The Heart of the Phoenix (16 page)

In a glance he measured the angle of the body, the distance to the horse stalls, the trail of dark spots, the consistency of the blood pooled on the rough boards. Matthew must have been knifed while he was with the horses, managed to stumble through, either after his assailant or toward the hatch, before he collapsed.

Stephen made to turn the body, but when he did, a soft grunt sounded. Not dead, praise God. He slid his arms beneath Matthew, lifted carefully. Warm moisture soaked through Stephen’s storm-wet shirt as the wound bled anew. That blood loss had to be stopped, or Matthew would die. And he needed a warm, dry place. Evie’s cabin.

“
Monsieur
?”

Raoul. He’d forgotten the captain’s son. “Come with me.” He didn’t want anyone questioning the youth before he did.

He eased Matthew over his shoulder and slowly climbed the ladder, halting to cushion against the craft’s lurches from still-rough waters. Raoul had raced up the ladder before him, and when Stephen gained the deck, Macsen and William awaited. Macsen slid their friend from Stephen; in unspoken understanding, they headed toward the stairs to the cabin on the other side of the ship.

The door opened before they arrived. Evie peered out, her curious expression changing into alarm when she saw the three of them and their burden. She stepped back so they could enter.

“Marie, can you please sit in the chair?” Her calm voice didn’t match the concern wrinkling her brow. Raoul helped the maid to her feet with a steadying hand beneath her elbow.

“Lay him here.” Evie smoothed out the cover then moved to the head of the bunk. Macsen lowered his burden.

“That’s Matthew,” Evie gasped. She guided his limp head gently onto the flat pillow. “I thought he remained behind to wait for Bernard.”

Stephen ignored the implied question, her sharp glance.

“Hand me the water and a cloth, then stand over there by your maid,” he ordered. “I wish to heaven there was someplace else for you, but you’re safer under my eyes.”

She handed him the cloth and bucket then flashed a frown. “Don’t be foolish. I can help.”

“You can stay out of the way,” he shot back. But his attention was distracted by efforts to remove the tunic and shirt from Matthew’s still figure. When they tilted him, he moaned.

“Cut the shirt off,” Stephen ordered, then crouched beside the bunk. “Matthew. You’re all right. We’re here.”

Eyelids twitched, then cracked open. The gaze was dull, unfocused, but it followed Stephen’s movement, then Macsen’s. His eyes closed on a sigh, and he lay still.

“Matthew.” By God, he wouldn’t lose another man. Not one of his own band; not this one. “Damn it, man. Don’t you dare die, you raggedy bastard. You owe me coin for that last bet. Don’t think to escape it.” He touched the limp figure of his friend. “Listen. Your mother will roast me on a spit if I don’t get you back before her saint’s day.”

Matthew’s lips moved, and Stephen bent to him. “Order?” The faint word barely escaped his lips.

“Yes, damn you. That’s an order.”

A nudge on his shoulder brought Stephen back. Evie had insinuated herself beneath his arm with the cloth she’d dampened.

“If you finish removing his shirt, I can wash the wound. You’ve got to get it bound.” She leaned over Matthew, but Stephen heard her mutter, “Men are so stubborn.”

****

Evie hunched at the corner of the bunk while the three men sliced the shirt from Matthew’s body. She still didn’t understand how he’d appeared on board when she’d distinctly heard Stephen order him to remain behind.

The hooded figure, of course. The one she’d believed was Geoffra. That foolish assumption had lasted only a short time, but Evie hadn’t spared another thought for the identity of the mysterious boarder. Now she knew.

A faint grunt came from the unconscious Matthew. She flinched with guilt at her wandering thoughts and clenched the wet cloth in her hand. The wound had to be cleaned so the men could wrap it. The blood that soaked the bunk’s thin mattress showed the injury’s graveness. It undoubtedly needed stitching. At home, she’d tended several wounds the knights and squires gained in practice. She’d even stitched a few. But she didn’t know how to stem serious blood flow without her herbs.

“Turn him,” she instructed, once the shirt disappeared. The movement triggered a renewed flow. Not good.

Stephen bent over again, his ear near Matthew’s mouth. What was he about? She glanced at Macsen, who murmured. “Checking for injury to the lung. A gurgle, blood bubbling. Wounds like that…”

Evie understood. If the knife had punctured Matthew’s lung, nothing could save him.

Stephen’s lips were a narrow slash as he rose. “Can’t tell,” he grumbled. “Can’t hear a damned thing. At least his mouth is clear.”

“Then we’ll proceed as if it is untouched,” Evie said. “Now stand back please, while I work.”

She mopped away the blood, rinsing the cloth several times. But the flow continued. Finally, Stephen stepped in with a folded pad. Evie moved aside, and he pushed the fabric against the jagged hole. He leaned into it, applying pressure. After a time, he discarded the pad, and Macsen handed him another. William held out strips that looked to have come from the shirt just removed. Still applying force, Stephen bound the pad in place.

Evie moved forward once more and cleansed the skin around the bandage. With one hand she held Matthew’s hair from his neck, while she ran the damp cloth on the skin there, then around. Some of the darkness of his sun-browned skin wouldn’t come off. She leaned closer. The shadow wasn’t dirt. It looked like bruises. But how would that have happened? When he fell?

“Stephen, look at this.” She stepped away from the bunk to provide room.

His fingers brushed Matthew’s neck, tipped his head to the side to catch more light.

“Looks like bruises,” he agreed. “I can’t tell from what. A rope would have left a stronger impression.”

“Are you sure?” Evie asked.

The glance Stephen flashed left no doubt. She really didn’t want to know how he knew.

Davy peered around the door. “Is he all right?”

“Tell the men he lives, but tell no one else. Not until we can determine who attacked him.” Stephen rose. “It’s best the others think he’s dead. For now. Macsen, stay with him while I go above. I’ve got some questions for Raoul and his father.” He nodded toward the youth perched on the edge of the small desk.

“I’ll be here to help,” Evie reminded him. “We’ll send word if he awakens.”

“I’ve no doubt you’d do a fine job,” he said, “but Macsen will remain just the same.”

An unspoken message passed from one knight to another. As if she didn’t know what they were about. Did Stephen honestly think her brainless? Macsen would act as guard.

She gave a short exclamation. Men. No one would be fool enough to break into this cabin to finish the job of murder, even if word spread that Matthew yet breathed. It would be rather difficult to explain how a lady and her maid succumbed as well.

Before Stephen could leave, the door flung open. Lord Fulk.

“Are you safe, Lady Evelynn? I tracked blood spatters in the corridor.” He strode toward her, but his glance landed on Matthew’s still form. “What’s this? What has happened?”

Evie’s gaze met Stephen’s over Lord Fulk’s shoulder. Lifting her chin, she said, “An unfortunate accident to one of my guards. I’m feeling quite upset by it. Will you escort me to the deck? I simply must have fresh air.”

Reluctantly, Lord Fulk looked up from Matthew’s inert body. “I’m sorry, my lady, the deck is unsafe. You must remain here for now. Pity your guard is dead. I’ll have the body removed.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Arms loose at his sides, Stephen loomed between Lord Fulk and the bunk. “I’ll take care of him.”

The two glared at each other, but before Lord Fulk replied, his own man appeared in the open door. “My lord, you are needed.”

Lord Fulk turned to Evie. “My lady, I must take my leave. I will return as soon as possible.”

She breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed. Handsome, courtly, confident her betrothed might be, but his possessiveness was definitely a danger right now. Her fingers brushed Matthew’s hand. Praise God it was warm.

****

Macsen closed the door after the two others left, then leaned against it. Stephen crossed his arms.

After a moment of silence, Macsen asked, “Why do you suppose he assumed Matthew was dead?”

Stephen shot a warning frown at his friend before gesturing to the ship captain’s son who stood sentinel at Marie’s side. “Perhaps our young friend has an idea.”

Raoul could provide no answers. The hold contained animal stalls and supplies, yes. And passengers’ excess baggage. No, he insisted, when he went below he saw no one else, heard nothing. Except for the stomps and whinnies of the horses, of course.

Whoever had attacked
monsieur
’s guard must have escaped before Raoul descended.

Stephen nodded. “
Merci
. You have been of great help. I rely on your discretion, now. A life may depend upon it.”

“Yes,
monsieur
. I will say nothing, but that I discovered the body in blood, and you carried it here. It is all I know, after all.”

The youth stood taller as Stephen clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man. Your father is lucky to have a son as quick as you.”

Evie took Raoul’s hand. “I thank you as well. You have been very brave, and you may be sure I will tell your father so.”

The boy’s cheeks flamed. He bowed, then stumbled out the door.

In the moment of silence that followed, attention was on Matthew’s still form. Finally, Stephen spoke. “Supplies, horses, baggage. What was he after?”

William pushed away from the wall. “I’ll make sure the horses are well.”

“See if the baggage has been opened,” Stephen added. The only things their party owned below were Evie’s trunks and the men’s chain mail. They usually kept the armor close, but limited space on the deck had forced them to stow it. Good thing. If the storm hadn’t washed it overboard, their battle gear would have been soaked and well on the way to rust.

What in hell had Matthew’s attacker been after? Stephen hoped to discover the answer before landing.

And that posed another question. How far off course had the storm taken them?

Leaving Macsen to protect the cabin’s occupants, Stephen went above to find out. The news wasn’t good. The ship was now leagues east of the port. The captain suggested putting ashore in a nearby cove, but when d’Ambrosie joined them, he objected.

“We make for the original destination. My orders are to travel from there. King John demands it.”

Since Stephen preferred not to forge new trails from an unfamiliar part of England, he didn’t object. In fact, he’d prefer to return, to continue along the planned route. Friends lived along that road, people he could count upon to help keep Evie safe, should the need arise.

“Very well,” he said. “I agree. How can I be of assistance, Captain?”

D’Ambrosie interrupted. “Have you disposed of your guard?” His tone was abrupt. “Can’t have a dead body on board. Bad luck.”

“Someone is dead?” the captain asked Stephen. “I lost no one, thanks to you.”

“One of my guards,” Stephen answered. “Struck down during the storm.”

“I am sorry.”

Stephen leveled a look at d’Ambrosie. “My man will receive a proper burial on land.” The tone of his voice dared anyone to object.

A shout from one of the crew attracted their attention, and the captain raced away.

D’Ambrosie deliberately examined Stephen’s clothing, boots. The gaze lingered on his hands, which were propped on his hips, then returned to glare at the set jaw. “Who are you? You do not serve Lady Evelynn’s brother.”

“You are mistaken. I am completely at Lord Henry’s command to return his sister home safely. No matter what the threat.”

“See to it, then.” D’Ambrosie’s hard voice turned menacing. “And make certain no harm comes to my betrothed. If I did not travel at the king’s order, I would accompany her to Chauvere myself.” His jaws clenched and unclenched as he shot another dark look at Stephen before he swung around and stalked across the deck.

The moon sat low in the star-shot sky by the time the ship neared land. Stephen leaned against the still-damp wooden rail, watching the wake trail silver streamers of foam in the black water. He inhaled. Over the tang of salt water and fish and wet rope rode a whiff of earth. Deep and dark. So different from those long ago nights when winds had blown in from the desert, rash with grains of sand that insinuated into every inch of skin, into eyes, mouth. In reflex, he moved his teeth back and forth, to check for grit. With a start, he shook his head in disgust at the reaction.

A faint scraping sound behind his right shoulder warned he was no longer alone. In the same moment, he realized who approached. His body knew her without sight, by memory, only. And so it must remain. That night in the burned-out manor should never have occurred. But it had, and now he struggled to forget the taste of her against his tongue, the shape of her beneath his hands. His cock tightened in mocking reminder.

Even if her betrothed didn’t sleep below, little Evie wasn’t for him. Rather, he wasn’t for her. If she caught even a whisper of his actions during the past years, any warm memories of her childhood friend, of the man who kissed her so tenderly, would scatter like that sand in wind.

“Nearly there?” she murmured, stopping at his side.

The urge to touch drove him to step away, turn to face her. A mistake. The moon’s taunting glimmer illuminated the curve of her cheek, the slope of her nose. Dimples flashed in and out of shadows as she smiled.

“Matthew is awake.” She kept her voice low, as if remembering the attacker might try to finish the task should word leak of Matthew’s survival.

Had Evie not been on board, Stephen would invite the would-be murderers to try again. It had been a long time since he looked forward to killing another man. But right now her safety mattered more than revenge.

He cleared his throat. “Good. When we reach land, I’ll leave him with a friend to recover.”