Queen's Guard 01 The Queen's Guard: Violet

by Traci E Hall

  Her heart hammered as she stared into the night, unable to see clearly. Her eyes strained to make sense of shadows.

  Suddenly Raoul was at the front door. He kicked with a mighty thrust. The sound of wood splintering echoed across the ground.

  Bella stood, her hand at her weaponless hip. She’d promised to stay rooted to the spot, but heaven knew she wanted so badly to run to the shack and see what Raoul saw. To help. She should have brought her arrows. Her pulse thumping in static beats at her wrists and throat, she searched for a rock the size of her fist to throw if necessary.

  A figure with blond hair—Jonathon—jumped from his hiding place behind a stack of small boats in need of repair, yelling at Raoul to stop in the name of the queen.

  Raoul paused in the doorway, so large, so physically imposing Bella’s stomach twisted with remembered fear. He waited, unarmed, as Jonathon ran across the grounds, his sword drawn.

  Bella watched in horror. “No!” Would Jonathon run Raoul through? A knight against an unarmed warrior? Confusion followed in waves of nausea. What should she do?

  Raoul raised his fist.

  At the hated and familiar gesture, Bella dropped to her knees, the rock to her chest.

  She was not surprised when she heard the crack of a fist against flesh and bone. Fighting the rising bile that burned her throat, she watched as Jonathon fell backward, the loose sword clanging as it hit beach rubble.

  Raoul, unharmed, she noticed with a sigh of relief, darted inside. He came out of the shack with Sarah limp in his arms.

  Jonathon howled in outrage as he struggled to his feet, but Raoul didn’t wait for the knight.

  Bella prayed for strength, dropped her rock, and ran to Raoul. She touched Sarah, feeling for any signs of life in her friend. “Is she alive?”

  “Stabbed.” Raoul kept walking along the wall, forcing Bella to keep up or be left behind.

  “Stabbed? With a knife?” Bella eyed the dark blossom spreading against the side of Sarah’s crimson robe. Breathless and scared, Bella shouted at Raoul’s back, “And did your emperor leave her there to die alone?”

  Raoul turned to her, his face dark with banked emotion. “Manuel is not a killer of women. Even whores.”

  Bella was so angry she clenched her fists instead of praying for peace. “How can you say such a thing? Who else was in that shack? Where are we taking her?”

  “Be quiet—unless you want the entire palace to know what has happened here tonight.”

  Bella quelled her impotent and undirected fury, clearing her head. “I don’t know what’s happened.” She shook out her hands, trusting him, albeit reluctantly. “I’ll follow you. Please let’s hurry, wherever you take us.”

  The queen would not want a scene. Her liege would help where she could if her guard was caught gathering information, but no aid was expected. Bella knew Sarah would never tell why she wanted to bed Manuel and risk the queen’s reputation.

  Raoul lowered his voice, jerking his chin to the right. “The stables.”

  “What?” She had visions of mounds of dirty hay and horse manure.

  “There’s an infirmary.”

  “For animals?”

  “It’s clean.” He walked briskly, not wasting time. “We can examine the depth of her injuries, then decide what to do.”

  Bella nodded, holding back tears. If her dead husband had taught her anything, it was that crying changed nothing.

  “Here.” Raoul used his shoulder to push open the wooden door.

  Bella followed, looking for a light in the dark. A small brazier glowed in the far corner.

  “There are tongs hanging on the wall. Put a few embers into the iron bucket and bring them here. There is a larger pit near the examination table.”

  Glad to be given direction, Bella did as instructed, studying how the low burning coals were set so she could light the new fire in the same way.

  As she coaxed the embers into flame, she heard Raoul’s steady breathing and Sarah’s weak gasps. She stood when she was through, the brazier casting golden light on Raoul as he bent over Sarah. Her friend was laid out like a sacrifice on an altar, her angelic face serene.

  Bella said a silent, fervent prayer for her recovery before walking to Raoul’s side. “How may I assist you?”

  “Are you squeamish?” He nodded down at Sarah’s bloodstained side.

  “Non.” Bella swallowed, remembering the times she’d had to clean her own wounds.

  “Press this cloth against the cut while I—”

  Jonathon burst into the stable, lip swollen, nose bloodied, sword drawn. “What’s going on here?”

  Bella ran to Jonathon. “Did you see who did this to Sarah? She’s been stabbed!” She discreetly clutched his arm, lowering his sword so Raoul wouldn’t punch him in the face again. Jonathon’s golden good looks seemed faded and pinched in the harsh light, a bruise forming around his eye.

  “Of course not,” Jonathon growled. “Else there would have been a dead body in that shack, instead of a spilled bottle of wine.”

  Raoul barely glanced at Jonathon, keeping his hand on the cloth over Sarah’s wound. “Someone wanted her found in disarray.” He paused and cleared his throat. “There was a note.”

  “A note?” Bella walked back to take over the cloth pressing, worry about one friend taking precedence over the other.

  Raoul calmly stepped aside. “The note claims Sarah is ashamed of herself and wanted to end her life.”

  Bella grew cold. “Sarah would never do that.”

  “Never,” Jonathon agreed, his hand trembling as he walked toward Sarah’s inert body. He briefly pressed his knuckles to his mouth, his expression fierce. “I should have been there.”

  Bella tried to console him. “It’s not your fault. Catherine sent for you?”

  Jonathon nodded. “I came as soon as I could, but Sarah was already inside. I thought she was with the emperor.” He closed his eyes. “Not alone and dying. May I see the note?”

  Raoul grunted. “You both defend her, but from my place I see a woman scorned, desperate to catch the eye of men in power, such as my emperor. I’ll keep the note.”

  “It’s not yours,” Jonathon said, approaching Raoul with a menacing look. “Give it to me.”

  Bella agreed with Jonathon that the letter was not Raoul’s to keep, but she tried honey rather than vinegar. “I can tell you if it’s her handwriting,” she offered as Jonathon crowded closer to the table.

  Raoul stopped Jonathon in his tracks with a glare.

  “So could I,” Jonathon concurred. “Does the paper smell of lilies? It’s her signature scent.”

  Raoul looked down at the knight, then reluctantly pulled the crumpled, bloodstained note from inside his tunic. “Do not touch it,” he ordered, putting it on the table next to Sarah’s body, carefully smoothing the paper.

  “That’s in Latin,” Bella said, brow furrowed, hands still pressing the cloth against her friend’s side.

  “Sarah could only read and write in French.” Jonathon exhaled, glancing again at the blonde guard. “We would practice poetry but never in Latin, because she did not know it and did not care to learn. So she said.”

  Bella felt a pang of sorrow as she realized her assumptions earlier were true. Jonathon was indeed a golden knight of the Queen’s Guard—for all of them. Her silly dreams of chaste kisses had been those of a naive girl.

  It was time to grow up.

  She became very aware of the breadth of Raoul’s shoulders and the dark hairs showing at his wrists beneath his tunic sleeves.

  He was a man.

  A competent man with surprisingly gentle hands as he cared for Sarah, a woman he professed not to like.

  Raoul returned the letter to his tunic. “She needs stitches. I examined her for further injuries, but aside from the knife wound, there’s nothing.”

  “Why won’t she wake up?” Bella noticed the small beat at the base of Sarah’s pale, slender throat.

  Raoul hesitate
d, then put his hand on Bella’s shoulder. “It might be better that she sleeps while you sew her side.”

  Bella’s knees wobbled. “Me? But I’ve never done that before.”

  “I have a clumsy hand with a needle and thread,” Raoul explained in a softer voice, whispering in her ear. “You have to do this. We cannot alert the physician without waking the palace.”

  “But I …” She remembered Sarah’s kindness the first time they had met. The angel in orange offering a seat next to her during their midday meal.

  Jonathon clutched the edge of the table, unable to tear his gaze from Sarah’s still face. “I cannot help you, Bella. I feel sick.”

  Calm descended like a cocoon over her clamoring nerves as she realized she was the only option. “Then sit.” She lifted her hands from where she’d pressed the cloth into Sarah’s side. They came away bloody, and she briefly closed her eyes.

  The stables were well equipped. Raoul handed her a small bucket filled with water, and she washed her hands free of blood, then wiped them on the worn but clean towel he handed her.

  “Needle and thread?” She lifted her chin, numbing her body and mind to anything but the task at hand. Oh dear, she was an awful seamstress. Sarah would have a scar for sure.

  Raoul opened a trunk and pulled out a thick needle and black wiry thread meant to pierce and mend animal flesh. “Let me wash around her wound. I smelled her breath. I think she may have been drugged.”

  Bella nodded, coolly storing Raoul’s words to examine later. Sarah, the alchemist’s daughter, poisoned? And then stabbed. Someone wanted her friend dead.

  She picked up a palm-sized knife and cut away the fabric around the injury. Pretend it is a stuffed dolly, she told herself, remembering her childhood without one and wanting children to spoil and make toys for. Her husband—dead husband—had never managed to impregnate her.

  “I agree with Raoul. The cup and wine bottle were tipped over. I didn’t see a knife. If she stabbed herself, the blade would be there. Are you sure you can do this, Bella? Maybe we should find someone else?” As he stared at Sarah’s pallid face, Jonathon gripped the table, apparently to remain standing.

  Bella’s self-doubt loomed, immediate and overwhelming. Remembering Eleanor’s concern that she wouldn’t be able to perform the mission almost made her back away. Then Sarah made a pitiful moan and Bella gulped, taking the needle and thread from Raoul. She quickly ran the wiry strand through the eye.

  Raoul’s nod warmed her, and she pulled the fabric aside. He gently washed the wound, a cut the width of her thumb that bled sluggishly. If she made small stitches, her neatest ever, perhaps it would not scar. I’d like a miracle, please.

  “Careful,” Jonathon warned.

  “Quiet, man.” Raoul deepened his voice but didn’t yell. “Sit down, or be useful and hold Sarah’s legs—softly and only if she wakes and starts to move around.”

  “Will it hurt her?”

  “Don’t be a fool. Rather a small hurt and healing after than death from infection and blood loss.” Raoul’s tone conveyed his opinion of Jonathon quite clearly.

  Bella almost smiled but didn’t.

  The sharp point of the needle pierced soft flesh, and Sarah jerked.

  Raoul firmly held Sarah by the shoulders. Jonathon, after a deep breath, held her ankles.

  Bella sewed quickly, hands steady and heart calm. After knotting the last stitch, her knees gave way.

  Raoul said, “Well done.”

  She closed her eyes as her body crumpled.

  CHAPTER 10

  I sabella opened her eyes, her cheek resting against a male chest. His tunic was soft as silk and smelled of sandalwood. Raoul’s had smelled like ocean breezes, the cloth warm and sturdy.

  Bella sat up and pushed away from Jonathon, who let her go with obvious reluctance. Sarah lay on the table, still as death. Bella looked at her hands, expecting to see blood, but they’d been cleaned. She looked around. “Where did Raoul go?”

  “Ah, ma belle, you are awake at last.” Jonathon pulled her close and spoke against her hair. “I was worried when you fainted. I warned you that you weren’t strong enough.”

  Irritation rose like bile, and she struggled to stand. “Did Raoul leave for a physician after all?”

  Jonathon stood as well. “Non. He went to find a way to disguise Sarah and get her inside the castle.” He let out a soft laugh. “You and I can walk in together, and people will think nothing but that we are returning from a lovers’ tryst.” He dared a kiss to her cheek, but Bella felt no affectionate response—unless wanting to kick him in the shin meant something special.

  “Did Sarah ever wake?”

  “Non, thank God in all His mercy. I cannot bear that such a beautiful and angelic soul should feel anything but loving touches of rapture.”

  Ugh. Had Jonathon always spouted such nonsense? She’d been too deaf to hear.

  “I see.” She made her way to the examination table, lightly caressing her friend’s pale cheek with her knuckle. “Come back, Sarah. Wake up.”

  Her friend stirred but didn’t rouse.

  “Sleep is the best thing for her.” Jonathon’s voice trailed softly, like a poet ending a stanza.

  Bella rounded on Jonathon, her hands on her hips. “Do you understand that our friend, our angel, is the victim of attempted murder? She was poisoned, Jonathon, then stabbed and left to die, with someone forging a suicide note. There is nothing especially romantic about any of that.”

  She stared him straight in the eye until he blushed and looked away.

  As if he was hiding something. Shame? Embarrassment? She softened. He had not changed since the sliced pears. It was she who had outgrown the garden. “Jonathon, please accept my apology. I am worried over Sarah. That is all. Who would set up such an elaborate scene?”

  “We know who did it,” Jonathon declared fervently. “Emperor Manuel. And on the morrow, I will kill him for it.” He lifted his chin and patted the hilt of his sword.

  “Non! We don’t know the emperor is guilty. What good would accusing him do? You would bring shame upon all of us in the French court.” Her heart thudded as she watched him posture.

  “What of Sarah’s shame?” He bowed toward the table.

  “No one will know of Sarah’s shame because we are quietly taking care of things, which is why Raoul went in search of a disguise.”

  Jonathon looked from Sarah to the door and back to Sarah, his face pale, sickly. He touched their friend’s wrist as gently as a lover would—as he’d been trained to behave in Queen Eleanor’s court. “Raoul should have returned already. Maybe he went to get the emperor himself? He took the letter back quickly enough. Now we have no evidence of a crime done, except the wine bottle. I should go back to the abandoned shack and search for the knife before someone else finds it. Perhaps it fell beneath the couch or behind a pillow. My cursed luck, I’ll be found and thought guilty.”

  Bella winced. “You have no reason to hurt Sarah.”

  “We have been lovers, you and I. That makes us both appear guilty.”

  “Non!” Bella crossed her arms and stared at Jonathon as if he’d lost his mind. “We never behaved inappropriately, and there are many witnesses who could swear to that.”

  “It’s what these heathen Greeks will say, Bella. Let’s leave now and send Fay and Catherine back for Sarah. No harm will come to her in the time we are gone.”

  Bella could not believe her ears. “I am not leaving. You go, if gossip worries you.”

  Despite his talk of honor, chivalry, and understanding of womankind—the fairer sex, angels in earthly form ad nauseam—she halfway expected him to pack up his sword and leave her there alone.

  He blew out a breath. “I will stay. But I think we’re making a mistake.”

  Raoul knocked once, then poked his head inside. “I have a trunk. Can the two of you carry the lady out?”

  “Finally.” Jonathon tried to scoop Sarah in his arms, as Raoul had done, but he almost dro
pped her.

  Bella shooed him aside. “Take her head and shoulders, and I’ll get her feet. Gently.”

  Together they brought their friend outside. Bella looked with dismay at the large open trunk on the back of the cart. “Raoul, Sarah is too tall to fit inside.” Bella rode the tide of panic, wishing she could change places with Sarah one more time.

  Raoul cursed fluently in Greek, which Bella vowed to learn. He quickly removed the trunk from the cart bed. “Put her down. There. We will have to find something to cover her with.”

  Bella looked about, not seeing anything that would hide a tall, unconscious blonde. She looked at Jonathon. “Tell me again why we cannot simply carry her to our room?”

  Jonathon spluttered. “Bella, it’s unseemly. What if we are caught? I and Sarah and you? Our reputations would be ruined.”

  Bella pushed away from Jonathon and appealed to Raoul, who had the gift of common sense. “What we need are cloaks. Black cloaks that help us blend in the dark. The halls will be lit dimly, if at all. It’s a risk, but we have to take it. I can distract the guards in the hall. Or, Jonathon, you could scout ahead and let me and Raoul know if the way is clear.” If Fay were here, she would know what to do.

  Raoul nodded curtly. “Good idea. Jonathon, go ahead. We’ll follow.”

  Jonathon gritted his teeth, obviously not happy at being given orders like a foot soldier.

  “Please,” Bella said, patting Sarah’s shoulder and staring up at the knight. “You can stop by the guard shack first and make sure there is no evidence of Sarah’s ever having been there. Get the wine bottle. Find the knife.”

  “Give me a head start.” With a last look at Sarah, Jonathon left.

  As soon as he was out of sight, Raoul scooped up Sarah and brought her back into the stable, this time locking the door behind them. “Wish I would have remembered to do that before. Quick thinking about gathering evidence. I was planning on going back myself.”

  “Why did you lock the door? We cannot stay here.” Bella looked around, searching for anything that might help them escape undetected before the sun rose and the servants came to tend the animals.