Chapter 5

Too Many Knights

Juliet hurried along the street. She was late and she was agitated, and she wanted nothing more than a sandwich and a calming cup of tea in the soothing presence of Adam. A nice little amiable chat, some gentle teasing and a few words about the arrangements for their so very much delayed day out on the Ponderosa land—that was all she asked for. She was annoyed about Goodman’s impertinence, but also about her own agitation. Goodman shouldn’t be able to rile her up that much, but he never had dared to intrude into her privacy before. Well, she was sure he wouldn’t do it again—the old Countess of Barnstoke-glare had done its magic once more.

Juliet made her way with long, quick strides. She rushed past other passers-by and turned sharply to cross the street near the International House. And then, suddenly, a lot of things happened at the same time. She turned her head to a shrill cry of “Miss Juliet,” heard a piercing whinny and the squeal of wheels and harnesses, felt strong hands gripping her left upper arm and waist and pulling her back, and then a blow and a sharp pang at her temple.

For a moment she was dazed, and the noises of the street seemed to tilt out. She leaned into the arms that were holding her and tried to focus on the blurred voices she heard. Slowly everything seemed to come back to normal. Her vision cleared, and she began to distinguish different voices.

“Are you alright, ma’am?”

She looked up at the man who was holding her; a tall, dark haired stranger, with a long, not overly handsome face and somehow peculiar eyes. Juliet shrugged herself out of the stranger’s grip and made a quick survey of the scene. They were surrounded by a small crowd of people, all of them staring at her, some of them discussing the recent events, one man shaking his head over and over again. The carriage that had nearly run her over stood a few yards down the street at a funny angle to its original lane, with the driver trying to calm down the flustered horses and looking back to see what had happened to his near-victim at the same time. Juliet waved to him hesitantly and smiled as wide as she could without agitating the throbbing in her temple any more. The man nodded, gave her a broad, toothless grin that Juliet, for reasons unknown to her, found quite endearing, and turned back to his horses.

Juliet concentrated on the man who quite clearly had saved if not her life then at least her physical integrity. “I’m fine, thank you for your concern, Mr. …?”

“Great God, Juliet, I saw everything. Are you unscathed, dear?” Jarvis Raymond’s face suddenly appeared from the right.

“Yes, I already said that I was fine.”

Even though someone who sounded so impatient couldn’t be too badly hurt, Jarvis went on, “Are you sure? You don’t look fine—”

“I’m perfectly all right, thank you, Jarvis.” This time she spoke with annoyance, very clear annoyance, but, against better judgment, Jarvis was still determined to insist further.

“You are bleeding. You can’t be perfectly all right, Juliet. Why don’t you just admit—”

“Jarvis, will you stop that now; this is getting very exasperating!” Juliet did not cry out or stomp her foot, for she was not given to that form of displaying emotion. But Jarvis knew her well, and he understood what her raised eyebrow and the stern set of her jaw were telling him. So he wisely decided to stay silent and make no reply.

“Ma’am, perhaps you better see a doctor?” The stranger obviously wasn’t as perceptive as Jarvis, or perhaps he was just more courageous.

“No, thank you,” Juliet retorted. She was losing her patience, for the second time in a very short while—that alone should have told her she wasn’t as perfectly fine as she claimed to be. She gingerly touched her temple and when her fingers came back tinted with blood, she looked at them in indignation, as if the blood itself were a major affront to her person. She wiped the offending red off with the handkerchief the stranger handed her and returned her attention to her saviour. “I appreciate you concern, sir, and I am very grateful for your quick intervention. Things could have gone very wrong if you hadn’t been so vigilant. But, really, I don’t need any more coddling.”

Now Jarvis obviously seemed to feel left out. “Juliet, don’t be so obsti—er, stubborn. This cut has to be seen by a doctor, and—”

“No.”

“Ma’am, your friend is right. I’d take you to the doc—,” the stranger ventured only to be rudely interrupted by Jarvis.

“That won’t be necessary, my friend, I’ll take the lady myself.”

“I don’t—” Juliet didn’t even get the chance to object.

“No, fella, you’ve heard her, the lady doesn’t want to go with you.”

“Well, she will in the end. I’ve known her for quite some time, and I—”

“I don’t care about how long you knew her.” The stranger didn’t sound too nice anymore. “I saved the lady, and I’ll take her to the doc.” He reached out to take Juliet’s arm, but she took a step back, covered her arm protectively with her hand and raised her eyebrow at him.

“I said, no.”

And, at precisely this moment, Adam Cartwright, who had been waiting at the International House for the normally very punctual Juliet for a period of time that, in his increasingly concerned mind, bordered on an eternity, entered the scene. He had been alarmed not by the ruckus outside—that was a very familiar thing on the streets of Virginia City—but by a so very well meaning citizen, who had stormed into the restaurant with the words “You’ll never guess what happened to the Queen!”

Adam quickly crossed the street, worked his way through the crowd and took in the two debating man and a seemingly very distraught Juliet. Juliet, standing there, time and again impatiently dabbing with a blood stained handkerchief at a thin rivulet of blood running down the side of her face. Juliet, with her hair in more disorder than ever and her usually flawless to a fault clothing in disarray.

“What happened here?” he demanded.

“Nothing at all.” Juliet rolled her eyes and pointedly crossed her arms. Had Adam been a woman he could have read her thoughts from her face. Not another knight in shining armour. Two had been more than enough, thank you. But Adam was just another knight, and so he would never know.

“Juliet was nearly run over by a carriage,” Jarvis took the helm of the conversation. “But this gentleman here saved her from major injury.”

Adam reached for Juliet’s chin. He gently turned her head to inspect the wound at her right temple. He probed cautiously at the rim of the nearly an inch wide, deep scratch.

“How do you feel?” he asked softly.

“I feel very well, thank you.”

He couldn’t fathom why she sounded so annoyed until she continued, “I just wished you all would stop asking me how I am.”

Although he held heartfelt sympathy for her agitation, he said, “Well, you don’t look very well, Juliet. And this cut surely needs some stitches.”

“But I don’t think so. It doesn’t hurt anymore, and you’re all really making a fuss about nothing. I just have to go and clean myself up, and then we can have lunch as planned.” She dabbed vigorously at the cut.

Adam raised an eyebrow. “Well, if you think so,” he said incredulously. Shaking his head, he took the already soaked piece of fabric from her and thrust his clean handkerchief into her hand. She thanked him with a tiny, somewhat embarrassed smile and pressed the cloth to her temple.

“I think the lady needs a doctor.”

Adam turned and looked at the stranger, who had spoken up for the first time since Adam had arrived. His eyes widened in recognition for a second; but at the stranger’s display of an arrogant smile, Adam furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes on him. “Poole!” he spat.

“In the flesh. Very nice to meet you again, Cartwright!” Poole sounded much more confident than he had any right to—or at least that was what Adam felt.

“What are you doing here?”

“I said I’d come back, didn’t I? I always keep my word, Cartwright. So here I am.”

“I really thought you’d think better of it, Poole.” Adam shook his head in disgust. “You should have stayed…well, wherever you were hiding all this time.”

“I never hide, Cartwright,” Poole said with emphasis. “I never hide.”

Juliet had followed their exchange looking from one to the other and back. She chose the break in the conversation after Poole’s obscure words to put in, “Since you’re the only one who seems to know this gentleman, would you mind introducing him to me, Adam?”

Adam gave her a distracted gaze. “Um, this man is Langford Poole, Juliet. He is…well, not from here.”

Juliet tilted her head and watched him quizzically. When he didn’t offer any further explanation, she held her hand out to Poole and said, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Poole, I am Juliet Heatherstone.”

“Miss Heatherstone,” Poole said smoothly and gave her a displeasingly familiar smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet such a pretty lady in this dump.”

Juliet actually looked surprised. No one ever had titled her ‘pretty’. No one but Adam, that was, and even he had said it rather teasingly. She was elegant and somehow attractive, but ‘pretty’? Nevertheless, when Adam, fixing Poole with a stare and arching his eyebrow sarcastically, said, “You better keep your eyes off this pretty lady, Poole” and put a very peculiar stress on ‘pretty’, she shot him a deadly glare.

Not that anyone noticed it.

“Oh, you think so, Cartwright?” Poole sent a challenging stare back to Adam.

Now Jarvis decided to make himself known again, and to put in his bit. “Mr. Poole here rescued our dear Juliet, Mr. Cartwright. Whatever disagreements you have with Mr. Poole, you surely could be a bit grateful at least.”

“Oh, but I am grateful, Raymond.” Adam took care to put as much sarcasm into this as humanly possible, bestowed upon the editor an icy glare, and turned back to Poole. “Thank you, Poole.” He sounded like a child who had forgotten to thank Aunt Agatha for a Christmas present. “Now bugger off, your help isn’t needed anymore.”

Juliet nearly giggled at that. Outside England she had never heard anyone using this expression, but it seemed that Adam was taking words from her as she was taking them from him. She only wondered if she was really using this particular one so often. Miss Westlake surely would not approve.

Unusual or not, Poole evidently understood the message well. “I’d rather stay here. Just to make sure the lady is all right.”

“I am perfectly—,” Juliet tried to put in, but wasn’t really surprised they didn’t give her any audience. Still, it would have been nice to be allowed to finish her sentence, but Adam apparently was much too busy with playing ‘bull of the woods’, something Juliet found highly bizarre and, amazingly, most endearing, too.

“I’ll take care of that, Poole. Go mind your own business.”

Now Jarvis spoke up again. “Maybe it would be better, if I—”

Well, at least she wasn’t the only person Adam interrupted today.

“You don’t even know where to find the town’s doctor, Raymond.” It was merely a statement, but somehow it carried a threat, and that made Jarvis back away a step or two.

Poole, however, was unfazed. “I don’t know what bond there is between you and her, but I’m the one who rescued the lady, so I have every right—”

“Oh, please!” Juliet covered her eyes with a hand and shook her head. If nothing else Poole’s emphasis on ‘bond’ and the implications this carried had led Juliet to the end of her patience, and she would not listen to this anymore. “I’ll go back to the Enterprise now. It seems that you gentlemen can carry on your dispute without me just fine.” Without waiting for an acknowledgement of her words she turned and made to walk away.

“Wait,” Jarvis held her back. “You really need to see the doctor first.”

This took Juliet past her ability to suffer. Enough was enough. She shot Jarvis a glare that made him think of Sheffield steel and actually growled, “I’m fine.”

And then Adam had the brass to grip her arm and tell her, “Let the doc decide that.”

Juliet whirled around, hissing, “I told you I’m fine. I will decide whether—”

She never finished her statement. In mid-whirl she turned pale, her face went slack, and her eyes lost focus. Adam tightened his grip on her, and when her eyes closed and her body went limp, he picked her up in one fluid motion.

“If you excuse me, gentlemen, I have a delivery for the doctor,” he announced; and then he pushed the two other men aside, breached the circle of spectators and headed to Doctor Martin’s office.

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Chivalry!–why, maiden, she is the nurse of pure and high affection;
the stay of the oppressed, the redresser of grievances,
the curb of the power of the tyrant;
Nobility were but an empty name without her,
and liberty finds the best protection in her lance and her sword. ~ Sir Walter Scott