People were entering her room now, distracting him from thoughts of Josephine. He turned to see Thane entering, his sword rattling against his side. Behind him, almost hidden within the folds of a huge gray cape, was a small figure. Andrew pointed swiftly to Josephine on the bed.
“She has been poisoned,” he said to the figure. “See what you can do for her.”
The shape moved quickly and knelt beside the bed, with the cape billowing to form a wide circle. A fragile white hand shot out from the cape and checked the breathing, the heart, and the eyes.
“How long since the poison has been ingested?” the voice said; it was tiny and fairy-like.
Andrew looked to Justine, who stepped from the shadows, her eyes wide. “About a half of an hour,” she said, concerned.
The figure pulled the hood from its head as it turned to Justine. A tiny woman with a mass of wild white hair fixed her beady eyes on Justine, and the girl felt a bolt of something shoot through her. Whether it was from the shock of seeing a dwarf or from the actual power emitting from this woman, she didn’t know. But she was suddenly afraid and confused.
“What did you give her, darling?” the tiny woman asked gently.
Justine’s mouth popped open in surprise. How did she know? Then it dawned on her. The other man, the blond giant, had been present when Justine confessed to Andrew. He must have told her. Yet, even that knowledge did not erase the eerie feeling she had, like the tiny woman could read her mind.
“Poppy in straight wine, laced with hemlock,” Justine replied. “I only meant to help her sleep.”
The woman did not seem the least bit upset by the knowledge. She calmly removed her gloves and cape as Justine watched with growing anxiety. Why was she not doing something? She wondered. Why is she being so calm? Justine glanced at Andrew anxiously, who also appeared to be calmly watching the woman as she settled herself down on the bed, all quite calmly moving about.
Justine could not believe her eyes. Where was the sense of urgency? Had they all gone mad?
“You did not give her hemlock,” the woman finally announced.
Justine’s eyes widened. “Of course I did!”
Andrew interrupted, his voice full of concern. “How do you know, Oletha?”
“Simple,” Oletha said as she stood up from the bed and moved to pull a small stool over to the bed. “If she were given even the slightest amount of hemlock, with her size, it would have killed her within minutes. Hemlock is an extremely fast-acting toxin.”
Andrew glanced at the pale woman on the bed. “Are you certain?”
Oletha nodded as she sat on the stool. “Of course,” she said. Then, she looked at Justine. “Now, we must determine exactly what you did give her. Can you show me what you used?”
Justine nodded unsteadily. She was overwhelmed at this revelation. Was she really so stupid and incompetent as to not know what hemlock was when she saw it? Dewey had it in a jar, clearly labeled. When she drew it forth, she believed it to be hemlock. She’d seen it a thousand times.
But if it wasn’t hemlock, what was it?
Justine turned on her heel and ran from the chamber, her head swimming. She just couldn’t have been that idiotic! She was a wise sorceress. She knew about plants and herbs! Didn’t she?
Well… didn’t she?
Back inside the room, Oletha had her fingers on Josephine’s wrist as she felt the lady’s pulse. It was strong and steady. Oletha smiled as she pulled her hand away. Andrew was standing above her, hovering somewhat anxiously and the old woman looked up at him.
“Not to worry, Sir Andrew,” she squeaked. “Lady Josephine is merely in a deep sleep. I suspect she will rise with the rest of us come the morning.”
Andrew cocked an eyebrow. “But she will not awaken,” he said. “Would poppy make her sleep so?”
Oletha nodded, lifting one of Josephine’s lids to check her eyes. “Some people are very sensitive to certain herbs and potions,” she said. “Perhaps lovely Lady Josephine is one of them. However, she will have a terrific headache on the morrow and will not be much company to be around, I will venture.”
“But what about the sweat?” Andrew wanted to know. “She is drenched in it.”
Oletha cocked an eyebrow. “You would be, too, if you were swathed in heavy silk in this warm room,” she said. “Where is her maid? We will remove this clothing.”
Andrew stepped back as Ola rushed forward, very nervously, and began assisting Oletha. As he watched, he began to wonder why he felt such a tremendous sense of relief at Oletha’s words. Crossing his arms, he looked over at Thane, and Thane lifted his brows as if to say “well… that is the end of it.”
And it was, if Oletha said so. Andrew, in truth, was reluctant to leave Lady Josephine because he told Sully that he would not. There was a sense of responsibility there, in keeping his word, but there was also a strange surge of elation at the thought that he didn’t have to leave her. But why? He had no idea why he should be happy to remain.
But then, he knew – he simply did not want to leave a beautiful girl’s boudoir.
He was only a man, after all.
Several minutes passed while Ola and Oletha stripped Josephine down to her thin linen shift. When they were removing the dress, Andrew cleared his throat loudly in Thane’s direction, and the two of them discreetly moved to the other side of the chamber, to the door, to allow for a little privacy. As their backs were turned, Andrew leaned his head towards Thane.
“Why is a Torridon knight not up here guarding their mistress from us?” he asked. “I find that peculiar that he would not post a Torridon guard here.”
Thane glanced sideways at him. “Sir Sully took nine knights with him,” he said. “The other four are at the main gate. It would appear, my Lord Andrew, that they are going to trust us to honor our knightly vows.”
“I never took any,” Andrew stated flatly. “But they need not know that. I will honor my word just the same.”
Thane eyed his master; there had been something in his expression as he looked at the lady of Torridon. Something of interest, if Thane didn’t know better. But he said nothing. Instead, he turned his attention back to the lady on the bed as two women worked over her. In truth, he didn’t blame Andrew in the least for showing the slightest interest towards Lady Josephine.
He just might have some interest himself.
“Sir Andrew,” Oletha called out, breaking the men from their thoughts. “We need your help, milord.”
Andrew moved to where the women stood and Oletha looked up at him. “Lift Lady Josephine so that we may turn back the bed, please,” she instructed briskly. “It will make it much easier for us to make her comfortable.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Andrew reached down and gently scooped up the limp form. She was so soft and warm; hell, his saddle weighed more than she did. He found himself cradling her gently against his chest as Oletha and Ola fussed with the coverlets. He could smell Josephine’s hair; it smelled like flowers. Roses, he thought, a fragrance of delight, like the joy of a warm spring day. And her face; it was upturned to him and her lips parted softly in sleep. Inviting, full lips. He wondered what it would be like to taste them.
The temptation was almost too much to bear. He had to put her down before he did something foolish.
“Are you finished yet?” he snapped impatiently. How many women did it take to prepare one bed, anyway? “I cannot stand here all night.”
Under him, the women worked swiftly, but there was evidently a need for clean linen, so they bolted from the room and left him standing there with the temptation still in his arms. They even pulled Thane with them, and Andrew was left alone with the unconscious lady. It would have been an enticing situation had it not been such a serious one. Josephine was quite a lovely creature, though, and he found himself staring at her, if only for a moment. But that was the last peaceful moment between them as a fist he was most familiar with came flying up at him again, this time catching him in the throat.<
br />
After that, the fight was on.
*
Josephine heard a voice in her warm, dark world.
It was a man’s voice; deep, rich, and melodic. She tried to shut it out and ignore it, but it seemed to reach forward and grab her, pulling her into the light. She couldn’t resist the soothing tones. They caressed her sensually, gently coaxing her from the haven of sleep. Unable to fight the voice any longer, she followed it willingly.
Then, she awoke in someone’s arms. Her left cheek was pressed against something very warm and firm and, upon opening her eyes, she realized it was a chest. A man’s chest. Looking up, she saw the face of a man she didn’t recognize, sending panic into her heart. But after a terror-filled second, she realized it was the mercenary leader.
Andrew d’Vant was holding her.
God’s Toes! What was she doing lying cradled in his arms? The last thing Josephine remembered was drinking a cup of wine Justine gave her and laying upon her bed. Now, she found herself in Andrew d’Vant’s arms. Surely, he must have abducted her from Torridon and was planning some sort of horrible fate for her. What else could it be?
Well, the bastard wasn’t going to take her without a fight!
In his arms, Andrew felt Josephine twitch but he had no time or opportunity to defend himself as a balled fist came swinging up and caught him squarely on the throat. She dropped from his arms as he staggered back, coughing and sputtering, clutching his neck with one hand.
Josephine missed the bed entirely and landed on the floor, scrambling away from him as fast as she could. Then, she leapt onto her bed in a panic, her hand shooting under her pillow in search of her bejeweled dagger.
Terror was causing her breaths to come in short gasps, and her hair hung about her wildly in her struggle. She was positive that any second Andrew was going to jump on her and try to squeeze the life from her. After a hysteria-filled moment, her hand closed over the hilt of the blade, and she swiftly drew it forth.
As Andrew struggled with the blow to his throat, he saw Josephine struggle onto her bed and thrust her hand beneath the pillow, and he guessed what she was searching for. Most fine women slept armed. It was simply the way of things, and he suspected Lady Josephine was no different. Still rubbing his throat, he staggered over to the bed just as Josephine drew forth a rather large dagger with a nasty-looking blade. As she brought it up, he grabbed her right hand and flipped her easily onto her back, pinning her down with his body weight while one hand grasped both wrists and deliberately removed the dagger with his other hand.
The dagger ended up on the floor, several feet away.
“Now,” Andrew said with an exhale. “Please tell me what this display was all about?”
Josephine was still very groggy. As he watched, frightened tears welled in her eyes and started to course down her temples.
“What are you doing in my room?” she demanded.
“Believe me, my lady, it was not by choice,” he assured her coolly. “I was summoned here by Sir Sully. It seems your sister gave you a sleeping potion that she claimed contained hemlock and no one could rouse you.”
That brought Josephine’s struggles to a halt. Her eyes widened. “I do not believe you,” she said flatly. “Justine would never do that. She knows the properties of hemlock.”
“That may be, but it was apparently impossible to awaken you.” He looked at her curiously. “What finally roused you?”
Josephine blinked, trying to process his question in her foggy mind. “I do not know,” she replied. “I… I heard a voice. A man’s voice. That’s all I remember, then I awoke in your arms. Why were you holding me so?”
She didn’t seem so apt to fight him now and Andrew released her, pushing himself off of her. Josephine watched him for a moment as he moved away from the bed before propping herself up on her elbows, still watching him intently. She assumed that if he was going to attack her, he would have done so by now. Instead, he was eyeing her with some amusement.
“I was not holding you for my pleasure,” he said. “The women were preparing to change the linen on your bed, though why they picked this moment, I do not know. They asked me to lift you from the bed and that was exactly what I was doing.”
“What women?”
“Your sister and my healer.”
She looked around the room but there were no women to be found. In fact, somehow, his casual statement disappointed her and she had no idea why. His attitude was very detached, as if he were performing a service for any village wench. It didn’t seem to matter to him that he had been intimately touching the Lady of Torridon.
Wasn’t she worth holding?
She was only being foolish now. Idiotic, even. Whatever Justine gave her was clearly still affecting her thought processes. Glancing to the chair beside her bed, she spied her red silk robe and modestly snatched it up as Andrew pretended to busy himself by pulling tight the leather gloves on his big hands.
Josephine rose quickly and put the robe on, tying it lightly about her waist. When Andrew turned around at the appropriate moment, having been fully aware of what she was doing, a wave of pleasure rolled through him at the sight of her. God, the woman was all shades of lovely, even when she wasn’t feeling particularly well. But he made sure she was unaware of what was going through his head; his expression was completely neutral.
“Well,” he said finally. “It would seem that I am no longer needed here now that you are clearly no longer in danger. I shall bid you a good evening.”
As he headed for the door, she followed him with her eyes. “You were never needed in the first place,” she said coolly. “I am not paying you five thousand marks to spend time in my chamber. Where you are needed is on the walls of Torridon, protecting my castle.”
He stopped and turned, looking her over with haughty amusement. God’s Bones, the woman was as changeable as a chameleon. As he opened his mouth to reply, Justine rushed into the room and almost ran into him in the process. But when her gaze fell on her conscious sister, her eyes widened in surprise.
“Josephine!” she gasped. “You are awake! Praise God!”
Josephine’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean ‘praise God’?” she asked. “Why is it so amazing that I am awake?”
Justine took a couple of steps towards her, wringing her hands. “Because I gave you a sleeping potion with what I thought was hemlock in it, and…”
Josephine flew at her, outraged. “Hemlock?” she gasped. “I knew you were angry with me for not listening to your cards, but to actually try and kill me?”
Justine was flabbergasted. “Kill you?” she repeated. “Never! I merely laced your wine with a little too much…”
Josephine cut her off. “Justine, you know nothing of the powers you so freely profess to be well-versed in,” she snarled. “How dare you try to experiment on me with your feigned-witch powers? Never again feed me your boiled weeds!”
“Boiled weeds?” Justine choked, forgetting the fear she had experienced when she thought she had killed her sister. “I know the powers of herbs and potions, and they are anything but boiled weeds. You should take heed of who you are speaking to, Josephine.”
“Nay, you should take heed!”
“You are not nearly as grand as you think you are!”
“And you are a fool!”
“And you are a reeky harlot! I really should have poisoned you!”
That was all it took for Josephine to fly at her sister, knocking over her tapestry loom as the two girls fell together with grunts and cries. After that, the slaps began to fly.
Andrew knew he was forgotten in that singular act. He was amazed to see the two of them writhing on the ground, apparently very intent on bruising each other. But in that realization, a smile came to his lips. It was actually quite funny. He contemplated, for a split second, as to whether or not to intervene, but he quickly decided he should. Both girls were not holding back as they punched each other with hard-clenched fists and he feared someone might tr
uly get hurt.
Ah, what a shame, he thought as he took the steps necessary to reach the squabble. He did so enjoy watching women fight.
It was great entertainment.
“Ladies,” he admonished sternly. “Cease this instant.”
Josephine was on top of the pile, and he reached down effortlessly to pull her off by the collar of her robe. She struggled and twisted, still shrieking obscenities at her sister as he held her far enough away that he was able to pull Justine up by her sleeve.
But they were still yelling at each other and he found it took every ounce of his willpower to keep from laughing. Instead, he informed Justine it might be a wise choice for her to leave and was thoroughly surprised when both women turned on him like wild dogs, in essence telling him to mind his own business.
Andrew grimaced in confusion, praying that Thane and the women would return soon. He wasn’t sure how he would deal with the two of them physically turning on him. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt them. But, God’s Bones, he could not think with all of the screaming going on.
It was no longer the humorous situation he had been enjoying.
Swiftly, he pulled Josephine against him and clamped a gloved hand over her mouth. A half-second later, Justine was in the same vise-like grip; silent but breathing heavily through his splayed fingers. Andrew sighed heavily.
“Now,” he said quietly. “That is much better. You two sound more like a couple of she-dogs fighting over a bit of meat rather than the mistresses of Torridon.”
Josephine uttered a sound and put her hands up against his side, but he only gripped her tighter to silence her.
“Now,” he continued, “I believe the best thing for both of you is to retire to your respective chambers and prepare to deal with this calmly come the morning. Lady Justine, if I release you, you will promise to leave this room and not fight any longer. Agreed?”
Mercenaries and Maidens: A Medieval Romance bundle Page 9