The Serpent Prince (Princes #3)(4)

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” Lucy answered automatically. “Would you mind moving to the side so the men can carry him past?”

Papa shuffled obediently nearer the wall.

The laborers panted as they wrestled the wounded stranger inside. He lay so terribly still, his face pale as death. Lucy bit her lip and tried not to let her anxiety show. She didn’t know him, didn’t even know the color of his eyes; and yet it was vitally important that he live. He’d been placed on a door to make it easier to carry him, but it was obvious that his weight and height still made the maneuver difficult. One of the men swore.

“Won’t have such language in my house.” The captain glared at the offender.

The man flushed and mumbled an apology.

Papa nodded. “What kind of a father would I be if I allowed any sort of gypsy or layabout into my home? With an unmarried gel in residence? Eh? A damned rotten one, that’s what.”

“Yes, Papa.” Lucy held her breath as the men negotiated the stairs.

“That’s why the blighter must be taken somewhere else—Fremont’s house. He’s the doctor. Or the poorhouse. Maybe the vicarage—Penweeble can have a chance to show some Christian kindness. Ha.”

“You’re quite right, but he’s already here,” Lucy said soothingly. “It would be a shame to have to move him again.”

One of the men on the stairs gave her a wild-eyed look.

Lucy smiled back reassuringly.

“Probably won’t live long in any case.” Papa scowled. “No point ruining good sheets.”

“I’ll make sure the sheets survive.” Lucy started up the stairs.

“And what about my supper?” her father grumbled behind her. “Eh? Is anyone seeing to that while they rush about making room for scoundrels?”

Lucy leaned over the rail. “We’ll have supper on the table just as soon as I can see him settled.”

Papa grunted. “Fine thing when the master of the house waits on the comfort of ruffians.”

“You’re being most understanding.” Lucy smiled at her father.

“Humph.”

She turned to go up the stairs.

“Poppet?”

Lucy stuck her head back over the rail.

Her father was frowning up at her, bushy white eyebrows drawn together over the bridge of his bulbous red nose. “Be careful with that fellow.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Humph,” her father muttered again behind her.

But Lucy hurried up the stairs and into the blue bedroom. The men had already transferred the stranger to the bed. They tramped back out of the room as Lucy entered, leaving a trail of mud.

“You shouldn’t be in here, Miss Lucy.” Mrs. Brodie gasped and pulled the sheet over the man’s chest. “Not with him like this.”

“I saw him in far less just an hour ago, Mrs. Brodie, I assure you. At least now he’s bandaged.”

Mrs. Brodie snorted. “Not the important parts.”

“Well, maybe not,” Lucy conceded. “But I hardly think he poses any risk, the condition he’s in.”

“Aye, poor gentleman.” Mrs. Brodie patted the sheet covering the man’s chest. “He’s lucky that you found him when you did. He’d’ve been frozen by morn for sure, left out there on the road. Who could’ve done such a wicked thing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Nobody from Maiden Hill, I’m thinking.” The housekeeper shook her head. “Must be riffraff down from London.”

Lucy didn’t point out that riffraff could be found even in Maiden Hill. “Doctor Fremont said he’d be around again in the morning to check his bandages.”

“Aye.” Mrs. Brodie looked doubtfully at the patient, as if assessing his odds of living to the next day.

Lucy took a deep breath. “Until then, I suppose we can only make him comfortable. We’ll leave the door ajar in case he wakes.”

“I’d best be seeing to the captain’s supper. You know how he gets if it’s late. As soon as it’s on the table, I’ll send Betsy up to watch him.”

Lucy nodded. They only had the one maid, Betsy, but between the three women, they should be able to nurse the stranger. “You go. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Very well, miss.” Mrs. Brodie gave her an old-fashioned look. “But don’t be too long. Your father will be wanting to talk to you.”

Lucy wrinkled her nose and nodded. Mrs. Brodie smiled in sympathy and left.

Lucy looked down at the stranger in her brother, David’s, bed and wondered again, who was he? He was so motionless that she had to concentrate to see the slight rise and fall of his chest. The bandages about his head only emphasized his infirmity and highlighted the bruising on his brow. He looked so terribly alone. Was anyone worried about him, perhaps anxiously awaiting his return?

One of his arms lay outside the covers. She touched it.

His hand flashed up and struck at her wrist, capturing and holding it. Lucy was so startled she only had time for a frightened squeak. Then she was staring into the palest eyes she’d ever seen. They were the color of ice.

“I’m going to kill you,” he said distinctly.

For a moment, she thought the grim words were for her, and her heart seemed to stop in her breast.