Scandal's Child

by Sherrill Bodine

  Kat doubted if all the practice in the world would help Jacko’s aim, but the diversion might keep her mind off Jules. Where could he be this morning? He had not appeared at breakfast, and they had not encountered him all morning during their tour of the château.

  After thanking Madame for the tour, Kat gratefully excused herself. She had a better feel for the household and some definite ideas on how to improve its management, but she was hesitant to approach Madame at her most formidable.

  Later that afternoon she was no closer to solving her problem. Madame still wore a slightly disapproving air. Her husband, Anton, was a different story. He had been all that was amiable. He suggested they shoot by an abandoned storage shed and had set up several targets.

  Caroline laughingly demurred when offered a pistol. For some twenty minutes Jacko had been firing before he finally nicked a target.

  Caroline diplomatically refused to comment, but Kat kept encouraging him.

  “No, no. Don’t jerk so. Squeeze the trigger … like this.” She brought the pistol level, aimed, and fired. As always, she hit the bull’s-eye.

  “Oh, Kathryn, that is truly remarkable!” Caroline clapped her hands.

  “Blasted unfair if you ask me,” Jacko grumbled. “My sister’s a better shot. Embarrassing.”

  “Oh, my lord, you are a superb horseman. That is much better than being a crack shot. So much more useful,” Caroline soothed, and to Kat’s surprise Jacko’s sulky face brightened in a dimpled smile.

  Suddenly Kat felt Jules’s presence. Out of the corner of her eye she could just see him, one shoulder leaning against a tree, his legs braced apart as he watched them.

  Turning slowly, she faced him and smiled welcomingly. “Good afternoon. We missed you this morning.”

  Jules strolled toward them. “Yes, I understand you had a tour of the château. I hope you are not so tired after your target practice that a ride through the vineyards would be too taxing. I believe you will find it quite picturesque, Lady Kathryn.”

  “Oh, Comte, did you see Kathryn’s shot?” Caroline eagerly inquired.

  His dark penetrating gaze rested on her face, and Kat suddenly found the sunlight too bright and the warmth of the day a trifle overpowering.

  “Yes, it was very impressive. I must add this to the list of Lady Kathryn’s many accomplishments,” he praised, his face transformed by a warm smile. “Miss Strange, you and Jacko are welcome to join us for the ride,” he added lazily.

  “Oh, thank you, Comte, but unfortunately I am not a good horsewoman. Lord Thistlewait is welcome to join you.” Caroline’s little face tensed, awaiting Jacko’s reply.

  “Saville, think I’ll stay and keep Miss Strange company,” he offered, a slight redness coloring him to his earlobes.

  Kat hid her surprise and amusement but was nearly undone at the radiant smile with which Caroline rewarded him. Sisterly feelings indeed!

  “Oh, Lord Thistlewait, we could play piquet! I believe you challenged me to another game, did you not?”

  Really the girl knew exactly how to deal with her twin. They all turned for the château but Jules caught her arm and whispered conspiratorially, “It seems it will be just the two of us, Lady Kathryn.”

  A frisson of pleasure flickered through her.

  The idea of riding alone with Jules made her all thumbs while she changed into her dark blue riding habit. The maids were all busy elsewhere and Kat didn’t like to take them from their duties when she was perfectly capable of dressing herself.

  Peering into the mirror, she was quite pleased with the results. For once she had even gotten the tilt of the riding hat just right so the white ostrich plume brushed her cheek.

  Jules was waiting for her on the front steps. Grooms held Noir, only a little less frisky than before, and a beautiful chestnut stallion whose name, Jules informed her, was Café au Lait.

  Jules frowned, peering up into a sky of huge gray clouds. “Perhaps we should postpone our ride.”

  “How unfortunate. I was so looking forward to it,” Kat sighed deeply.

  Jules shot her a sharp look. “Then we shall not disappoint you. Let us attempt it.” With a nod from him, the grooms brought the horses forward, and Jules tossed her into the saddle.

  The air felt cooler as they cantered away from the château. There was a definite feel of a storm brewing, but Kat ignored it. She had decided that for her own peace of mind she wished to get to know Jules better. What better way than to spend some time alone with him.

  With alarming regularity, Kat was finding Jules’s perception of her taste correct. The ride was beautiful, soothing. Her concerns were easily left behind. They cantered away from the gardens and orchard, near where the targets had been set up. At a slight rise Jules slowed and pointed to landmarks below them.

  “Somewhere in the vineyards above us, near a hidden cave, is the winery. In my father’s journals he states our wine was superior because it aged in that natural coolness.” He laughed, a free clear peal that echoed around them. “Perhaps I can make his dream come true.”

  “Dream?” Kat questioned.

  “Let me show you.”

  They turned down a rutted track. Grapevines curled around posts, reaching strong tentacles to support their heavy load of fruit. The sun had disappeared behind rolling gray clouds, cooling the air; a fresh light breeze tickled the plume against her cheek. The breeze also ruffled Jules’s thick black hair so it fell forward, but as always he smoothed it back with his long, thin fingers.

  They entered a small clearing with a huge wooden wagon filled with grapes. Bowing deeply, one of the vineyard workers presented her with a cluster of grapes on an earthenware plate. They were newly washed, drops of water still clinging to them as Kat nibbled. They were delicious, sweet and moist.

  “Jules, they are wonderful! Here, you must try.” Impulsively, she held out a grape and he took it from her hand and tasted.

  He gave the eager worker his most charming smile. “Excellent. My compliments. Now, Lady Kathryn, we must try to outrace the storm back to the château.”

  She laughed as he tossed her up into the saddle. “Your land is beautiful. I’m so glad I had this opportunity to see it.”

  “Yes, the land is recovering. Now if I can only return you safely to the château without you getting a thorough soaking.”

  They let the horses go but were hardly beyond the vineyard to a wooded area when the crack of a pistol stopped them abruptly.

  Three shouting, masked men surged out of the woods on horseback.

  “Kathryn, turn!” Jules commanded and she wheeled her horse around, but was stopped by another brigand whose black mask covered his eyes. The lower half of his face was obscured by a strategically tied neckerchief.

  Noir wheeled and danced beneath Jules and he brought him sharply under control to come to Kat’s side. “Don’t be frightened,” he whispered. Although her heart pounded so strongly she felt it in every cell of her body she nodded.

  Three of the masked men dropped to the ground and tried to grab Noir’s reins, but the black stallion reared, and they fell back before him.

  “If you wish money we have none with us,” Jules stated coolly. “If you are wise men you will give this up and leave my land.”

  The man behind Kat shouted in response to Jules’s careful statement. His was not the polite schoolroom French that Kat knew, and she had great difficulty trying to understand. All she clearly picked out was that these ruffians knew who Jules was. Suddenly she felt something cold and sharp pressing into her temple. The man holding her, the ringleader, obviously threatened her.

  Jules again flickered that reassuring smile that said: “It’s all right, I’m here, trust me.” She realized in that instant she did trust him, completely.

  To Kat’s horror the instant Jules dismounted, one of
the ragged looking men lifted his pistol and struck him near his eye.

  She screamed as he crumbled to the ground, all fear for her personal safety receding before her desperate need to reach him. Disregarding everything, she flung herself off the horse, but before she had taken two steps strong burly arms caught her.

  “Non, Mademoiselle…” was all she understood, but the brute laughed, pulling her arms painfully behind her.

  As she watched in mounting horror, Jules was lifted to his feet and held between two of the men while the third kicked him in the stomach before punching him again and again on the face.

  Kat had to get to him! She had been kicking and thrashing desperately at her captor; in response he had only tightened his arms around her. He reeked of whiskey and Kat could only hope he was slightly foxed or her plan wouldn’t work. She suddenly went limp, sinking nearly to her knees, and as she hoped, he loosened his grip. At that instant she elbowed him sharply in the groin. With a bellow he doubled over in pain and Kat grabbed his pistol that had fallen in the dust. Twirling, she snatched another from the horse holster.

  The three men were so engrossed in attacking Jules they didn’t notice her until she screamed, “Arrêtez!”

  Mouths gaping open, they all turned to her. The burly one who had been striking Jules sneered at her, a vulgar epithet she was sure.

  In answer she lifted one pistol, aimed and shot his hat off. “The second shot will kill one of you,” she promised grimly in English. The tone of her voice more than her words must have convinced the ruffian.

  He backed up. His two companions were so stunned they dropped Jules, and he fell to his knees. Suddenly he rolled sideways to launch himself up to land a bruising punch to one of his assailant’s jaws.

  “Kathryn, bring the gun to me,” he gasped, swaying on his feet.

  Before she could think or move they were gone, even her captor, who still doubled over, limped to his horse and scrambled upon it.

  Kat let them go, nothing mattered but reaching Jules.

  Blood from a cut above his eyes pooled around his patch before dripping down his cheek to his bruised jaw.

  Dropping the pistols, she gathered him in her arms, trying to steady him. “Jules, are you all right?” she cried.

  Something sharp, piercing, and sweet engulfed her heart as he tried to smile.

  “I believe, Kathryn, I must sit down.”

  A sudden clap of thunder made them both glance up.

  “Not here, Jules,” she said matter-of-factly, although she was beside herself with concern for him. “The storm is breaking. The trees will offer some protection.”

  And they did. The heavy branches meeting overhead created a canopy of leaves so they were spared much of the drenching from the sudden downpour.

  Jules sank against a tree, his face totally without color save for where the blood marked it.

  “The winery,” he gasped, “just ahead. We can shelter there.”

  She braced him carefully and muttering words of encouragement, half led, half dragged him to the low-ceilinged building.

  “I believe my ribs are broken.” Jules finally managed to say, disbelief plain on his battered face.

  She pried the door open, its heavy hinges squeaking from disuse. The interior was dusty, but even so the perfume of grape hung in the air. Not unpleasant, she thought inconsequentially. The room was dominated by the great circular wooden press; barrels filled a far wall. There were only a few benches—no place comfortable for Jules, so she eased him to the floor.

  “Did they hurt you, Kathryn?” he asked sharply, scanning her face.

  “No. I sincerely hope I hurt them more than they did me. But it is you who needs attention,” she said briskly, and began to unbutton her jacket. Removing it, she tugged her lawn shirt free and cavalierly ripped a large strip from the bottom, exposing her chemise underneath.

  “Kathryn, what are you doing?” He lifted that haughty brow but the affect was nullified by his grimace of pain. “I believe your being semi-clothed is how this all began,” he chuckled, a little breathlessly. “Do you think this is a good idea?”

  “I think it is an excellent idea to see to your wounds. According to Willy all the damage to my reputation has been done already.”

  She marched to the doorway and stuck the remnants of her lawn shirt out into the downpour until it was soaked.

  Wringing it out somewhat, she carried it back and fell on her knees beside Jules.

  He tried to struggle up. “Kathryn, you don’t—”

  She placed her hand on his shoulder, urging him to relax. “Do be quiet, my lord.” She fussed with assumed agitation. “Just let me do what must be done.”

  He stayed perfectly motionless beneath her hands as she bathed the cut above his eye and the streaks of dried blood down his lean cheek. But when she moved toward the crusty black pool at his patch, iron fingers stilled her hand.

  “No!” he whispered harshly.

  “I must,” she pleaded. “There might be a cut underneath, there is so much blood there. It will become infected if not cleansed.”

  Staring into his tense face all the piercing sweet sharpness that had engulfed her heart consumed her. Blinking back tears she widened her eyes. “You know this does not matter to me. Please. Please let me help you,” she begged, unable to keep one short sob from her voice.

  “It’s not a pretty sight.” He protested once more. Then with a harsh intake of breath, he nodded.

  Gently, she lifted the patch and sensed him literally cease breathing.

  Carefully, she bathed away the encrusted blood and was relieved to see there was no new cut near his scar.

  Kat had spoken the truth; his sightless eye held no horror for her, rather she had a nearly overwhelming desire to press her lips there at the scar to soothe away his pain.

  With trembling fingers she slid the patch back into place and their gazes entangled. She could see Jules begin to breathe again, then a flame, sudden and bright, flared in the depth of his eye.

  Mesmerized, Kat had never wanted anything more than to cup his cheeks in her palms and touch that firm, expressive mouth with her own. Instead she turned away and began to rip long strips from her petticoat that she could use to wind around his chest.

  Chapter 8

  “Saville! Kat! Where are you? Saville!”

  Jacko’s voice rang out sharply, breaking the spell that found her leaning so sweetly into Jules. How long they had been in the winery neither Jules or Kat could have guessed. At some time while she was wrapping his chest, his hands had risen to grip her shoulders. Both had been powerless against this force drawing them closer, their eyes locked, but now they each gave a breathless laugh, and his hands fell away.

  Reluctantly, she rose to her feet. “It is Jacko searching for us. Stay here and I’ll bring help.”

  She didn’t realize until Jacko discovered them that he had disobeyed her and was standing, swaying with weakness, behind her. In one quick stride, Jacko was there to throw a supporting arm around Jules. “Saville, what happened? When the horses returned to the stables we knew something had gone awry.

  “It was highwaymen, Jacko. But never mind that! Jules has been hurt. We must get him home soonest.”

  Jules straightened and she could see on his face the effort he made. “Your sister has been exceptionally brave, Jacko.”

  “Kat’s always been a trooper,” he remarked offhandedly, and pulled out a pistol, shooting into the air. “That’s the signal. The others will come now.”

  Anton Bernair drove a cart into the clearing; others appeared on foot from the woods and the vineyard. Without help, Jules walked to the cart and hesitated only slightly before climbing up. The jolting was almost unbearable, but he never could have ridden a horse at this point. Kat watched him try to act blasé about the
attack, downplaying the concern that all the searchers showed him. The cut above his patch began to bleed again. Jules flicked the drops away carelessly with his fingers. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to reach out and offer help, but some newly born instinct within her warned her away.

  A nervously pacing Madame Bernair, flanked by Caroline and Hannah, waited for them at the front of the château.

  “Oh, Kathryn, are you all right?” Caroline cried, rushing to Kat as a groom helped her down from the cart.

  “I’m unhurt, Caroline.” Kat reassured the young, frightened girl with a quick hug.

  “I knew you would be fine, Kathryn,” Hannah complimented as she slowly descended the steps. “I told them you were always remarkably resourceful.”

  In the few moments Hannah and Caroline had distracted her, Jules had attempted to get off the cart; instead he slid to the ground. The cut above his eye was now bleeding profusely.

  Madame Bernair took her own crisp, white handkerchief and pressed it to his wound. For the first time Kat saw something besides cool dislike on Madame Bernair’s face.

  “Get a door to carry the comte to his chambers,” she ordered a groom. “We’ll have to send for a doctor.”

  “Thank you all, but I can manage on my own.” Jules made another attempt to stand and, holding himself ramrod straight, his tone so commanding they all stepped back, haltingly walked toward the château. “It won’t be necessary to take to my bedchamber.”

  Kat was not deterred by his imperious tone. She quickly took one arm, supporting him. Feeling it grow rigid beneath her fingers, she pleaded, “Jules, please let us go to our chambers for I am utterly exhausted from our adventure.”

  He flicked her a rueful glance, but nonetheless obeyed, entering the château and, slowly, they ascended the stairs to the second floor together.