"You bring injured animals and children to me, not beaten-senseless giants bleeding from every limb," she corrected. When Annalía was younger, her Andorran nanny had taught her to treat some injuries—broken bones, burns, cuts, and the like, but then she'd probably never envisioned a patient like this one. "It's not proper for me to attend him."

He gave her a patronizing smile. "Perhaps mademoiselle should have thought of that before dragging the enemy into our home? Hmmm?"

Lips thinned, she replied, "Perhaps mademoiselle is displaying the same compassion she showed when she hired Vitale the Old." Though they both knew her taking him in from the streets of Paris to her home in Andorra hadn't been simply because of kindness. Gratitude had compelled her.

He sighed. "What do you wish me to do?"

"Help me put him in the room off the stable."

"We can't lock that room! He could slit our throats while we sleep."

"Then where?" He opened his mouth to answer, but she cut him off, "And don't you dare say back to the riverside."

He closed his mouth abruptly. They both looked down at the man as though searching for the answer.

Vitale finally said, "We should put him in the manor house so we can lock him in a bedroom."

"Where I sleep?"

"Mademoiselle has demonstrated compassion"—he smiled too serenely—"which is but a slippery stone away from hospitality."

She ignored his expression. "The only room downstairs that locks is the study and that's private. I don't want him to know our business affairs."

He gave the man a rousing kick in the hip. When no response came, he cackled.

"Vitale!"

He turned to her with an impassive face. "So mademoiselle suggests upstairs?"

"We simply can't do it. My horse had problems pulling his weight."

Some of the ranch hands' children ran by then, eyes wide, reminding Annalía of the state of the man's clothing. Most of it had ripped away. A tear spread up his thigh, close to his…She straddled his legs, sweeping her skirt over him for cover. "Run along." Her voice was strident.