“Don’t just stand there like an imbecile,” he snapped. “Help me.” She dropped next to him, gawking so hard at Ballard’s face that she was barely aware of Ambrose’s bloodied hands guiding hers to Ballard’s leg. “Press tight to slow the bleeding,” he instructed. She followed his direction while he tore a strip of cloth from his cloak and tucked it around the wound. “Good thing you aren’t as precise with a pistol as you are with your kicks,” he said.
He motioned Mercer over. “Louvaen’s father?” The other man nodded. “I’ll want your help in a moment. Stay with Louvaen for now. I need to see to Gavin and bring Magda from the bower. She’s guarding the other women and is the healer here.” He strode to where Cinnia huddled with Gavin.
Mercer settled next to Louvaen. “You might have told me, daughter.” He stroked her hair. “Did I miss two weddings?”
“No. I’m still Thomas Duenda’s widow.”
“And Ballard de Sauveterre’s mistress?” Her silence answered his question, so he asked another one. “Do you love him?”
Louvaen leaned down and brushed her lips across Ballard’s forehead. “Oh yes.”
She inhaled sharply when Ballard’s lids twitched open. Dark and liquid, his eyes stared at her with a puzzled expression that sharpened for a moment. He wet his dry lips with a pink tongue and swallowed. “You’re a dangerous woman to love, Louvaen Duenda,” he said in a raspy voice. His eyes glazed over before rolling back, and he slipped into oblivion once more.
All the tears she thought dried or frozen inside her spilled down her face. She laughed and sobbed while her father patted her lightly on the back. Magda and Ambrose found them that way, and the housekeeper coaxed her to her feet.
She raked Louvaen with a glance. “Girl,” she said. “You look like you’ve been kicked by a mule. Go to the kitchens and wait for Clarimond. She’ll take care of you once we get Gavin and thedominusinside.
Louvaen balked. “I want to help.”
“You’ll help by staying out of the way. Now do what I say.”
Louvaen knew when she was defeated. With a last lingering look at Ballard, she trudged to the kitchens and found them a shambles of overturned furniture and broken crockery. The table had been flipped to its side and shoved against the wall. Shards of a shattered wine crock littered the floor, and she picked her way carefully through the ruins to right a chair and sit down. Gavin or Ballard must have vented their rage in the kitchen before they burst into bailey. Louvaen slumped in her seat, exhaustion sweeping through her now that she no longer acted under the feverish impetus of desperation. Clarimond found her sliding half out of the chair and rescued her from a thump to the floor.
“You’re in a sorry state, mistress. Stay put, and I’ll get you settled straight away.”
Louvaen sat limply in the chair while Clarimond swept up the crockery pieces and set water to heat. She washed Louvaen’s bloody hands and bathed her face, clucking in sympathy at her blackened eye and bruised mouth. The clucking changed to an indignant sputter when she stripped Louvaen of her muddied night rail and saw the welts and purple contusions stippled across her left side. “A bath will be painful, mistress,” she warned.
She shivered. “Please, I need to bathe.” She’d stand in an ice storm if it meant she could wash away Jimenin’s touch. Her skin still crawled at the memory of the hours spent against him in the saddle.
Clarimond had gentle hands, but Louvaen thanked the gods when the bath was over. Her knees knocked together; she needed to sit before she fell. The servant dressed her in one Cinnia’s shifts and tossed a blanket over her shoulders.
“Come mistress,” she said and nudged her toward the great hall. “Your room is unchanged. You can rest. I’ll bring you a warm drink once you’re in bed.”
They stepped into a whirlwind of activity. Mercer helped a semi-conscious Gavin upstairs while Joan ran past them for the bailey, arms heaped with bandages. Louvaen waved her father on when he halted at the mezzanine, bowed under by Gavin’s weight. “Go on, Papa,” she called out. “I’m well.”
She paused, drawn to the hall’s open door and those who tended Ballard outside. Clarimond gave her a slight push. “They’ve done this before, mistress. As soon as I know something I’ll tell you.”
Resigned to waiting, Louvaen nodded and climbed the stairs. She was drunk with fatigue by the time Clarimond tucked her in and turned her attention to lighting the hearth. She barely heard the door close behind her before she fell asleep to the image of bright blood on snow and the echo of a pistol shot.
The scrape of a chair across the floor woke her, and she discovered Cinnia, gilded in streamers of watery pink light, sitting by her bed. She placed a hand on Louvaen’s shoulder to keep her from sitting up. “You need to rest, Lou.”
Louvaen shrugged her off. “What time is it?”
“A little after dawn. You slept the whole night.”
Her stomach lurched. She only meant to sleep an hour or two. She yanked the covers off, startled into full wakefulness by the sudden draft of cold air hitting her body. “Where’s Ballard?” She swung out of bed and stood, only to stagger. Her head swam, and her side throbbed.
“You are the most stubborn woman I know.” Cinnia left her seat and pushed Louvaen into it. “Must I tie you to the bed?”
“Yes.” She’d shot her lover last night. She should be at his bedside. Her heart pounded in her chest at the thought she might also stand at his graveside before this was over.
Cinnia sighed. “De Sauveterre is in Ambrose’s room right now. Magda’s taking care of him.” She shrugged at Louvaen’s questioning gaze. “Those nasty roses took over the entire solar, including his bedchamber. I’ll be glad when we rake them out and burn them.”
Louvaen remembered how the roses had hissed and writhed in a murderous frenzy the night before and then went abruptly silent at the snap of the curse’s last binding. “Are they dead? The roses I mean.”
“Quite.” Cinnia draped one of the blankets over Louvaen’s shoulders and handed her a cup of lukewarm ale. Her brown eyes watered, and she raised a hand to trace a ghostly outline of her sister’s features. “Oh Lou, your poor face.”
Louvaen shrugged and sipped her drink. She thought her face a vast improvement from the previous night. This morning she’d been able to open both eyes. “Tell me what happened while I slept.”
