She gazed in stunned amazement at the bloody stain spreading on the shoulder of the black velvet cloakworn by the man who had thrust her aside to take the peasant’s blade himself.
Pain wrenched the tall, lean man’s features into a grimace even as his own dagger plunged into the other man’s broad chest.
The burly peasant groaned, then slumped to the ground.
The man in black velvet stood there, swaying, before staggering to lean against a pine tree a few feet away. One hand clutched at his left shoulder from which the dagger still protruded. His olive skin had faded to a sickeningly sallow shade, his lips drawn thin. “My dear Mademoiselle de Clement. May…I say.” His voice faded. “That…you…make it damnably hard for a man to…rescue you?”
Her eyes widened. “Rescue?”
“I brought reinforcements to help the guard when I learned of the plan to attack the carriage. If you’d stayed in the coach—” His palm clutched blindly at the bark of the tree as his face convulsed with pain. “The battle should be…over by now.”
“I didn’t know what was going on,” Juliette whispered. “Whom to trust. Who are you? Where did you come from?”
“Jean Marc…Andreas. An inn nearby…Inn of the Blind Owl…” His gaze shifted to the peasant lying on the ground a few feet away. “Not clever. Boots…”
His eyes closed and he slid slowly down the tree trunk in a dead faint.
“Don’t argue with me. You must send for the physician in the village and I’ll need hot water and clean linen.”
Jean Marc opened his eyes to see Juliette de Clement belligerently confronting a large, stout man. Jean Marc dimly recognized him as Monsieur Guilleme, the proprietor of the inn where he had been residing for the last few weeks.
The innkeeper shook his head. “I’ve no wish tooffend His Majesty by sending for the physician in the village if Monsieur Andreas truly saved the life of the prince. We must wait for the court physician to arrive.”
“The palace is too far. Do you wish to be responsible if he dies?”
Why, she was scarcely more than a child, Jean Marc realized hazily. When he had first caught sight of the girl running through the forest his only impression had been of a thin, graceful form, a storm of shining dark brown curls and wide, frightened eyes. Now, although she stood with spine straight, shoulders squared as if to compensate for the fact that the top of her head barely came to the third button on the innkeeper’s shirt, it was clear her slim body bespoke only the faintest hint of the maturity to come.
“Can’t you see the man’s lifeblood is pouring onto your floor?”
Jean Marc shifted and became aware he was being held upright by two soldiers dressed in the uniform of the Swiss guard, both of whom were grinning as they watched the confrontation. “What a truly depressing…picture,” he whispered. “I devoutly hope…you’re not referring to myself, Mademoiselle.”
Juliette whirled to face Jean Marc, and an expression of profound relief lightened the tension in her face. “You’re awake. I was afraid…” She turned back to Monsieur Guilleme. “Why do you just stand there? He must have the dagger removed from his shoulder immediately.”
Monsieur Guilleme spoke soothingly. “Believe me, sending for the court physician is best. You’re too young to realize—”
“I’m not too young to realize you’re more afraid for your own skin than for his,” Juliette interrupted fiercely. “And I’ll not have him bleeding to death while you stand there dithering.”
Jean Marc grimaced. “I do wish you’d stop talking about my pending demise. It’s not…at all comforting.”
“Be silent.” Juliette glanced back at him, her browneyes blazing. “I’m sure speaking is not good for you. You’re behaving as foolishly as this innkeeper.”
Jean Marc’s eyes widened in surprise.
“That’s better.” She nodded to the two soldiers supporting Jean Marc. “Take him to his chamber. I’ll follow as soon as I deal with the innkeeper. And be gentle with him or, by the saints, you’ll answer to me.”
The soldiers’ grins faded and they began to bristle with annoyance as the girl’s fierceness turned on them. Christ, in another minute the chit would have the men dropping him in a heap on the floor. He flinched at the thought and asked hastily, “The prince?”
“I told you not to—” She met Jean Marc’s gaze and nodded curtly. “He’s safe. I sent him on to the palace with my nurse and the captain of the guard. I thought it safer for him.”
“Good.” Jean Marc’s knees sagged and his eyes closed wearily. He let the soldiers bear the brunt of his weight as they half dragged, half carried him toward the stairs.
The next ten minutes proved to be an agony unsurpassed in Jean Marc’s experience, and when he was finally lying naked beneath the covers on the wide bed in his chamber he was barely on the edge of awareness.
“You won’t die.”
He opened his eyes to see Juliette de Clement frowning down at him with a determination that was strangely more comforting than tenderness would have been. “I hope you’re right. I have no—”
“No.” Her fingers quickly covered his lips and he found the touch infinitely gentle in spite of its firmness. “I told the innkeeper you were bleeding to death only to make him move with some haste. He wouldn’t listen to me. He thought me only a stupid child.”
