Chasing Shadows

by Ashley Townsend

  Sarah heard the sound of low male voices coming from the other room, sending her nervous heart into overdrive. She lurched to her aching feet and began dusting the top of the mantle to look busy; if they came in, she didn’t want them to think she had been shirking her duties. But the voices and their owners remained in the adjoining room.

  In her curiosity, Sarah moved a little closer to the doorway leading from the large sitting area to the smaller adjoining room, absentmindedly dusting a small round table as she listened. Judging by their strained, hushed tones, the two men were having some kind of disagreement. She felt a flutter of excitement at the idea that this might be her first opportunity to do some real snooping.

  Casting a furtive glance over her shoulder to make sure that Edith hadn’t returned, Sarah abandoned any pretense that she was working and dropped the rag on a table nearby. Stealthily, she crept over to the doorway leading to the more intimate sitting room situated in the east corner of the upper floor. The door was cracked open an inch, and she leaned forward to peer through the opening, straining to hear.

  “What do you mean I’m being dismissed?” hissed one of the men lowly. Sarah couldn’t see his face because it was hidden behind the door, though his raspy voice sounded vaguely familiar to her ears, grating on an old nerve she couldn’t place.

  “Just that: He is dismissing you.” The other man’s voice was calm and smooth and diplomatic as he enunciated each word. He sounded younger than his companion, and Sarah adjusted her position to better see him through the narrow slit in the door.

  From her small vantage point of his profile, Sarah could see that the man was lean and tall, and his skin was naturally olive-toned. The pale coloring of everyone else inside the castle walls, and outside as well, caused her to wonder if he was as foreign as she. Well, maybe not as foreign, but she thought she detected an accent.

  “It would seem that he is going in a different direction,” the polished man informed calmly, giving a faintly sympathetic look to the other occupant of the room. “He appreciates the insight you have offered into the matter, but your services are no longer be necessary.”

  The unseen man sputtered before managing to get out, “But I have served him faithfully.” His voice lowered to a furious whisper. “I have killed for him, and now I am to be cast aside?”

  Sarah’s heart picked up a beat, drowning out the man’s patient response. Who were they talking about? Cadius? She pressed in a little closer to the door and strained to hear.

  “You have served your purpose and your contract has been terminated,” the cultured man went on, voice lacking inflection; he appeared entirely bored with the discussion, as though he fired people everyday. He raised a dark brow in challenge, almost appearing amused. “Are you questioning the master’s wisdom in letting you go? Cadius will not be pleased.”

  Sarah’s breath quickened, and she hoped they couldn’t hear it in the lengthening silence. Clamping her hands over her mouth, she breathed quietly between her fingers and waited.

  The first man broke the silence, his raspy voice strained and intense. “You will have to drag my cold, dead body out of here before I resign from my position.”

  Sarah watched as the other man smiled a slow, condescending smile. “I don’t believe you wish for that to be arranged.”

  “And how will you prevent me from exposing her, hmm? What is to keep me from remaining silent? She is the key to this idiotic plan of his.”

  The smooth man’s cocky façade cracked. “How did you—”

  “Cadius is hardly the only one with spies,” the man said with a hissing chuckle. “Or should I expose both of them? Women are hardly worth causing a war, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Surprise melting into anger, the man took a step forward. “How dare you.”

  “The master wished to keep me ignorant, but I know what she is; I was careful to learn everything I could. Does he think he is the only one with a contingency plan?” It was the mystery man’s turn to sound amused, as though he had the upper hand. “I have known his nature too well to be without an escape route.”

  Something like a faint hiss sounded in the room, and the man’s eyes lowered briefly, registering alarm at whatever the other man held. “Have you gone mad?” He took a step forward out of Sarah’s line of vision.

  She could hear the men scuffling in the room and desperately wanted to see what was happening, but was too afraid to reveal herself. One of the men cried out suddenly, and Sarah distinctly heard a heavy thump and a gasp. It was a long moment before she thought she heard a creaking sound. Then all went still.

  Footsteps were coming down the hallway, though she ignored them as she leaned in just a little further to see what had happened. But she wasn’t minding her balance in her eagerness to see inside, and she pitched forward just enough that her shoulder bumped the door. With a gasp, she managed to catch herself before she stumbled into the room, but was unable to stop the door from swinging open. She felt paralyzed as she watched, almost in slow motion, as the door opened into the room.

  ~Chapter 10~

  The polished man had his back to her as he rested his forearm on a large, solid bench below the window, panting hard. He glanced toward the hall door, and his eyes widened. Sarah cringed as the door she had leaned into at last finished its wide arc and bumped quietly into the wall. The man whipped his head around to gape at her, face strained, and Sarah’s eyes widened guiltily. Suddenly, Edith was there, brushing past her in her haste to enter the room, and the man quickly straightened and took a step away from the bench.

  “What is going on in here?” Edith panted, eyes wide. “I heard someone scream all the way from the kitchen.” She gasped and pointed. “My lord, your arm.”

  Several other servants and two guards filtered into the room to see what the commotion was about. The man glanced down at his right bicep in surprise, paling when he saw the sickly patch of torn flesh through the chunk of his coat that had been gouged out. Everyone’s gazes seemed to drift in unison to the bloody dagger on the carpet near his feet. He glanced up, his eyes going to the doorway as he gripped his arm and hunched over, an expression of barely restrained agony masking his features.

  “The physician attacked me.” He used his left hand to point toward the other doorway. He winced with the movement and then cradled his injured arm.

  Sarah leaned into the room to get a better view and caught sight of a short, skinny man gripping the door handle. His wide eyes stared back at his accuser in disbelief, his mouth working silently.

  Edith shook her head. “But, Sir Lisandro, I cannot believe that the physician—”

  “What more proof do you need?” the man called Lisandro groaned, motioning to the dagger on the floor. The guards moved forward as one, each grabbing hold of one of the physician’s arm. The small man shook his head adamantly from side to side, though he was still unable to plead his case. Whatever anger he had felt before in the heat of their disagreement, it didn’t appear that he’d meant to harm the other man. Sarah absorbed the scene silently, eyes huge, hoping that no one asked her to leave as a few more bodies entered the shrinking space.

  “What would you like for us to do with him, my lord?” one of the guards asked, his face inscrutable.

  “Imprison him,” he ordered quietly, furrowing his brow in pain. It struck Sarah as odd that he looked vaguely reluctant to give the command against the man who had attacked him. Perhaps he had a conscience.

  The guards turned around and guided the slight man into the hallway. The murmuring crowd began to disperse as they went back to their duties, though a few servants remained to check on the wounded man.

  Edith moved further into the room and encouraged Sir Lisandro to rest on one of the wooden chairs on the rug. When he collapsed into it—somehow making the plop appear dignified—she took charge of the situation and ushered the rest of the servants from the room, saying that they had duties to tend to. She then ordered the man to remove his outer garment so she could b
etter see the wound. He grimaced in pain as he shrugged out of his ruined coat and shirt, revealing a purple sleeveless under-shirt and the open wound on his bicep. Sarah felt a little queasy at the sight of so much blood dribbling down his arm.

  Edith made a tsking sound against her teeth as she examined the gash, then turned to Sarah and motioned her over. That girl came reluctantly, feeling nervous as the man turned his brown eyes toward her.

  “I must run downstairs for some more clean linens,” Edith explained as she handed Sarah one of the freshly washed rags she hadn’t yet used for mopping. “Press this on the wound until I return.”

  “You’re leaving me?” Sarah squeaked, feeling the color drain from her face.

  Edith nodded, and her look was matter-of-fact. “The other women have been known to faint at the slightest drop of blood, and I feel like you have a heartier constitution.”

  Sarah didn’t even register the compliment as she clenched the clean linen anxiously in her hand. The woman might have a different opinion if her charge passed out or lost her breakfast on the rug. “But what about the doctor? Let’s send for him.”

  She received a look that said the answer to that was obvious. “You will do fine if you don’t let him bleed out,” Edith instructed. Then she took the younger girl’s hand and placed it firmly over Lisandro’s wound. In a decisive tone that brooked no argument, she said, “I will be back in a few minutes.” Then she left them alone.

  Sarah gaped at the back of Edith’s retreating form until she disappeared through the doorway. She turned reluctantly to the wounded man and encountered his penetrating stare. She quickly averted her eyes. It was silent for one agonizingly long minute as Sarah’s gaze darted about the room in an attempt to evade his unwavering stare.

  “Looks pretty deep,” she remarked, a poor attempt at conversation considering she had yet to get a good look at the wound.

  “You seem nervous,” Lisandro observed softly. Sarah started at the sound of his voice, husky with pain, and glanced at him in her surprise. The tanned skin between his dark brows was furrowed, whether in pain or his intense appraisal of her, she wasn’t sure. Maybe it was a little of both.

  “Uh, no, no. Not nervous,” she replied quickly. A convulsive swallow followed her statement, and the hand pressed against his arm twitched. He didn’t look to be in as much pain as before, and Sarah wondered briefly if maybe shock was kicking in. Oh, Lord, was he going to die on her?

  Lisandro nodded his head toward the ottoman in front of the small sitting couch. “You should sit down.”

  Sarah eagerly bobbed her head in agreement. She retreated a step, and Lisandro’s hand came up to cover hers and keep the cloth in place. Though she knew he didn’t mean anything by it, the feel of his warm, smooth hand over hers made Sarah uncomfortable.

  Quickly, she slipped her hand out from beneath his and pulled the dark-colored ottoman a safe distance in front of him. Sitting down, she had to lean forward awkwardly to reach the wound and gingerly pressed her fingertips to the linen, careful not to touch his hand again as he released the cloth and let his arm fall limply back to his side.

  Sarah frowned. The blood had already begun to seep through the thin cloth, and she didn’t have a replacement. Pressing down firmly on the wound, she prayed that Edith would hurry with more supplies. Her initial queasiness and fear began to ebb away as she set her mind to the task at hand: Not letting the man bleed to death. Sarah suddenly wished she had paid more attention in her biology class. Maybe then she could recall how many quarts of blood were in the human body and how much someone could lose before they stopped functioning. Not that she could do anything about that now.

  She glanced up at the man’s face and realized that he was still looking at her. She carefully avoided his eyes and noted that his face had gained back some of its color, and he did not look to be in severe pain anymore. Was that just his body shutting down?

  “Can you feel the wound anymore?” She probed gently with her free hand around the wound and then forced herself to meet his steady gaze to gauge his reaction.

  He shrugged his good shoulder indifferently, hardly any signs of pain in his dark, distinguished features. Sarah was caught off guard by his teasing smile. “It still feels as though I was stabbed, if that’s what you’re asking.” There was that accent again.

  Sarah eyed him warily, wondering if the color in his face would drain away before he passed out from blood loss. “You don’t look like you’re in agony,” she pointed out, as much for his benefit as for hers.

  Lisandro glanced down at his injury beneath Sarah’s hand. “I learned to withstand pain from a young age,” he said in way of explanation. She furrowed her brow at the offhand comment, wondering what he meant. His gaze drifted back to her face, making her increasingly uncomfortable. “I don’t believe I caught your name.”

  She hadn’t given it, but she decided not to correct him after all he had been through. “Sarah,” she mumbled. “My name’s Sarah.” Almost against her will, she looked up at him. His soft smile caused her stomach to jump.

  “A beautiful name for a princess.” Sarah wondered if he was teasing her. Surely he knew that she was just the help in her drab garment, not castle royalty. But there was no mockery in his expression, only an open curiosity and friendliness that drew her in.

  Thankfully, Edith bustled into the room before she had a chance to reply, carrying a small stack of white linens against her side. Sarah felt awash in relief at the timely interruption and gladly stood up so the older woman could take over, hoping that Edith didn’t question why her face was so flushed. Sarah silently reprimanded herself. One unexpected remark from a dark stranger and she blushed. Will’s face came to mind, and she found herself wishing that he were there with his comforting presence.

  Without dropping her load, Edith tapped the ottoman closer to the chair Lisandro occupied and plopped down on the seat Sarah had just vacated. Holding the stack of linens steady on the edge of the ottoman with one hand, Edith carefully removed the bloodstained cloth from Lisandro’s arm. He grimaced, and Sarah instinctively cringed along with him, knowing that some of the blood had dried and fused the cloth to his skin.

  Without the scab of dried blood struggling to seal the injury or the pressure of the cloth to stanch the flow of blood, the wound began to bubble again, and small rivulets of sticky red liquid ran down his forearm. Though Sarah felt some of her previous color ebb from her face, Edith ignored the blood and examined the deep gash with a critical eye. She straightened abruptly and stood with a shake of her head.

  “I will have to fetch a needle and thread,” she explained to her patient as she wiped her bloody hands on one of the cloths. Edith spoke in a professional, no nonsense tone that let everyone know she was in control. “The dagger went deep, and I have to close the wound to prevent infection.” Lisandro nodded his head in understanding and waited for her to go on. The older woman’s all-business manner softened slightly as she searched his face, though Sarah wasn’t sure what she was looking for.

  “I thought I should inform you,” she continued. The blunt edge her words had previously carried softened noticeably, though her voice was still as matter-of-fact. Obviously, she was not going to keep anything from this man. “Since there is no fire lit in this room, I will also have someone follow me back with a brazier and an iron so I can seal the wound closed completely—sewing it shut does not always keep out infection.”

  “It must be done,” Lisandro said with another nod. Sarah had blanched at the idea that Edith was going to burn his wound closed, but the man who was going to receive such rough treatment appeared calm and resigned.

  Though she didn’t smile, Edith looked relieved at his compliance. “Very well, then.” She thrust the linens into Sarah’s arms, and she clutched them tightly to her chest. “Keep pressure on the wound and try as best you can to keep the skin pinched together.” At Sarah’s mechanical nod, Edith hastened from the room again, leaving the two alone in the sitting ro
om once more.

  Turning back to her patient, Sarah felt his gaze on her again. Did Lisandro realize that he had been staring this whole time? The man and his audacity began to grate on Sarah’s nerves. Her previous tension melted away, and she felt more perturbed by the minute beneath his unwavering gaze.

  “It’s rude to stare,” she warned. There was no way he missed the irritation lacing her words, and if he did, the glare she gave him should have cleared things up.

  Lisandro actually smiled at her reprimand, flashing his white teeth, which only annoyed Sarah further.

  “You must forgive my stare, my lady,” he amended, though he appeared more delighted that she had noticed than guilty over his boldness. “But I couldn’t help but observe that you are nearly as sunned as I. Everyone in this place is so fair that I was surprised, is all.” He dipped his head slightly in a gesture of subservience, and his smile was appealing now. “I meant no disrespect, my lady. You must forgive me for acting like such an imbecile.”

  My, he was suave. Sarah’s spine stiffened instinctively, and she knew this was a man that would make her work to keep her guard up. Her friend Janice back home would have fallen fast and hard for his smooth personality and dark, handsome features. The two friends had similar tastes in men, though Sarah was usually more careful when it came to falling.

  She sat up a little straighter and lifted her chin, throwing him a cheeky smile. “Well, if you didn’t stare as much, then you wouldn’t have to apologize.” Her tone was sickly sweet. She knew she sounded rude, but this man put her defenses on edge, and he seemed to be enjoying it.

  Though he turned his head away from her, Lisandro’s self-satisfied grin widened, expressing his pleasure at having gotten her to spar with him. With his eyes on the bench beneath the window, he said, “You speak your mind. Are you sure you belong here?”

  Sarah’s heart skipped a beat at his question. Now that his gaze was averted, she openly gaped at him. There was no way he had already figured her out, was there? She schooled her features as best she could in case he turned to look at her again. “I don’t know what you mean,” she replied smoothly, but her voice hitched at the end.