I choked back sobs. “I’m fine.” I wasn’t, but crying made all the bruises feel worse. “What . . . Why . . . How did you get here?”
“From below, we could see two men fighting, the friar holding you, you holding on.”
I moaned, “Sweet Mary, the view up my dress!”
“Woman, that’s not important. What’s important is—what are you going to do? Anyway, I told you, you have nice ankles.” Elder seemed to think he had comforted me.
Lysander spoke over the top of him. “Comfort yourself. The tower is offset from the street. We could see nothing but your ankles and, when the shoe fell, your foot.”
“My attractive ankles.” In misplaced humor, I murmured, “At least it wasn’t my nicetette.”
Lysander leaned closer.“What?”
“Nothing. How did you find me?” I asked again.
“I watched those men lift you, saw how valiantly you struggled to pull yourself back onto the balcony, and when I knew you would survive your ordeal, I ran to the palace doors and demanded entrance. The guards would have none of it, and others from the street followed me, wanting a front-row seat to the finale of the drama they had witnessed. I had no chance. No chance to reach you, and I frantically called your name. Suddenly Prince Escalus stood there. He beckoned me, the guards allowed me in, and he told me to go to you, with his blessing.”
“Oh.” Inadequate. “He . . . did that.”
“I ran for the stairway, up to this place where I knew you were and . . . Rosie, you’re injured!”
“Yes.” I pressed the side of my belly.
“Mi amore,you’re bleeding!”
“No. What? Where?” I looked at my hands, scraped by the stone on the railing, my arms. I touched my face.
With a discreet gesture, Lysander indicated my bosom.
I looked down at myself, and he was right. Blood smeared my bodice and mycamicia,and when I touched it, my fingers came away damp. A quick check proved it wasn’t my blood, and when I realized what must have happened, I turned on Elder. “I thought Cal was wearing your protective leather shirt!”
“He was. He is! Woman, what do you think? It’s not chain mail. It’s light, thin, supple leather. It has stopped many a blade, but a good thrust always gets through.”
“Through? Barnadine’s stiletto s-s-stabbed Cal?” I could barely stammer.
“Not fatally!” Elder stopped and reflected. “Probably not fatally, although Barnadine knew how to find the heart every time.”
With that, I made my decision, and turned back to Lysander.
Lysander, who watched me in confusion and concern. “You’re talking to Prince Escalus the elder?”
“Yes!”
“About Prince Escalus, his son?”
“Yes!”
“Prince Escalus, his son, was stabbed protecting you?”
“Yes! He . . . he . . .” I touched the blood on my chest, then gestured toward the stairs. “I have to—”
“No!” Lysander put his hand over my mouth. “Don’t say it. We can’t have come this close to a lifetime of passion, love, and friendship, only to have you turn aside now!”
Gently I pushed his hand away. “Lysander, everything about you is beautiful. Your face and figure attracted me first, but the violence of my first love might have failed if not for your humor, your intelligence, your modesty, and your affections for all that I hold dear.” Tears gathered in my eyes. Heartache choked my voice. Pain broke me.
“You’re not improving matters,” Elder warned.
“Prince Escalus encouraged me in my suit!” Lysander’s voice rose.
