Free In a Treacherous Court by Michelle Diener Page B

terrible sensation.
    Bile rose in her throat and she stumbled back, blinking at the sight of the cleaver buried deep in the fleshy part of his right upper arm.
    She tripped backward, fell to the floor, the world suddenly all white and strange, filled with a buzzing noise and tiny colored lights.
    She dipped her head to her knees, panting, knowing she could not afford to faint.
    Up. She had to get up.
    She moved to her hands and knees, finally got her feet under her and stood, swaying.
    “You bitch!” The attacker had lost his startled expression, replaced by outrage and venom. He braced himself and pulled the cleaver from his arm.
    The blood gushed and spurted from the wound as if it would use up every drop in his body.
    “I’m going to kill you.” He took a step forward, but his footing was unsteady, his eyes unfocused and dazed.
    Fear ripped her from her fog. Susanna looked for Parker and saw him standing at last, breathing deeply. As the attacker took another faltering step, Parker lurched forward and shoved him over.
    The man went down without a sound and lay still, looking up at the open beams of the stable ceiling.
    “We need to stop the bleeding,” Parker said, and he pulled off his tattered sleeves, ripping them from their laces.
    He bent down to their attacker and Susanna knelt besidehim. Smelled the sweat and blood and rage coming off Parker, mingled with the sweet barn scent of hay and horse.
    “I don’t want this one to die,” Parker said as he tightened his sleeve around the wound.
    “You want to question him?” Susanna looked at the man’s face, white and clammy with sweat. “Will he talk?”
    Parker turned to her, touched a bloodstained finger to her cheek. “He will when I’m through with him.”

    Y ou use your right and left hands equally well.” Parker watched as Susanna bathed Eric’s head wound. “A good person to have in a fight.”
    She shrugged. “I was born favoring my left hand.” Her mouth turned up in a humorless smile, and he realized she must have been taught to use her right hand because of the stigma attached to using the left.
    “My father and brother too.” Her smile turned genuine. “They would have been more use to you, no doubt. I faint at the first blow struck.”
    “You are no warrior, and there is no shame in that. You struck your blow, no matter what you did afterward. The outcome could have been much different without Mistress Greene’s cleaver and your aim.”
    She shook her head. “You were getting to your feet, Parker. You would have overcome him.”
    “I might have overcome him, I might not have. When Ientered the kitchen and chased the ruffian out, I had no notion there were two of them.” He should have anticipated that they would up the stakes. The man had led him straight to the barn and into a trap. His fist clenched so tightly on the damp cloth he held that a trickle of water ran down his forearm.
    Susanna gasped and put down the cloth she was using on Eric. “There were two? What happened to the other one?”
    “Dead. Lying somewhere in the hay of the stable with my knife in him.” That reminded him, he needed to retrieve it. And his sword.
    He had never been disarmed in a fight before. Never been taken so much by surprise.
    He flicked his gaze over Eric and Peter Jack, lying still and pale on their beds. He had helped Susanna put Mistress Greene to bed, and now they were tending to the boys.
    There was movement behind them, someone pushing open the back door, and Parker spun to meet the new threat.
    “Parker?” The woman standing there started, putting out a hand to steady herself against the door frame, a look of fear on her face. “I came as quick as I could.”
    “Your pardon, Maggie.” He must look bad if Maggie blanched at the sight of him. He’d once seen her wade into a brawl to help an injured man.
    She patted her heart. “Thought you were about to set upon me.”
    He shook his head. “I thought the ruffians had