“You should remove her to the palace as quickly as possible,” Father Ling said to Merrick.
Merrick nodded and wrapped a protective arm around her. He led her gently toward the edge of the platform. As they passed Stephane, hatred twisted the features of his face into an ugly mask. In a flurry of movement, he broke away from the soldier who held him and pulled a small pistol from his pants.
The world slowed around Isabella. She watched in horror as Stephane raised his gun and pointed it in her and Merrick’s direction. A loud crack split the air, and she felt herself falling as Merrick shoved her down. Pain seared her arm, and she heard Merrick curse loudly above her.
She gripped her arm and felt something warm and sticky. She pulled her hand away and stared in amazement at her own blood.
Another shot sounded and she turned her head to see Stephane fall a few feet away, a red stain rapidly spreading on his chest.
No!
She struggled to get up, the pain piercing the haze of confusion surrounding her.
“Lie still,” Merrick commanded.
“No, I must speak to him before…before he dies,” she protested, pushing herself up.
Gripping her arm to staunch the flow of blood, she stumbled over to where Stephane lay. His skin was chalky, his face bathed in sweat. Blood poured from the wound in his chest, pooling around him on the platform.
He turned glassy eyes to her, so much pain mirrored in their depths. He coughed, his body jerking with the movement. A trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Don’t speak,” she said, tears clouding her vision.
He coughed again, more blood spilling from his mouth. “If only he had believed in me,” he said raggedly. “I would have done anything to please him.”
She pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. “Oh, Stephane.”
“He wasn’t…he wasn’t even surprised…when I failed. I saw his eyes.” Stephane’s voice trailed away. Tears slipped down his cheek to mix with the blood surrounding him. “I hated him for that.”
Isabella no longer tried to contain the sobs building in her throat. Raw, guttural anguish ripped from her heart as she watched her brother draw his last breath.
His chest rose and then stuttered, paused, then fell one last time never to rise again. His head lolled to the side as he stared out over the crowd with lifeless eyes.
With a trembling hand, she reached out and gently shut his eyes. “May God have mercy on you,” she whispered.
Strong, comforting arms wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her to a standing position. Merrick guided her away from Stephane, but she looked back one last time.
“Come, Isabella,” Merrick said gently. “You need immediate attention.”
She allowed herself to be led from the platform and to the royal coach positioned at the edge of the crowd. The villagers parted, bowing as she walked by, but she didn’t acknowledge them, so great was her shock, her anguish, her utter heartbreak.
Merrick assisted her into the carriage then slipped in beside her. “It’s over now, Isabella. No one can hurt you any more.”
She blinked and focused on his beloved face. Hurt? She didn’t think she could possibly hurt more than she did at this moment. She nestled against him, ignoring the throbbing in her arm. It was a short ride to the palace. She would enjoy the precious few moments in his arms.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Isabella sat in her private quarters, the room chaotic around her. The Royal Guard had fanned out and secured the palace, banning the members of the Order from returning. Servants rushed back and forth bearing water and bandages in response to Merrick’s barked orders.
He looked so fierce, completely in command of the situation, yet when he focused his attention on her, his demeanor changed completely.
“Hold still,” he directed.
He gently pulled the sleeve of her shirt away from her wound. “It’s just a graze,” he said as he began washing the blood away.
He had insisted on seeing to her care himself, shunning offers to summon the royal physician. His touch warmed her, comforted her in a way no doctor could.
