In the Shadow of Midnight - By Marsha Canham Page 0,94
to clutch the stump of his arm as he lurched for the door and ran out into the street. He made one full turn, spraying the cobbles with blood, before he stumbled off down one of the laneways, scattering the onlookers who had been drawn by the sights and sounds.
Eduard remained tense, his body poised to meet the next threat, but there were none. All who could run had done so. Those who could not dragged themselves, groaning, into the darkest, blackest shadows.
Eduard saw Robin leaning against the wall and reached him in a single stride.
“Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
Robin shook his head and cursed his own ineptness. “Lady Ariel …?”
Sedrick was slouched over one of the tables, groaning and swearing with equal aplomb. Lord Henry was in the process of trying to find his balance and swayed on his feet like an Infidel drunk on Christian blood. The Welshman sat in a dazed crumple against the wall, his face as pale as ash behind the beard, a bloodied arm cradled against his chest.
And Ariel …
Eduard whirled around, his eyes probing the shadows, identifying the bodies. Lady Ariel de Clare was nowhere to be seen in the haze of disturbed dust but before Eduard could broaden his search, Sparrow came crashing through the door with enough self-importance to send FitzRandwulf into a wary crouch again.
“Poxy scullions,” he announced disgustedly. “One ran this way, one ran that.” A pudgy hand waved side to side to supplement the telling with a visual description. “Both were heavier with iron for their trouble, however,” he added, chuckling as he patted his arblaster, “and neither too likely to walk so upright or so fast in the days to come. Well then what is this? Maledictions, but we leave you on your own for half a day and see what trouble you find yourselves!”
Sedrick glanced over and snarled, “Where the devil did ye come from?”
“From the bowels of your conscience, it seems,” Sparrow answered blithely. “Not a moment too soon, I warrant. Three hulking great oafs and …” He looked around and grew noticeably still. “Has someone gone a-missing?”
Eduard had already detected movement behind him and was stalking toward the back of the tavern.
“Lady Ariel?”
There was no answer. He sheathed his sword and crouched down on one knee, the dull light from a candle reflecting off his chain mail. He had to bend his head to peer under the table, and there he followed the curled end of a shiny red braid until he found himself staring into a pair of accusingly dark emerald eyes.
“It is quite safe to come out now, my lady,” he said, extending his hand. “The excitement is all over.”
She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a slur on his heritage and Eduard arched his brow. “I am glad to see your spirits have not been sent into hiding. Now take my hand and let me bring you out of there before the rats take to liking your company.”
“Go to the devil,” she said and batted his hand away.
He sighed and reached forward with both hands, grasping her by the shoulders and lifting her up and onto a seat on the edge of the table. He was about to comment on her sense of gratitude when he saw the blood streaking down her temple and cheek.
The shock delayed him a moment and he found himself needing to take a strong breath before he angled her head gently into the candlelight. He stripped off his gauntlets and carefully pushed aside the hair that had been glued flat with all the blood, and, after a few tentative probings of the area with his fingertips, was assured the wound was not life-threatening.
“’Tis only a small cut,” he announced. “Not half so bad as the amount of blood might suggest.”
Ariel saw no reason to rejoice. The pain was excruciating. Her stomach had already taken several violent turns and was threatening to rise up her gorge if the room did not stop spinning.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“False concern … does not become you,” she whispered tautly. “We might all have been killed.”
“If you had been killed, my lady, it would have been because your brother could not distinguish the difference between fighting cocks and red hens.”
Ariel attempted to glare up at him, but closed her eyes when he split in two and began slewing sideways. “Nonetheless, two ambushes in as many days … it does not bespeak high praise for your abilities to protect anyone.”