sound like an omen beneath the sounds of merriment and dancing from the town.
Noel told himself he could do it. He had to do it. But first he had to get his shoulder bound. “Cleope,” he said, thinking of Lady Sophia’s handmaid who had known about herbs and healing potions. “I’ll find Cleope.”
“Noel!” called Frederick from beyond the tents. “Where are you? Do come! I have found the most wondrous- there you are! Come and see the amusements offered. There is a knife juggler you must see, and a man who swallows flaming swords, and a… Noel? Is something wrong?”
He came closer, his footsteps hesitant, then quickening across the trampled grass. “Noel? Are you unwell?”
Noel realized that he’d started leaning over although he still clutched the waist-high tent stake for support. As long as he held on to it, he knew he could not fall. But having started leaning, he could not seem to stop. His chest hit the top of the stake like a pile driver, driving the breath from him. Then he slipped sideways and sank to the ground.
“Noel!” Frederick caught him and pulled him up against his knees. The boy’s strong hands gripped him hard. “What’s amiss with you? What’s happened?”
“Tobin! Armand! Fetch a torch, someone. Quickly!” Others rushed to join them. The torchlight spread across Noel, blinding him as he squinted up into Frederick’s face. He clutched the boy’s arm and saw the bloody smears he was making on Frederick’s sleeve.
“ Deus juva me,” whispered Frederick. He swallowed visibly, sorrow plain in his face. “You’ve been shot. Who-”
“Find it,” whispered Noel. The torchlight was growing dimmer. He struggled to see. “Promise me you’ll find it.”
“Find what?” asked Frederick in bewilderment. “ Noel?”
But the torchlight went completely out for Noel, and he could not answer.
CHAPTER 14
There was a lot of pain somewhere, and if he woke up he was going to feel it. Nevertheless, something compelled Noel to open his eyes. He saw nothing but dazzling brightness. Swiftly he shut his eyes again, but it was too late. A myriad of unpleasant sensations made themselves known, chief of which was a general state of sweaty, shivery weakness. He whimpered softly, shifting himself as though to escape the pain. Cool hands soothed him, and a soft melodic voice murmured in a language he could not understand.
He squinted against filtered sunlight, finding it less bright this time, and tried to sort things out. The hurt came entirely from his shoulder. He put up an exploratory hand and touched a smooth expanse of bandage. The aromatic scents of crushed herbs had an underlay of scorched flesh.
Cauterized? he wondered.
The cool hands caught his probing fingers and pulled them away. The voice murmured to him-gentle, female, and incomprehensible. He turned his head slightly to look at her and recognized those gentle features with pleased surprise.
“Cleope,” he said.
As though his own voice unlocked a barrier, the world came into sharper focus, and he could understand her.
She smiled. “Noel, it is good to see you awake. We have been much worried about you.”
He shook his head, too restless to listen. It was all wrong: his surroundings, the sunlight, her. It made no sense to him to be lying here on a cot under a pergola shaded by grape vines and roses. A walled garden about him gave the illusion of sanctuary. Birds sang from the delicate branches of blooming almond trees. Bees buzzed in the vibrant spill of pink bougainvillea. In a stone fountain warmed by the sun, water chuckled and burbled. The scent from pink and white flowers overflowing ancient stone urns nearby enchanted the air.
“Where-”
“Hush,” she said. “You must not tire yourself. We are in the garden of Joseph the Moneylender.” She paused, blushing. “My uncle.”
“How did you-”
“Frederick d’Angelier sent word to me and I slipped away from the palace.” She lifted his head and put a cup of water flavored with honey and lemon to his lips. Conscious of excessive thirst, he gulped it down and felt a little better. Cleope smiled and set the cup aside. “I would do anything for the man who rescued my mistress from that beast.”
“Frederick,” he said slowly, feeling tired yet certain he must sort it all out before he could rest.
“He is a good boy,” she said. “Sir Magnin and that horrible Leon have men searching for you. They made all sorts of accusations, but Frederick was not frightened, and until they find you they have proof of nothing. We brought you here, where they are unlikely to search. They were very angry when they did not find you in Frederick’s tent, but it availed them not.”
Leon… men searching for him… Noel lifted his head with a jerk and tried to raise his left arm. The pain in his shoulder flared, and he sank back gasping.
“No, no,” said Cleope worriedly. “Lie still, I beg you.”
She wrung a cloth from a bowl of water scented with lavender and laid it across his brow. Its coolness felt marvelous on his hot forehead, but his distress was too great for him to care.
He pushed fretfully at the blanket. “It’s gone. I’ve got to get it back.”
“Lie still or you’ll reopen the wound. Noel, no!”
She did her best to hold him down, but Noel gripped her arm and slowly pulled himself up to a sitting position. The garden spun crazily, and he thought he would fall off the cot. She held him tightly and called out for help.
“Lie down, please,” she said. “You have lost blood. You are weak with fever.”
“No.” He pushed her away and lifted the blanket, only to realize he was naked beneath it. It was his turn to blush. “Uh, my clothes please.”
“No, you cannot have your clothes,” she said.
Frederick and two servants in livery emerged from the house and came down the shallow flagstone steps to join them.
“He’s trying to get up,” said Cleope. “Help me with him.”
Frederick’s curly hair was uncombed, and he looked as though he had not slept. He moved her aside and put his hand on Noel’s uninjured shoulder. “You should rest,” he said, “and give thanks to God you are not dead.”
“I can’t rest until I have my LOC back,” said Noel angrily. He tried to shove Frederick’s hand away. “Damnit, I must have my LOC!”
Frederick and Cleope exchanged glances. “And what do you want to lock away?” asked Frederick.
“Don’t patronize me,” snapped Noel. He rubbed his forehead fretfully, feeling as though his skull was going to roast. “You know very well that my bracelet is gone. She took it to Leon. You promised to help get it back.”
Frederick and Cleope looked at each other again.
“The fever is affecting his mind,” she said. “He needs to rest.”
“My friend,” said Frederick in concern, “it is impossible to find your trinket in this crowd. We can get you another one later-”
“There is no later!” cried Noel. “There is only today, and half of it is gone. If I don’t get that bracelet away from Leon before dark, I am-”
He paused, breathing raggedly, too upset to go on. While he was trying to gather himself, they pushed him down on the cot and covered him. Cleope wiped his face with a damp cloth, and Frederick knelt beside her with a sigh.
“I don’t know what to do,” he said to her.
Closing his eyes, Noel fought off his exhaustion and listened.
“Have they not yet come?”
“No, and it’s nigh until noon. The jousting is half-done, and I don’t know what can have befallen them on the road. Turks, bandits, horses going lame… I think I should take the men and look for them. But Noel is in a bad
