Page 5 of Misadventures with a Duke

And that does it.

The man has clearly forgotten that I still have a free arm too—now motivated by their disgusting barking. It is a simple matter to spear my elbow into his ribs. From there, even simpler to step free and reach for my woman’s shoulder. Admittedly, at this point, the action is more for me than her. I need to know she is still here and whole. My lily. My strength.

“Get dressed, my love. Quickly. We shall ride within the hour. I can hasten the marriage banns in Loire easier than here.”

“She will do nothing of the sort.” Marquette slams a hand to the middle of my chest. “She will depart this building only with me. And you will be doing so in the back of a wagon.”

“No!” she shrieks. “Marquette!”

“Marquette.” I school my iteration to something calmer. “S’il vous plait, my friend. You want to reconsi—unhhh!”

The man curls his fingers until my chest hairs are also caught in his grip. “I am sick from my considerations, sir. We all are. And I am not your friend.”

His emphasis comes with a virulent shove. I am sent stumbling back until caught by someone else. No. Not just a someone. Several men are at my back now. A flurry of rapid glances reveals them all to me. Chevis, Alain, and Gilles have all been such good friends that they tried matchmaking me with their sisters through the years. But clearly I am no longer their trusted camarade. I have become the convenient symbol for every crooked nobleman who cheated and mistreated them.

I am the reason they send up a rousing cheer as soon as Marquette snatches the long parchment from the table and then tosses it into the fire.

“No!” Magique screams. She runs to the hearth until Marq grabs her by an elbow.

“Stand back, sister! I am ordering you!”

“Damn you.” She scratches his face deep enough to leave nasty marks. “Damn you to h—”

“Shut up.” He hurls her hard toward the bed. Too hard. Her skull collides with one of the posts, making her cry out in pain. There does not seem to be any blood, but I see red nonetheless.

And I am throwing off every man that holds me down. And heaving toward Marquette like a bull on the rampage. And stretching out my arms with one intent only. To strangle the man within half a breath of his life. Perhaps not even that.

His murderous look does not stop me. Nor am I deterred by the wicked dagger that he yanks from a hidden scabbard.

But the next moment, I do stop.

With a shallow choke. With my bare feet skidding beneath me. With my knees, now the texture of lagoon scum, collapsing in their wake.

I crumple completely as Magique falls into my arms.

As I again behold her brother’s dagger—buried in the center of her chest.

“Dieu. Dieu!” But God is not listening. Not to my disbelieving rasps, nor the horrified rasps with which I underline them. Not as my volume increases when recognition flares in her glassy green gaze. “Magique. Hold on, my little bloom. This is not your time. Do you hear me? This is not your time!”

She rolls her head until it leans against my bicep. “Time.” Her plush mouth twitches at one end. “Not enough. Not ever enough…with you…”

“But there will be.” I press an urgent kiss into her forehead, fighting to ignore my horror as a bright-red stain seeps across the sheet in which she’s wrapped. “There will be, my beauty. But you must believe it. You must hold on!”

The words throb in my ears, drowning Marquette’s sharp order for a physician. I do not concern myself with the bastard now. I cannot. Nothing matters but the precious lily in my arms. The woman who stepped into a dagger thrust for me.

“Hold,” she mumbles. “I…hold you, Bastien. For better or for worse…”

I brush my lips across her temple once more. Her skin tastes like my tears. “No. Magique…please…no!”

“In sickness,” she stammers on anyway, “and in health. Until death…but beyond.”

“No!”

“Until the end of time, my love. Until…”

But no more words emerge. In their place, a long and shallow wheeze. A sparse echo of breath.

And then the new limpness of her limbs. The unblinking forests of her gaze.