Spellbound (23 page)

With morbid curiosity, the
duke asked, “Did you sell your soul? Is that how you survived
Prestwich?”

Beverley laughed, a low,
eerie sound that sent shivers of unease skittering along Tristan’s
spine. Without really realizing it, he loosened his hold on the
man, who used the opportunity to slip out of his grasp.

And the Duke of Windhaven,
frightened beyond anything in his vast experience, didn’t hesitate.
He raised his pistol towards the fleeing man and fired.

The shot flew straight,
shattering Beverley’s skull. Blood and brain matter flew in all
directions. The nearly headless body slowly collapsed, falling to
the ground in a tattered heap.

Bile rose up in Tristan’s
throat at the sight. Despite the realization that he’d actually had
no choice, he was sickened. He dropped to his knees, afraid he
would disgrace himself by retching violently.

Glancing to the side, he
realized the earl wasn’t moving. Peering closely at him, he
groaned.

The Earl of Huntley had
been stabbed in the chest. Tristan very much feared he was
dead.

A furious knocking on the
door startled Lady Greyden Cramshaw. She looked up from the book
she’d been reading and glanced at the door. She knew one of her
sisters would answer the door, but she pushed herself to her feet
anyway, muttering a distracted excuse to her silent
companion.

When she reached the outer
hall, she encountered the man she knew as the Duke of Windhaven.
Her jaw fell slack. He was carrying a man who appeared to be dead,
struggling under the man’s considerable weight.

Lily’s sister, Violet,
stood there, her mouth hanging open as well, obviously out of her
element.

“Violet, show the gentlemen
into the parlor. There is a sofa in there, your grace, where you
may place him. I will have Daisy and Molly prepare rooms for you
both.” She moved to allow them to pass, her eyes modestly
downcast.

The duke stopped briefly
beside her. Speaking lowly, he said, “Thank you…sister.” Her eyes
flew up, shocked and a little perplexed. He smiled gently at her.
“Things will be made right,” he promised. So saying, he turned and
followed Violet into the front parlor.

Lily was momentarily too
stunned to move. Never in her life had she anticipated the
knowledge that Greyden was actually related to the duke despite
their surname being the same. Being accepted now by his family was
an honor unlooked for. She’d never even really had her husband’s
acceptance. She was not naïve enough to believe the man had ever
loved her.

Shaking her head against
such thoughts, she moved to find her youngest sister and the maid,
smiling in wonder as she went.

Tristan placed Raven’s
brother gently on the sofa, being careful not to jar him too much.
The knife had penetrated so close to his heart that Tristan was
unsure how the earl had managed to survive. But the short blade had
just missed, having been inserted one rib too low.

Sinking slowly into a
nearby chair, the duke dropped his head into his hands, wondering
just what he was going to do. If the earl died, Tristan was quite
sure Dunston would soon follow. The man had already lost a
daughter, more or less, and to lose his son and heir would prove
too much.

And Raven. How would he
tell her, when he found her, that her twin brother had been killed?
Even if she refused to accept the relationship, he knew she felt
the bond that only twins share. It would kill her.

“If you’d like to remove
him to a chamber, your grace, you may do so.”

Tristan looked up at the
softly spoken words, momentarily confused. Then his vision cleared.
Grey’s wife, Lily, stood just within the door, gazing at him with a
directness that she hadn’t shown before.

Glancing over at Huntley,
Tristan sighed. “Perhaps we should wait for the doctor. I dare not
move him more than I have to.”

Lily looked at the earl.
“Perhaps you are right. It might have been best to take him
directly to a bed. I’m sure it would be far more comfortable.” She
shrugged, her silvery eyes filled with compassion. “There is little
we can do about that now.”

She came further into the
room to stand next to the injured man. “I can do a little for him
until the doctor arrives, if you permit it, your grace.”

“By all means, Lily, do
what you can. I can help in some capacity, having some experience
with tending wounds.”

As if on cue, a maid—Molly,
the duke assumed—entered with water and cloths for bandages. She
set them down upon a little table near the sofa, bobbed a curtsy
and inquired if there was anything else.

“Send Miss Violet in,
please. Inform Daisy she is to stay with the children. That will be
all.”

Molly bobbed another
curtsy, throwing an awed look at the duke, and left.

Lily sat gingerly beside
the earl, her bent legs bearing most of her weight as she attempted
not to jar the man. Hastening forward, the duke brought forth a low
stool, setting it down beside the sofa.

“Here, sit here. If you
fall you could do the child an injury.”

Once again, her startled
gaze met his. She glanced quickly away, carefully removing the
earl’s bloodstained outer clothing.

“You know much about me,
your grace,” she murmured.

He shrugged nonchalantly,
stooping to help her. “Not as much as I’d like,” he admitted
readily.

The earl’s greatcoat and
jacket fell away, to be presently joined by his waistcoat and
cravat. The duke and Lily paused, staring at his shirt, plastered
to his chest with an alarming amount of blood.

Lily swallowed hard.
Tristan watched the working of her throat, wondering if she was
going to be sick.

“If you’d like to leave,
please do so,” he offered, seeking to shield her from unnecessary
distress.

Shaking her head firmly, if
a little jerkily, she replied, “No, I am better. It is always the
same when I see blood. I apologize, your grace.”

Tristan reached forward and
ripped the earl’s shirt down the front, heedless of buttons, being
careful only to avoid touching the wounded area.

“I wish you’d call me
Tristan,” he muttered as he worked. He heard the slight intake of
breath from his exceedingly fair companion and spared her a
glance.

“I couldn’t do any such
thing, your grace. You are far above me.”

He snorted. He couldn’t
help it. “Poppycock,” he said, using one of his grandmother’s
favorite expressions. “You are married to my brother. And to speak
to or see you, one would never assume you were anything below
gentry.”

He peeled back the shirt
fractionally, wincing when Huntley’s body jerked
spasmodically.

Lily, having soaked a cloth
in the warm water, gently placed in near the drying blood. In
moments it was loosened enough that they could fully remove the
garment.

“How it appears is not the
issue,” she said then, returning to their previous conversation. “I
am of low birth, no matter how much anyone tries to change
me.”

Releasing an exasperated
sigh, the duke stopped cleaning the wound momentarily, fixing his
sister-in-law with a stern glare. “Do you realize who I am, my
lady?” he asked with uncommon arrogance, placing subtle but firm
emphasis on her title. “I am the Duke of Windhaven. A bloody duke,
pardon my language. If I accept you into the family fold, do you
think anyone would dare to say the slightest thing derogatory about
you?”

Lily gently took the cloth
from him, cleaning the wound with painstaking gentleness. She said
nothing until the wound was free of blood, revealing a rather
savage gash beneath.

“It is not nearly so
serious as it looked, I think,” she said. “But it appears fairly
deep. Stitches may be necessary. And it will probably scar.”
Suddenly turning her pale eyes to his, she asked, “Who is he, your
grace?”

He blinked at her. “How
remiss of me, Lily. This is Lord Huntley. He is Raven’s twin
brother.”

“Ah, I wondered at the
uncanny resemblance.”

The earl jerked suddenly,
causing a trickle of bright red blood to appear. Tristan quickly
placed a cloth against it, pressing just enough to stanch the
flow.

“She will be distressed to
learn of this,” Lily murmured, almost to herself.

“I wish I knew where she
was to tell her,” the duke found himself saying.

“B-but,” Lily stammered,
“she is here, your grace.”

Blinking rapidly against
the sudden blackness welling before his eyes, Tristan released the
cloth he held. Lily rapidly snatched it up, pressing it back to the
wound.

Tristan grabbed her other
hand. “She is here?”

The duke crouched there for
a full thirty seconds, unable to comprehend what he’d just
heard.

“Yes, your
grace.”

“She’s here?” he repeated
stupidly. “Here?”

“She is here,” the young
woman reiterated with the utmost patience. “She stumbled into town
yesterday morning. Mr. Brodie found her collapsed on his doorstep
and brought her to me. He knew of our association and being a
bachelor and an old man, he thought I could better care for
her.”

“Why did he not bring her
to Windhaven?”

Lily’s silver eyes grew
liquid. “She would not have made it, your grace. She was nearly
frozen as it was.”

The duke sat back on his
heels, stunned. “Nearly frozen?”

Lily nodded. “She must have
walked a great distance. Her hands and feet were like ice and she
was liberally coated with blood. I have wondered what happened but
felt she was too ill to be interrogated.”

“Why did you not send for
me, a message, something? I have been worried sick thinking she was
dead.”

Lily flushed at his
admonitory tone. “I did not think it my place, your grace, and
Raven—in one of her lucid moments—did request that you not be
summoned.”

Despite feeling as though
he’d just been stabbed through the heart himself, Tristan surged to
his feet. “Where is she?” he demanded, all the presumption of his
station coming to the fore.

Molly entered then with
Violet, the doctor following close behind.

“Violet, take his grace to
Raven, please. Dr. Middlebrooke, Lord Huntley has been stabbed and
needs stitches, I think.”

Instead of taking umbrage
at the young woman’s assumption, the doctor peeked under the cloth
and nodded his head in agreement.

“Quite right, quite right.
Will you attend, my dear, or shall your sister?”

Tristan, not having left
yet, inserted indignantly, “You cannot possibly expect her to
assist you, doctor. She is in a delicate condition. It would prove
far too taxing for her to assist in surgery.”

Lily smiled slightly. “I
assure you, your grace, it would not be too taxing, as I have
actually done it before.” She smiled at the doctor. “However, I
think Violet’s hands may prove a bit steadier this day.” She waved
her sister forward, who didn’t hesitate.

Tristan watched, amazed as
the girl washed her hands and prepared to do something, the very
idea of which would cause most young ladies to faint. He couldn’t
help but admire these two young women.

“Come, your grace, and I
will take you to Raven.”

As they left, the doctor
called out, “I will be up to see my other patient
presently.”

Lily led the way down the
hall and up the stairs. Feeling a certain amount of urgency, the
duke had to bite back the urge to hurry her along, even though she
was moving at a goodly pace.

Stopping before a door, she
said, “I feel I should warn you, your grace. She is not yet
coherent, most of the time and some damage was done by the cold.
You may be a bit shocked by her appearance.”

Dread filled Tristan’s
throat as he nodded. Lily opened the door, pushing it wide. She
stepped aside, allowing him to enter first.

Laying amidst a plethora of
white was Raven, the Ebony Swan. Tristan swallowed hard. She was
awake, watching them enter the room, her dark eyes dull and
lifeless.

“Oh, Rae,” he breathed. His
feet carried him across the room though he had little recollection
of moving. He was beside the bed and reaching out for her hand,
when he saw her flinch.

He jerked his hand away,
perplexed. Looking at Lily, who had lingered in the doorway, he
frowned.

“What did I do?”

An expression of innate
sadness crossed the young woman’s features. “She is in considerable
pain, your grace. The frostbite she received was not too severe but
once the numbness wore off the feeling in her extremities was
restored, painfully so. To touch her will make it
worse.”

He nearly cried. He felt
the tears pricking his eyes and felt utterly helpless. Dammit, he
hated feeling helpless.

Lily sensed his need to be
alone with Raven and mumbled an excuse to leave. He barely heard
her.