Love at First Bite by Susan Squires Page A

insistence, because of the broken lock. Here she was, dressed in serviceable clothes and sensible half-boots, ready to go down and help him and his friends, and now he was trying to protect her from the ugliness of his life. She wouldn't have it.
    She pushed off the door and went out onto the balcony. The sun was rising behind the city, for it created an answering glow out over the harbor, now empty of ships. We'll just see about that . She climbed up on the wooden chair and from there to the sidewall of the balcony. Don't look down. The gap isn't more than four feet. Hardly more than a step .
    She held her breath and jumped, teetering on the wall of the balcony to her original room until she could grasp the striped awning and lower herself down. She dashed out through the broken door. Now to find her quarry. Where in the hotel would she be if she had just come in from battle? There were probably forty rooms here. No, not in a room. She'd be in the kitchens.
    She went cautiously down the great staircase, then wended her way to the back from the lobby. She heard them before she saw them.
    "Lord, Rufford, if reinforcements don't come soon…" Davie, sounding shocked.
    "They'll come…" A weary baritone she recognized. She had stood up at his wedding to Beth Rochewell. Ian Rufford was here with Davie?
    "Fedeyah, sit down. Drink this." Davie in his most commanding Major's voice.
    "Enough! There is so little." An Arab accent. "Save some for Rufford and yourself."
    She slid quietly toward an open doorway from which the voices came.
    "I'll find more." This from Davie, but he wasn't sure. She could hear it in his voice.
    "You can't go out in daylight." Mr. Rufford gasped for breath. "You'll fry."
    "The city is deserted, except for them," the Arab muttered. "Unless Allah provides, we must do without."
    Emma peered around the door frame. At first she couldn't quite take in what she was seeing. Davie stood over Mr. Rufford, who was laid out on one of the long wooden tables in the center of the kitchen. He cradled Mr. Rufford's head in one arm and was helping him to drink from a cup. Mr. Rufford's mouth was stained red, along with everything else. Blood was everywhere.
    Terrible wounds were revealed by the shredded clothing still clinging to Mr. Rufford. On the hearth of the great fireplace filled with spits and pots sat an Arab man with sad eyes, also wounded. The whole place smelled of blood. Shock and revulsion cascaded over her.
    "I should never have left you to face them," Davie said, his voice soaked in guilt.
    Mr. Rufford put up a hand and looked around. How was he still breathing? "Come in, my dear Miss Fairfield," he said hoarsely.
    Davie swung round. The Arab looked up. She sighed and stepped out into the doorway.
    "Miss Fairfield! Get back to your room!" Davie cried, laying Rufford back onto the table. He strode across to her and took her shoulders.
    " Miss Fairfield"? "Get back to your room" ? "As you recall, Major Ware , as soon as you can find a minister, it will be Emma Ware. And I told you when I accepted your proposal to share your life last night that I share it all, whether you like it or not."
    She looked to the other men. She was about to ask how she could help when a cut across Mr. Rufford's forehead sealed itself before her very eyes. She gasped. What is going on here ? Davie tried to turn her about and hustle her from the room, but she pulled out of his grasp. She glanced across to the Arab. The pink weal of a scar slowly disappeared from his cheek.
    "What are you?" she whispered to Mr. Rufford, ignoring Davie's sputtering protests.
    "Don't tell her," Davie warned.
    "We are not like you, Miss Fairfield," Mr. Rufford said, getting up to one elbow. "Not anymore." A sword wound on his chest began to close.
    She swallowed and tried to breathe. "I see that." She turned to Davie. "You might as well tell me."
    He looked away, ashamed.
    "Perhaps it would be easier if I tell you, Miss Fairfield. I'll be stronger in a bit."