In a Treacherous Court (10 page)

“It was more a clash. A battlefield engagement.” He withdrew his hand and clenched it as if ashamed. “They tried, but only I drew blood.”

“There was more than one?”

Parker shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “Three, if you count Gripper.”

“Who is Gripper?”

“The ruffian who attacked you in the courtyard.”

Susanna’s eyes widened. “I count him.”

“You know something of great importance, Susanna.”

She couldn’t remember when he’d stopped calling her Mistress Horenbout and begun addressing her so intimately, and she didn’t care. “I have told you everything I know.”

“That cannot be true—” He held up a hand as the protest exploded from her. “I believe you. There is something you do not realize you know.”

She cocked her head to the side as her indignation subsided. “Else why would they still be so relentless?”

She led the way to the study and took the chair by the fire again, rubbing her hands close to the blaze. The house was strangely still. She wondered where Mistress Greene and the boys were.

“Aye. No one takes these kinds of risks without being desperate.” Parker poked at the fire, threw on another log, and eased into the chair beside her. “But the risk is controlled. There are so many layers between the brains behind this and the blunt weapons he throws at us, I have barely scratched the surface of lies and confusion.”

“Sending someone to kill me who was known to you was ill-thought.”

Parker nodded. “The person behind this didn’t employ
Gripper to attack you. The man he did hire got Gripper to come in his stead.”

Susanna thought about that. “Then whoever sent Gripper will no doubt be in trouble himself now.”

Parker scrubbed a hand over his face. “Where he has gone, that is the least of his worries.”

She finally understood. “He is dead?”

“Aye.”

The thin whistle of the wind through the gap between the window and its frame and the pop of the fire as snow drifted down the chimney were the only sounds. A sense of debt to Parker for what he had done, had been forced to do to protect them all, stole over her.

Reluctant to speak, reluctant to move, weighed down by death and dread, Susanna roused herself with an effort of will. “I know you are occupied with many other things, but I would like to call on Master Harvey’s widow. She will wish to hear his last words.”

Parker stiffened. He looked at her sharply, all regrets about recent events pushed aside. She could almost see his mind spinning, as suddenly hers spun as well.

Mistress Greene’s shriek from the kitchen cut through her thoughts like a blade.

She leaped to her feet, but Parker reached the door before she’d taken two steps.

“Stay.” The command was thrown over his shoulder as he charged ahead, sword and knife in his hands.

Susanna stood frozen, looking at the empty doorway, her stomach clenching.

The silence went on forever. Each creak and groan of the wooden boards beneath her feet, each pop and sizzle from the fire, stretched out interminably.

She could stand it no more, had to know what was afoot. She took a tentative step toward the door, then another. She paused just on the threshold.

What would she do if someone was attacking them? Had managed to attack Parker?

She looked back into the room and saw the brass poker in its fine filigree stand by the fireplace. She strode back, swung it up, and held it before her as she entered the passageway.

She crept forward, one cautious step at a time. A small rustle, a quiet groan, sounded behind the half-open kitchen door at the end of the passage, freezing her to the spot.

The groan came again and she slid along the wall, crouching down as she reached the door. She paused, listening intently, but it was unnaturally quiet.

She could not wait a moment longer.

She took a deep breath and stood, threw the door open with a crash, poker raised. At first it seemed no one was there, until she heard the muffled groan again.

Mistress Greene lay on her side before the fireplace, curled tight as a bud.

With a cry, Susanna flung herself down next to her, searching for injuries.

“Mistress Greene, where are you hurt?”

The housekeeper raised her head off the rush-strewn floor, and Susanna saw a small pool of blood beneath her, soaked up by the dried leaves. Blood smeared her cheek and had begun to dry in thick rivulets above her eyebrow.

“The boys?” she asked in a weak voice.

Susanna glanced around, but there was no sign of the boys. No sign of Parker, either.

He would never have left Mistress Greene to lie here if he’d seen her. So either he hadn’t seen her, or …

Susanna stood.

Parker would not have gone quietly, and he would not have been easy to take.

She raised the poker again and crept to the back door. It was ajar, and the cold air flowed in, viscous and heavy.

The yard was empty. In the light from the lantern hanging above the stable door, she could see it was open, and from inside the stable Susanna could hear the thud and grunt of a fight.

She grabbed a pile of clean rags from the table and ran back to Mistress Greene, lifting her head gently and pillowing the cloths under it.

“Don’t go to sleep,” she whispered. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

As she returned to the back door, she saw the cleaver Mistress Greene used to chop chicken carcasses lying on the table. She picked it up and hefted it in her right hand, the poker in her left. Then she ran out into the yard, keeping an eye on the
archway where Gripper had grabbed her that morning. No one lurked in the street that she could see.

She hovered around the stable entrance, trying to peer without getting too close to the door.

She saw a foot almost on the stable threshold. It was small, pathetic, illuminated by the wedge of lantern light that cut into the stable’s gloom.

Eric.

Since she’d found Mistress Greene, a rage had been building at these people who would not stop coming. Who thought nothing of the lives they were destroying.

Her anger was cold as the air she breathed, and Eric’s foot made the rage grow colder. Cold as a blizzard.

She ran through the door, stooped over double, and crouched next to Eric. He had been struck senseless, but she was relieved to hear him take a shuddering breath.

Peter Jack lay two feet away, his face a mess of bruises and cuts. His eyes fluttered open, stared at her blankly for a moment, then closed again.

She stood and heard the thump of a body against the wooden planks of the stable stall, a grunt of effort as flesh struck flesh.

Parker, who had already spent his day fighting for his life and for information to protect hers.

Enough was enough.

Furious, she hefted her weapons and made for the stall just as two men burst from it: Parker locked in battle with some tradesman or laborer, by his dress.

Blood streamed down their faces and matted their hair. The fine linen and velvet of Parker’s clothes were as ripped and torn as his attacker’s rough wool. Wild beasts fighting to the death.

They fell to the floor and Parker’s attacker grabbed his head by the hair, lifted it up to crack it down on the wooden planks. The man drew back his lips in a snarl, and Susanna saw blood coating the whites of his teeth.

She ran forward, the poker already swinging down, and caught him a hard crack on the back of his head.

He grunted in pain and shot her a look of disbelief, then half-stood to come after her.

Parker rolled away and began to heave himself up, but his attacker shook his head as if to clear it and turned his attention back to Parker.

It had become personal for him, Susanna could see. She was the only one armed with anything more than fists, she was the only one standing on her feet—but he dismissed her out of hand as a threat.

His mistake.

With a cry, she rushed him, swinging the cleaver and the poker together. He turned and blocked the poker’s blow just in time, flicking it from her hand.

He didn’t even see the cleaver.

Susanna heard the thud of metal into flesh, felt the vibration down the wooden handle in her hand.

She’d never heard a more horrendous noise. Felt a more terrible sensation.

Bile rose in her throat and she stumbled back, blinking at the sight of the cleaver buried deep in the fleshy part of his right upper arm.

She tripped backward, fell to the floor, the world suddenly all white and strange, filled with a buzzing noise and tiny colored lights.

She dipped her head to her knees, panting, knowing she could not afford to faint.

Up. She had to get up.

She moved to her hands and knees, finally got her feet under her and stood, swaying.

“You bitch!” The attacker had lost his startled expression, replaced by outrage and venom. He braced himself and pulled the cleaver from his arm.

The blood gushed and spurted from the wound as if it would use up every drop in his body.

“I’m going to kill you.” He took a step forward, but his footing was unsteady, his eyes unfocused and dazed.

Fear ripped her from her fog. Susanna looked for Parker and saw him standing at last, breathing deeply. As the attacker took another faltering step, Parker lurched forward and shoved him over.

The man went down without a sound and lay still, looking up at the open beams of the stable ceiling.

“We need to stop the bleeding,” Parker said, and he pulled off his tattered sleeves, ripping them from their laces.

He bent down to their attacker and Susanna knelt beside
him. Smelled the sweat and blood and rage coming off Parker, mingled with the sweet barn scent of hay and horse.

“I don’t want this one to die,” Parker said as he tightened his sleeve around the wound.

“You want to question him?” Susanna looked at the man’s face, white and clammy with sweat. “Will he talk?”

Parker turned to her, touched a bloodstained finger to her cheek. “He will when I’m through with him.”

Y
ou use your right and left hands equally well.” Parker watched as Susanna bathed Eric’s head wound. “A good person to have in a fight.”

She shrugged. “I was born favoring my left hand.” Her mouth turned up in a humorless smile, and he realized she must have been taught to use her right hand because of the stigma attached to using the left.

“My father and brother too.” Her smile turned genuine. “They would have been more use to you, no doubt. I faint at the first blow struck.”

“You are no warrior, and there is no shame in that. You struck your blow, no matter what you did afterward. The outcome could have been much different without Mistress Greene’s cleaver and your aim.”

She shook her head. “You were getting to your feet, Parker. You would have overcome him.”

“I might have overcome him, I might not have. When I
entered the kitchen and chased the ruffian out, I had no notion there were two of them.” He should have anticipated that they would up the stakes. The man had led him straight to the barn and into a trap. His fist clenched so tightly on the damp cloth he held that a trickle of water ran down his forearm.

Susanna gasped and put down the cloth she was using on Eric. “There were two? What happened to the other one?”

“Dead. Lying somewhere in the hay of the stable with my knife in him.” That reminded him, he needed to retrieve it. And his sword.

He had never been disarmed in a fight before. Never been taken so much by surprise.

He flicked his gaze over Eric and Peter Jack, lying still and pale on their beds. He had helped Susanna put Mistress Greene to bed, and now they were tending to the boys.

There was movement behind them, someone pushing open the back door, and Parker spun to meet the new threat.

“Parker?” The woman standing there started, putting out a hand to steady herself against the door frame, a look of fear on her face. “I came as quick as I could.”

“Your pardon, Maggie.” He must look bad if Maggie blanched at the sight of him. He’d once seen her wade into a brawl to help an injured man.

She patted her heart. “Thought you were about to set upon me.”

He shook his head. “I thought the ruffians had returned.”

“No matter. Where are my patients?” She stepped fully into the room, and Parker spied her shy little apprentice, carrying some of the satchels full of herbs and ointments the healer used. She was a thin, sylphlike figure with golden hair, a fairy to Maggie’s hag.

“Mistress Greene is in her chamber, through this door and to the right. The boys are in here.” He gestured to the little room behind him and saw Susanna standing in the doorway.

“M’lady.” Maggie curtsied, and her apprentice shadowed her action.

Parker tried to see Susanna through their eyes. Her gown was fine wool, her shoes of fine leather. But there the resemblance to a lady ended. Her cheek was smudged with blood, and with a start, Parker recalled stroking it earlier with his bloody fingers. Her cap was missing, and her hair tumbled wild around her shoulders.

“Please.” Susanna stepped forward, holding out her hands. “Tell me how I can help you. Anything you need, I will do.”