Читать книгу Before Winter - Nancy Wallace K. - Страница 7

“Dear God!” said a familiar voice. “Devin?” Hands eased him onto his back. He groaned as the world spun and lingering raindrops fragmented like a hundred prisms of light as the sun’s rays pierced the trees.

Marcus was bending over him, slapping him lightly on the cheek. “Can you hear me?” he asked insistently.

Devin nodded, the motion setting off pain that threatened to make the top of his head explode.

Marcus exhaled loudly and sat back on his heels. “Thank God you’re alive!” he murmured.

Devin forced words between cracked lips. “No thanks to you.”

“I saved your life,” Marcus explained calmly. “They’d have killed us both if I’d tried to resist. I asked you to trust me. Shooting you was the only way I could save you.”

“Have you come to finish me off then?” Devin hissed through gritted teeth.

“I saved your life,” Marcus repeated sharply.

“And your own skin,” Devin murmured.

Marcus’ face flushed an angry red. “Had I meant to kill you, Devin, do you think I’d have missed at ten feet? I had to get those soldiers away from you until I could come back alone. They had to believe you were dead, so I grazed your head with the bullet. There was lots of blood but I spared your life.” He slid a hand behind Devin’s back. “Now let me help you, damn it! I need you to sit up.”

Devin felt completely limp, like all his bones had turned to water. He let Marcus pull him into a sitting position against a tree but he folded up in agony, cradling his head in his hands.

His former bodyguard produced water and bandages. Dabbing lightly at Devin’s temple and the back of his head with a wet rag, he frowned, his craggy face wrinkled and drawn. He wrapped a bandage around Devin’s head and buried the bloody rags under a bush. “We have to get out of here,” he said. “Can you walk?”

“How far?” Devin asked.

Marcus put his hands under Devin’s arms and lifted him to his feet. “Back to La Paix,” he replied, pulling Devin’s arm over his shoulder.

Devin exhaled, “God!”

“I’ll carry you if I have to,” Marcus said.

“Don’t,” Devin protested. He put one unsteady foot forward, his vision still blurry and uncertain. “I can’t see, Marcus.”

“At all?” Marcus asked in alarm.

Devin waved a hand. “Everything is blurry … fragmented.”

“That’s to be expected with a concussion,” Marcus assured him. “You smacked the back of your head on a rock when you fell. It should go away in a few days.”

Devin looked for the shepherd’s hut that had housed the entrance to the repository. He blinked, willing his eyes to focus on what remained. The bank of earth behind it had collapsed; ironically leaving the rickety doorway standing, like a portal to nowhere. Only a mound of dirt was visible and the lingering smell of burning paper. “Do you think there’s anything left?” he asked.

“If there is, we can’t save it now. I need to get you somewhere safe,” Marcus replied. “Come on.”

Devin’s hand fumbled toward the lining of his coat.

“You still have Tirolien’s Chronicle,” Marcus assured him. “They never even looked for anything hidden in your coat.”

“Thank God,” Devin whispered. “Where are Emile and his men?”

“Dead,” Marcus said shortly. He urged him forward. “We have to go. There won’t be any second chances for either of us now. If we’re caught, we’ll be shot on sight.”

Devin moved with him, staggering through the trees to the top of the hill. They followed the edge of the forest, staying deep within its shade as they made their way painfully back toward the road. At the edge of a field of golden flowers bent low by the rain, Devin tripped over a fallen log and fell.

Marcus went down on one knee beside him.

“Give me a minute,” Devin begged.

“A minute,” Marcus reiterated. “We don’t dare stop for any longer.”

Devin closed his eyes, laying his head back against the cool earth. His breath, coming in gasps from the exertion, sounded harsh and jarring under the quiet of the trees.

“Come on,” Marcus said too soon, hoisting him upright.

Devin put a hand to his head as the trees ahead of them blurred and spun. He leaned on Marcus and walked, silently counting his steps one after another. They stopped for water at a clear brook that wound its way through the fields above them on its way to the ocean below. Devin washed his hands and face in the cool water, lingering to splash it across the back of his neck before they went on. Above, the gray clouds hung dark and low.

It seemed like hours before they reached the road. The primitive track made walking easier but increased the chance of detection. Marcus stopped frequently, always listening for sounds of pursuit or horses’ hooves. They went on for at least another hour, Devin staggering more with every step. Without any warning, his legs just crumpled. He slid out of Marcus’ arms and went down, stones tearing through the knees of his trousers. “I can’t do this anymore,” he panted.

“Just a few more feet,” Marcus coaxed. “The cave where we spent the night is right around that curve. If you can make it that far, you can rest for the night.”

He struggled up with Marcus’ help, half expecting that the promise of rest was only to entice him to keep going, but just around the next curve, Marcus led him down an embankment. Below them was the stream that had swollen to twice its size during the thunderstorm last night. Even with blurry eyes, Devin could see it was still muddy and swirling after all the rain. He sank down gratefully under the layer of overhanging rock and stretched out on the ground. “Thank God,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

Devin woke in the night to the soothing sound of water rushing over stone. He shifted cautiously, attempting to keep nausea and dizziness at bay, and felt a hand on his shoulder.

“How do you feel?” Marcus whispered out of the dark.

“I’m still alive,” Devin answered back.

How strange that they found themselves together in the same place where they had stopped two nights ago. Devin rearranged himself cautiously on the rocky ledge. “Tell me what happened to Emile?” he asked.

Marcus took a deep breath. “He sent two men home on a ship – one of them took my rosary that they stole out of your pocket. They hoped it would serve as proof of your death to your father.”

“He’ll know it’s not mine,” Devin interrupted.

“Exactly,” Marcus said. “I hope that we’ve sent him a message that you are still alive.”

“Do you think he has been deposed?” Devin asked.

Marcus shook his head slowly. “I can’t be certain, Devin. A lot may have happened in the two weeks it took those men to get here. If he is still in power then Forneaux is only biding his time. Your father may have sent those men to find you and bring you home and instead Forneaux paid them to kill you.”

Devin put a hand to his head. “There are too many different conspiracies. How do we sort them all out?”

“We don’t have to,” Marcus said. “We continue with our plan. If we can reach La Paix before the others leave, we can join them when they go to Coreé.”

“I’ll be recognized,” Devin said.

“Not necessarily,” Marcus replied. “You have a good start at a full beard: you’ve lost at least two stone in weight and in those clothes I doubt your father would recognize you.”

“And who will kill Forneaux?” Devin asked, thinking of Angelique’s insistence that she wanted to murder the man herself.

“I believe we will have several contenders standing in line,” Marcus muttered. “Don’t worry about that now. Are you hungry at all?”

Devin shook his head and regretted it.

Marcus handed him a flask. “Drink some water and try to sleep then.”

Devin could just make out his bodyguard’s profile as Marcus kept watch, his pistol in his lap. When they’d camped here before, he’d trusted Marcus, even confided in him. Last night, he’d been shot by his own bodyguard and almost killed, but Marcus didn’t appear to have changed. He had assumed his previous position as though he expected Devin to accept him also. And yet Devin would always see the muzzle of Marcus’ pistol aimed at his head and feel the sharp burn of that bullet, the instant before he passed out.