by Robyn DeHart
It was caked in blood, and she could not see enough of the actual bullet hole to gauge the true damage. Blond hair covered his torso, but in the wound area, it had matted. Without warning, she ran the wet rag against the wound. Rivulets of blood and water dripped down his arm.
“That stings,” he growled.
Sabine had to clean the wound. Perhaps in her determination to ignore his fine form, her ministrations were rougher than she’d intended. “Don’t act like a child,” she warned. “Besides, it’s not that deep.” She caught Agnes’s eyes as she obviously lied to Max.
Agnes nodded almost imperceptibly.
Sabine hoped he wouldn’t notice that it was, in fact, quite deep. The best thing for all of them was to convince him the injury hadn’t been that bad to begin with, and then he might not be so curious when it healed quickly. They needed to patch him up and send him on his way before he became suspicious of their ways. Now that the Chosen One was searching for Agnes, they all had to be extremely vigilant.
A cold chill shivered down Sabine’s neck. What if this man was the Chosen One? Her hand stopped midstroke, and she met Max’s eyes—clear blue and lined with real pain. No, Madigan would have known if Max was the Chosen One. He had their map, and he considered himself a scholar, though he’d referred to himself as an adventurer. And hadn’t Agnes said that Phinneas had once had a vision about a “great one” discovering their map? She relaxed a bit.
“Little more than a grazing,” she added.
Lydia’s eyes rounded, and Calliope opened her mouth to argue, but Agnes shook her head. “Calliope, pour the marquess some more of your fine whiskey.”
He sat taller. “Wasn’t the first time I got shot,” Max ground out. “Probably won’t be the last.”
Lydia poked a scar on his back. “Shot in the back, I see. Perhaps you shouldn’t invade people’s homes in the middle of the night.”
“Lydia,” Calliope chided as she handed Max the whiskey.
“Who were those men?” Sabine asked as she continued to wash his wound.
“I don’t know. Thugs hired to find something would be my guess.” He winced. “They were digging through all your belongings, then headed upstairs to continue their search.” His blue eyes locked onto hers. “Care to share what you’re hiding?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We have absolutely nothing to hide.” She turned back to the basin and poured clean water into the bowl. “They obviously had mistaken our shop for someone else’s.”
“Then why were they intent on going upstairs?” he asked.
“Perhaps they planned on ravishing us,” Calliope said with great drama.
Sabine pressed near his wound until he grimaced. “The bullet seems to still be lodged in your chest,” she said.
“I thought you said it was a grazing,” he gritted through his teeth.
“My mistake,” she said with a shrug.
“Let me remove the bullet. You can prepare the ointment, Sabine.” Agnes stepped forward. “But first you tell me who you are.” She leveled her gaze on him.
He nodded once. “Maxwell Barrett, Marquess of Lindberg.”
“And precisely what were you doing in our shop?” she continued.
He met Sabine’s glance. “I just happened by and saw the intruders. Perhaps I was merely in the right place at the right time.”
Sabine made no move to correct him. “Our hero,” she said tightly. She watched as her aunt gathered the tools she needed and then approached the table.
“I am Agnes,” her aunt said as she sat in the chair next to him and scooted it forward. “These are my sisters: Lydia, whom you probably have realized is the one who shot you. And Calliope, my youngest sister, the one responsible for that foul liquid you’re consuming at a rather alarming rate. And this is our niece Sabine, but it appears that the two of you have already met.” She paused and met his gaze. “I’m afraid this is going to hurt.”
“Splendid,” he said dryly. “And up until now this evening had been so pleasant.”
Sabine watched Agnes use the tweezers to pull the bullet out of the marquess’s chest. His jaw tensed and ticked, but he made no sound. Of course, he’d had three glasses of Calliope’s homemade whiskey, so he wasn’t feeling much of anything.
While Lydia finished cleaning the wound, Sabine turned away from them to ready the salve. She scooped out a small amount into a shallow dish, then stirred it to loosen the compound. She had assisted her mother this way when she’d treated villagers. But that was a long time ago, back before everything had changed for Sabine.
His wound was worse than she’d expected, and one of her aunts had caused it. All they needed was for him to turn them in to the police, and attract all kinds of attention from the newspapers. Not a great way to hide.
Of course, he had broken into their shop. The story he’d told her aunts was convenient and prevented her from having to answer any of their questions. But she’d need to be left alone with him to inquire further about the truth.
He’d been here to ferret around just as those other men had been. Was he their accomplice? That seemed unlikely considering the fight they’d gotten into.
“He’s going to need stitches,” Agnes said. “Lydia, fetch my sewing basket.”
“Why—” Lydia started to argue, but Agnes held up her hand to stop Lydia.
“In case it might have escaped your attention, you shot him. And it appears as if the marquess has saved our lives tonight from those three villains,” Agnes said. “Now go and get the basket.”
Lydia made no additional protests, but she glared at her sister. “I think we should kick you to the curb as we did the other thieves,” she said to Max before she went to grab the basket. “Damned English,” she muttered as she traipsed down the hall.
Sabine stepped forward. “Agnes,” she said, placing a hand on her aunt’s shoulder, “I believe I can manage the situation from here. The three of you should return to bed.” She nodded firmly to show her resolve. “You need your rest.”
“Are you certain?” Agnes asked.
Sabine merely nodded. Though Sabine wasn’t the Healer, she had been trained as one. Her mother had died and the guardianship had been passed to Agnes, not Sabine. It had taken her a couple of years to find confidence amid the doubtful gazes of the villagers who sat waiting for her failure. She gave her aunt a reassuring smile. “I’ll patch him up and then the marquess will be on his way, isn’t that right?” Sabine nudged his knee.
“Yes, of course,” he muttered.
“All will be well, I promise,” she said. Her three aunts stood huddled in the kitchen, merely staring at him.
“I’d thank you for the hospitality,” Max said, his deep voice rumbling through their small kitchen, “but I wouldn’t need such ministrations if I hadn’t been shot. But a pleasure to meet all of you.” He then gave them a cocky grin.
Sabine could see humor etched around his eyes, and the knot in her stomach began to dissolve. His smiles seemed to simultaneously calm and disarm her.
Once her aunts had finally left them alone in the kitchen, she busied herself with the task at hand, determined not to allow it to bother her that she was alone with him. It was of no consequence. She’d been alone with plenty of men. True, none were as handsome as the marquess.
She knotted the thread and sterilized the needle over the candle’s flame. Meanwhile, she tried to ignore Max’s muscular chest and concentrate on the task at hand. Men without their shirts were not new to her. Back in Essex, men often worked in the fields without shirts. The men in her village were strong and healthy, but they had darker complexions, with black hair covering their stomachs. In contrast, Max was much fairer than the men in her culture, and his dark blond hair spread across his chest. A lighter sprinkling down his torso narrowed to a tight line that disappeared into his waistband.
She knew how strong he was and how firm his muscles were. Earlier when she’d been pressed against him beneath the stairs,
it was the first thing she’d noticed. She’d felt his arm tighten and tense beneath her hand as she’d pinched him to end his unwanted kiss. It mattered not that it had been a most pleasant kiss. More than pleasant, it had been world-tilting. Still it was completely unwarranted and unwanted. She did not have time to dally with this handsome man nor any other. Her focus was on assisting her aunts and especially keeping Agnes safe.
She didn’t dare admit that she had, just this evening, journeyed to his home to sneak inside. Sabine and her aunts had sat in a carriage outside his townhome for nearly two hours waiting for the man to leave for the evening.
Lydia had fallen asleep due to boredom. Agnes had become rather cranky, and Calliope had wanted to go forward with the plan and break in despite the marquess’s still being at home. But he’d never readied a carriage for himself, never called for a horse or a rig. And the lights in that downstairs corner room had never dimmed, even after other rooms had gone dark. Had that been his study? Perhaps where he kept the map?
In the end, they’d left, returned to their shop, and gone to bed.
And now he was here, doing a little burglary of his own.
“Why were you here tonight?” she asked. The needle pierced his skin, and he sucked in a sharp breath. She made her touch more gentle. There was no need to take her frustration out on his tender flesh. She tried to keep her attention on the stitching.
His gaze slowly rose to meet hers, and the full impact of his clear blue eyes nearly stole her breath away.
“Perhaps I came for another kiss,” he said, his mouth tilting in a smile.
She quickly looked away, instead concentrating on his wound. Suddenly being kind and gentle seemed less important; being quick became her goal. He grimaced as she pulled the needle through his flesh. “Well, if that was the case, I believe you came for naught.”
“Indeed?”
“The kiss was uninspired at best.” She would not allow him to see how truly distracting she found him. “In my estimation, it hardly warranted a special trip, especially in the middle of the night. We both would have found a decent night’s sleep more rewarding.”
He winced again, whether from her insult or the stitches, she couldn’t be certain. Nor did she care, she reminded herself. And it especially didn’t matter that she was lying. He need not know that the kiss had shot tingles through her body from her scalp to her toenails. That even still, as she sat here before him, she could taste him, still feel his warmth pressed against her.
“What do you know of my map?” he asked, and this time his voice had taken on a darker tone.
She ignored her churning stomach. It would be best if she kept her nerves to herself. Not only that, but she needed to keep her eagerness at bay. They had to have that map. The lives of her people and family depended on it.
“Someone told me you have in your possession the only map of the legendary continent of Atlantis.” She made another stitch.
Again his eyes met hers. “And who is this someone?” He gave her no time to answer as he continued. “Miss Tobias, it is not widely known that I own that map. Though certainly in some circles…” He trailed off. “I would have assumed that most map collectors would be more concerned with countries that are widely accepted as fact rather than a mythical continent.”
She paused over the next stitch to allow her hands to cease shaking. Damn him but he rattled her. It was no great secret that many did not believe in the existence of her homeland, but she had not considered that detail in her lie. He had a good point. A typical map collector would not bother with Atlantis. Real collectors valued detailed maps whose accuracy could be compared with real places. But she couldn’t change her story now.
“I don’t recall who told me.” She hoped she sounded casual. She added a short laugh to enforce the point. “And I collect maps from all over. Fact or fiction. I could not speak to what other collectors might deem appropriate. It’s not a scholarly pursuit with me. I told you, I merely find them attractive.”
“Might I see your collection? I have a great affinity for maps as well,” he said.
The needle slipped, and she accidentally jabbed him. “Sorry. I’m afraid I don’t keep them here. This isn’t our primary residence.”
“Of course,” he said. He sat quietly for a moment before he spoke again. “Generally those maps worth collecting do not come at a cheap rate.”
“Surely you are not suggesting that I don’t appear wealthy enough to be a legitimate map collector,” she said. “That would be horribly rude and quite presumptuous.”
“Of course not. I could never be that crass.”
“Ah, such charm,” she said as she pulled the thread through. “I bet that sort of thing works well for you. Most of the time,” she added with a little bite to her tone.
“Most of the time,” he agreed.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t make such assumptions. Things are not always as they appear,” she said.
He said nothing, merely sat quietly with that seductive grin of his.
She finished the last stitch and tied off the thread. “There you go.” She paused and looked up at him. She once again found herself trapped by his soul-stirring eyes.
She looked away after a moment and tried to recover herself. “You need some salve,” she muttered. Gently she smeared a generous amount of the thick ointment over the stitches and the surrounding area. “This will help it heal.”
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“Regardless of why you were here tonight,” she said, “I do appreciate your assistance.”
“You need to be careful. Someone is after you, Sabine, and though you won’t tell me, I suspect you know why. If you don’t have the good sense to let me help, then at least seek assistance from someone.” This time she saw no playfulness in his eyes, no teasing.
His advice was sound; she could not deny that. But she had no one she could ask for help. “We can protect ourselves.”
“Four women living alone should always be cautious,” he said.
She busied herself by cleaning up the supplies. “We are cautious.” She had no one but her aunts. “We are perfectly safe here,” she insisted, despite the blatant evidence to the contrary.
“Yes,” he agreed wryly. “Your aunt’s shooting accuracy not withstanding.”
He stood then and tugged his shirt on. He cringed as he stretched out his arm to slide on the bloodstained coat. But she made no move to touch him again.
Together they walked down the staircase in silence, then he turned to her and said, “Another kiss for my trouble?”
“I think not,” she said, though the invitation and his wicked grin sped up her heart.
“Pity.” He bent and pressed his warm mouth over her hand.
Sabine shut and locked the door behind him, then turned for the staircase and nearly walked right into Calliope and her other two aunts, who weren’t far behind.
She jumped. “Good heavens, you frightened me. What are you all doing sneaking around?”
“We weren’t sneaking,” Agnes said.
“We came to assist you,” Calliope said.
“Assist me with what, precisely?” Sabine asked as they all made their way upstairs.
None of them answered.
“Did you check the amphora?” Sabine asked.
“Yes, it is right where I left it,” Agnes said.
And immediately she felt the fool for even asking. Of course Agnes had taken proper measures to ensure the safety of the elixir.
“He’s the one with the map,” Lydia said, her arms crossed over her chest. “The one Madigan told you about?”
“Yes,” Sabine said. They all followed her into her room. She sat on her bed, hoping they’d get the hint that she was ready to sleep. She didn’t want to fend off their questions.
“Younger and more handsome than I’d have thought,” Agnes said.
“Indeed.” Lydia nodded, her lips pursed.
Calliope nodded enthusiastically.
&n
bsp; “I hadn’t noticed,” Sabine said.
“And I suppose you didn’t notice how firm his body looked,” Agnes said.
“Agnes, truly!” Lydia chided.
“What?” Agnes tossed her arms up. “I’m old, not blind.”
Sabine ignored them both.
“He came into the shop this morning,” Calliope said. She eyed her sisters with a wide grin.
Sabine shot her a warning look.
“And you didn’t tell us,” Agnes asked. She tsked her tongue. “Keeping secrets from your aunts.”
Sabine knew Agnes was teasing her. She’d been the very same aunt who had encouraged Sabine to have a part of her life she kept to herself. Still, Lydia was standing right there, and she would expect an answer. “There was no need to,” Sabine said.
“What did he want?” Lydia asked.
“He wanted to know why I wanted his map.” Sabine shrugged. “How I’d found out about it. Questions any person would have if a woman showed up out of nowhere offering you a wager for your prized possession.”
“What did you tell him?” Agnes asked.
Sabine took a deep breath. “I lied. I told him I was a collector.”
“He doesn’t believe you,” Calliope said with a shake of her head.
“That I realize,” Sabine said.
“And we still need that map,” Lydia said. “Desperately,” she added.
“I’ll think of something.” Sabine eyed her aunts. She had to. And she wanted to accomplish the task without too much of their assistance. They needed to be able to rely on her.
“And what of the other men?” Agnes asked. “What did they want?”
Sabine ran a brush through her hair. “I don’t know.”
“They had to be after the elixir,” Agnes said.
Lydia shook her head. “It is too soon for the Chosen One to have found us. We are too well hidden. Madigan even agreed. And he took extra precautions to make certain he wasn’t followed here.”
Madigan. He had risked his life to warn them about the prophecy, to tell Sabine where to find the map, and thus far, she had failed in retrieving it. Sabine set the brush down.
