted,” he went on. “Blood loss laid you low. Terror, too, I guess. But you are weak, wounded, and you must remain quiet, and here…” His deep bass voice broke as he trailed two fingers down her nose to her lips. “Stay here with me, my darling. We escaped them all.”
“All?” She had to know. “La—”
“La Mère is gone. Overboard in our fight. She could not swim. Such a pity,” he said with half measure of pride andremorse for the death of another. “We could not save her,” he whispered, combing her hair back from her temple.
She’s dead, she’s dead. She’s dead.The words circled in her head.
“We could not save her man, either. We had no time, nor a free man with inclination to do it. Now close your eyes and rest. We come to our dock soon. I will carry you and you will not argue. Nod that you agree.”
Disbelief drained her of all energy. Gratitude filled the empty spaces. She knew—had known—even in her fear for the success of this night’s venture that she still had much to answer for to God, to her brother, and, most assuredly, her beloved husband.
But that was for tomorrow. For tonight, she gladly postponed the pain of that to surrender to the frailty of her body as she closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
#
The sun streamed in the high, small window of a bare and tiny room when Inès opened her eyes. She lay flat on her back, tucked into position by thick eiderdowns. A stiffness in her left jaw told her she must not move to irritate it further. Her eyes drifted around the rough wooden beams of the ceiling, a crude chest to her right, and another bed, another still body, close beside her.
Deep voices rose behind the walls and told her that men spoke with urgency about their situation.
She swallowed. Opened her mouth. She grimaced at the effort. She could hum, but not talk. Awareness seared her like flame and memory consumed her. La Mère had tried to kill her.Put her blade to my throat.
She lifted her hand and was shocked it obeyed her command. Her weakness of last night or yesterday, or when lastshe was conscious, was less. Her strength more. Her fingertips told her that she had a bandage around her throat.
But La Mère is dead. And I am alive. Odd, that.She winced and covered her eyes with one hand.I have hurt so many and yet I live. Is that not unfair to all those who live a true and just existence yet have nothing to reward them for their diligence?
She tried to roll to one side, but cried out at the fire along her throat.
She dared not move. And froze. Her eyes fastened on the creature in the next pile of straw. The looks of that figure tore all her morbid self-doubts from her. For there, lying straight as a stone statue like those in the halls of royal tombs at St. Denis, was the shell of a young woman.
Her red hair was cut close to her scalp, curls completely gone. The cut of the shears someone had used on her was ragged. Worse, the lady’s vibrant china complexion was now ashes. Her cheeks sunken. Her lashes gone. Her skin stretched over her hands, taut as dried hide from an animal long dead.
Mon Dieu, sweet girl. What did they do to you?
But in her heart, Inès knew. She knew. There rested a young lady who had endured such hideous treatment that she might have died from it.
But you live, and we have you now.
