Love Me Again (13 page)

Soon it was the grunts and curses of his attackers that punctuated the blackness and he grinned with evil purpose when his fist connected solidly with a nose. The sound of cracking bone and cartilage was sweet indeed.

Just as he knew he was starting to get the better of them, his head exploded in crippling pain when a club caught him with brutal force above his right eye. The darkness popped with white shards of brilliance, and it was with a panicked sense of awareness that he knew he was going to pass out.

With a desperate snarl of rage, he found the strength to throw his attackers off, knowing if he went down under these assassins he would never get up. Suddenly free, he stumbled back and jarred his shoulder against a damp wall. Cursing, he bent down and grabbed the stiletto out of his boot. Again, the world tilted precariously around him as he swung around to face the new onslaught and by blessed luck, his blade caught the throat of one of the thugs. The death scream hadn't even faded when his dagger found the gut of another. Exultant, he pushed the man off and was struck again, laid low with the blunt end of a cudgel to his midsection. Gasping, he fell to his knees, doubled over and instinctively prepared himself for the final, fatal blow. However, it never came. He was thankful, and totally bewildered, when he heard his third attacker take to his heels.

Fighting for breath and clutching at the fire in his belly, he was vaguely aware of hands grabbing hold of him, trying to help him up. Vague voices faded in and out around him making no sense and, confused, he pushed them away and lurched out onto the lighted street. All he knew was that he had to get to Christina. But before he could take another step, he collapsed and lost what consciousness he had been clinging to.

Christina!

Christina fidgeted with her fork as she again glanced across the table at the empty chair.

Varek should have been in that chair.

Never had he been late for a function she attended. Though there was probably a very logical reason he was not there, she couldn't help the queasy sense of dread that sat like a rock in the pit of her stomach. Surreptitiously, she glanced down the table and espied his mistress talking and gesturing with gaiety at the attentive Prince Trauttmansdorff. Nothing unusual there.

Her glance then swiveled down the vast length of the imperial table to where her husband sat. Her eyes narrowed as she took in his animated discussion with the Countess Zichy.

Why, he looks as if he is enjoying himself,
she thought, mystified. He hated the countess. Not to mention, she hadn't seen him this light-hearted in weeks. Again, she contemplated her poached eel swimming in its bowl of green herbed sauce, and her stomach lurched.

She couldn't help but feel that something was wrong. Suddenly, she felt a frisson of gooseflesh prickle along her skin. Her breath shortened and a bone-chilling fear slithered through her mind. Her startled gaze shot to Varek's empty chair and she knew.

He was in danger. She could feel it constricting her heart.

Nerveless fingers dropped her fork onto her plate and she struggled to push her chair back, smiling faintly at her partners who looked up at her in surprise. She was thankful when a footman promptly stepped forward to help her with the massive chair.

“Excuse me,” she murmured with distracted deference while she, as inconspicuously as she could before four hundred and fifty guests, left the imperial dining room. Casting a furtive glance over her shoulder, she was relieved to see that Robert had not noticed her sudden departure.

Reaching the main entrance, she impatiently secured the attendance of a footman, and with him lighting her way, she grabbed up her skirts and ran the short distance to the Varek's residence.

Upon her entrance the majordomo bowed low, intoning solemnly, “Your highness.”

Too worried to correct him, she demanded to see the archduke.

“Yes, your highness. Follow me, if you please.” With stately decorum he marched ahead of her. Angered at his slowness, she almost trod upon his heels in her haste to see Varek. She was not led to any of the receiving rooms but taken upstairs. With the climbing of each riser, her dread grew apace, till she was sweating beneath the wispy fabric of her evening gown.

He swung open the large door leading into the master suite and without waiting for an invitation she pushed impatiently past the irritating man and hurried into the sitting room. It was empty.

Heart pounding, she called out, “Varek?” as she ran through the large rooms she remembered so well. When she reached the bedroom door she flung it wide and stumbled to a halt, gaping at the scene before her.

Varek was laid out on bloody sheets, two prominent physicians bending over him and several servants hurr ying to and fro at their clipped commands.

Her world tilted alarmingly and the room faded to a fuzzy gray as she fought the urge to swoon right there. “Varek,” she whispered, her steps wandering like those of a sleepwalker to the foot of his bed. He looked dead.

Dead.

Her eyes drifted closed and she swayed.

“Joseph, grab her!” A sharp command jumped out at her.

When an arm encircled her, she weakly shrugged it off. “No, I'm all right.”

“Thank God, I haven't time for you now.”

Opening her eyes she watched as both men bent over Varek again. Questions crowded into her confused and frightened mind, but she bit them off, not wanting to distract them from their duty. Hands clenched into the delicate netting of skirts, she never missed a thing as the hour ticked on slowly. Bowl after bowl of bloody water was disposed of before the doctors were happy with their results. Her breath hitched painfully as she scrutinized every beloved inch of his battered body. It mattered not a whit to her, but it was sad to think that he would come away from this terrible night scarred forever, a constant and bitter reminder of his brush with death. Whoever had done this had done their job well.

Robert's animated face, his strange behavior that evening flashed through her mind.
No!
He couldn't have been a party to this atrocious act.

After what seemed like an eternity, the doctors finally stepped away and turned toward her, bowing. “Your highness,” Dr. Clibourne greeted her with grave awkwardness.

Why did everyone connected with Varek insist on calling her such? Again she didn't take the time to correct them. “Will he be all right?” The question caught in her throat.

With a sigh, Dr. von Schulenberg, answered, “It is hard to say, your highness. His injuries are extensive, but, thank God, mostly minor. The head wound is deep and may have caused a concussion. We will not know till he awakens. The swelling around his abdomen looks suspicious of internal injuries; however, if an organ is ruptured or merely bruised we will have to wait and see. A fever could foretell peritonitis.” He stopped abruptly at her look of horror. Clearing his throat, he turned away and began to pack up his tools.

Christina's nails began to shred the silk at her thighs. Biting her lip, she looked over every inch of Varek's exposed body, and every inch she saw made her want to weep in fear and rage. “What can I do?”

“Just stay with him.” Dr. Clibourne counseled her. “He was calling for you earlier. Your tender touch and soothing voice will contribute much toward his recovery, I doubt not.”

Both men quickly shrugged themselves back into their coats and then gathered up their satchels. She watched, feeling helpless, as they strode for the door. “We will look in on him during the night, your highness, but if you need us, rooms have been provided for us and we will be just down the hall.”

After their departure Christina sat down carefully on the bed beside Varek. She so wanted to touch him, but was afraid of hurting him further. After an indecisive moment, she reached out and soothed his dirty hair away from the puffy stitches above his right eye.

And there she stayed through the long, lonely hours of the interminable night, afraid to move an inch from his side. It didn't even occur to her to send a message to Robert.

Later that night she felt heat radiating from his bruised flesh; the fever had set in. She started as he moaned low, his legs twitching. Petrified, she jumped to her feet and ran into the sitting room where Varek's valet dozed. Soon the man was running to fetch the doctors and Christina returned to Varek's side. Not knowing what else to do, she wrung out a linen in the cold water by his bed and lightly wiped the sweat from his face and neck.

His head whipped to the side. “Christina,” he moaned, the sound a mere sigh.

“I'm here, Varek,” she quickly assured him as she gently took his hand in her own. When his fingers clenched with bruising force about her hand she cried out. Immediately he relaxed his hold, but he didn't let go of his lifeline. The heat emanating from his skin seared her, and her panic rose apace with it. She sighed with relief when the doctors strode in, dressed in chamber robes, and swept her aside. Once again she could do no more than stand back and watch with trepidation as Varek's fate was taken out of her hands.

But Varek didn't like this situation at all. As soon as her hand had been taken from his, he grew agitated, twisting with painful grimaces, his raspy voice calling to her.

“Please, Doctor, just let me touch him. Maybe it will ease him.” Her hands were wringing the bedpost. With a curt nod of their heads, both men agreed and one waved her impatiently to the head of the bed, out of their way. Quickly she slipped onto the bed, close to Varek's head and bending low, she stroked his hair and whispered soothingly into his ear. Immediately his struggling stopped and he fell limp beneath the doctors’ administration.

Von Schulenberg looked up with a grunt. “I wish he was always this well-behaved,” he admonished with a grin.

Christina responded with a stiff smile of her own, her first since this nightmare of an evening began. “Well, now, that wouldn't be the archduke, would it? One thing his highness never is and that is submissive.”

“Watch your tongue, lark,” Varek croaked painfully.

With a start, she looked down at him and almost cried when she barely saw his beautiful eyes beneath the mottled folds of swollen tissue. Without thinking, she asked in a rush, “How do you feel, my love?”

“Lark, that has got to be the most asinine thing I have ever heard you say.”

She looked up with shining eyes. “He's going to be just fine.”

The Archduke of Austenburg merely grunted, then flung a foul curse at the good doctors’ heads.

The first thing Christina noticed when she woke was that dawn had come. The second was that every bone in her body ached from sitting propped in the roomy chair pulled up to Varek's bed.

With a start, she blinked her vision into focus and leaned over to check him. She smiled when she became aware of him watching her; then her lips stiffened as she strained to maintain the smile. He looked so awful. His pain must be excruciating, and her body ached as she shared his trauma, every nerve in her body empathizing.

Varek tried to smile back, but was only able to manage a painful grimace. His hand moved feebly, reaching out toward her. When she took it into her own, she heard him sigh. “I'm glad you're here, lark,” he rasped.

She turned quickly and filled a glass with water. Sitting on the bed, she carefully propped him up and held the rim to his parched lips. It was a relief to watch him greedily drink down the whole glass. Her lips quirked as she asked him whimsically, “Will you bite me if I ask how you are?”

His distorted face turned up to squint at her. “How do I look?”

“Terrible,” she assured him candidly.

“Well, that's how I feel.” He looked closely at her, seeing the strain on her pale features. “You don't look much better. Why don't you go to your apartment and get some rest. I will see you later.” He held his breath, waiting for her answer.

Her hesitation was minute. “No, I prefer to stay here and tend to you. If you don't mind, that is?” She avoided his gaze and set herself to straightening his bedclothes.

“Then do me a favor.” His voice was weakening again.

“Anything.”

“Lay down here beside me and get some rest. We can't both be dead on our feet.”

Christina studied the narrow width of bed left open beside his sprawled body. Even though she was doubtful that she would attain anything close to a restful respite, in her exhaustion she had to admit that the bed did look inviting.

“Please, my love,” he whispered wearily. “I will rest easier knowing you are here beside me.”

Biting her lip, Christina searched his battered face and again she wanted to cry. Never had she seen Varek so helpless, and she felt cast adrift. She wanted back the forceful, charismatic man she had loved her entire life. It didn't matter that the last weeks had been hell for her, with him shadowing her every move. Anything was preferable to him lying before her crippled with such pain.

Without another word she laid down beside him, her shoulder barely touching his. After a moment she felt the brush of his fingers as he reached for her hand.

Her hand turned into his, and gently they held on, afraid that if they broke contact the other would be gone. In minutes they were asleep, both sharing the same dreams, both smiling.

As the somnolent night faded into a pale gray on the horizon, Robert sat motionless but for his narrowed eyes, which followed the path of a murky shadow on the wall across from him. It crept along inch by interminable inch as it struggled to keep ahead of the advent of the rising sun, the last warrior of a dying night. Brooding, Robert sat in silence watching the progress of each of those bloody inches, for each one heralded another minute that Christina hadn't come back to him. He knew where she was, though, and he wanted to kill them both.

When the shadow had finally lost its age-old battle with its nemesis, Robert surged to his feet and started for the door. His bloodshot eyes were grim as he made his way to the residence of the Archduke of Austenburg, and any hapless pedestrian unfortunate enough to cross his path made way promptly.