Pale Moon Rider by Marsha Canham

Author:Marsha Canham
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780307568052
Publisher: Dell Publishing Co.. Inc.
Published: 1999-09-14T14:00:00+00:00

“Mon dieu!” Renée lowered the heavy gun. “I could have shot you.”

Dudley pushed his way through the door and went straight to the pallet where Tyrone was lying. Maggie nodded briefly at Renée as she passed and while she was removing her cloak and mittens, Robbie lowered himself awkwardly onto one knee.

Tyrone might well have been mistaken for dead already if not for the shallow rise and fall of his chest beneath the blankets. His complexion, normally a robust, weathered bronze, had taken on the yellowish cast of old wax. His skin was clammy, wet to the touch, and when Robbie peeled back the blankets, the wad of linen over his ribs was an ominous red.

Behind them, Renée touched Finn’s arm. “We thought you would never come back. We thought—”

“It is raining like the very devil out there,” Finn explained, “and the roads are becoming quite treacherous. Surely you have not been up here all this time?”

“Antoine and I”—she turned to acknowledge her brother, who was standing in the shadows against the far wall—“have been taking turns sitting with M’sieur Hart I went back to my room and waited for Jenny to come with my morning chocolate, and when she did, I told her I was not feeling well and would likely remain abed all day.”

“She noticed nothing amiss?”

Renée shook her head. “I cleaned everything as best I could and put a rug over the stain on the floor. I did not know what to do with his clothes and the soiled towels, so Antoine brought them here.”

Finn’s gaze skimmed past the bundled rags in the corner. “Indeed, you seem to have been busy since I left.”

Beside the pallet, which he had carried up himself, there was now a low wooden table and a straight-backed chair. An iron brazier was glowing against one wall and beside it, a tin crib half full of coal. The room was oppressively damp and dusty, but an effort had been made to clear a reasonably clean circle around the bed. A water pitcher and basin—the contents pink—sat on the table beside a lamp and several fat sticks of tallow.

“We will need more light, more blankets,” he said almost to himself. “I should also make an appearance in the kitchens to forestall any unwanted curiosity, at which time I can fetch up some food, a pot of tea perhaps, some biscuits. Master Antoine, heaven help us, you should not be here in this ill-humored air else you suffer a relapse in your lungs. And—and oh! Good sweet merciful Jesus!”

The oath was emphatic enough to draw Dudley’s attention. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Finn was staring aghast at the bruise on Renée’s jaw. It had darkened considerably over the past few hours and was swollen as badly as if she had an abscessed tooth.

He turned to Dudley, who limped over with the lantern. “Do you look at that, sir! This is the second time Colonel Roth has dared to raise his hand against Mad’moiselle d’Anton, and I

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