Feather Castles Read Free Page A

past lay behind him? He moved agitatedly, and had to choke back a groan as that venture sent blinding waves of pain through his head.
    Someone was urging him to drink. He begged not to be lifted, but a hand raised his head gently. A cup touched his lips and he forced himself to drink. A warm glow spread through him, and he slid easily into darkness once more.
    He dreamed that light was creeping through the small window. He lay idly watching that square glow against the dimness, and as it brightened imperceptibly, noted that the panes were cracked and very dirty. People were talking quietly, but he could distinguish the words. A man, with a deep, cultured voice that was vaguely familiar, and a woman, probably the nun he remembered, who was saying in English, “… fear for the child. Had I dreamed we would be compelled to spend the entire night out, I’d not have brought her.”
    â€œTo have done so at all, was purest folly, ma’am, if you will forgive my bluntness. Did it not occur to you that she might see me?”
    â€œOf course it did! Do you take me for a henwit? That is precisely why I allowed her to accompany me, for I am ashamed to admit I hoped to turn your meeting to good account. Diccon—she could be an invaluable ally.”
    There was a faint hissing sound, as of breath suddenly indrawn. Then the man said mildly, “How easily I am deceived. It had been my thought you were quite fond of the chit.”
    â€œPox on you! Do not drown me in your vitriol! Of course I am fond of her. More—I love her dearly. But the cause is such as to justify any sacrifice. If you are there, and she knows she has someone to count on in an emergency…”
    A brief silence, and the man said thoughtfully, “The risk would be horrible. If he so much as suspected, her life would not be worth a sou!” And after another short and obviously troubled pause, “What of this one?”
    In his dream, the man on the bed knew they were discussing him. He lay very still, and waited.
    â€œHe can also be put to good account,” the nun replied. “If Guy comes, we will have evidence that we went to minister to the wounded.”
    â€œGuy! Do you expect that young devil?”
    â€œHe escorts Rachel.”
    Diccon laughed shortly. “A fine protector! I must take care not to allow him to ‘escort’ any lady of my house!”
    A chair was scraped back. Soft footsteps approached the dreamer, and he sensed he was being scrutinized. One of his hands was taken up, and he allowed it to lie limply in a cool clasp.
    â€œA gentleman, from the look of these hands,” Diccon observed. “Who is he, I wonder? Has he said anything at all of himself?”
    â€œI think he cannot recollect, poor man. With a wound like that he may never be right in his head again. And only see what it has wrought upon his face!”
    â€œIt has marked him, certainly. He must have been a handsome fellow. Pity. Is he French?”
    â€œProbably. He looks it, don’t you think? So dark.”
    â€œMany of us trace our lineage to Normandy, ma’am.”
    â€œTrue. But even in delirium he speaks the French tongue. An officer, certainly, but as to rank—who can say? His jacket and boots were gone. Had not his shirt been covered in blood and his breeches muddied and torn, they would have taken those also, I do not doubt. Diccon—what a frightful battle! It must go down in history as the most costly of all time. And so little caring for the wounded! So many lives lost for want of a mouthful of water, or a bandage or two. Oh, shall we never learn—”
    Her impassioned utterance was cut off as Diccon intervened dryly, “Dear lady, I agree with you, but we have no time for philosophizing. I found my man and learned what I went to learn, and in the very nick of time, for he was impaled by a Prussian lancer moments later! Only by the grace of your friend, God, did not I end