interposed, "For God ' s sake, give me your arm. If anyone else comes through that door, we ' re done for. Now move! "
The harsh imperative acted on Annabelle exactly as Dalmar intended it to. She kneeled before him and said in a voice that was almost normal, "You ' re bleeding like a pig. I ' ll bind your arm with your neckcloth, " and suiting action to words, she quickly untied his linen cravat and stemmed the flow of blood which seeped from the wound near his shoulder. With his good arm around her, she supported him till they had gained the stairs.
"What the devil is in that hatbox? " asked Dalmar, diverting her attention as they brushed by the prone figure of the Prussian.
Without thinking, Annabelle answered, "Papers. "
Their progress up two flights of stairs was slow enough to fill Annabelle with renewed alarm, for sounds of what gave every evidence of becoming a slaughter seemed to echo through the dark corridors of the building. It was only as Dalmar locked the door to his rooms behind them and shot home the bolt that she allowed herself to sag against him.
"Ransome! " he roared.
The summons was answered immediately by a giant of a man who cursed softly under his breath as he took in at a glance the torn and tattered dishabille of the woman who supported the injured man whose features were etched in l ines of pain.
"What the devil? " he exclaimed, coming forward.
"Prussians and the hot-headed garde du corps, " said Dalmar by way of explanation, and transferred his weight from Annabelle ' s slender shoulders to the more cap able arms of the gentleman who w aited on him.
With legs that were perilously close to buckling beneath her, Annabelle followed them down a long, dark corridor and into what was evidently a gentleman ' s bedchamber. As Dalmar was led to the great tester bed, s he sank gratefully into an old- fashioned overstuffed armchair. The word impropriety never once entered her head. She had no notion that her breasts were practically bared to the waist, and was scarcely aware of the giant as he solicitously covered her with a blanket. For the last hour, she had been living on her nerves. Now that the threat to life and limb was removed, she was fast sinking into a state of shock.
A large glass of brandy materialized from nowhere. A voice, soft and kind, said some words to her. Obedient to the command, Annabelle choked down the fiery liquid.
The glass was miraculously replenished. Again Annabelle obediently drained it to the dregs. A shudder passed over her, and she became conscious that the soft-spoken giant was addressing her.
"The colonel asks if you would mind waiting in the dressing room. I ' ve taken the liberty of setting things out for you. "
From the depths of the bed came Dalmar ' s laconic drawl. "Annabelle, go and tidy yourself. For God ' s sake, woman, you ' re half naked, and the rags that are covering you look as if they ' ve been baptized in blood. " On a more gentle note, he added, " There ' s a good girl. I ' ll send for you when we ' re done here. "
She rallied somewhat and allowed herself to be led to an adjoining door. For a moment, she could not recollect the purpose for her being in the small room. The sight of the washstand with its basin and pitcher and the commode conveniently located behind a screen brought her out of her lethargy.
Absently, she accepted the garments that the man called Ransome draped over her arm.
"You ' ll be more comfortable in these in the interim," he said, and shut the door softly behind her.
The garments he had given her were a man ' s shirt and dressing gown. She laid them over the back of a chair and took stock of herself in a long cheval mirror. With her blood- spattered and torn gown and pelisse and wildly disheveled hair, she might have been taken for one of the witches in "Macbeth. " Her bonnet was gone. She had no recollection of losing it. Miraculously, the gold locket which Dalmar had given her still nestled between her breasts. Though
The harsh imperative acted on Annabelle exactly as Dalmar intended it to. She kneeled before him and said in a voice that was almost normal, "You ' re bleeding like a pig. I ' ll bind your arm with your neckcloth, " and suiting action to words, she quickly untied his linen cravat and stemmed the flow of blood which seeped from the wound near his shoulder. With his good arm around her, she supported him till they had gained the stairs.
"What the devil is in that hatbox? " asked Dalmar, diverting her attention as they brushed by the prone figure of the Prussian.
Without thinking, Annabelle answered, "Papers. "
Their progress up two flights of stairs was slow enough to fill Annabelle with renewed alarm, for sounds of what gave every evidence of becoming a slaughter seemed to echo through the dark corridors of the building. It was only as Dalmar locked the door to his rooms behind them and shot home the bolt that she allowed herself to sag against him.
"Ransome! " he roared.
The summons was answered immediately by a giant of a man who cursed softly under his breath as he took in at a glance the torn and tattered dishabille of the woman who supported the injured man whose features were etched in l ines of pain.
"What the devil? " he exclaimed, coming forward.
"Prussians and the hot-headed garde du corps, " said Dalmar by way of explanation, and transferred his weight from Annabelle ' s slender shoulders to the more cap able arms of the gentleman who w aited on him.
With legs that were perilously close to buckling beneath her, Annabelle followed them down a long, dark corridor and into what was evidently a gentleman ' s bedchamber. As Dalmar was led to the great tester bed, s he sank gratefully into an old- fashioned overstuffed armchair. The word impropriety never once entered her head. She had no notion that her breasts were practically bared to the waist, and was scarcely aware of the giant as he solicitously covered her with a blanket. For the last hour, she had been living on her nerves. Now that the threat to life and limb was removed, she was fast sinking into a state of shock.
A large glass of brandy materialized from nowhere. A voice, soft and kind, said some words to her. Obedient to the command, Annabelle choked down the fiery liquid.
The glass was miraculously replenished. Again Annabelle obediently drained it to the dregs. A shudder passed over her, and she became conscious that the soft-spoken giant was addressing her.
"The colonel asks if you would mind waiting in the dressing room. I ' ve taken the liberty of setting things out for you. "
From the depths of the bed came Dalmar ' s laconic drawl. "Annabelle, go and tidy yourself. For God ' s sake, woman, you ' re half naked, and the rags that are covering you look as if they ' ve been baptized in blood. " On a more gentle note, he added, " There ' s a good girl. I ' ll send for you when we ' re done here. "
She rallied somewhat and allowed herself to be led to an adjoining door. For a moment, she could not recollect the purpose for her being in the small room. The sight of the washstand with its basin and pitcher and the commode conveniently located behind a screen brought her out of her lethargy.
Absently, she accepted the garments that the man called Ransome draped over her arm.
"You ' ll be more comfortable in these in the interim," he said, and shut the door softly behind her.
The garments he had given her were a man ' s shirt and dressing gown. She laid them over the back of a chair and took stock of herself in a long cheval mirror. With her blood- spattered and torn gown and pelisse and wildly disheveled hair, she might have been taken for one of the witches in "Macbeth. " Her bonnet was gone. She had no recollection of losing it. Miraculously, the gold locket which Dalmar had given her still nestled between her breasts. Though
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