Free Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns by Patricia Veryan Page B

fright she jerked around and found a small dark
man standing beside her. "Oh! How you startled me!" she gasped.
    Looking into what he later described as "the face of a
heavenly angel," his dark eyes grew round with admiration. He tore off
a knitted stocking cap, said, "Good day, mademoiselle," and repeated
his question.
    He was unmistakably French, and to judge by his great hip
boots and the thick scarf knotted jauntily around his throat, was
probably a fisherman. "Are you his friend?" asked Marietta prayerfully,
and when he pursed his lips but gave a rather droll nod, she said,
"Thank heaven you have come! Would you please help me? If we can lift
him a little, and get his shirt off, I'll tear it for a bandage."
    "Aaiee! That is where the doctors they 'ave at last take the
musket ball out from 'is back!" he said as they managed to remove the
shirt. Startled, Marietta jerked her head up and stared at him. "Me, I
am Yves," he said as if that explained everything. Tearing the shirt
into strips, he added, "Did my Diccon, 'e fall and cause these damages?
We all try and tell 'im it is too soon to come down 'ere! But you know
'ow 'e set 'is mind, just like Monsieur Fox!"
    "Musket ball?" echoed Marietta. "Was he in the war, then?"
    "But yes. At the great battle." He grinned. "But then, my
Diccon, 'is life it is one long battle,
hein?
You will know this, being—" He broke off, pausing in his efforts to eye
her uneasily.
    "You
are
my Diccon's
chere
—"
    Her face flaming, Marietta interpolated, "I most certainly am
not.'"
    At this point Arthur came back, clutching the water jug. He
was very pale, his eyes enormous, his face tear-streaked. He glanced at
the Frenchman disinterestedly. "Hasn't Sir G'waine waked up yet? Is he
killed? Your face is all red, Etta."
    Marietta had no doubt that it was. She concentrated on bathing
the wound gently, and said she was sure Mr. Diccon would be all right,
especially now that his friend had come to help him.
    "But this Yves, 'e cannot remain, mademoiselle." The little
Frenchman propped Diccon's sagging head against his shoulder and looked
troubled.
"Par grace!
You 'ave see the cut 'ere
above 'is temple? And—ay! there is the most big lump! One 'opes the
'ead it is not broke."
    Marietta's hands shook. "One hopes very much," she said
unsteadily. "But at all events, he cannot be left alone here. I'll have
to send for my father's carriage and take him to our house."
    "But, no, mademoiselle. In this, Yves 'e can 'elp. The big
one, Yves will not try. But Monsieur Fox 'ave not mind the cart, and 'e
will take my Diccon to your 'ome. Yves will feed the rest while 'e can."
    Distracted with worry because Mr. Diccon had shown no sign of
reviving, Marietta scarcely heard him and he went off to return very
shortly with the donkey harnessed to the cart. Between them, they
managed to lift the unconscious man inside, this procedure causing Mr.
Fox to hang his head and set up a doleful braying.
    Yves imparted with a confidential air, "It is that 'e worries."
    He took a note from his pocket, read it over, then offered it
to the donkey, who devoured it and seemed comforted.
    Arthur scrambled into the back of the cart to sit by 'Sir
Gawaine,' and Yves handed Marietta up to the seat. "Mademoiselle, she
will not to disturb 'erself," he said kindly. "This Diccon, 'e should
be dead many times. 'E not die now. I think."
    She forced a smile and thanked him. Guiding Mr. Fox up the
slope, she glanced back. Yves was leading a magnificent grey horse from
the old barn. Forgetting her worries for a moment she murmured, "Oh,
what a beautiful animal!"
    Arthur said, "That's Sir G'waine's charger."
    She said incredulously, "Are you sure, dear? It looks to be a
very valuable animal."
    "He says it's a bad-tempered rogue," said the boy. "It's
called Awful."
    She couldn't imagine anyone naming a fine horse in such a way,
but she said nothing. Perhaps because dear Mama had died so soon after
he was born, little Arthur had been slow to start