The King's Falcon (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 3) (37 page)

‘That,’ muttered Ashley between clenched teeth, ‘is a splendid idea.’
 
Then, as Pauline began the process of cleaning the wound, he gave a massive, involuntary flinch and hissed raggedly, ‘Hell
fire
.
 
Francis – just knock me out, will you?
 
Brandy or your fist. I don’t care which.’
 
And relapsed again into white-lipped silence.

Francis glanced at Pauline and received a small nod by way of reply.

‘No!’ snapped Athenais.
 
‘Pass me the brandy. You’re not to hit him. He’s been hurt enough!’

Wrenching her hands free, she snatched the cup from Francis and, raising Ashley’s head a little, held it to his lips.
 
A few drops trickled from the edge of his mouth but he managed to drain the cup without coughing.

‘More?’ she asked. And was answered with a grunt of assent.

By the time he had downed another stiff measure, Pauline had cleaned the wound as best she could considering that, despite the tourniquet, it continued to ooze.
 
While she examined her sewing box for a suitably large needle and the thread she thought most likely to prove adequate, she said, ‘You’ll have to hold him for me, Francis.
 
He’s no more than half-drunk at best and this is going to hurt like seven kinds of hell.’

Francis nodded.
 
‘Whatever you need, Duchess.’

She shot him an oblique, faintly bemused glance and then, with a tiny shake of her head, said, ‘Athenais – you should go.’

‘Go?
 
No. I won’t.
 
Why should I?’

‘Because this isn’t going to be pretty and I doubt your stomach will be up to it.’

Athenais’s mouth set in a mulish line.

‘I’ll manage.’

Still busy making her preparations, Pauline said, ‘Maybe.
 
But we haven’t time to look after you if you don’t.’

‘I’ve told you – I’ll manage.’
 
She took a breath and wrapped Ashley’s hand inside hers. ‘I’m not leaving him.
 
And that’s final.’

‘Don’t be so bloody stubborn,’ began Pauline, only to be hushed by Francis’s hand on her arm.

He said quietly, ‘Leave it.
 
She’s entitled to stay.
 
She’s in --’
 

‘I know what she is – and that’s why she should go.’
 
She threaded the needle and, without looking at Athenais said, ‘Suit yourself.
 
But if you’re wise, you won’t watch.’

‘I think,’ grumbled Athenais, ‘I’d worked that out for myself.’

And then the horrible process began.

At the first insertion of the needle, Ashley’s fingers clamped down again on Athenais’s like a vice, the breath hissed between his teeth and his whole body went rigid in an attempt to remain still.
 
He was already in as much pain as he could bear – his damned leg a screaming, burning agony that, if he’d been able to think at all, might have alarmed him;
 
but, the piercing drag of the thread was a torture beyond anything he could have imagined. Enduring it in dignified silence suddenly no longer seemed possible – and that
did
alarm him.
 
A groan escaped and only sheer will-power stopped it becoming a scream.
 
The brandy wasn’t helping and he wished Francis had hit him.
 
The needle began its second journey. His muscles ached with the effort to maintain control and his throat rebelled at his refusal to release the sound building there. He held back a flood of curses with clenched teeth and felt sweat break out all over his skin.

Athenais was distantly aware that his grip had stopped the blood supply to her hand and was possibly crushing her bones.
 
It didn’t matter.
 
His eyes were shut tight and his brow furrowed with a mixture of pain and inflexible determination.
 
She used her free hand to brush back a lock of damp hair and whispered uselessly, ‘Stop being a hero.
 
Yell if you want.
 
No one will think less of you.’

He didn’t answer.
 
His mouth remained set in a tight line and his chest laboured to suck in sufficient air.
 
Although she was careful not to look at what Pauline was doing, Athenais began to realise that, slight as they were, Ashley’s reactions were filling in what her eyes couldn’t see.
 
The moment that the needle pierced his flesh, the slow pull of the thread, the needle again as it exited.
 
The mere thought of it was nauseating and she began to feel light-headed.
 
A ripple of cold perspiration slithered down her spine and the edges of her vision blurred, causing her to shake her head in an attempt to clear it.

On the other side of the bed and intent on her task, Pauline muttered, ‘I hoped he’d pass out by now.
 
Why the hell hasn’t he?’

‘Obstinacy and guts,’ returned Francis.
 
And then, ‘Ah.
 
That’s unfortunate.
 
Next time, I’ll listen to you.’

Pauline glanced up just in time to see Athenais slide to the floor in a boneless heap, her hand still trapped in Ashley’s.
 
She said, ‘Next time?
 
God save us all from that. In the meantime, let’s get this over with.
 
Take a breath, Ashley.
 
You’re doing well.
 
Just two more and we’re done.’

Ashley unlocked his jaws long enough to say, ‘Athenais?’

‘Out cold.’

‘Lucky girl.’ He forced his fingers to relinquish their hold and felt her arm slip away. And braced himself for the last excruciating stitches.

*
 
*
 
*

Athenais came round when Francis picked her up and carried her to the shabby day-bed in the adjoining room.
 
She said groggily, ‘I’m sorry.
 
I never fainted before.
 
How silly.’

‘We’ll forgive you,’ he said, setting her down.
 
‘Sit there and put your head between your knees for a few minutes.
 
You’ll feel better.’

‘No.’ She started to get up.
 
‘Ashley?’

Francis dropped one hand on her shoulder and used the other to push her head down.

‘Ashley is as well as can be expected under the circumstances.
 
Pauline is dressing the wound and cleaning him up so he can be made more comfortable.
 
There’s nothing for you to do at the moment.’

Without warning, Athenais’s nerves snarled into a painful tangle.
 
A shudder ripped through her and the tears she’d held back earlier arrived in a flood.
 
Through chattering teeth, she said, ‘I th-thought he was going to d-die.’

Francis refrained from remarking that if, on top of the blood loss, infection set in, he still might. Patting her shoulder, he murmured that Ashley was fit and healthy.
 

‘I know.’
 
She swallowed the stupid tears and mopped her face on her skirt.
 
‘I know.
 
But it was hurting him so much.
 
I couldn’t …’ She stopped, drew a deep breath and sat up.
 
‘Do you know what happened?’

‘Some of it.’
 
He related his conversation with Cyrano de Bergerac and then added, ‘Jem has just come back.
 
He says Ashley met him somewhere near the Palais Royale before returning from the theatre.
 
I can only assume that, since his assailants weren’t ordinary thieves, he must have been followed.
 
But we won’t know the full facts until Ashley is well enough to talk.’
 
He smiled briefly. ‘And now I’m going to help Pauline tidy up – and you can look after the patient.
 
He’s likely to feel cold, by the way.
 
Severe blood-loss does that.’

In the other room, Pauline had tossed the blood-stained linens into a corner and was pouring reddened water into a bucket.
 
She glanced across at Athenais and said, ‘Better?’

‘Yes.’
 
Athenais looked down at Ashley, silent and pale, now decently covered up to his chin with a sheet.
 
She said, ‘I’ll find some blankets and put a brick in the oven and – and perhaps some warmed wine?’

‘All of those,’ agreed Pauline, with something that might have been a smile.
 
‘And then you can settle in for what’s left of the night.
 
Someone needs to stay with him in case his condition changes – and in a few hours we can send for the doctor.’

Athenais nodded and, scooping up an armful of dirty towels, headed briskly for the door.

Francis watched her go and then, turning to Pauline said softly, ‘She’s in love with him.’

‘More’s the pity,’ came the typical reply.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, his eyes reflecting a mixture of amusement, admiration and something that wasn’t either of them.
 
Then, when she looked back at him, he said, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who could do what you’ve done tonight – and all without a single question.
 
You’re a truly amazing woman, Duchess.’
 
And he dropped a light kiss on her lips.

She stepped back abruptly so that his hands fell away and thought,
Don’t put foolish ideas in my head.
 
And don’t call me Duchess.
 
I already like you better than I should
.
 
But what she said was, ‘I didn’t notice you sitting down with your hands folded, either.’

He shrugged.
 
‘He’s my friend.
 
So you must allow me to be grateful.’

‘Willingly,’ she replied with a flicker of mordant humour.
 
‘And you can prove it by carrying the bucket downstairs.’

*
 
*
 
*

By the time Athenais and Suzon returned bearing blankets, a flannel-wrapped hot brick and a mug of warm claret, Ashley was flickering back and forth between unconsciousness and an uneasy doze.
 
Athenais tucked two of the blankets around him, slid the brick in by his feet and set the claret on the hearth to keep warm.
 
Then, having made up the fire, she wrapped the remaining coverlet around her shoulders and sat down to watch and wait.

He slept for almost an hour and then awoke, shivering.

Muttering something, he tried to curl up as if to warm himself.
 
Inevitably, the movement jarred his wounded leg and brought him fully awake on a grunt of pain, followed by a mumbled curse.

‘Lie still,’ said Athenais quickly.
 
She disentangled herself from the blanket and placed it over him.
 
‘There.
 
You’ll be warmer now.
 
But you mustn’t move or you’ll damage your leg.’

‘Feels damaged enough already.’ And, swallowing with apparent difficulty, ‘Throat hurts.’

Athenais got the wine from the hearth, sat down on the bed beside him and helped him to sit up a little. ‘Here – drink this.
 
It will ease your throat and help to warm you.’
 
His skin still felt icy but, aside from building up the fire again, she wasn’t sure what else she could do.
 
Searching for more blankets – and God only knew if there were any – or fetching another hot brick meant leaving him alone and she was reluctant to do that in case he tried moving again.

Ashley drank the warm wine and subsided again on the pillow with closed lids.
 
His arm felt sore and fiery spears were stabbing his thigh, sending pain ricocheting from his toes to his groin.
 
But the alcohol went to his head with unusual speed and, despite the severity of his discomfort, he gradually dozed off for a time.

The respite was even briefer than before and, once more, he awoke shivering.
 
Watching him clench his jaw to stop his teeth chattering and seeing him become restless, Athenais started to worry.
 
Francis had said he might be cold but she hadn’t expected it to be as bad as this.
 
She had to get him warm somehow … and the only thing she could think of that might do it was to use her own body heat.

She sat beside him, being careful not to jar either of his injuries, and slid her arms about him so that his head nestled beneath her chin.
 
He muttered something and seemed to lean closer.
 
The shivering eased a little but didn’t completely stop and he was still cold to the touch.
 
Athenais decided that, if this approach was to be properly effective, she was going to have to intensify it.

She stood up – to a grumble of protest from Ashley – and fumbled for the laces of her gown, reasoning that the thick material was probably holding her warmth in rather than sharing it with him.
 
As she stepped out of her voluminous petticoats, she was quite glad of two contradictory things.
 
First, that his awareness was seriously impaired at present; and second, that she was wearing her new under-garments.
 
Then, when she had stripped down to shift, corset and stockings, she crawled gingerly under the blankets at his side until the whole length of her body lay close against his.