Water trickled close by. “Ahh,” Kaine said, a sound of intense relief.
Edouard chuckled. As he relaxed his shoulders and glanced downriver, a pale object in the reeds snared his gaze. Frowning, he stepped farther into the depths to discern exactly what he saw.
A bare foot.
The muddy hem of a garment, swaying in the stirred-up waves.
He dropped the reins and crashed toward the reeds.
“What is wrong?” Kaine called.
The water grew deeper, soaking Edouard’s fine leather boots to the knee and the lower part of his mantle, but he forged on, his hand on the hilt of his sword. When he neared the portion of reeds crushed by the body, he slowed to assess the poignant scene before him.
The young woman lay on her left side. Her long, dark brown hair splayed in a grimy tangle across her face, hiding her features from his view. The ends of her tresses had tangled up in the reeds’ stems. As he edged nearer, he saw that her head was resting on her left arm; it stretched up as though to grab a handhold in the muddy bank. Her right hand, fingers as pale as scoured bone, looked about to plunge into the muck and lever her farther out of the water. To safety.
“Edouard?” Kaine shouted again, followed by splashed footfalls.
Edouard caught his breath as he slowly crouched, ignoring the tug of his mantle as it soaked up more water. Her grubby garment looked to be one used as sleeping attire, or a chemise usually worn under a gown. Not a coarsely woven piece of clothing, as a peasant might wear. Judging by the border of tiny, embroidered flowers along her sleeve, ’twas a garment of superior quality.
Foreboding buzzed through his mind, even as he reached out to gently move the hair from her face. He hoped she was still alive. She could tell him who she was, and what had befallen her.
Small waves lapped against her body as Kaine crashed closer to Edouard. “What have you—? God’s blood!”
“Aye,” Edouard said grimly.
“Is she alive?”
“I am not certain.” Edouard’s fingertips slid against her temple, easing the matted hair downward. At first touch, her flesh seemed deathly cold, but then . . . He sensed the faintest pulse of life’s blood.
As the mud-knotted skeins slid away, they revealed her closed eyes and sweep of thick lashes, the smooth slope of her cheek, and elegant jaw line.
He froze. He knew her.
She looked older than he remembered, her features those of a woman rather than a maiden.
Kaine sucked in a sharp breath.
Dismay and anger, suppressed from months ago, broke free on a flood of memories. Edouard trembled at their force, while shock raced through him to settle like a cruel iron band around his heart. “God’s blood,” he whispered. “Juliana.”
***
Darkness blanketed her mind. Blackness so thick and limitless, she was lost in it.
Lost . . .
She tried to draw together the fragments of her thoughts, to find herself, but the inkiness shifted. It wrapped around her consciousness, squeezing tighter and tighter, until the fragments disappeared. The darkness settled back into a vast swath of nothingness.
So . . . cold.
So . . . alone.
Pain throbbed somewhere in the muzzy reaches of her mind. Sounds—muffled, distorted—sifted down to her. They brushed against her thoughts, taunting her, with all that she couldn’t comprehend.
A tiny part of her began to struggle. To fight its way toward the origin of those sounds.
I am here. In the dark. Find me!
But the pain . . . It slashed down upon her, crushing her with its ruthless, invisible grip. Agony screamed within the huddled reaches of her being. How well the pain echoed the greater ache trapped inside her. That anguish hinted at something . . . ghastly.
I am here. In the dark. Lost!
The inkiness began to press in upon her.
She had to find her way out of the darkness. Had to!
If only she knew why.
***
Unable to stop himself from shaking, Edouard smoothed his fingers down Juliana’s cheek. “Juliana, can you hear me?” He stared down at her ashen face, hoping his question got a response from her. However, he saw not the slightest sign that she’d heard him.
“Juliana!” he cried, his tone hoarsening. The horror of finding her like this churned within him. He longed to slam his fist into something solid, to channel his ferocious turmoil. Losing his temper wouldn’t help revive her, though, or assure her she was among friends. With a strangled groan, he caressed her face again.
“Why is she lying in the river?” Shock tautened Kaine’s voice. “What could have happened to her?”
“I do not know. But I will find out.”
Juliana had to live. She had to.
Pressing his lips together, deciding the best way to take her from the water, Edouard looked at the reeds crowding at her back. His gaze fell upon a dark stain between her shoulders. With sickening dread, he realized what he saw wasn’t mud, but blood.
The chill from the water seeped into his bones as he leaned over to examine the hair at her nape. Blood matted the strands together. A lot of blood. It had dried along her hairline and the neckline of her chemise. As his fingers eased aside the hair, an ugly, purplish mass came into view.
His stomach lurched.
“Someone hit her. Hard,” he said. “With a heavy object.”
Kaine exhaled a ragged breath. “What you mean is they aimed to . . . kill her?”
“Aye.” Rage and confusion burned inside Edouard. Who would want to murder her? Who had dumped her here, in the river? Who’d dare to consider her life to be as worthless as a sack of refuse?
He would know the truth!
“She was living with the Ferchantes, was she not?” Kaine asked. “Do you think his lordship knows of this incident?”
A very good question. One of many that had sped into Edouard’s thoughts. “Landon Ferchante may indeed have some answers. Right now, though, we need to ensure that she survives. We must get her dry and warm. She needs a healer.”
“There must be one in the village. Shall I ride ahead and find out?”
“I will send one of the others. If she wakes, she will know us. That may be a comfort to her.” Or, mayhap not, considering their disastrous prior encounters. She might tell him to get his wretched hands off her and never touch her again. He’d be delighted if she roused with the strength to scorn him.
Reaching down into the murky water, Edouard slid one arm under her upper body, gently tilted her toward him, and then slid his other arm under her knees. He lifted her into his arms. As he rose, water streamed from her gown and ran into his garments, soaking through to his skin. Her limp body slumped against him, her head falling to rest against his shoulder.
He looked down at her, wondering if by moving her he’d encouraged her to wake. Hoping, hoping, that he had. Her eyes remained closed. His heart squeezed at the pitiful blankness of her features.
When his gaze flicked down the rest of her body, a breath lodged in his throat, for he hadn’t anticipated how intimately her garment would reveal her feminine form. The muddy linen stuck to her body, defining the generous swell of her breasts, the outline of her nipples, and the curve of her hips. The thought of any other man seeing her this way, almost nude . . .
He glanced up, to see Kaine’s attention lift from Juliana. Jealous rage, so savagely hot he almost choked on it, flashed through Edouard. “Fetch my saddle blanket,” he ground out.
A flush darkened Kaine’s cheekbones. “A wise idea. I will bring mine, too.”
“Send one of the men into the village to find the healer.” Turning Juliana away from Kaine’s view, Edouard said, “I will wait here. The others cannot see her until she is covered.”
Water sloshed as Kaine plodded back to the bank. Edouard tightened his hold on Juliana, pressing her body even closer to his, hoping his body’s warmth might help revive her.
Hurry, Kaine. Hurry!
>
“What did his lordship find?” one of his men-at-arms said from the bank.
“A lady, wounded and near death. Later, there will be time for explanations,” Kaine said. “’Tis urgent we see to this woman’s well-being.” More conversation, less distinct, took place, and then Edouard heard the clatter of hooves as one of the men raced off.
Kaine returned to Edouard, two blankets tucked under his arm. “All is as you ordered.”
“Thank you.” Edouard slowly faced his friend. “I realize I will need your help to enwrap her . . .”
Kaine’s gaze steadily held his. “I am glad to assist.” Clearly doing his best not to look at Juliana’s bosom, he opened up Edouard’s blanket. Together, maneuvering her in Edouard’s arms, they managed to get the woolen covering all the way around her. Then Kaine unfolded his blanket partway and stretched it out over her.
“She must be warmer now,” he said.
“Warm enough, at least, till we can set her in a hot bath by a warm fire.” A shiver ran through Edouard, for his feet were turning numb inside his water-encased boots. But he wouldn’t think about his discomfort. All that mattered was saving Juliana.
With Kaine at his side, he headed toward the bank, taking care not to kick up waves and get water on the blankets. Her head shifted against him and her lips parted a fraction, revealing the even line of her front teeth. But she made no sound. Not the slightest cry or pained sigh.
“You are safe now, Juliana,” he murmured, willing her to hear him. “I swear, upon my soul, no one will hurt you like this again.”
Fear pressed in on him. Would she live, or was she so close to death her spirit would just slip away without him knowing? On the faintest breath . . . gone?
Nay. She wouldn’t perish that way. Such a strong, kind, beautiful woman deserved justice for the grievance done to her. If he could do naught else for her, he’d see her assailant captured and held accountable for the heinous crime.
As Edouard neared the water’s edge, his waiting men-at-arms exchanged glances. “Milord,” one of them called. “What are your orders?”
“Prepare to ride. The healer cannot be far from here.” Edouard’s boots met firm ground and, when he accidentally jostled Juliana, he cursed. He glanced back at Kaine. “Help me get Juliana onto my horse.”
“Shall we help?” another of the warriors asked.
Edouard shook his head. Juliana’s body might be well concealed, and they were trustworthy men, but the thought of others touching her in any manner . . . Nay.
Halting before his grazing horse, Edouard eased Juliana into Kaine’s waiting arms. Edouard mounted his steed, then, with his friend pushing her from below, pulled her up onto the saddle in front of him. He shifted her legs so she sat across his lap, settled the second blanket over her, then slid one arm around her body to draw her against him.
When he took up the reins, her wet head shifted into the crook between his head and shoulder. Edouard paid no heed to the water dripping down his neckline; he’d change his damp garments and dry off once she was in the healer’s care.
The faint puff of her breath tickled his skin. How intimate their posture must look from below—as though they were lovers. A notion he’d dispel if anyone made the assumption. He might resent his betrothal to Nara, but being an honorable man, he’d never abandon his commitment to her.
A long-ago memory of Juliana standing before him by the well, her tresses aglow with sunlight, flitted through his mind. How vibrant she’d looked that day. What he would give to see even a glimmer of that spirited woman now.
Find that strength of will, Juliana. Fight to open your eyes. Fight to live.
Edouard glanced down at Kaine, preparing to climb up onto his mount. Hope lit his friend’s eyes. “Did she stir?”
“Nay.”
Kaine’s mouth flattened. He nodded once before he gathered up the reins and swung onto his horse’s back.
With the men-at-arms close behind, Edouard spurred his mount in the direction of the village. With each sway of his horse, Juliana rocked against him. Did the motion of the horse cause her pain? He hoped not.
Thatch-roofed cottages, some surrounded by wooden fences, came into view along the roadside. Closer to the village outskirts, hoofbeats, growing louder by the moment, reached them. Narrowing his eyes against the sun’s brightness, Edouard looked to the approaching rider: his man-at-arms that Kaine had sent to find the healer.
When the man drew near, Edouard called, “What did you learn?”
“The healer’s cottage is on the opposite side of the village, milord. According to the merchant I spoke to, though, she is not there.”
“Why not?” Frustration turned Edouard’s voice to a growl.
Disquiet flickered in the rider’s eyes. “She is at Waddesford Keep and has been for the past sennight. Apparently, she went to help Lady Ferchante give birth and has not returned.”
Edouard’s gaze again slid down to Juliana. A gut feeling told him the healer’s situation and Juliana’s were connected. How, exactly, he didn’t yet know.
As though attuned to the flow of his thoughts, the rider added, “She has folk in the village who depend upon her herbs and ointments to ease their ailments. She has never abandoned their care before.”
“Then we must find out what is delaying her.”
The village gates loomed ahead. Edouard rode through them into the main street, shaded by stone buildings and filled with townsfolk, animals, and rumbling carts. He blinked against the churned-up dust, even as worry and impatience chafed at him. So many unanswered questions.
The barest change in Juliana’s breath against his neck, the faint shifting of her weight, snapped Edouard’s gaze back to her face.
Her eyes were open.
Chapter Seven
Sounds and smells rushed into the darkness filling her thoughts. Her groggy mind struggled to identify them, even as an onslaught of pain forced her consciousness up, up, into the brightness, like a bubble soaring up from the bottom of a river to pop on the surface.
Her eyes opened. A blur of colors careened before her. She blinked, and as her perceptions slowly focused, she recognized the sweet scent of horse, the metallic tinkle of metal, and the brush of cloth against her cheek.
“Juliana.”
The voice rumbled beneath her ear. A man’s voice, reassuring as it spoke the woman’s name. A glimmer of insight skated at the farthest edge of her thoughts. Something about the voice . . . She tried to chase the intuition, to mentally catch hold of it.
While she did so, she realized she was upon a horse and held in strong arms. She rested against the broad body of the man who’d spoken.
Misgiving skittered through her, heightening her sense of disorientation. How had she come to be upon a horse? Who was this man? Should she trust him, or fear him?
Her stomach clenched on a wave of agony. The ache within her skull threatened to obscure all else, to crush into nothingness the fragile hope blossoming inside her. But she couldn’t let it. These new sensations spoke to the loneliness inside her; they promised that at last, she’d been found.
Fighting her pain, swallowing down the bile rising to the back of her mouth, she tilted her head to look up at him.
Her gaze touched first his jaw dusted with stubble, then the taut plane of his cheek. Unable to resist the demand of his stare, she met his gaze. Concern shone in his thickly lashed blue eyes framed by dark, strong brows. Her heart lurched, a hard wallop against her breastbone, for this stranger had the most handsome countenance.
He looked upon her, however, as if he . . . knew her.
As though he cared for her.
A startled cry parted her lips. Panic whipped through her like hot sparks, and she tried to struggle, but . . . She couldn’t move her arms; they seemed to be trapped at her sides. And the pain—
“Juliana,” he said again, more urgently. “Please, do not be afraid. You are safe.”
Juliana? Why did he call her such? Oh, God.<
br />
“You remember me,” he urged. “’Tis Edouard. Edouard de Lanceau.”
The smallest tingle of acknowledgment brushed the fear and agony clouding her mind. Yet as soon as the sensation surfaced, it was sucked back down into the blackness trying to envelop her. Another hint of insight submerged. Lost.
“You remember me,” the man named Edouard went on, a plea now in his eyes. “We met for the first time last spring, at the feast at your sire’s castle. Sherstowe Keep.”
Feast. Sherstowe.
A rough sound of discomfort grated in Edouard’s throat. “I rescued you from the well.”
His words tumbled into her mind, rousing her loneliness. She didn’t remember.
His gaze shadowed with disappointment. “Surely you recall what happened . . . with Nara.”
She knew no one by that name.
Or did she? She didn’t remember. Not him. Not Juliana. Not the feast.
Naught.
A rasping noise broke into her racing thoughts. ’Twas the sound of her own breathing.
Noises swooped in upon her: voices; dogs barking; the squeaked rattle of passing carts. The sounds crowded one atop another, tangled together, until the cacophony raging inside her head threatened to split her apart.
The darkness coaxed.
“Juliana,” Edouard yelled, even as the creeping shadows began to dim the color around her and stifle the noises. How soothing, to fall back into the numbing inkiness . . .
I am here. In the dark. Find me! a voice inside her shrilled.
And then, all went black.
***
“Nay!” Edouard choked, bending his head close to Juliana’s. “Stay awake. Please, Juliana!”
Her head lolled against his arm.
“She is too weak,” Kaine murmured.
Edouard’s eyes smarted as he studied her wan, expressionless features. A wisp of hair had slipped from the blanket to trail across her fine-boned cheek; it looked gut-wrenchingly stark against her pale skin, and he gently swept it away.
How he wished she’d open her eyes again, look up at him, and prove she wanted to fight the injury that sapped her strength. In that moment before her consciousness slipped away, though, he’d seen doubt in her eyes, and a raw sense of hopelessness.
A Knight's Persuasion (Knight's Series Book 4) Page 8
