When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(68)

“No. I’m going home, where Father will probably finish me off.”

“But—”

“Get me home,” Justin whispered with an intensity that silenced his brother.

Philippe tried to stanch the flow of blood with the pressure of his hand, causing a new round of curses from Justin. He did not notice the two other boys standing above them until one of them handed down his wadded-up vest. “Thank you,” Philippe said breathlessly, taking the garment and pushing it inside Justin’s shirt, over the wound.

“Louis shouldn’t have done it,” the donator of the vest commented. “I’ll never act as his second again.”

“There shouldn’t have been a duel in the first place!” Philippe said angrily. There was no sound from Justin, who had closed his eyes. His bloody hands were palms-up on the ground.

The boy regarded Justin’s long, sprawled-out form admiringly. “He’s got courage.”

“And the brains of an ox,” Philippe muttered.

“He’ll win a lot of duels before he’s through.”

“He’ll die before he’s twenty,” Philippe said under his breath.

Justin’s eyes flickered open. They were dark and luminous violet, devoid of their usual snapping energy. Painstakingly he reached up to grasp Philippe’s collar, smearing it with blood. “Let’s go.”

Philippe did not bother to ask how Justin had gotten to town. One of Louis’s friends brought Philippe’s horse, and the three of them pushed and shoved Justin into the saddle. Philippe swung up behind him, checking to make certain Justin was holding the pad over his wound.

“I’ve got it,” Justin said hoarsely, drooping low over the horse’s neck. “Go, before I fall off.”

The ride home was torturous, Philippe suffering every bit as much as Justin. He was terrified that Justin would die.

“Why did you want to fight Louis?” Philippe asked in bewilderment when they were halfway home. “Do you hate him that much?”

Now that the bleeding had stopped, Justin was feeling more clear-headed. “I just wanted to fight,” he said, his voice weak. “It feels so good. I want to fight all the time.”

“Why?”

“It satisfies something inside me— I don’t know what it is.”

“Something inside that wants you to destroy yourself,” Phillipe said. “But I won’t let you, Justin. I can’t lose you.”

Justin knew that Philippe said more to him, but suddenly the words became indistinguishable sounds, and he felt his eyes begin to roll back in his head. He drifted in and out of a strange dream. They were at the house and hands were reaching up to him, and he was falling into a deep purple sea, being carried away on the crest of a wave. His head ached, his side hurt. He felt like a little boy again. Gently he was lowered to his bed, his head dropping to the pillow, and he rested for what seemed to be hours until he was awakened by a terrible sense of aloneness.

“Mon père,” he whispered, moving his hand restlessly until it was enfolded in a large, strong one. The vital force of that grip seemed to bring him back to his senses. He saw his father’s tense face, and the tenderness in his eyes. It made no sense, but it seemed that as long as his father held his hand, he would be safe. Sensing Justin’s need, Max did not let go of him, not even in the presence of the doctor.

Justin writhed in pain as the wound was being cleaned, but he kept silent, sweat dripping off his face. It felt as if a burning poker were twisting in his side. “Aren’t you finished yet?” he asked when he could stand no more. His father held and soothed him while the doctor finished. They gave Justin a foul-tasting medicine after he was bandaged, and he insisted on taking the glass in his own hand. His father slid an arm behind his neck and lifted his head up, helping him to drink. Justin found it utterly humiliating.

“Aren’t you going to shout and give me hell?” he croaked when the last of the bitter medicine was gone.

“Hell will arrive tomorrow,” Max said, carefully rearranging the covers over him. “Right now I’m just relieved that you’re all right.”

Justin yawned widely, the medicine making him sleepy. His eyes flew open as he felt Max’s weight shift. “Are you leaving?”

“No, mon fils.”

“You can if you want,” Justin muttered, even though he yearned for him to stay.

“I wouldn’t leave you for any reason,” came his father’s quiet reply, and Justin relaxed in relief. He reached out for his father’s hand once more, and fell asleep holding it.

Chapter 12

“How is he?” Alexandre asked, starting to pour Max a drink. Max gestured for him to put the bottle down.

“He’ll be fine.” Max had just come from upstairs, where Justin was sleeping comfortably, to join his brothers in the library. Lysette and Noeline were busy helping the distraught Irénée into bed, giving her liberal doses of brandy-laced coffee. “The wound isn’t bad, thank God.” He shook his head, his face pale and strained. “I can’t believe this happened to my son.”

“This was a surprise to you?” Bernard asked. “I am only surprised it hasn’t happened before now.”

“Justin is following in his father’s footsteps, isn’t he?” Alexandre added.