Witchrise by Victoria Lamb

with you. Do not refuse to come or it will prove my undoing. I am in the gravest state imaginable and only you can help me. E.
    I stared at Alejandro, my head reeling. ‘Her ladyship bids me come at once. That if I do not . . .’ After the curt and abrupt manner of my dismissal from Hatfield, I was shocked by this strange summons and could not quite believe it. ‘But what is the matter? Is the princess sick?’
    ‘I cannot tell you.’
    Richard stepped between us, his lip twisted in a snarl. ‘Cannot, or will not?’
    Rounding on him, Alejandro took a swift pace towards Richard, half drawing his sword from its sheath. ‘Speak to me again, conjuror’s boy, and it will be the last word you ever say.’
    ‘Alejandro, no! Richard is our ally.’
    At my protest, Alejandro hesitated, his face still hard, then seemed to recollect himself. He slammed the sword back into its scabbard, drew an arm across his forehead as though to wipe away sweat, then stumbled again as he stepped backwards, only righting himself with difficulty.
    ‘Forgive me, sir,’ he muttered, turning to address my father. ‘I did not come here to start a brawl. I shall walk my horse round to the stables and await your daughter there. Though if you could lend me a fresh horse for the return journey, I would be grateful. This poor beast is done and must rest.’
    ‘It is you who must rest,’ I told him sharply. ‘When did you leave Hatfield?’
    ‘I am not weary, I—’ But his face became suddenly pale and he crumpled, leaving the rest unsaid. I caught him as he fell, and with Richard’s help lowered him to the ground. He lay like one dead, his eyelids closed, lips slightly parted, his body still as stone.
    ‘Alejandro.’ I spoke urgently into his ear, kneeling at his side. ‘What is it? Are you hurt?’
    ‘Your priest is in a swoon and cannot hear you,’ Richard said, frowning down at Alejandro. Abruptly he tugged the folds of the cloak aside, revealing a dark stain on the left side of Alejandro’s black doublet. With swift practised fingers, he unfastened the doublet and lifted that too. Beneath it, Alejandro’s shirt was sticky with blood. ‘And this is why.’
    ‘Alejandro!’ I exclaimed in horror, and clapped a shaking hand to my mouth.
    For a moment I was filled with unthinking panic, watching as Richard began to uncover Alejandro’s wound. Then I saw one of the servant girls peering out past my father to see the handsome Spaniard returned, and my good sense came back to me.
    ‘Quick now, Susan,’ I called out to the girl, and was astonished that my voice did not quake the way my insides were doing. ‘Hurry away and fetch warm water and clean strips of cloth. Tear up one of the old linen sheets if you must. And have a bed prepared for Señor de Castillo.’
    Her eyes widening, the serving girl stared first at me, then at Alejandro, before scurrying away on her errand.
    With exquisite care, Richard lifted the shirt away from the bloodied skin, and we both stared down at the terrible gash in his side.
    Richard considered it coolly. ‘A sword thrust, I’d say. Or a long knife blade. Another few inches higher and it would have pierced a lung. I saw that happen once in a street fight. A bad death, to drown in your own blood.’ His mouth tightened. ‘Your priest is lucky to be alive.’
    Alejandro did not stir, still lying unconscious on the cold earth. I wondered he had been able to sit a horse with such a wound, let alone ride such a long distance. His wound did not look freshly got, even to my inexperienced eyes. So he had been attacked soon after leaving Hatfield.
    But who could have stabbed him, and why?
    There was so much blood . . .
    ‘We must get him inside,’ I said curtly.
    ‘William, help me carry him,’ Richard said, glancing up at my brother.
    Together they eased him up off the ground and bore him past my father into the shadowy house.
    ‘Careful, go slowly now.’ Richard turned his head, waiting for me.