The Tiger Prince by Iris Johansen Page A

to the ground, landing with knees bent and immediately went into a somersault and roll. Then he was springing lithely to his feet and moving to stand beneath the window. “Jump.”
    She stared at him with open mouth. “How did you do that?”
    “Never mind that now. Jump. I’ll catch you.”
    She looked at him uncertainly.
    “You won’t be hurt. Trust me.” When she still hesitated, he explained impatiently, “When I was a lad in London I earned my living as a street acrobat for a while.”
    The agility she had just witnessed certainly bore testament to his claim. She hesitated, but with freedom in sight she had no desire to sit and wait for Zabrie or be discovered by Pachtal. She sat on the windowsill, her legs dangling over the edge as he had done.
    “Good,” he said. He held up his arms. “Now come to me.”
    The ground was looking farther away every second.
    “What are you waiting for? Just remember to push away from the windowsill when you jump so you won’t hit the wall.”
    She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and pushed away from the sill.
    For an endless moment she was falling through space.
    Ruel plucked her from the air. “Got you.” Then he staggered, cursed, and fell in a heap to the ground.
    “Ouch,” he grunted. “Damn, that hurt.”
    It took a moment for her to get her breath back. Then she rolled off him and struggled to her knees. “I thought you said you were an acrobat.”
    He scowled. “I didn’t say I was a
good
acrobat. That was when I was fifteen and I never could catch worth a tuppence.” He rose painfully to his knees. “That waswhy I quit after six months and became a running patterer.”
    She glared at him. “You bloody fool. I could have broken my neck!”
    “But you didn’t.” He grimaced. “I’m the one who fell on my nether parts into a pile of Lord knows what.”
    “How could you take such a—” She broke off and started to laugh helplessly at the foolish sight they must have presented, kneeling there facing each other among the garbage and dung. It was as if a weight had been lifted from her and she realized for the first time how intimidated she had been by the man. She had never before met anyone quite so splendid or enigmatic as Ruel MacClaren and it was a relief to see the human side of him.
    He tilted his head, and a slow smile lit his face. “I’ve never heard you laugh before.”
    “That shouldn’t surprise you since we’ve known each other less than thirty minutes.”
    He got up and helped her to her feet. “I don’t think you laugh over-frequently.” He turned away and moved down the alley toward the corner of the building. “Let’s get away from here before your lover appears. I have no desire to incur any more bruises on your behalf.”
    She was immediately jarred back to reality by his words. Sweet Mary, how could she have forgotten the danger Pachtal posed? Yet, for an instant she had forgotten it. She had felt young and happy … and strangely safe.
    “I told you I wasn’t hiding from a lover.” She quickly followed Ruel down the alley, rounding the corner just behind him. “You didn’t listen to— Look out!”
    A knife descended out of the shadows, arching toward Ruel’s unprotected back.
    No time to think. Instinctively she threw herself between Ruel and the dagger, trying to push him aside.
    Agony took her breath away as the dagger sliced through her upper arm. As she staggered to the side she caught a blurred glimpse of the assassin. Tall, thin …the white folds of a turban. Pachtal, she thought dazedly, it had to be Pachtal.
    She dimly heard Ruel mutter a curse as he whirled on the man, one hand darting out to grasp the wrist holding the knife, the other closing on the man’s throat.
    Darkness. She could no longer see Ruel’s face.
    She was slipping down the wall. No, she must stay on her feet and help Ruel. The knife … Pachtal would …
    She was being lifted.
    Her lids flew open to see Ruel’s grim face above her.