Page 34 of The Agent and the Outlaw
“Well, we’ve already passed the one back there. Are you looking for a particular establishment or are you merely the persnickety sort?”
I swore under my breath. I’d been so distracted I’d completely missed the first of the three inns. Attempting to save face, I scanned the street ahead and saw a sign for one of the others, The Wild Rose.
“This one looks more comfortable. We’ll stop in here,” I said. Charlotte flashed a grin, but it quickly turned into a wince. I picked up our pace.
When we reached the inn, I helped Charlotte dismount, led Tartuffe around to the stables, and headed inside. Fortunately, it was empty, so we didn’t attract too much attention. I repeated our now-familiar newlywed story, paid the dour innkeeper handsomely for the best room, a large meal, and a bath to be sent up, and practically collapsed with exhaustion and relief when I finally shut our door behind us.
Charlotte sank onto the bed and sighed. “Should we discuss what happened last night?”
I didn’t know if she referred to our lustful entanglement, thebêtes, the horrifying creature, her saving me, or our lucky escape. I grimaced, knowing she likely meant all of it, but I didn’t think either one of us had the energy to broach such overwhelming subjects just yet. I shucked off my damp coat and hung it next to the fire.
“We should, but I think it’s best to wait until we’ve recovered a bit. Let’s look at your shoulder, get some food and rest, and then figure things out.”
Charlotte nodded, likely too tired to argue. “Antoine, might I prevail upon you to collect some supplies for my wound? I daresay I’ve had worse than this, and I know what’s required to set it right.”
I bristled at the idea that she’d had a worse wound than a lacerated shoulder, as well as at the idea that I couldn’t—or wouldn’t—tend to her.
“Will you let me look at it first, or does part of your treatment plan involve ordering capable men about?” I grumbled.
Her eyes widened in shock, then narrowed.
“You think you can care for me better than I can care for myself?”
“I didn’t say that,” I snapped. Fatigue was making me sharper than I wished to be.
“You certainly implied it! Are you a doctor as well as a soldieras well asan assassin? For all I know about you, Antoine, you may be since you’ve refused to tell me practically anything about yourself. Why should I trust you?” Her temper flared, catching me off guard. I had no desire to argue, but I didn’t seem to be able to stop myself from getting riled.
“Well, you obviously didn’t have a problem trusting me to toss your skirts up and ravish you,” I uttered darkly.
She gaped at me then and surprised me by tipping her head back and laughing.
“‘Ravish’me! Oh, Antoine, the things you say sometimes. Positively delightful.”
I scowled, reddening in embarrassment. “It shouldn’t have happened. I…I apologize. I took liberties that I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. Don’t be ridiculous, Antoine. I’m hardly some blushing virgin. We both wanted it to happen, and we both participated, and I don’t regret it. Of course, it makes things, what, complicated? Awkward? But we’re adults, and I’ve never been one forpropriety.” She flexed her arm and cringed again.
“We can discuss it later,” I said quietly. “For now, please. You’re obviously in pain. Allow me to assist you.”
She sighed. “You are right, of course. I’m sure you’ve seen your fair share of battlefield trauma. It’s not that I think you’re incapable, it’s just that I am rather used to looking after myself these days. The last time I allowed myself to be looked after, I’m afraid I was rather blindsided by a man who told me once too often not to worry—he’d take care of everything. Andmon dieu,he did take care of everything! Just not in a way that would have benefitted me at all.” As she spoke, she began to disrobe, and I fought to keep my thoughts respectable.
“Was that your husband?” I asked, coming over to assist when she beckoned.
She fumbled with the ties on her bodice, a sign that her strength was wavering. The mark on her lower arm where Hugo had scratched her with his fangs seemed more superficial than serious, but it still infuriated me to think of him harming her. If he came after her again, I’d drive a stake through his heart and cut off his head, for good measure.
“Yes,” she huffed. I peeled the blood-soaked fabric from her shoulder as gently as I could. She hissed in pain, and I frowned. Marring her perfect skin were three jagged cuts, just shallow enough to not need stitching. She kept perfectly still as I inspected them, flinching when I stood from the bed and accidentally jostled her.
“Well?” She gritted her teeth. She shivered slightly in her rain-damp chemise and stays.Heaven help me.
“You don’t need stitches,” I said. “But you’ll probably have a scar.”
“Lucky for me, exposed shoulders are out of fashion right now,” she huffed with a forced laugh. “If you’re going to treat me, please hurry. I’d rather not let it fester. I certainly hope you aren’t a proponent of leeches and purgatives.”
I shook my head. “I’ve seen too many men die from such ministrations. I’ll wash and bandage it and see if the cook has any garlic and thyme oil for a poultice.”
“Garlic and thyme oil? Do you plan on fashioning me into a stew?” she chuckled. The color had faded even more from her cheeks and lips, worrying me further. I stood and made for the door.
“I don’t know why it works, but it does,” I replied. “You’ll just have to trust me.”
