Chasing Shadows

by Ashley Townsend

  Lisandro’s amused look remained in place, though he carefully evaded her eyes. “In some ways you seem as alien as I.” Though he spoke directly to her, he looked everywhere around the room but at her. His studied avoidance was actually comical, and Sarah felt the side of her mouth twitch. He chose that moment to glance at her, and she did her best to hide her smile. He seemed to sense her amusement anyway and inclined his head to the side in a gesture of innocent appraisal. Janice would have found the action adorably endearing.

  “Do you find something amusing, my lady?” His look of boyish innocence caused a reluctant smile to pull at the corners of Sarah’s mouth. He was charming, she’d give him that.

  “So, where is it that you’re from? What’s your background?” she asked, avoiding his question. She didn’t want to partake in his teasing game and decided that this was the safest way to turn the conversation, and if it kept his mind off his wound . . .

  His smile let her know she hadn’t fooled him, but he graciously followed her lead. “I was born in Cadiz and moved into the country with my father and mother when I was nine. I was named for my father, Romeo Lisandro.” His smooth voice made the words sound enticing, and his Spanish accent was so perfectly distinguishable as he said the name that Sarah wondered how she hadn’t picked up on it before.

  “You’re name’s Romeo?” she said wryly, pronouncing his name like he was a character in Shakespeare’s play . . . and he certainly appeared as suave as Romeo. It had sounded far better when he said the name with that accent, but for whatever reason, she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing his name spoken properly.

  Lisandro shook his head. “No, my full name is Damien Romeo Lisandro.”

  “Oh,” was all she said. Of course he wouldn’t understand her derisive response to his name, since Shakespeare wouldn’t write his play of love and tragedy for a few more centuries. She looked at the man across from her and sensed he was waiting for her to divulge information about herself. When she remained silent, his ever-present, slightly cocky grin widened.

  “Well, my lady,” he said smoothly, still appearing comfortable and unaffected by her silence. “Now it’s your turn.”

  Sarah eyed him warily, hand twitching over his wound. “My turn for what?”

  Damien leaned forward and lowered his voice, eyes gleaming with mischief. “It is your turn to tell me who you really are.”

  ~Chapter 11~

  Sarah’s grip on the bloody cloth loosened in her surprise, and the soiled rag dropped to the floor with a plop. The sound pulled her from her shock-induced paralysis, and she abruptly broke eye contact with Damien as he moved to retrieve the cloth. She quickly bent down to snatch the rag from the ground before he could, glad for the excuse to hide her colorless face from his scrutiny while she composed herself. When she glanced down at the blood on her shaking hands, she instantly felt queasy.

  He knows, Sarah thought, dismayed at having been found out so soon.

  She straightened slowly with the stained cloth in her hand, taking her time to calm herself. Being careful to keep her hair in front of her face, she slowly wrapped a fresh linen around the soiled one and placed it precisely on the rug stain; she and Edith would have to clean the mark, and Sarah didn’t want to add any more stains for them to scrub later.

  Tactfully keeping her face hidden from Damien’s probing gaze as she unfolded a new linen, she spoke with a surprisingly nonchalant tone, “I’m not sure I catch your meaning.” Sarah leaned forward and quickly pressed the cloth to his wound to catch the rivulet of sticky blood that ran down his lean muscles. She glanced up at his face almost against her will. He cocked his head to the side, and dark brown hair fell over his high forehead as he studied her.

  “You look like a fish out of water,” he observed with that persistent, self-satisfied grin; it seemed to be a permanent fixture on his handsome face. “You speak your mind too much to have been born into servitude.”

  “Well, I wasn’t born into it,” she answered honestly. “This is kind of a . . . temporary situation.”

  Any comment Damien may have had died on his lips as Edith preceded two male servants into the room, both men struggling to carry a brazier between them. They set the lit brazier a few feet from where Sarah and Damien sat and quietly left the room at Edith’s dismissing nod. She then thrust the metal rod she was holding into the heat of the coals and glanced over at the two younger occupants of the room.

  “Did everything go all right while I was out?” she asked, addressing Sarah directly.

  Sarah’s gaze flickered briefly to Damien and then back to her. She nodded, thankful for the interruption. It didn’t bode well that the man wanted to probe so deeply when she was attempting to be elusive in her quest. But it was a ridiculously large castle, and maybe their paths would never cross under the same roof as long as Sarah remained there. Though the thought was meant to assure her that her cover was momentarily intact, the idea that she may not see Damien after this incident gave her a pang of regret, and that greatly concerned her.

  Sarah frowned. Why did she feel so drawn to this man, as though something inside of him pulled at her? She hadn’t felt this way since she first met Will, and the sudden thought caused her to feel immense guilt. But why should she? It wasn’t as though she was doing something wrong. She wasn’t truly interested in Damien; it was only her insatiable curiosity twisting her thoughts.

  To be fair, he was charming and refined—and he was also intriguingly handsome, with his accent and cheeky smile. Besides, she and Will weren’t even an item, so what did it matter if she did find someone attractive? Not that I do, she was quick to amend.

  Sarah cleaned the blood from her hands in the washing bowl on the table at the wall, and then stood beside Damien with dripping hands, shifting impatiently as Edith continued to warm the rod over the brazier. How long could it take to heat? The growing silence, which both Damien and Edith appeared to be content with, was beginning to grate on Sarah’s already frayed nerves.

  At last, Edith pulled the rod from the fire when the tip had taken on a bright orange glow and walked carefully over to Damien. Sarah suddenly realized that Edith had never brought up her sewing equipment.

  “I thought you had to sew the wound closed first,” she remarked, eying the glowing rod. Cauterizing the wound would certainly get the job done faster, freeing Sarah for her other duties. It would also prevent infection in the wound, as Edith had said earlier. But still. . . .

  Edith shook her head as she came to stand beside them, the hot bar a safe distance in front of her. She huffed in vexation. “I was going to, but that ninnyhammer of a cook borrowed my needle to lace up this evening’s stuffed goose.” Her look suggestion the cook was one of the most incompetent people in the world. “The lord is losing too much blood to wait for my sewing equipment to be properly cleaned. I think it may be best if we seal the wound as quickly as possible.” She motioned with her head for Sarah to move and then took her place when she did so.

  Sarah clutched the bloody cloth in her hand, eyes fixated on the glowing rod as it moved toward the wound. It was the best they could do, considering the circumstances and lack of medical care since the physician had been taken away, but it was also horrifically primitive to Sara. She suddenly realized that the rod had frozen mid-air and glanced up sharply at Edith’s face, catching her look of hesitancy.

  “It might be wise if you turn the other way,” she advised. Sarah did not need to be told twice and obediently turned her head to the side. A moment later Sarah heard the sound of sizzling flesh, though Damien did not gasp or cry out. The room was large, but all of its windows were closed to keep the cold outdoors, and the putrid stench of burning flesh quickly permeated the space.

  Sarah squeezed her eyes closed against the wave of nausea as the sickening scent assailed her senses. She breathed through her mouth slowly. Losing her breakfast in front of Edith, who appeared to have the situation under control, would not be the brightest move on Sa
rah’s part if she wanted to prove herself capable.

  No sound came from the other occupants of the room, and Sarah glanced up cautiously, wondering if it was over. She pressed a hand to her churning stomach and turned away from the sight of Edith rolling the cooling rod gently over the wound to ensure that it closed completely.

  “It’s the best I can do under the circumstances,” Edith said, addressing her patient. Sarah exhaled in relief that it was over, and then winced when she saw how the skin around the sealed wound had swollen bright red from the heat. It looked terribly painful.

  Sarah’s gaze lifted from Damien’s wound to his face, which had paled considerably and was beaded with perspiration. As if sensing her disquiet and concern for him, he caught her eye and smiled reassuringly, though the action didn’t remove the deep crease between his brows.

  “I believe it will suffice, though,” Edith continued, evaluating her work. “I am having an herb poultice brought up, and the dressings will need to be changed twice or three times daily. Sarah will assist you in cleaning and redressing the wound.”

  Damien had absorbed these instructions with a slightly detached expression, though it brightened some with this last bit of information. His gaze flickered briefly to Sarah before returning to the older woman. While Damien listened to the remainder of Edith’s instructions with rapt attention, the words landed on deaf ears where Sarah was concerned.

  She was supposed to be his nurse? A moment ago she had thought they would part ways and never meet again after this episode was over, and now she would be at his beck and call. Would Damien truly want her to ignore all her other duties and have her perform the simple task of changing his bandages? Though he could be a little roguish at times, he didn’t seem to be the kind of man who would demand her attention like that. Then again, she had only spent an hour with him, so who was Sarah to judge his true character?

  She started at the sound of her name and focused on Edith, who was eying her curiously. “Sorry, what did you say?”

  Edith stood, holding the cooled piece of steel in her hand. Her brown eyes searched Sarah’s face with a mother’s intuition. “I need you to run an errand for me,” she announced abruptly and without preamble. “You could use the fresh air, and I can apply the poultice myself this instance.”

  Sarah must have looked more frazzled than she realized to receive such a quick dismissal. She nodded eagerly, though, grateful for the chance to get away from the smell and escape from under Damien’s penetrating gaze. Edith gave her instructions for the errand, and Sarah bolted from the sitting room with as much ladylike grace as possible.

  Even in the heat of her desire to escape the castle walls, which had suddenly become very confining, Sarah had just enough sense of mind to run to her quarters for Will’s cloak, since her task would take her outdoors. She hastily threw the warm garment about her shoulders and didn’t pause for breath as she hurried down the stairs, snatching a woven basket from the kitchen and then quickly ducking out the door in order to escape the inquisitive gazes she was receiving from a pair of servant girls. Only once she had emerged into the midday light and heard the crunch of snow beneath her slipper-clad feet did she dare to breathe deeply again.

  Standing just outside the servants’ entrance, she filled her lungs with the crisp air, savoring the welcome aroma of freshly fallen snow after suffering the stuffy, moldy scent some of the unused castle rooms carried. The sun was at its highest point in the sky, setting the perfectly white snow on fire with a sparkling brilliance that had begun to melt the crystal-clear icicles above the back entrance, though it had yet to thaw the growing layers of winter’s mark on the ground.

  With the calming winter scene around her and the warmth of the sun kissing the top of her head, Sarah felt nearly herself after a moment outside the confines of the castle walls, which had slowly begun to close in on her over the last two days.

  She nearly laughed aloud when she realized that she had yet to make it through her full second day.

  Though the sun shone brightly, a chilly breeze played with the hem of her dress and tucked it around her legs. Sarah worked the laces on the long wool cloak and stuffed her hands in the pockets to warm them.

  As she walked along the outer gate towards the center of town, she wondered to herself how servants managed to remain sane when they were faced with the same mundane tasks day after day. And all the while, they had to keep up a blank façade. Sarah was shocked at how well the castle servants could conceal their emotions while they dealt with constant demands in an unfriendly environment.

  Sarah searched the carts and storefronts in the town square for the produce vendor Edith and instructed her to find. She spotted the hanging sign she was looking for above an open-air cart overflowing with fruits and vegetables. It formed a square shape with the three other produce carts surrounding it, creating a sort of barrier for the covered barrels inside the area. Sarah ambled over to the carts, feeling no need to rush back to the castle just yet and taking her time to admire the wares other shops boasted along the way.

  Nearing the four-corner shop, she smiled uncertainly at the waiflike man standing beneath the sign. His salt-and-pepper hair had been cut short, and his skin gave evidence to many years spent in the sun. Gray-blue eyes and a crooked smile greeted her from behind his small collection table as she approached. He looked like the man Edith had described, and Sarah scrambled to remember his name as she stood before him.

  She stared into the man’s expectant face and, unable to recall his name, fought for safe ground. “Edith from the castle sent me,” she said tentatively, hoping he would know what to do with that.

  His weathered face brightened, and he stepped between the carts to take her hand in his smaller one, shaking it with more force than Sarah expected from so small a man.

  “You must be the new help,” he remarked as he pumped her arm up and down, appearing genuinely delighted to meet her. Sarah forced a smile as he released his firm grip, and she had to resist the urge to flex her injured hand. “Sarah, is it?” Her smile faltered at his familiarity with her name. She’d hoped to remain under the radar as long as possible and was dismayed to find that word of the newcomer had traveled so quickly.

  She managed a nod and tried to redirect the conversation. Suddenly, she didn’t feel as safe and carefree as she had a moment ago. “Edith mentioned that we need to place an order with you.”

  The gray-haired man nodded and motioned toward his large carts heavy-laden with varying produce. “I just received a barrel each of fresh carrots and dried apples, there are also some especially large heads of cabbage that you might be interested in, and some spicy peppers that I received all the way from Spain. Did Edith happen to mention what the kitchen needs this week?”

  Sarah tried to remember what Edith had said to pick up and, much like she had with the kind man’s name, managed to draw a blank. She had been in such a hurry earlier that she hadn’t paid much attention to Edith’s instructions and was now regretting her rush.

  The vender must have noticed the clueless expression on her face because he gave her a sympathetic smile. “Why don’t I just wrap up a few of the things the kitchen always needs?”

  Sarah was sure her relief was obvious. “Thank you.” She handed the basket to the man, who went about collecting several items without her assistance.

  Left standing idle, Sarah allowed her gaze to drift over the rows of shops and was surprised when she recognized one of the uniformed castle guards as he made his way through the town square. Guards patrolled the area outside the castle all the time, so there was nothing out of the ordinary about his appearance. Disinterested, Sarah was about to turn away when she spotted the young guard stop before the entrance to the street she had stumbled down the day before. He glanced suspiciously over both shoulders before quickly slipping into the shadows and disappearing down the street.

  Something about his shifty behavior didn’t sit right with Sarah. Curious over what business he might have in
that neighborhood, she mumbled a quick apology to the vender and asked him if he wouldn’t mind packing the goods up for her while she ran another errand.

  “Will do, miss,” he replied cheerily. “It will be ready when you get back.”

  Eyes on the spot where the guard had stood a moment before, Sarah nodded distractedly to the man and stepped away from his cart. Her heart picked up a beat in anticipation as she watched the last traces of the guard’s long shadow begin to recede into the side street. The moist wind fought against Sarah with each hurried step through the square, and she gripped her collar closer to her throat as she followed her intuition and the man’s retreating shadow as it vanished into the recesses of the darkened street.

  ~Chapter 12~

  Sarah stopped at the edge of the street and eased her head around the corner, watching the strange guard’s progress along the rough stones. Satisfied that his back was to her, she pushed Will’s warning from her head and moved stealthily along the right wall, keeping her body low. She was pleased that there was only a light dusting of snow in patches on the ground, thanks to the many dilapidated awnings lining the narrow street—maneuvering her feet around loosened stones would cause less noise than crunching over freshly packed snow.

  With her eyes locked on the man’s back as he moved down the vacant neighborhood, Sarah tried to remember the proper distance for tailing someone as she slowly eased herself around a jagged stoop. She was occupied and didn’t notice how the hem of her dress had snagged on the edge of the bottom step. Losing her balance as the dress caught and held on the sharp stone, she pitched forward to the sound of ripping fabric. The fall was too abrupt and her reflexes too slow for her to get her hands up in time to lessen the impact, and she only managed to trap her hands beneath her stomach as she landed prostrate on the street.