Sir Percy and his Lady

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from this story. It is purely a fanfiction written because Baroness Orczy wrote such wonderful books and I fell in love with the characters. This fanfiction is set after Percy and Marguerite return from Calais, and they are aboard the "Daydream". Marguerite falls ill and Percy nurses her back to health as he fights his feelings of longing for the woman he loves and the guilt for what he has put her through. Will they ever finally be able to come together as man and wife?

Written by: Gina

A loud knock on the door startled Sir Percy from his slumber. He started to rise from his chair, suddenly wincing as he did; he'd nearly forgotten how sore his shoulders were from the beating those brutes had given him.

After leaving Marguerite in the arms of her brother he had quickly stolen away to his cabin to bathe and change out of those hideous clothes he had worn as the Jew. He was used to wearing disguises, but always felt his best in his own wonderfully stylish clothes. After tying his cravat, he slowly sank into his favorite chair, sighing aloud. Try as he might, he could not stop thinking about Marguerite and all she had suffered in the last few hours on his behalf. He must have dosed off for a few moments.

"Odds life! Those brutes did hit me hard." muttered Percy rubbing his shoulder. Again there was a loud pounding on his door, followed by the anxious voice of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes.

"Percy, Percy! Are you in there?" Hearing the worry in his friend's voice, he wasted no more time opening the door. One look at Andrew's face told him it was serious, and although their chief was not a man who usually reacted to a troublesome situation, he suddenly felt as if something were terribly wrong. "Ffoulkes, what is it?" He felt as if he could hardly get the question out.

"It's Marguerite!" Sir Andrew gasped. "She had told Armand that she needed some air, she was feeling rather hot." The words were rushing past his lips. "She suddenly swayed and fainted into poor Armand's arms. Her fever must be dreadfully high, Percy!"

Without stopping to reply, Percy rushed past his most faithful friend and up the steps

to the room where Armand sat with an unconscious Marguerite lying in his arms, her head gently nestled against her brother's chest.

Percy sank to his knees as he reached his beloved. He watched the heartsick boy gently rocking his sister back and forth, as a mother would for her child. Completely absorbed with the precious life in his arms, Armand had not yet realized that his chief was near him. Tears gathered in his eyes as he kissed his sister's forehead and softly whispered loving words into her ear. "Little mother. You must wake up. Please, please wake up!"

It was then that he noticed his chief for the first time. Something deep down inside made Armand want to lash out at this man who had become like a brother to him. At times, he had even felt that Percy was like the father he never knew, having been so young when his and Marguerite's parents had died.

"This is your doing, Blakeney! If she doesn't recover, this will be on your head!" He knew this really wasn't Percy's fault, if anything, he idolized this man. The chief had saved so many lives, even his own he owed to him. All he could think about however was how unhappy Marguerite had been this past year, even though she had tried to hide it. Armand knew his sister too well to be fooled. When he questioned Percy about it and the chief told him about the deaths of the Marquis de St. Cyr and his family and how he couldn't risk trusting Marguerite, the reason had become painfully clear to Armand. Now it was different though, Marguerite might die and Percy didn't even care!

The English gentleman said not one word but quietly looked long and hard into the eyes of his young brother in law, showing every bit of his emotion in that one look, silently requesting permission to take Marguerite into his arms. The young lad imperceptibly nodded his head, and handed over the one they both loved most into the arms of his chief.

Percy gathered his precious burden once more into his arms and left to carry her down to his cabin. All this time Sir Andrew had been standing in the doorway silently watching this exchange between his chief and the young boy. As Armand's face fell into his hands weeping, Sir Andrew quietly walked up and placed a hand on the lad's shoulder.

"The chief will take good care of her, he loves her!" Sir Andrew had meant to comfort Armand but instead those words seemed to upset him further.

"What does he know about love? He saves innocents day after day, but he doesn't know how to love his own wife!" He looked up at Sir Andrew with eyes full of anguish.

Sir Percy Blakney carried his unconscious wife into his cabin, shutting the door behind him with his foot. He gently laid her on his bed and lovingly cupped her cheek in his hand. "Oh, my Margot. What have I done?" He couldn't blame Armand for what he had said. The lad was no angrier at him than he was with himself. "If it weren't for me, you would not be suffering so, my love." Picking up her fevered hand, he softly kissed it as he finally allowed his own tears to fall.

Then pulling himself together, he went about the task of finding the injury that was causing his precious wife to fight for her life. The English gentleman was no doctor, but he had nursed many people back to health from injuries and illnesses due to being subjected to the French prisons and sometimes his own comrades a time or two.

He started with the torn stockings and gently rolled them down her legs. He gasped as he saw the infected cut on her leg. There were more cuts and bruises on her other leg and on both of her feet, but none of them quite like this one he had found. It was such an angry cut, red and swollen. He always kept a few bottles of medicine on hand in case there was a need for them, so he quickly retrieved the bottle of carbolic acid to clean her wound. As he wrapped her leg with a clean bandage he couldn't help but notice how beautiful and shapely her legs were. Percy quickly scolded himself for letting such thoughts cross his mind at a time like this, but she was beautiful, more beautiful than he had ever imagined and he longed to touch her and be with her. He turned his attention to her feet and quickly cleaned and bandaged them as well.

Then he knew he had to do something to bring her fever down. By this time she had suddenly begun to toss and turn, she was steeped in perspiration, her beautiful auburn hair matted to her forehead. It was then he realized he'd have to remove her dress in order to sponge her off and hopefully bring her fever down.

To Be Continued………