Page 27

Her hands shook as she turned the door handle, climbing down from the coach.

It was getting too dark to see, but from the whale-oil lamplight, she glimpsed the road.

Thank goodness the laudanum had managed to keep her headache from transforming into a vicious illness, like before.

But it made her unbearably tired, and she struggled to keep a clear head.

Ahead, she heard the Graf issuing orders in Lohenisch.

“Peter, see if the women are safe. Gustav, take my coach and go to the nearest village with the other servants. Arrange for a doctor to meet us at the inn. Schnell !”

Though his orders held the undeniable air of command, there was an edge of pain beneath them.

He gripped his arm, wincing. As Hannah drew closer, she saw the Graf seated on the ground, with a panicked Estelle and a footman beside the fallen body of Michael.

Two other men she didn’t recognize lay dead, a few paces away.

“Is the lieutenant all right?” She rushed to Michael’s side, kneeling before him.

“You shouldn’t have left the coach, Lady Hannah,” the ambassador argued. “It’s not safe here.” He nodded for the coachman to accompany her back, but Hannah refused to go.

“What happened?”

The Graf released a breath. “I went with Gustav to investigate and saw that someone had blocked the road. I was shot.” His eyes closed as he fought off the pain. “Lieutenant Thorpe and the coachman did most of the fighting, but the last one got away.”

Fear rippled through her. How badly was he hurt? “Was Lieutenant Thorpe shot, as well?”

“A bullet grazed his arm, but nothing too serious. I’m more concerned about his head injury. His attacker struck Lieutenant Thorpe against the coach before Gustav shot the man.” The Graf winced at the memory.

Her heart bled at the sight of him. Hannah reached down to touch Michael’s cheek, and he groaned. Thank God he was alive. She didn’t care how long they had to stay here—she had no intention of leaving his side.

“I’m sorry...for endangering you,” the Graf apologized, his voice breaking. “Until now, I didn’t believe it myself. But...there must be a connection to the royal family. Why else would anyone try to kill the Lieutenant?”

“Why indeed,” Hannah remarked, not speaking a word about the earlier attack on board the ship. Changing the subject, she asked, “What about you? Where are you hurt?”

The Graf slipped back into Lohenisch, almost without realizing it. “I know of at least two bullet wounds. My arm and my leg.”

Hannah hid her fear, for she didn’t know the first thing about tending such injuries. Her stomach tightened with queasiness. “How bad is it?”

“I’m afraid I cannot walk at the moment.”

Thankful that it was dark, Hannah removed one of her petticoats. If she could stop some of the bleeding, perhaps that would help.

“I already tended to Lieutenant Thorpe’s wounds,” the Graf murmured. Hannah leaned down to examine Michael’s head where she saw bruising and a swollen knot. His upper arm was partially wrapped with a man’s cravat, blood staining the cloth.

She tore the petticoat in half, then in half again. “Who do you believe the lieutenant really is?”

While she wrapped the Graf’s arm, he answered, “Most likely the Changeling Prince.”

Hannah tied another bandage around the Graf’s knee, while he revealed the tale of the young prince who mysteriously disappeared on the night of All Hallows Eve, only to return the next morning.

“He looked slightly different, so the stories say. Not a great deal, but enough to make those around him wonder. He cried often, and he stopped speaking for nearly a year. His nurse thought he’d been bewitched. But the king put an end to the rumors, swearing that the boy was indeed his son.”

“If there was a switch, do you think the king had something to do with it?” Hannah suggested. She tightened the bandage around the Graf’s knee, trying to stop the bleeding.

It was then that the Graf seemed to realize that they hadn’t been speaking English. “Exactly how many languages do you speak, Lady Hannah?”

“Five.” Her face flushed, for she didn’t want him to think her an aberration. “Including English.”

“That may prove useful to us,” the Graf mused. “If you decide to stay with our traveling party.”

What was he suggesting? That she accompany them to Lohenberg? Her first instinct was to protest that, no, she couldn’t possibly continue with them. But when she looked down at Michael’s unconscious form, her heart shredded into pieces. She worried about him, far more than she should.

At that moment, Michael sat up slowly, clutching his temple. Hannah was saved from further discussion, and she helped to support him with both arms around his shoulders.

“Where are they?” he demanded, rubbing the back of his head.

“Gone, I’m afraid,” the Graf answered. “Our men weren’t fast enough to stop them.”

Michael released a curse and tried to rise. Hannah helped him to steady his balance. “How badly are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” He looked down at the Graf. “What about him?”

“Both of you need to be tended by a doctor,” Hannah asserted. “He’s been shot twice, and I’m not sure if all of the bullets passed through.”

She didn’t voice her fear that the Graf might not survive the injuries. She’d never seen a man die before, and she didn’t want to think of it.

Turning to the Graf, she asked, “How far are we from the village?”

“Too far,” he managed. “Several hours, at least.”

Michael leaned down, and too late, Hannah realized that he meant to pick the Graf up.

“Your arm—” she protested.

“It’s nothing. Hannah.” Michael emitted a hiss of pain when he lifted the Graf up. The coachman, Peter, moved toward them and helped put the Graf inside the vehicle.

When the Graf was safely inside, Mrs. Turner stirred. Her eyes flickered upon Michael and the Graf, and she let out a cry of alarm at the sight of their wounds.

“What’s happened?” the widow demanded. “You’re bleeding.”

“Nothing serious.” Michael shrugged it off. “A minor wound—no need to worry.” Nodding toward the Graf, he added, “But Von Reischor suffered worse injuries. I need you to help Lady Hannah tend him while I drive us to the closest village.”

Mrs. Turner covered her mouth, her eyes still glazed over from the effects of the laudanum. “But what happened?”

Hannah cut off further questions, saying, “I’ll explain everything to you, on the way.”

Michael handed her one of the lamps to illuminate the interior of the coach. While the coachman checked the horses and started the carriage back on the journey, Hannah helped Mrs. Turner with the Graf’s wounds. The petticoats were soaked through with blood, and she blanched at the sight.

Mrs. Turner didn’t seem at all bothered by the injuries and took charge, offering him a dose of laudanum to dull the pain. The Graf took it gratefully.

As the widow helped tend him, Hannah’s thoughts returned to Michael and the story of the Changeling Prince. Whoever believed he posed a threat wouldn’t stop until the threat was eliminated.

She stared outside the window, the wretched fear gathering up inside. Though she couldn’t grasp what her feelings were, she didn’t want anything to happen to the lieutenant. Tomorrow, she was supposed to bid him farewell while he continued his journey to Lohenberg. But she didn’t want to leave him.

Hannah felt as though she were stumbling blind, without a path to follow. They were at a crossroads, their lives taking different turns. Was it so wrong, wanting to walk with him a little farther?

Though she didn’t know what would happen, Hannah was certain of one thing. She was not about to be left behind—not when the man she cared about was in such danger.