There was no fire tonight, and no one offered her a blanket. The only thing that kept her warm was her hatred of these men.
When she woke the next morning, she almost wished for death. Her entire body hurt from being crumpled in the dirt all night. The ropes had cut into her wrists until they bled. She couldn't remember the last time any of the men had thought to give her a swallow of water.
Charlie cut her ropes and pulled her up. "Can you stand?" he said.
She nodded, wiping the blood away from her wrist with the last scrap of her handkerchief and dropping it as Charlie grabbed her chin and jerked her face to the light.
He swore at the wiry little man for hurting her. Not that he cared about her; he just wanted his gift to Hanover to look better. He tugged on the leash and led her to her horse. Before putting her up, he tilted her head back and made her drink, then he splashed water over her bruised and bloody forehead where she'd been hit.
When he strapped her into the saddle, he put her medical bag at her side. It was the first time she'd seen the bag since Shelley's office.
He tugged the noose off her neck. "There is nowhere to run and no reason to scream, girl. You behave yourself, and you just might be alive come sundown."
They rode away from the camp. The cliffs grew lower as they rode, and by the time the sun was high, she could make out the glint of rifles above them. The canyon walls lowered still more and finally opened out into a valley big enough to be a small ranch. She saw a pond and rows of what looked like a late summer garden. There were corrals for horses and a pasture with a few cattle grazing. Built along the far canyon wall were a cluster of buildings that looked like the beginning of a town. Three two-story buildings dominated the area, with a dozen more circling them. One looked like a boardinghouse with a second-story balcony. From the second floor a few men could easily defend the entire valley. Another big building looked like a saloon. As they rode by, she noticed several women watching them pass. They had the dull eyes of opium users.
The last big building was set back from the others, at the end of the small town. It could have easily passed for a Virginia plantation house with a wide porch and high columns. Trees, a story high, had been transplanted from somewhere and now stood dead at the corners of the house.
"That's the count's place," Charlie said. "Henry Harrison Hanover, a real member of the royalty, owns everything in this town. Every man and woman who lives here works for him. In exchange we get food and board along with enough pay to frequent the saloon and whorehouse. If we don't follow the rules he sets, he pays for our burial”
Sage knew Charlie well enough to know he wasn't just talking to her. He'd probably been given orders to give the same speech to anyone riding in. No wonder Mr. Nobody didn't want to come with the rest of the gang.
Charlie pulled her off her horse and almost dragged her up the steps to the house. A guard at the door looked her over as she moved past him but didn't say a word.
Once inside, she waited in the foyer with the wiry man while Charlie made his report. The English accent she heard had to be the count. He seemed pleased with the haul from Shelley's place and asked twice if they left the gambler alive. It was obvious that the gang planned to bleed him again. Sage almost felt sorry for Shelley. Almost.
"One more thing” Charlie said as he backed though the door and grabbed her arm. "We brought you a doctor."
One second later she stood before a man dressed in an elaborate red bathrobe with a family crest embroidered on the pocket. He had flowing white hair that seemed to slide off the back of his head, and he wore a ring on every finger of his left hand.
She met his eyes and saw easily that he was ill, far more ill than he was allowing the others to see.
The strange man stared at her. "You're a doctor?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Yes," she answered. "I am. I've just arrived from Boston." He touched her cheek with a soft hand. "Who damaged you?"
"No one” Charlie said. "She fell a few times."
The count stared at her. "Never lie to me, Doctor. I hate it. How did you get this cut?" He touched her bruised forehead. Sage glanced at Sneezy to make sure he wasn't about to hit her again. "My head fell against the butt of a rifle."
Hanover looked like he was trying to decide whether to be angry, then suddenly, he smiled. "I'm in need of a doctor. We deal with my problem first.”
Sage thought she saw a flicker of insanity in his gaze. "If you'll allow me to clean up, I'll try to help you." She flavored her words with the Boston accent she'd practiced.
He smiled and waved at a squatty little man standing behind him. "Take her somewhere she can wash, Myron. Don't let her out of your sight, but don't harm her"
The man, who looked like a proper butler, nodded and motioned for Sage to follow him.
She turned to Charlie. "I'll have my hands free first.” She glared at the man who'd treated her like an animal for a week.
He pulled out his knife and slit the last of her ropes.
As soon as she was alone with the butler, she whispered, "I was brought here against my will. Kidnapped.”
He didn't look interested. "Half of the people here are in the same boat. Including me. I'm a third-generation butler. Do you think I picked this residence for employment? I've got the seat next to you in misery, dearie."
"Isn't there a way out of here?"
"Only if you're bound for heaven or hell. No one leaves this place alive unless you're one of the count's trusted men." He made a face. "And never, never, trust one of those men” He held up his hand to show her that his little finger was missing.
She didn't ask more.
They went into a kitchen at the back of the house, and he handed her a towel and soap. She washed as she asked, "What's wrong with the count?"
"He's got a bullet stuck in his shoulder blade. It's poisoning his blood, but he's accused everyone who's tried to get it out of trying to kill him. Most of us have been waiting around praying he'd die, but Charlie, the snake, seems to have a fondness for the man. No one else suggested bringing in a doctor." Myron held her bag.
Sage took the time to doctor the cuts on her hands and the small cut on her forehead, not because she was worried they might get infected or leave scars, but so she could have time to form a plan.
Myron stayed in the room with her but didn't hover. He made her tea with honey. She drank the tea slowly as she thought.
"Are you ready, Doctor?" Myron finally said.
"Yes, but I may need boiling water to treat Hanover. Would you put kettles on?"
"Of course.”
"Is he really royalty?"
Myron shrugged. "Who knows. He says he's twenty-third in line, but his father fell out of favor with the court of Queen Victoria. Something about bodies of servant girls turning up in the pond, he said. I try not to ask too many questions. If he wants to be a count, what do I care?"
"Twenty-three seems pretty far away from the throne.” "So does Texas, but I hear him mumbling that he'll be moving up soon.” He led her back to the downstairs room that looked like it had been an office and now served as a sickroom.
Hanover lay on his stomach on top of a bed by the window. Sage guessed he wasn't asleep. She walked to the edge of the bed.
"What do I call you?" she asked.
"Everyone calls me Count Hanover.” he answered without opening his eyes. "If you're a doctor, then get to it. My pain is in my back.”
Sage lifted the robe back almost to his waist. The pus-filled wound almost made her gag. Dark veins grew from a core of scabs and open wounds as if something had taken root in the center of his back.
"I was shot," he said. "Several have tried to get the bullet out”
Sage didn't miss the signs that he'd been bled as well in an effort to get the poison out. "They've done more harm than good."