Princess (22 page)

Restlessly, he paced through the house and went out to the back porch, where he found Tomas, the sergeant of the squad, smoking a cheroot.

“Something wrong, Colonel?” the sergeant asked, offering him his cheroot.

“I don’t know,” he murmured as he bent down, accepting it. “I have a bad feeling.”

Tomas shrugged, stifling a yawn. “Everything’s quiet so far tonight.”

“Maybe too quiet.” He took a deep drag, and sauntered to the edge of the porch, gazing out at the woods. The air was cool and balmy, the half-moon riding high.

“Have you seen anything unusual?”

“No, sir. The sentries have the dogs out with them. I’m sure we’ll hear those monsters barking if anyone’s out there.”

“Let’s hope so.” He exhaled a stream of smoke, took a second drag, and gave it back to Tomas, then wandered inside. Restlessly, he paced through the house, glanced out the windows here and there, but what he could make out of the night-clad landscape was still.

At length, he made his way to the kitchen for a drink of water. He took a metal ewer from the cupboard and went to the hand pump, pumping until the cool mountain springwater gushed with a tinny ring into the ewer. He thought he heard something, maybe horses’ hooves.

He swiveled his head to look over his shoulder, brows knit. He heard men’s voices in shouted conversation coming from out in front of the house, but the water’s noise splashing into the metal pitcher obscured the words.

Idiots. They’ll wake Serafina,
he thought in annoyance.

He went to the window and stared, seeing one of the black government coaches parked in front of the house, the horses still blowing. He could see the royal insignia emblazoned on the door. Then he squinted in puzzlement to see Captain Orsini in the driver’s seat.

What the devil is that sweaty ox doing here? He’s supposed
to be catching spies,
Darius thought. He watched Tomas walk toward Orsini, and finally the water quit running and he could hear.

“Well, I’ve got clearance and those are my orders!” Orsini was saying. “They want me to bring her back now. I don’t know why. You think they tell me anything?”

“Let’s see your documentation. There’s no way His Majesty could give an order like that without Santiago not already knowing about it,” the sergeant protested.

Orsini never got the chance to reply.

It all happened in perhaps ten seconds.

Darius’s eyes widened as the coach door burst open and two black-masked men with crossbows jumped out. In smooth symmetry, they took two steps apart and dropped to their knees, firing in deadly silence on the men posted at the door. Like clockwork, six more masked men sprang out of the carriage and rushed the house.

Darius was already bolting for the hallway.
“To arms!”

He paused on his way out of the kitchen when the knife rack hanging on the wall caught his eye.

He lifted a carving knife from its place on the rack. He whirled around the corner into the foyer just as the front door crashed open. The masked men leaped over the dead front-door guards and poured into the house in neat, lethal pairs.

Darius hurled the carving knife into the chest of the first man over the threshold, then lifted his pistol, bracing his aim with his fist, and shot the second in the face.

“Serafina!”
he roared as he swept out his dagger.
“Lock
your door!”

They were upon him.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

One of the masked French agents lifted a large gun and aimed at his chest.

Darius whirled back behind the base of the stairs just as the bullet slammed into the library door. He flattened himself against the corner, heart pounding.

When the Frenchman stepped into view, Darius brought up his elbow and drove it straight into his chin. The masked head whipped back and the Frenchman fell flat on his back. Darius stepped over him and punched him in the face to make sure he stayed unconscious, then, dagger in hand, he glided silently back out to the foyer, a battleground now where twenty men grappled. The French had thrown stinkpots to create a smoke-screen. Eyes watering, Darius squinted against the foul, choking smoke.

Serafina.

He had to get to her. He could barely see, and the melee blocked his path to the foot of the stairs. Wildly swinging lantern light bounced off the smoke. Flintlocks flared with the report of shots fired amid the din of frantic, angry shouts. The front door was hanging open and he could see the bodies of the guards stationed there lying across the threshold, arrows sticking out of their chests.

Just then, he saw two of the enemy agents break away and rush the stairs.

Beyond thought, Darius raced after them, pushing ferociously through the fight. They were running up the steps, but he was right behind them. He seized the first of the two agents several steps shy of the upper hall. The man turned on him suddenly, slicing at him with a smallsword. Darius dodged the blow and wrenched the man’s arm. He used the force of the other man’s swing to send him sailing with a shout over the rail into the fray below.

Turning forward again, he saw that the second one, at the top of the stairs, had turned and was ready for him, sword drawn.

Another came running up the steps behind Darius, hemming him in.

He cursed mentally, looking at one Frenchman, then the other with a wordless snarl. He bristled as the one lower on the steps closed in, holding him at bay.

All of a sudden, a wedge of light spread over the landing as the bedroom door opened above.
No.
Serafina took a half-step out into the hall, her anxious, lovely face illumined by the taper she held aloft.

“Stop it!” she screamed at all of them.

“Get back!” Darius roared.

The Frenchman on the landing turned and stared for a split second at the goddess in the white peignoir, her sable curls flowing wildly about her shoulders.

Darius seized the moment and spun, kicking the man on the lower step square in the face. As the Frenchman crashed backward down the steps, Darius lunged upward, driving his dagger in between the ribs of the man on the landing. Darius dropped him, leaped over the body, and grabbed Serafina about the waist, sweeping her into her bedroom.

“Lock it and stay put!” he commanded. “That was not in the drill!” he growled, then pulled the door shut in her face.

He whirled around, blocking the door as he waited to hear both locks slide home, but no more black-masked agents appeared.

The enemy had been vanquished.

Panting and covered in sweat, his muscles trembling slightly, Darius leaned his head back against her door, his chest heaving.

Back and forth she paced in the pink bedroom, arms around herself, her night rail flowing out around her. Just then, a soft knock at the door broke into her dread.

“Angel?”

She tore back the locks with shaking fingers and threw open the door. “Are you hurt?” she cried.

“I’m fine,” Darius said soothingly as she took his forearm and pulled him into the room.

Frantically, her gaze scanned the tall, powerful length of his body. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes.” He took her gently by the shoulders.

“Blood!” She grabbed his wrist, examining a smear on his sleeve.

“Not mine,” he said. “Calm down. Look at me.”

Heart pounding, she jerked her head back and met his even stare.

“Shh, you see? I’m all right,” he whispered.

She stared up at him, then flung her arms around his neck and held him with all her strength, squeezing her eyes shut.

“You had no business coming out of this room, angel.”

“I’m sorry. I had to see if you were all right.” She was willing to apologize for anything, she was so relieved he was unscathed.

He smoothed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Get dressed, beauty. I’ll be back.”

She followed him to the door uncertainly.

One hand on the doorknob, he turned back and touched her face, tilting her chin upward with two fingertips. He leaned down and brushed her mouth with a nuzzling kiss. She laid her hand on his chest, caressing the V of his hot, damp skin where his shirt lay open. Her fingertips came across the warm, tiny medal she had given him so long ago.

Catching it in her palm as her mouth lingered against his, she sent up a prayer of thanks to the Blessed Mother for protecting him yet again.

“I’ll be back,” Darius whispered, ending the kiss.

“You saved me again,” she told him with a starstruck gaze.

He cupped her cheek and gave her a tender smile in the dark. “Because you are my princess and I am your knight.” He gave her a wink and silently slipped out the door.

She sighed, holding a hand to her heart. She stepped into the doorway after him and watched him walk away, soaking in the beauty of his loose, wary grace as he stalked down the hall, but then her gaze wandered to the scene below.

Several lanterns had been lit, and by their glow she could see the squadron’s medics already getting to work. Her throat burning with the smoke-roughened air, she walked to the top of the stairs and stared at the chaotic scene below.

Wounded men lay strewn about the foyer, while the nimble medics knelt here and there beside them, gave aid, cleaned wounds, wrapped bandages, and efficiently moved on to the next patient. One man was borne away on a stretcher. A few were dead.

Darius had done this.
Savage, wild Darius. This was the work of his hands, the same hands that were so gentle on her body and that could pluck such beautiful music from his guitar. Her magnificent unicorn stallion had gone on the rampage to protect her, wild and lathered as a deadly warhorse with slashing hooves and fiery eyes.

Shaken, she quickly closed her bedroom door and dressed. Grabbing the sewing basket containing her medical equipment, she left her room to see if she could be of help.

“Where is he?” Darius asked in a low, deadly tone.

“This way, sir! I’ll show you!”

Darius followed the young private around the house to the back garden, where he found Orsini closed in by a ring of infuriated soldiers. The captain of the Royal Guard was on all fours, his broad, meaty face sweating. Every time he tried to get to his feet, they shoved him violently back down again. The men looked like they wanted to lynch him on the spot.

“You’re in for it now,” one of the men said as Darius stalked into their midst.

Orsini cursed and attempted to crawl to the far edge of the ring of jeering soldiers and servants when he saw Darius. Darius stood shoulder to shoulder with his men for a moment, staring down at Orsini.

“You pig,” he spat, then strode toward him, seized him by the collar, and threw him on his face in the turf. He grabbed Orsini’s right arm and wrenched it up behind his back. “Do you know what we do to traitors on this island?” he snarled.

“They made me do it! They had a gun to my head!”

He wrenched Orsini’s brawny arm higher. “I see you are not going to cooperate. That suits me fine.”

“I’m not a traitor! I took a few bribes—I never meant for anything like this to happen! They forced me!”

“Listen carefully. You lie to me once, I’ll break your arm. Lie again, and I’ll cut it off.”

“No, no! I know you’re crazy enough to do it,” he blubbered.

“You’re damned right I am. I want names. Shall I bring out the dogs?” he asked, producing his dagger. “They’ve scented blood tonight, Orsini. They’re hungry.” He waved his dagger slowly back and forth before Orsini’s eyes. “Hold out his finger,” he said to the men.

A spate of nervous laughter rippled among the men, but Darius’s stare did not waver, for his threat of torture served a dual purpose. The demonstration would not only gain him whatever information Orsini was hiding; it would also serve as an implicit warning to his men and the servants that he would enforce their silence on the matter of his affair with the princess by whatever means necessary. Two of the men seized Orsini and forcibly stretched out his arm, prying his fingers open from their fist, while another brought two of the snarling, snapping guard dogs on chains.

“Here, puppy, puppy,” Darius called softly with a smile, taking Orsini’s finger in one hand, his dagger in the other.

Orsini blubbered.

“Oh, come, it’s just a finger. You’ve got nine more. I’m going to give you one more chance, then I’m going to start throwing these beauties some treats. What do you say?”

“I don’t know anything!” he screamed out.

With that, Darius cut Orsini’s finger to the bone. He shrieked, the men laughed in astonishment, and Darius merely stared, smiling a slight, satanic smile at him.

It was all the persuasion Orsini needed.

Bleeding everywhere and sobbing with thanks that Darius had left the finger attached, Orsini give him the names of the three spies remaining in the palace under deep cover. Satisfied, Darius rose from his crouched position and jerked a nod to his men.

“Lock him up for court-martial.”

Orsini kept all his fingers. Nevertheless, he would hang.

The young soldier stared at Serafina in awe, as if he had forgotten all about the nasty wound above his ear where the bullet had grazed him. She held the linen wrap of his head bandage in place, while the medic affixed the end with a few drops of wax from a candle.

“Don’t lie flat. Keep yourself propped up,” the surgeon ordered before moving on to the next man.

Serafina remained with the patient a moment longer. “Thank you for protecting me,” she said softly.

“Y-yes, Your Highness!” he said, his eyes like saucers.

She gave the boy a compassionate look and squeezed his hand, then rose and followed the surgeon to his next patient. When another medic appeared, she stepped back, deferring to his superior skill.

She wasn’t needed. She was probably only getting in the way, she thought, but no one dared say so. Not knowing what else to do, she stood there watching the two skilled doctors work on the man’s wounded leg. The medic was wrapping another layer of bandaging to stanch the flow of blood when suddenly she heard Darius.

“Serafina!”