Silk And Steel Part 17

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l!" The marquess dodged the blade far more agilely than Murray would have guessed, stepping back just in time, seeming to grow taller as he straightened to collect himself. Keeping his weight on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, his long legs splayed for balance, Litchfield pulled off the scarf he wore around his neck and wound it around his arm as protection against the blade.

"Get 'im!" Hollis shouted, slas.h.i.+ng wildly with the knife. The marquess smoothly evaded the blade but Murray came at him from behind, shoving him into the sharp edge of steel. Hollis's blade arched upward, across the marquess's chest, cutting through his woolen coat and white cambric s.h.i.+rt, slicing a thin line through hard-muscled flesh.

Litchfield grunted in pain and spun away to grapple with Murray, knocking them both to the ground, rolling in the dirt, first one on top and then the other. He slammed several hard blows into Murray's face, then rolled to his feet and whirled to face Hollis, who slashed downward with his knife just then, the arc of the blade slicing into the marquess's arm. A sharp hiss of pain cut through the night, then Litchfield's long leg lashed out, his high black boot cracking against Hollis's wrist, the knife spinning away into the darkness.

Murray's head pounded and his lip was swollen. Blood leaked from his nose and mouth. Panting for breath, he looked around for Hollis, but the runty little coward had fled.

The marquess stepped back, gathering his strength for the next attack. "If you know what's good for you," he warned in a voice edged with steel, "you'll follow the tracks made by your friend."

Murray sneered. "Like bleedin' h.e.l.l!" He wasn't about to run, to let some fancy aristocrat make a fool of him. Circling, his eyes on his quarry, he spotted the knife Hollis had lost, reached down and scooped it up, holding it up like a trophy. "I'm gonna cut yer pretty face all to pieces," he warned, "and I'm gonna enjoy it."

In the sliver of moon slanting down through the clouds, the lines of Litchfield's face looked carved in stone. Murray wet his lips. The hand that held the knife was slick with sweat. When he'd taken the job, he hadn't expected the man to be such a fearsome opponent. He'd thought the other half of the quid he'd get for killing the b.a.s.t.a.r.d was as good as in his pocket.

Now he wasn't so sure.

"You can still leave here alive," Litchfield said with soft menace, as if, should Murray stay, his death was already a fact. Murray shoved back the greasy hair that had fallen into his eyes and continued to circle his prey.

"You're bleedin' like a stuck hog," Murray said. "You ain't got the strength to fight me. I'll kill ye and be gone."

The edge of the marquess's mouth barely curved. "I don't think so."

Murray could feel the sweat running down his rib cage. He noticed the marquess was favoring his injured arm, saw the blood trickling down the sleeve of his dark blue riding coat. Still, there was something in the man's black eyes, something that said even the knife wouldn't be enough to stop him.

The sound of voices reached his ears. G.o.d's teeth-someone was coming! It was the incentive he needed to set his legs into motion. Whirling away, Murray made a break for the stable, rounding the corner to where his horse was tied, running as fast as he could, certain the marquess was right behind him. He didn't waste time, just vaulted up on the horse's back, jerked its ugly head around, and dug his heels into the beast's bony ribs.

He didn't look back, just kept on riding till he reached the safety of the trees. There he reined up, but only for a moment. Looking back at the outline of the tavern, he swore an angry oath that he had failed.

Then again, the money was not yet lost. It was still there for the taking. The next time he encountered the b.l.o.o.d.y n.o.ble b.a.s.t.a.r.d, he would simply be better prepared.

Kathryn leaned over the rail at the top of the sweeping stairs down to the entry. A commotion below had pulled her from the solitude of her bedchamber. Now she saw a big-breasted woman dressed in the full skirt, low-cut peasant blouse, and stomacher of a tavern maid step into the entry. Behind her, two men half carried a third between them, an arm draped over each man's shoulder.

Kathryn gasped in horror as she realized who the injured man was.

"Lucien! Oh, dear G.o.d!" Lifting her skirts up out of the way, her heart clattering against her ribs, she raced down the stairs, nearly tripping in her haste to get there, skidding to a halt in front of them. "What in G.o.d's name happened? How badly is he hurt? Can you get him upstairs?" She whirled toward the butler. "Reeves-you must send for the doctor right away."

"I have already done so, my lady."

Lucien groaned just then and his eyes slowly opened. One of them was swollen nearly shut and his lip was cut and bleeding.

"I'm all right," he said, his voice edged with pain. "Ran into a little trouble outside the tavern."

"Me and Marty, we found him unconscious out near the stable," said the buxom, pale-haired woman. " 'E's lost a good bit of blood, milady. Be best we got 'im into bed."

"Yes, yes, of course. Please follow me." They followed her up the stairs, Lucien trying to navigate the steps but mostly being dragged by the men up to the second floor. His coat dripped blood. The ruffle at his cuff was stained crimson, and Kathryn bit back a wave of fear.

The man named Marty, young and gangly with long, unruly blond hair, spoke up. "Knifed him, they did. Cut his arm and across his chest. Bleedin' sods." He flushed. "Beg pardon, milady."

Kathryn's heart constricted. She covered her worry with anger. "It's all right. That is exactly what they are." The young man flashed her a grateful smile as they carried Lucien down the hall and settled him beneath the dark blue canopy on his big four-poster bed. With shaking hands, Kathryn pulled open his torn and filthy riding jacket and white cambric s.h.i.+rt, ripping it the rest of the way down the front, then she steadied herself as she looked at the slash across his beautiful chest.

"How bad is it, milady?" the buxom maid asked, hovering at the foot of the bed.

"The chest wound is only a scratch." Gauging the amount of blood soaking his sleeve, she decided that the other wound was more worrisome. Kathryn untied the makes.h.i.+ft bandage that had been tied around Lucien's arm to slow the bleeding, then tore open the sleeve of his ruined coat enough to survey the deep gash in his flesh.

"His arm has been cut very badly. I'll have to sew it up."

The barmaid lifted a pale winged brow. "Are ye sure ye hadn't ought to wait for the doctor?"

"Dr. Fredericks is at least two hours away. This bleeding needs to be stopped and I am as capable at sewing a wound as he is."

The blond woman said nothing more, but she looked at Kathryn with a hint of respect.

"Oh, my lord!" With a horrified gasp, Aunt Winnie rushed into the bedchamber, her slim hands pressed over her mouth. "He isn't... he isn't... ?"

Lucien's one good eye cracked open. "I a.s.sure you, madam, I am not dead yet. Quite possibly I will be after my wife attempts to practice her st.i.tchery upon my ravaged person."

"Don't say that," Kathryn warned, "and don't you dare fight me over this, Lucien. We need to stop the bleeding and I am quite capable of doing it."

He might have argued if he hadn't noticed the glitter of tears in her eyes. His mouth curved faintly. "If that worry I see is for me, then I suppose I shall have to acquiesce."

Embarra.s.sed, she blinked at the wetness, wiped the last trace away with the back of her hand. "All right, then." She turned to the others. "Aunt Winnie, I shall need my satchel. You will find it in my bedchamber beneath the bed. I'll need hot water to cleanse the wound and some clean cloth strips to bandage it. And fetch a decanter of brandy."

She turned her attention to the others. "The rest of you will have to leave." She tried to smile, but it came out wobbly. "I am extremely grateful to all of you for seeing to my husband's care. I shall be happy to pay you for your trouble-"

"No, milady," the woman interrupted. " 'Is lords.h.i.+p's done plenty for those of us what live in the village. You just see he gets back on his feet."

She nodded. "I will... and thank you again."

They left her alone, and a few minutes later, Aunt Winnie returned with the satchel that contained her precious medicinal supplies. Rooting through the contents, she set out a jar containing woundwort to help stop the bleeding, then drew out a needle and thread for the st.i.tches. She located a salve of hound's tongue, foxglove flowers, and white dead nettle to keep the wound from putrefying and also set that out.

A footman appeared just then, carrying a pan of steaming water while another arrived with a decanter of brandy and a tray laden with bandages.

"Perhaps, Aunt Winnie, you should hold him."

"Oh, dear."

Lucien's voice rolled up from the bed. "I won't move. I don't need my aunt's help or anyone else's." He gave his aunt an exhausted smile. "It would be best, Aunt Winnie, if you waited downstairs until Kathryn, is finished."

Winnie looked so relieved, Kathryn didn't argue. She supposed not everyone was cut out for this sort of thing. "Go ahead," she said. "This shouldn't take long."

"Well, all right... if you're certain you don't need me..."

Kathryn simply nodded. As soon as the woman left the room, she reached for the brandy, poured some into a gla.s.s, and handed it to Lucien, who drank the contents in a single gulp and hissed in a breath. She refilled the gla.s.s and held it out, but her husband shook his head.

"I swear I have never drunk so much liquor as I have since I met you."

"It will help with the pain," Kathryn told him, ignoring the jibe, but he still refused.

"I'll be fine."

Hoping he was right, she arranged the supplies she needed on a cloth-covered tray beside the bed, then placed the pan of hot water beside it.

"First we have to get you out of those filthy clothes."

The first flicker of interest shone in those silver-black eyes. "If I didn't know it was going to hurt like the b.l.o.o.d.y devil, I should like nothing better than to have you help me undress."

Something warm moved through her, stirring a memory of the night that they had made love. His words were the first reference of a s.e.xual nature he had made since they had lain together. Since Kathryn was certain she had been an utter disappointment in that regard, she decided to ignore it.

"Perhaps I should ring for your valet. Holcomb could help me lift you up."

"I'm not an invalid, Kathryn. I've suffered a minor cut on my arm. If you will be good enough to help me a little, I can get the d.a.m.nable coat off myself."

She didn't argue, nor mention the wound was scarcely minor at all. It was enough he was letting her take care of him. Leaning over, she untied the cloth she had retied around his arm, then slipped a hand behind his back to lift him up while he struggled to undress. It took a little doing, but eventually she was able to help him peel away the b.l.o.o.d.y coat and shed his torn and dirty s.h.i.+rt. Naked to the waist, he lay back down on the bed, the cut in his arm bleeding again quite badly.

Kathryn clamped down on her bottom lip to steady herself. Being nervous wasn't usually a problem, but somehow this was different. The blood spilling onto the sheets belonged to Lucien and she couldn't stand the thought that he was in pain. Her heart was pounding and she had to fight to keep her hands from shaking. She reached for the cloth, dipped water from the bowl, and swabbed the wound clean, then picked up the needle and thread she had prepared and settled herself on the mattress beside him.

"As you said, this is bound to hurt."

"Just get it done."

She took a deep breath and focused her attention on the work she had to do. Though Lucien didn't flinch or move even a single muscle, each time she pushed the needle through flesh she felt the pain as if it were her own. "I'm nearly through."

"It's a d.a.m.ned good thing."

She felt the tug of a smile. "One more st.i.tch and I'm finished." Drawing the thread snug, she tightened the knot and tied it off, then bit the thread in two. She cleansed the wound on his chest, smeared both cuts with the medicinal salve, applied a bruised woundwort leaf to his arm and bandaged him up.

When she had finished, she smiled down at him, her heart full of worry and love. She had tried to fight it, but seeing him tonight, she knew she loved him even more than she had thought. Ill-suited though they were, she loved him. She cursed herself for a fool, but there was nothing she could do.

"You were incredibly brave," she said, smoothing back a lock of his wavy black hair. "I'm proud of you." Now that his injuries had been tended, she moved to the foot of the bed to tug off his boots, unfasten and roll down his stockings.

The breeches were another matter. Just the thought of what lay beneath the cloth reminded her of making love, of how she had felt when he had been inside her, and a little ripple of heat trickled through her.

Kathryn wet her lips, which suddenly felt as dry as the powder she had used in her healing ointment. "I believe I shall leave the rest to Holcomb," she said, trying not to think of him naked, to ignore the warmth sliding into her belly.

"I'll ring for him in a minute," Lucien said when she returned to the side of the bed. His good arm moved and his hand came up to her cheek. "You look nearly as tired as I feel. Why don't you lie down beside me for a while?"

It was odd how much she wanted to. "I shouldn't. We need to get you undressed so that you can get some sleep. In the morning you can tell me how all of this happened." And perhaps I shall work up the courage to ask you about the blonde.

"I'll sleep better if you stay... just for a while."

She smoothed back his hair. "All right," she said softly. "I'll stay. Just for while." She lay down on the mattress and settled herself beside him, and Lucien snuggled her closer. She rested her head against his shoulder and felt his arm close around her. She should go, ring for Holcomb, and see him put comfortably to bed. Instead, she lay at his side, absorbing the warmth of his skin, the faint smell of tobacco and leather, watching the long muscles move over his ribs with each rise and fall of his chest.

She was in love with him. A single night of pa.s.sion didn't change things. In less than a year, their marriage would be ended. It was the right thing to do, the right thing for both of them.

Kathryn's heart squeezed hard inside her. She only hoped when the time came, she would have the courage to let him go.

FIFTEEN.

Christmastide was nearly upon them. By the night of the Duke of Carlyle's party, Kathryn's worry for Lucien had faded. Though his eye was a yellowish-purple, a corner of his bottom lip scabbed over, and his arm in a sling, he was feeling nearly himself.

She had asked him what had happened at the tavern and he had explained that brigands had attacked him as he had left the building on his way out to the stable.

"I a.s.sume they were after my purse. Most of the people in the village know I am the Marquess of Litchfield. My attackers probably a.s.sumed that as a member of the n.o.bility, I would be carrying a substantial sum of money."

Sitting beside his bed, Kathryn skillfully cleansed his wounds, then applied a fresh bandage to his arm. He wore no night rail and the sheet rode low on his hips. Curly black hair arrowed down from a broad, muscled chest and every time she looked at him, Kathryn felt overly warm.

"The woman who brought you home..." she said, careful to keep her eyes on her work. "She seemed to think a good deal of you."

"Did she?"

"You go to the tavern quite regularly. I suppose you know her fairly well."

One of his sleek black brows arched up. "How well do you mean?"

Her cheeks burned with color. "It isn't really my business. I just thought... I mean, she seemed so very concerned and... well, I just wondered..."

A corner of his mouth curved with amus.e.m.e.nt. "If you wish to know if I have bedded the la.s.s, the answer is no."

Kathryn glanced away, even more embarra.s.sed, and wis.h.i.+ng the news didn't make her feel nearly giddy with relief. "As I said, it isn't really my business. We have an arrangement, after all, and-"

"An arrangement?" Silver glinted in the midnight eyes that locked on her face.

"Yes, well, that is something I've been meaning to talk to you about. I realize... after what happened between us the other night... you might think you are now obliged to remain locked into our marriage. The fact is, I am fairly certain I did not conceive. Therefore we can still go through with the annulment as we had planned."

Instead of looking happy, Lucien looked annoyed. "So that is still your wish?"

She supposed it was. It was the right thing to do. She had trapped him into marriage. He didn't love her. She had to set him free. "Of course." But the thought made a soft ache throb in her chest.

Lucien's face looked grim. "If that is what you want, then that is the way it shall be."

Kathryn simply nodded. Her throat felt too tight to speak. It was ridiculous to feel this way, and yet she couldn't help it. Neither of them spoke as she tied off the clean white bandage on his arm and left the room.

Over the next few days, Lucien's family physician, Dr. Fredericks, appeared several times to examine the patient and look over her work, but he seemed pleased with what she had done and urged her to continue. He suggested the marquess might be bled a time or two but Lucien flatly refused, and Kathryn was secretly glad. Jason and Velvet came to call as soon as gossip of the a.s.sault reached Carlyle Hall. They were relieved to see the marquess was recovering and would soon be back on his feet.

Improving though he was, aside from her care of his wounds, it wasn't until the morning before Christmas that her husband sought her out.

"You haven't forgotten our plans to spend the evening with Velvet and Jason?" Earlier, he had mentioned the invitation he'd received from the duke and d.u.c.h.ess to join a gathering of friends for the lighting of the Yule log that would begin the holiday season.

"I didn't forget. I didn't think you'd be feeling well enough to go." And after our last conversation, I had no idea what you might be thinking.

"I feel fine. I may not look so pretty, but if you and Winnie can stand the sight of me, I would be more than pleased to attend." Lucien smiled and even the bruises on his face couldn't disguise the beauty of his strong, carved features. "We haven't had much holiday spirit around here so far. With the Sinclair children scampering about, perhaps a bit of good cheer will rub off on us."

Kathryn smiled back at him, her heart beating a little faster. "I'd like that very much." It had been years since she'd really enjoyed the holiday season, not since her mother and sister had died. Without them, Christmastime held so many sad memories she and her father had mostly ignored it After Papa had died and her uncle and his daughter had moved into Milford Park, Dunstan's lavish Christmas entertaining had only enhanced her feelings of loneliness and despair.