Marie (The Curse of Lanval Book 2)

by Rebekah Dodson

  “There’s a storm coming.”

  “Aye, yes, Sire,” he said and quickly joined me. He peered through the trees at the sun and then looked at me. I shrugged. There was no time to argue unless we wanted to be stuck out here in a downpour. I’d already done that once, I had no desire to do it again. Not waiting for him, I took off back toward Marie’s grove. I didn’t want her to be out alone in this.

  The toad hopping away from us was still burned into my brain. I was partially sure she would be okay.

  Behind me, Piers called out suddenly, his cry cut short by a splash. He’d been nimbly leaping up the hill toward the forest, but when I spun around, he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. I scanned the water edge and saw his head pop above the water. The creek rushed him downstream fast.

  “Oh shit,” I said, running back toward the rapids of a creek.

  He was trying to scream for help in French, his arms flailing about. I realized either he couldn’t swim or the creek was too deep for him to get any footing. To the west, the creek widened and large rocks protruded from the surface. If I didn’t get to him in time, I …

  Ah, fuck. I lost my footing, recovered, jumped to another rock, racing on the edge of the pebbled bank. “Piers!” I called out. “Hold on!”

  I heard Marie from somewhere far off, behind the trees. “Prince Henry?”

  Lightning split the sky, as the clouds rolled in full force. A storm from nowhere, dark and angry, spread across the tops of the trees. Even the sun was blotted out, and I had to strain to see the struggling boy.

  I spotted his still frame, floating toward a rock nearly as big as myself. The water was rushing so fast, exacerbated by the winds that kicked up. If he smashed against that rock, it would be over.

  As I jumped to another rock, unbuckling my sword, I tossed it behind me. I slipped my shirt over my head and threw one boot off after another. I waded into the freezing water, gasping and shivering, and sucked in a breath.

  Fuck, it was so icy it took away my ability to get air into my lungs. I tried to call out for him, but he made no motion. I let the water carry me to the rock before he could reach it, and as his floating body reached me, I grabbed his sleeve and pulled the boy into my arms. I was taller and stronger than Piers, I knew, and I could find my footing a bit easier. Slipping once, I finally managed to get a hold under his arms and drag him to the flat bank.

  His face was blue, veins around his neck standing at full attention. I went right into paramedic mode. I taught CPR classes for businesses and high schools alike, so I knew didn’t have time to check his airway. Clasping my hands together, I started chest compressions immediately.

  I counted to myself fiercely: Ten, eleven, twelve.

  The world melted away around me, as it did a hundred times before. I couldn’t count how many times I’d used my training on strangers; babies, children, old ladies and men alike. But this was different.

  Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two.

  This was Piers. One of the first people to meet Jules and I. He’d survived a fiery attack and escaped to the fortress with us. He was a survivor like us.

  “You’re not going to die on me!” I found myself shouting.

  Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.

  I tilted his head back, lifted his chin, and started rescue breaths. One, two. I checked his chest. He still wasn’t breathing.

  “Gill?”

  Her voice was close, and I looked up to see Marie standing on the top of the bank, clinging to the tree above us. I didn’t have time to tell her what was going on. I waved her away as I dived into more chest compressions.

  Twenty-six, twenty-seven.

  “Why are you counting?” she asked. I didn’t answer.

  I tilted his forehead back. Two rescue breaths. I silently urged him to breathe. “Come on!” I said, listening for any signs of life against his wet chest.

  There was nothing.

  I could hear Marie her making her way down to us, and glanced up briefly. She had her dress hoisted in both hands, stepping lightly between rocks and over fallen tree trunks.

  Twenty, twenty-one.

  I didn’t want her to fall, but I didn’t have time to focus on her. Piers was my only concern; Marie suffering from a sprained or cut ankle was the least of my worries.

  Thirty.

  After the third round of compressions, I pressed my ear to his mouth, waiting for any signs of life. I had no AED, no way to shock his heart back to the realm of the living, and I knew if I didn’t get him breathing it would be over.

  I’d be responsible for another death, and I had too many on my hands already.

  More than any paramedic ever should.

  “Come on, Piers!” I shouted at him.

  Then, there it was.

  Small, struggling, his chest began to rise, but he gasped and coughed, and I knew the worst wasn’t over yet. I started rescue breaths for the last time, knowing that the fourth time if I couldn’t get his airway clear it would be over. After one breath, Piers coughed and sputtered back to life, dirty creek water spewing into my mouth from his. I spat beside him and moved to start chest compressions again.

  One, two, three, four.

  Marie skidded to her knees, crying out and wincing, just behind Piers. I stopped her, shaking my head. “Hang on,” I said. “Worst isn’t over. Hang on!”

  Fifteen, sixteen.

  I heard the sharp intake of breath and stopped, turned him on his side, and patted his back just below his neck. More water spewed from his mouth.

  “What did you … how did you…”

  “Nevermind that,” I said, “help me hold him!”

  Piers flailed his arms and legs out, the blood rushing through his system now, and I managed to press two fingers to his neck. His pulse was weak, but it was there. He was breathing.

  I rocked back on my heels and ran my wet hands through my hair.

  Thunder shook the ground, and the rain came then, hard and heavy.

  Ironic the sky chose that moment to bombard us, hard, with pinging, cold rain.

  “We have to get back to the castle,” Marie said. “Can he walk?”

  “Piers?” I said and helped him roll to his hands and knees. “Piers, we’ve got to get back.”

  His blue cheeks were now flushed pink again, and he nodded at me, coughing.

  “Come on,” I said, helping him to his feet. He wobbled, and Marie lifted one of his arms over hers. She held him while I buckled my sword around my waist, slipping my shirt, now wet from the downpour, over my head.

  Piers was still unsteady, and climbing back up the bank was treacherous. Marie cried out, her footing slipping, but we managed to make it back to the tree line. We stumbled awkwardly through the forest for a few feet, the rain pelting from the evergreens, but shielding us from the worst of it.

  As we emerged from the woods into the sparse grove, another boom of thunder and crack of lightning split the sky. We trudged past the basket of our drowned lunch remains, and neither Marie nor I made any motion to collect it. Half carrying, half dragging Piers, we reached the rough path that led up to the castle. The rain lightened a bit, but it had done its damage, and now the path was muddy and slick.

  I saw the castle courtyard was empty, as everyone would have run for cover, I imagined. As soon as we got in the gates, lightning streaked across the sky and struck one of the towers on the far end of the courtyard, just next to the arch we had entered moments before. The guards at the gate ushered us in quickly, pulling the portcullis down as soon as we were inside. Piers collapsed into one of the guards, who dropped his spear and held the boy awkwardly with one arm.

  “Where’s my sister?” I asked one of the guards. “Where is Lady Julia?” I didn’t even think about the storm at this point. I needed her emergency medicine. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t entirely confident in my own medical skills. I needed Jules.

  They both shook their head, either not understanding or not knowing who she was. I left Marie standing the
re, still helping the armored guard hold the young boy. Running from the gate, I tore into the great hall, throwing the heavy doors open. A few courtiers milled about, and I strode through them as if they weren’t even there.

  “Jules!” I called, and though everyone turned to watch me, no one responded.

  I almost ran right into her.

  Not Jules, but worse.

  Queen Eleanor appeared from the arch that led to the servant’s quarters and stepped onto the dais at the end of the hall. “Sire,” she said, “Your sister is not here.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s gone outside the castle walls.”

  “Shit,” I said, and the queen looked startled. I noticed then she was wringing her hands in her dress. Why was she nervous about Jules? Then it occurred to me. “You let her go alone? Why?” I shouted in French.

  All the couriers had my full attention now.

  The queen quickly approached me, touching my arm. She leaned in and whispered, “You are not my husband, stranger, but know that I am not a stupid fool. Guards accompany her. My personal guards.”

  I had no time for her argument, tone, or stupid distraction. I turned and fled back to the portcullis, back to Marie. As soon as I left the great hall, I realized I was making a mistake. Great big muddy puddles filled the sparse ground between the hall and the gate to the courtyard. The rain had fallen so hard and fast I was already drenched from head to toe. I paused, deciding what to do. Jules wasn’t just any woman; she was practically a well-rounded badass. I was sure she could take care of herself. But something about this rain bothered me, and I couldn’t pinpoint it. I needed her help with Piers. I had to get him back to the great hall.

  Fuck.

  “Where is Lady Julia?” Marie shouted at me. The gate overhang kept them dry, but I knew Marie and I wouldn’t be able to get Piers back to the castle. He was breathing heavy, but at least he was breathing.

  “She’s out in that storm,” I said, ducking under the gate overhang. “The queen let her go.”

  “Sire, look!” Piers pointed in front of us. From the gateway came four guards, and in the middle, Jules, looking no worse for wear, but more akin to a drowned rat. She was holding a wilting bunch of violet flowers in one hand and smiled at me as they approached.

  “Jules!” I ran out into the rain. “Jules, I need you!”

  I ran out to her and the guards dispersed around us. I shook her by the shoulders. “Why did you go out in such a storm!” I had to shout now, as the wind whipped around us. Her dress was soaked, clinging to her legs and obviously making it difficult to walk. I pulled the flowers away and grabbed her hand, yanking her along with me back to the gate.

  “It was a nice day!” she called back over the hiss of the wind. She smiled. “Where did this storm even come from?”

  “It’s a long story! Piers almost drowned!” I yelled at her over the roar of the rushing wind.

  “What?” She said, glancing at the boy, his eyes rolling in the back of his head as he slumped against Marie, who was struggling to hold him upright. “Did you give him CPR?”

  “Four cycles, six breaths,” I said quickly.

  “Shit,” was all Jules said.

  “Help us get him back to the hall,” I snapped at her.

  She blinked at me. In all her firefighter badassery, she was slow to respond. I uttered one word to her: Pneumonia.

  I looked back and saw her smile fall immediately from her face as she hurried to keep up with me in her wet clothes. “It would be a death sentence,” she said.

  “Right,” I said. I briefly thought about the lack of antibiotics in 1154. A death sentence for sure; fuck, more like tortuous, slow agony.

  “Exactly.”

  Wasting no time, Jules hoisted the boy up over her shoulder.

  My sister really was a badass.

  We reached the hall doors, two soldiers pulling the wide doors open, while the rest ducked to the right, off to the barracks that faced the castle walls.

  The queen was still in the hall; her hands dug into her skirt. Marie, who trailed behind us, skirted around and began to talk to her softly, waving her hands slowly as if to calm her down.

  Two servants, both barely older than Piers, hurried over and took the weak boy from Jules. I watched them carry him off and started after them, but Jules stopped me.

  “What? I have to make sure…”

  “I’ll take care of it. You have a fire to put out.”

  “Huh?”

  She motioned to the queen and took off after the servants. “I’ll see to Piers!” she called over her shoulder.

  The queen looked stoically beyond Marie, meeting my gaze and clenching her jaw tight. She made no signal she had even seen Jules rush off after Piers. I knew that look in the queen’s face. It wasn’t the warmth of concern, but fiery brimstone.

  She was pissed.

  What the fuck?”

  “You found your sister,” Marie said as I stepped into their circle. “Thank goodness.” She sighed, visibly relaxing. She was soaked head to toe like I was, her white headdress clinging to her hair. Next to the queen, she looked like she’d just crawled out of the gutter.

  Next to the elegant finery of the queen, Marie was beautiful. I ignored the queen for a minute, the image of Marie falling to her knees next to Piers flashing through my head. She had climbed down the bank to help us, despite personal injury. Why? I couldn’t imagine the queen ever doing such a thing.

  “Prince Henry?” Marie was looking at me.

  “Jules was out picking these,” I handed the ruined flowers to Marie that I was still clutching in my hand.

  Marie took them and frowned at me slightly, her head tilted to one side. “Sire …” She started. She looked from me to the queen.

  I looked at the queen, whose face was twisted up in a bundle of fury. She glared at me, saying nothing, her mouth working in a furious silent twist. She gathered her skirts and spun away, headed toward the arch that led to her chamber.

  “What was that about?” I turned to Marie.

  “Prince Henry,” Marie said, tucking the flowers away in her skirt and motioning her head to the right. We stepped away from the courtiers, who were very much interested in what we were saying. “Do you not know what a violet means?”

  “Means?” I blinked at her.

  “Yes, all flowers have meaning. Yellow roses, for example, mean ‘I’m sorry.’ Carnations are a sign of gratitude. Violets … they mean love and affection.”

  “Oh fuck,” I breathed. “Did I just…”

  “Yes,” she sighed. Her chest heaved, and her eyes looked watery. “You just named me your mistress in front of the entire court.”

  “No…”

  “In front of the queen,” Marie whispered. “In full view of everyone.”

  “But Jules…”

  “It doesn’t matter, Sire.” She shook her head and lowered it. “They saw you hand me the flowers.”

  “This is stupid,” I said. “They’re just stupid flowers.”

  “In French court, it’s the highest offense you could have offered the queen. Especially since I’m…”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” she said quickly, turning away for me. “This is a great grievance.”

  I turned back toward the archway. “There must be something I can…”

  She reached out and touched my arm, and it stopped me in my tracks. “Let her go,” she whispered.

  I stalked into the well under the circular stairs that led up to my chambers. Every inch of me wanted to check on Piers, but I had to get out of these clothes. There was one bonus to being the new prince, I thought, and that was unlimited amounts of clothes at my disposal. Even if they weren’t the high-quality cotton I was used to. I’d never take modern clothing for granted ever again. I climbed the rough stairs two at a time.

  Running a hand through my soaking hair and trying to shake out of my clothes, I started to pace, pulling on a dry set of leggings and throwing
a shirt over my head. What had I just done?

  Chapter Eight: Marie’s Mysteries

  “Henry.”

  I spun, seeing Marie in the doorway. Her white hat was drenched and plastered to her head, her clothes clinging to her shapely, curvy frame.

  “You saved the boy,” she said.

  I looked at her. “I did.”

  “What did you do back there?”

  “It’s called CPR,” I said, wracking my brain as she looked at me, confused. “Cardiopulmonary resuscitation.”

  “What?”

  “It’s …” I paused, “a procedure that restarted his heart.”

  Her eyes were wide. “You can do that? Bring him back from the dead?”

  “Yes.”

  She came into the room then, collapsing into a chair. I wanted to tell her to go, change, ward off any pneumonia. I wanted to check on Piers.

  “What just happened?” she said, pressing a hand to her face. “He was dead. I saw it. You … brought him back to life.”

  I winced but nodded. “I did.”

  “How is that even possible?”

  “It’s medicine, Marie. I’m trained in it.”

  “Yet you could not save the prince.”

  “The prince lost too much blood.”

  “That is what the healers do. They drain the blood. How can losing blood kill anyone?”

  I shook my head. “They have it all wrong,” I whispered, “In my time, we give victims blood to save them.”

  “And you couldn’t do that.”

  “No,” I said.

  “Can you teach me?” she asked after a minute.

  Her request threw me off guard. “What?”

  “About medicine? In-fections? What you did to save Piers?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know, Marie. I went to school for a long time to learn all that.”

  “Teach me.”

  “Marie …”

  She smoothed her wet dress in front of her, pulling it from clinging to her legs. When she reached her knees, she winced.

  “What is it?” I said.

  “Nothing,” she shook her head, small water droplets flinging into the air.

  “Let me see.” I knelt in front of her, reaching out for her hem, but stopped. I looked up into her eyes. “Lift your dress.”