CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 13

Lysander yelped.

I heard a hard thump below followed by a crackling rain of twigs and leaves.

I opened my eyes, leaped back, stared in disbelief.

The branch had splintered halfway toward the trunk.

I leaned over the railing, seeking enlightenment about Lysander from the dwindling torches that illuminated the palace's exterior.

In the shadowy garden, he lay flat on his back, unmoving, covered with the remains of the branch and the tree's debris.

I called him softly.

He didn't move.

I panicked.

Wouldn't you?

"No. No, don't be dead. Please don't be dead." I gathered my fleece and wrapped it around my shoulders. "You can't be dead."

From the door, Nurse said sharply, "Lady Rosie, what are you saying? Doing?"

"He fell. He fell. No, he didn't exactly fall, the branch broke. I don't know how, but it broke out from underneath him and he plunged—"

Nurse's eyes grew round with horror and the memory of the last time a man had wooed at her mistress's balcony. "Not again!" She brushed past me onto the balcony and looked over the edge.

"Is he still there?" I wanted to cover my eyes. I wanted to have an attack of the vapors. I wanted to turn into a hysterical female when I was a sensible woman. Always. Always. But today I had celebrated my betrothal to Duke Stephano by finding him dead, and tonight I did not want to discover the man who a few hours ago had become my One True Love had perished in a fall.

I lived an uneventful life. How had all this happened now?

"That's young Lysander, I assume?" Nurse pulled back from the edge. "You'd better hope he's not dead."

"I do. Of course I do!"

She swept on her dark cloak, pulled the hood up, and as if I hadn't spoken, she continued. "Or you two will have started a feud between the Marckettis and the Montagues that makes previous strife seem amicable, and all of Verona will call for your blood, and you'll be sentenced to a nunnery—or a burning at the stake!" She started for the door.

I followed. "I'm coming, too!"

She rounded on me. "No, you are not. You're going to climb into bed and pretend that visit"—she gestured at the balcony—"never happened."

I was wringing my hands, a most un-Rosie activity. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to revive him, if I can, and send him on his way." She pointed at the bed.

I obeyed, climbing in and pulling the blankets up to my chin. "What if he can't be revived?"

"Then I'll drag his body onto the street." Nurse pointed her finger at me. "Stay!"

Like a lapdog, I stayed, quivering, waiting, hoping, pretending to be asleep and yet awake to every cry from the night, every creak from the house, to the distant sounds from the kitchen at the far end of the garden and . . . God's teeth, would Nurse never return?

When she did at last, I bounded up on the bed. "Tell me."

She removed her cloak, a puckish twist to her mouth. "When I got down there, he was gone."

I flopped back in relief and closed my eyes in relieved prayer. "Thanks be to all the saints. He revived."

She shut the door behind her. "No."

My eyes popped open. "What do you mean, no?"

"I mean I saw the marks in the dirt. Somebody dragged him away. I followed until I reached the maze. When I ran out of light, I returned to the house."

I sat straight up. "You must go back—"

"Out into the garden where an unknown creature dragged an insentient man's body?"

"If you will not, then I must—"

"No." Nurse dragged the dressing chair in front of the door and seated herself, arms crossed. "No."

"You . . . can't . . . keep . . . me . . ." I was sputtering.

"My lady, you know I do everything you wish of me with a willing heart. But about this you cannot sway me. A wild young love is all well and good, but you're nearly twenty and should know better." She closed her eyes wearily. "Although perhaps a woman is like wine and the longer her cork remains intact, the more intoxicating she becomes."

I was incredulous. "Did you just call me a virgin?"

"I did."

I pulled a pillow over my face and screamed and drummed my heels on the mattress.

Nurse yanked the pillow away and leaned over me. "He's a young strong man. He landed in the moist earth. I vow he's not dead, but I will be before I allow you to do anything more to bring disgrace on your name and the names of your parents." She shook my shoulders. "Go to sleep, Rosaline, and do not test me further." As she stumped away toward the chair, she said, "Just like the last time."

"It wasn't just like the last time. It wasn't anything like my parents! There wasn't any—"

"Canoodling?"

"There was not."

"Not even a canoo?"

"That's not a word, and no, but not for lack of trying! Also, there was no—" I huffed to a halt.

"What's worse for a maiden's reputation than canoodling?" Nurse demanded.

"There was no poetry."

"What a relief that is." Nurse's tone left me in no doubt she scorned my discontentment. She settled into the chair, wrapped blankets around her chest, pulled the stepstool close, and muttered, "I'm getting too old for this."

As was I, apparently, for although I swore to myself I'd sneak past her as she slept . . . I instead fell hard asleep until morning's light shone in my window and the sensation of being watched roused me.