Lyon (21 page)

T
he carriage lurched violently, pitching Juliette forward and rudely jerking her from sleep. A pair of muscled arms was there to break her fall. Lyon. He must've been awake.

“What happened?” she asked, resituating herself upright on the seat across from him and lifting the curtain to peer outside. Seeing they'd entered a misty bosk, she recoiled. Nature. Ugh.

“There's been an accident of some kind. Wait here.” Lyon shifted his bulk to exit the carriage, grimacing at the effort.

Guilt swept her. She had done this to him. Why her magic had affected this particular man so detrimentally, she was at a loss to explain. In the past, men endowed with far less physical strength and character had lost only a night's worth of memory due to its effects.

“
Non
. You're sick. I'll go.” She pushed him back with her hand and he let her, sinking onto his seat with a creak of leather. She poked her head out of the window.

Fresh outdoor smells of leaves and soil and moss struck her full in the face.

“What's happened?” she called out.

The driver appeared, looking damp and chilled. It had begun drizzling. “There's trouble, Madame,” he said, making the assumption she and Lyon were wed. “The carriage has been damaged and—”

Two men materialized from the haze to stand beside him, both swarthy and wearing dark fleece hats, green tunics, and trousers with red stripes.

“Come!” ordered a voice heavily accented in Russian. He gestured at her to disembark.

Wide-eyed, she ducked back inside the carriage. “Cossacks,” she whispered.

Lyon nodded. “How many?”

“Two that I saw, but there's fog. There could be more. What do you think they want?”

Cossacks were favorite customers of Gina's at the salons, but she'd learned to be wary of them. Some in their ranks had become notorious for their excesses while sojourning in Paris over the last decade.

“Nothing pleasant I imagine,” Lyon muttered, unlatching the door and unfolding the steps.

She put a trembling hand on his arm. “Where are you going?”

“To deal with this. They know you're in here, so you may as well come out, too. But stay behind me.” Two fingers tilted her chin so their eyes met. “Keep your wits. If this turns violent—run into the woods and start moving southward. Remain out of sight, but travel parallel to the road and find your way to the next village, then on to find my family in Tuscany. I'll delay any that would chase you as best I can.”

She nodded with
faux
calm as the world seemed to crumble around her. She'd never be able to make her way through the forest. Even the simple act of alighting from the carriage here amid great expanses of tree and sky was an idea too horrible to contemplate.

“I can't,” she whispered, but only after he'd gone and so quietly that he wouldn't hear.

“Why have you stopped us?” Outside, Lyon's voice sounded far stronger than she knew him to feel.

Peeking through the curtain, she saw the two Cossacks step back at his intimidating stature and his tone of authority.

They began speaking to Lyon in broken French. When he responded in Russian, they switched to their native language as well and a heated argument commenced.

“There's a third one up front unhitching the horses,” she heard the driver call out.

The one he spoke of chose that very moment to draw alongside her carriage and swing its door wide, motioning to her to get out.

“
Non!
” She tried to shut the door again.

He said something to her in gruff Russian and put his muddy boot on the step as though planning to join her inside.

At that, she leaped out and down the steps past him. He only laughed and followed in a smooth jump. She backed away from him, warily holding his eyes, unsure which scared her most—the natural surroundings or her pursuer!

“Run!” Lyon urged, his voice making her start. A tussle had broken out—the driver and him against the two remaining Russians.

Without allowing herself time to think, Juliette turned and lunged headlong into the mist-laden forest. Holding her hands outstretched before her, she tried to avoid any obstacles lurking in her path that might be obscured by the fog. Her flight became like a scene from a nightmare. On all sides, branches reached for her like giant gnarled fingers. Rocky outcroppings loomed like monsters.

The Cossack pounded behind her, quickly gaining ground. A hand snagged her skirt and she heard it rip. Then she was knocked to the ground and rolling down an incline over slick loam and rotting foliage. Unceremoniously, she slammed against something solid, sending shock waves through her hip.

Winded, she lay there gasping in the wet, with maple leaves plastered to her cheek and dress. Strong hands lifted her and bent her forward over a rounded, unyielding surface that reached waist-high. She flattened her hands on it. It was cold and coarse and smelled of lichen. A boulder.

A voice behind her muttered incomprehensible words. The Cossack. Her entire body shaking, Juliette glanced at him over her shoulder.

Keep your wits
, Lyon had told her. Good advice. But her wits were muddled with fear.

A hand planted itself between her shoulder blades and she felt her skirts being lifted.

She hit at him as best she could, barely managing to hold him off. For a moment, the only sounds in the stillness were that of their harsh breathing, his unintelligible grunts, and her slaps.

Autumn air chilled her exposed legs, spiking her terror. Her skirts were now heaped high at the back of her waist and her attacker was working at the front of his pants. In seconds, he was going to rape her.

She forced herself to shut out both him and her surroundings. Pressing both hands flat on the boulder before her, she began to swirl them over it as though she were a seer and it was a giant crystal ball.

Booted feet knocked her legs apart.

“I'm stone, I'm stone, I'm stone,” she chanted, hardly knowing what she said or that it had the effect of mustering her magic. Her palms heated and the wish seeped into her mind and her flesh.

Within her clothing, her blood slowed to a saunter, then a crawl. Soft, clammy skin turned dry and tough, like that of a toad.

Or of a living stone.

The Cossack let out a frightened yelp and jumped back from her. Fabric swished back into place around her ankles, but she felt nothing. As though listening from a great distance, she heard him fall, then rise again. The sounds of him crashing through the forest were loud at first, but then they lessened. He was moving away from her, in the direction of the carriage.

For some time after he'd gone, she remained fixed there against the rock, unable or perhaps unwilling to stir. Mist condensed on her gritty skin, dampening her clothes.

Then, from somewhere along the road came the unwelcome thunder of hooves. It shook the ground under her feet, making her feel. Reminding her she was alive.

The pump of blood resumed, sending life careening through her system. As one arthritic and aged, she shuddered and began to inexorably transform back to herself. Coarse skin turned smooth and malleable. Rock returned to flesh.

Aware again, she drooped over the boulder, hanging there like a limp doll. All sound had ceased, save the light patter of rain. Were the others dead?

No, please, no!

Once again, she'd fled a bad situation in a cowardly manner, leaving others to fend for themselves. She couldn't bear the idea of rousing herself to go and see what had happened to them.

“An interesting method of escape,” said a voice from somewhere nearby.

She jerked around so fast she fell backwards to the ground, landing in a pile of wet leaves. “Ow!”

Lyon was sitting on a log several yards away, studying her.

Her gaze darted around warily.

“He's gone,” he told her. “Your flesh-into-stone act apparently frightened the hell out of him. And he in turn scared off the others with a repetition of the tale. Care to explain that one?”

“
Non
.” Rubbing the hip she'd bruised in her tumble, she gathered herself to stand. “The driver?”

Lyon levered himself from his makeshift seat and stood as well. His face was ashen and his shirt was ripped so it hung open. “Seeing to the horses. Come. Lend me your shoulder.”

In the aftermath of the Cossack's attack, she was shaking. As she slipped an arm around him, he leaned heavily on her and he couldn't help but notice.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

A drop of liquid fell on her bodice and she glanced up, noticing a cut on his chest. “You're the one who's injured.”

“I'd look worse if you hadn't terrified your friend into coming back and pulling the other ones off me. For now, you'll have to excuse the blood. I'll replace your gown when we reach civilization.”

When they reached the carriage, the driver was there, unhitching the two remaining horses.

“Are you unhurt, Madame?” He eyed her, obviously wondering how she'd fended off the burly Cossack and curious as to exactly what had sent him careening back in such abject terror.

“
Oui,
” she replied, stopping well away from the horses and leaving Lyon to carry on without her.

“Where are the other two mounts?” he enquired.

“Damned Cossacks took them.” The driver nodded toward the forest in the direction she'd run. “Fortunately for us, whatever happened out there spooked them enough that they rode off before they could commandeer our last two.” He looked at Juliette expectantly.

“I think we owe our luck in ridding ourselves of them to Russian folklore,” she told him. “I barely understood my pursuer's speech, but I thought he talked of ghosts or forest spirits or something of the like. Then he went tearing from the woods.”

“Thank the Gods for good old-fashioned superstition,” added Lyon.

The driver nodded, looking mollified. “For that I'm grateful.”

“How far is the next village?” she asked, looking dubiously at the broken carriage. Her abdomen had begun cramping. Surely her menses were not going to choose this inopportune juncture to plague her on top of everything else she'd endured today. No, the timing for that was all wrong. It must be something else.

“Two hours ahead. If we ride out now, we can be there by nightfall. You and Madame can double up on the stronger mount they left us. Tomorrow you can hire another carriage to see you onward, while I come back with what's needed to repair this one.”

Falling in with this plan, Lyon tried to muster his strength.

Juliette's eyes widened. Ride? Through the countryside in the dark and rain? Were they insane?

“
Non
!” she told the driver, gesturing toward Lyon as an easy excuse. “He's ill. He can't ride so far, especially not in this foul weather. We'll have to wait here while you go for help.”

“But I probably won't return before nightfall, Madame,” he cautioned.

“I can travel two meager hours on horseback,” protested Lyon.

She ignored him. “If that comes to pass, we'll bide the evening here in the carriage.”

The driver looked doubtfully toward the sky and then back at her. “Still, if this weather worsens, you may find yourself as wet inside this thing as on horseback. And if there's wind, the whole conveyance might take a tumble with you inside.”

“I can ride,” Lyon argued again.

“Well, I cannot,” she reminded him firmly. “And I have no interest in learning on a stormy night such as this one.”

“Beg pardon, monsieur,” the driver broke in. “We passed a cabin a half mile back. I can see you that far and help you settle in for the night. Afterward, I can take one of the horses on to the village and fetch help for you tomorrow.”

Juliette beamed at him. “An excellent plan.”

“Then get ready for your first riding lesson,” Lyon informed her.

“What?” she asked blankly.

“The carriage is beyond repair, remember?”

One miserable, wet half-mile later, Lyon sagged onto the nearest chair, soaked to the skin. Nearby, Juliette lit the candles inside the rustic cabin. She'd worn her cloak on the journey here, so she'd been spared the brunt of the weather.

“What is this place?” he heard her ask and looked over to see that she was surreptitiously rubbing her hip as if it was causing her discomfort.

Since neither mount had been deemed stout enough to take his weight and that of a second rider, she had ridden with the driver. Though theirs had only been a short journey, her horse had been unusually restive and had managed to buck her off. She'd taken a spill and landed on the hip she'd previously injured while fleeing her attacker in the forest.