by Paula Quinn
South. She wanted to find Elias and bring little Eddie home. His mother had been struck down by the pestilence. Was the babe going to fall ill as well?
No. She would look after him, Annabelle, and Charlie, and anyone else who needed her.
And right now, little Eddie needed food. She made a quick search for the market, found it and bought a few apples, two loaves of fresh bread, and some of water.
From the way he was bleeding, Bertram would die from his wound. If he didn’t, and if he ever came near her or the children again, she would kill him without hesitation. And the bishop? What would be done about him? Lily would kill the bishop, too, if she had to.
She had little Eddie! Oh, but poor Clare. Her victory was bittersweet. Her heart was heavy. She missed Elias and his eyes always on her. She missed Richard, and Joan, and all her friends.
She couldn’t break down now. The boy needed her. How long had he sat on the floor crying for his mother who could no longer answer him? Oh, she couldn’t think of it.
They reached the road just as the rains began—and Bishop Edmundson’s men arrived.
#
Elias saw the last of the bishop’s soldiers entering the village and wondered what the hell they were doing here. Hadn’t Lily told him that Bertram was the bishop’s cousin?
He followed them, staying far behind, clearing the rain from his eyes so he could keep them open.
He’d found hope that Lily wasn’t dead when, while leaving Addington, it came to him that he’d been so forlorn over her that he hadn’t realized Alex had told him Bertram had gone north. He also wasn’t aware of what day it was. Alex had said Chisholm had gone north, alone. But after Bertram had taken Lily in Beckenham, he’d gone south, hadn’t he? Either Elias was traveling the wrong road or Alex had seen Bertram going north to Beckenham a few days ago before he’d kidnapped Lily, not after. It didn’t mean for certain that she was still alive. But it was a thread of hope—and he took it.
He’d turned his horse around, back to West Wickham, where he’d lost Bertram’s horse’s tracks. He would find her. He didn’t allow himself to doubt it. Just as he hadn’t let himself doubt he would get her through the pestilence alive. Until he saw her pale and vomiting and then woke up alone. He’d faltered and allowed fear to show its ugly head.
He swiped the rain from his eyes again. Or were they tears? The bastard Bertram had to be here. Lily had to be with him. Alive. He felt ill with worry over her. He’d left her…no! He shook his head, defying fear. If she lived then the fear was useless. If she did not live, fear would come anyway. Why let it come now? It had been how he entered every battle. If he thought about it for days before, fearing the battle, all it did was eat away at his confidence. When he lived through a battle, which he always did, fear was proven worthless. Aye, the sickness was strong but Charlie had recovered, as well as Father Benedict and others. It was possible. She could do it.
The soldiers broke off into groups. Elias followed a handful of them into the inn and listened from a secure place, cloaked in shadows while they questioned the innkeeper about a man fitting Bertram’s description traveling with a child. A boy.
Little Eddie? But what about Lily and Clare?
The innkeeper hadn’t seen a man with a child and sent them away, complaining that they likely brought with them the pestilence. The soldiers threatened to take him outside and beat him senseless, but the innkeeper didn’t care and swatted his broom at them.
When the soldiers, six in all, began pushing the innkeeper back and forth between them, Elias stepped forward. He didn’t try to say anything but dragged his claymore out of its sheath and cut four down before the other two realized there was only one of him.
He moved with unleashed power, speed, and sublime precision, getting the task done quickly and efficiently.
He swung his bloody sword across one of the remaining men’s necks while the man was in mid-swing, his blade pointed at Elias’ chest.
Elias backed up a step and then turned to the last man standing, his comrades’ blood splattered across his face.
“Why are ye here?” Elias demanded and then followed the soldier’s eyes, down the hall to where little Eddie stood. “For him. The bishop wants him dead.”
“And ye came here to see the duty done, aye? To a wee boy.” He didn’t give the soldier a chance to answer but swung his heavy blade. The last soldier tried to block but he wasn’t quick or strong enough, and he ending up losing his head.
After a moment he heard her voice.
“Elias?”
He missed it. Was it real? His throat and his eyes burned as he turned to see her, to lay his eyes on her again.
“Lily,” he breathed her name as if it were a prayer.
She didn’t look ill. She looked breathtaking and beautiful to him. She held little Eddie close in her arms, holding his head away from the carnage.
Was he dreaming?
“Is any of that your blood?” she asked as if she feared she were dreaming, too. She came closer, looking at his face, his clothes.
He shook his head. “Nae, my lady,” he answered softly, afraid to move lest she disappear, “‘Tis not my blood. Are ye well?”
She nodded. “Forgive me.”
Were those tears in her eyes?
“I tried to fool Bertram. I was never sick.”
Elias felt so relieved…his knees buckled beneath him. What the—his stomach twisted into a tight knot. He felt his blood begin to burn just before he hit the floor. He saw little Eddie’s tiny face, his deep blue gaze staring down at him.
And then he saw only red.
Chapter Twenty
Lily wasn’t going to lose him. Not him.
Once he saw Elias and realized he had the plague, the innkeeper would not help her get him to her horse.
At least the rains had stopped.
“Elias,” she said as she gave his cheek a few small smacks. “There are soldiers around. I need you to stand up!”
Thankfully, her beloved came to enough to make his own way to one of the six soldier’s horses, and then motioned for her and the babe to take another and leave Bertram’s horse behind.
They traveled south to a small village outside of Downe. But Elias refused to stay there and continued on toward Sevenoaks.
He needed rest. Twice, she feared he would fall from his horse, but he managed to hold on and even take command over his mount.
He was a man with a strong will. It would help him.
“Stay with me, Husband,” she commanded softly, keeping her horse at an even pace with his. “Did you think to even see me again?” She hated bringing it up, but if it produced an emotion in him to distract him from the sickness, then so be it.
“At first…I didna.” He looked away and up at the sun. His eyes gleamed in vivid hues of deeper blue against bloodshot red. “The thought of ye dyin’ with Bertram at yer bedside made me suffer madness.”
Nothing in her life since being taken from her family affected her this way. She felt a wave of emotions battering outside the doors to the innermost chasm of her heart. “Forgive me, Elias.”
“I do, my love,” he assured her with a smile that convinced her. “I’m happy to be with ye again, thankful that ye are well.”
“As you will be,” she told him. “Aye, Elias?” Her words only mattered if he believed them.
“I will be well.”
She smiled at him and he swayed in his saddle. She realized then and there exactly how much this man loved and cherished her. He’d stayed in her village before the pestilence struck. He could have outrun it, but he hadn’t moved away from her. He said and did things to make her forget the world falling apart around her. He’d waited until she was free to take her to his bed, to even kiss her. She believed he would have waited years. He’d dug his boots into the ground around her and nothing could move him.
“Elias, just a little while longer,” she promised and kept urging him on.
When they finally reached their
village. Simon and Father Benedict were there to meet them.
When he saw Elias, Simon immediately began praying while he helped Father Benedict haul him to the house with the red roof.
They managed to get Elias into Lily’s bed while she went to work on mixing herbs and boiling most. Her hands shook while she strained the contents of the pot into a cup.
Her friends came by to welcome her home and offer their aid. They mourned the loss of Clare, and the beautiful little Lizbeth. Alfred the merchant had also perished in the few days she’d been gone. Still, thank God, Ava, Norman’s daughter, had lived. The disease came and went in a whirlwind, taking or leaving its victim swiftly.
She felt faint with a rush of fear. Please, she begged God, not him. Not him.
Her friends and neighbors went outside to gather the herbs she needed.
Charlie would not leave Elias’ side and Annabelle helped look after little Eddie.
Brother Simon stayed behind to help her in the kitchen and hurry up making whatever Elias needed.
“Do you feel ill, lass?” His voice was stained with worry.
“No,” she assured him. “I am afraid to lose Elias. My heart faints at the thought of it.”
Brother Simon actually smiled and continued cleaning the herbs and roots and then cut them up for her.
“I am thankful he has found you,” he told her. “From the very first moment he saw you, you captured his heart. He disagreed with me about you not being divine.” He smiled and Lily blushed and stirred her herbs.
When she told him to go rest, he refused. “Doing these small tasks helps me keep my thoughts fixed on the Lord and not on Elias being sick. I cannot continually pray in fear.”
She nodded. “I understand.” Then she asked, “Would you mash some peas for supper?”
“Aye, and we have plenty of salmon.” He grinned and Lily realized that she hadn’t noticed his scars since the first day he came here. Brother Simon was a sweet, stern man and a loyal friend and soldier to Elias—and to her. And the children loved him.
She prepared Elias’ cup and rested her hand on his dearest friend’s shoulder.
Lily didn’t leave Elias’ side again until she left him to prepare supper. She cooled his head with vinegar and water. She fed him her remedies, and she prayed.
Elias cried out in his feverish sleep more than once. Lily was there to comfort him. She applied more salve and cooling rags to the swollen lumps on his neck, under his arms, and on his groin, then covered him again.
She ate her supper with the children while Brother Simon stayed above stairs with Elias, who had not grown worse. She didn’t visit anyone nor was anyone in the village sick.
All in all, it was a good day.
At night, she tucked the children into the bed that had been Richard’s and brought Brother Simon a cup of warm chamomile tea to help him sleep. He looked a bit gaunt, but he promised that he was just weary. He needed sleep. She nodded then bid him goodnight and thanked him for all he had done.
She climbed the stairs, praying for Elias and that God would help her not to weep and fall apart. She was afraid she would not be able to be put back together. Not if she lost Elias. What man was like him? She’d had the opportunity to meet many of them and none, not one, was like him.
She striped down to her chemise and climbed into her bed with her husband. She moved close, wanting to hold him. He’d cooled down, thanks to her herbs, and she was able to hold him in her arms
“Elias,” she whispered with her lips tilted to his ear, though he hadn’t responded much since they put him into bed. “If you can hear me, my one true love, listen to what I say. You came into my world and shook the earth and the heavy rubble that had gathered over me.
“I have never spoken of it before but…my childhood was a mixture of many different things. My father was very kind and doting. He took me everywhere with him and had been teaching me everything he knew when Bertram took me from him. It has been too long since I have seen him. I often…” she sobbed out her next breath and closed her eyes. She didn’t know one could weep without tears. She had been holding back so desperately all these years. “I have never let myself hope to see him again.
“Bertram brought me into a life too grown up for the likes of me, and I had to quickly learn how to do the worst to save my life.” She thought of little Eddie on the other side of the curtain. Or someone else’s life.
“Your love is like no other’s. Not even Richard’s, whom I love and hold to a high measure. Your smiles have cleared away the stones. Your face, revealed in the light is, oh so glorious to behold. How could my spirit, my body not want to be free of the world? In the blackest days, you brought me hope and laughter. You faced this thing without fear and did not care about your life when it came to mine.” She paused to close her eyes and tried to continue. “Thank you, Elias, but I do not want you to give your life. I want more nights with you like the last one we shared. Please, my love. You showed me what a lion heart means, for you are as gallant as the knights of old that my father used to tell me about. Fight this for me. Please, Elias.”
She wept. For the first time in nine years. It wasn’t the unbridled emotion she’d been feeling rising to the surface, but it was something. She muffled her cries against him so that the children wouldn’t hear. She almost didn’t feel Elias’ arms close around her until she relaxed into them and opened her eyes. She drew in a deep sniff and then kissed his chest and smiled. “I love you, Elias.”
“I love ye, too, my lady.”
He would fight. He would fight.
Content in knowing that if he fought, he would win—for he’d killed six English soldiers and she saw him kill three of them. She closed her eyes and slept for an hour before little Eddie’s cries woke her.
She went to his bed and remembered what he’d seen. Poor babe probably had a nightmare. Charlie left the bed and slept on the floor beside it.
She held little Eddie and kissed his golden curls until his cries ceased and his breathing became regular and deep.
Like her own.
#
It took Elias almost an hour to get out of bed. He swore in his head, for it sapped too much of his strength to speak.
He’d heard her. Her voice, so distressed, telling him her life and what he meant to her, had seeped into his thoughts and pulled him from his deep slumber. His fever had gone but he didn’t know for how long. His thoughts were still jumbled.
A child’s cry had pulled her from the bed. Elias wanted her back.
When he finally reached the draped curtain, he had to lean against the wall to remain standing. He looked into Richard’s room at the bed and Lily holding little Eddie in her arms, with Annabelle sleeping beside her, her small hand on Lily’s.
His wife looked peaceful, content, and happy. It was what he wanted for her. He could die happy.
But he wasn’t about to. She’d asked him to fight this for her. He didn’t intend to lose. But he would admit the battle was a difficult one. Still, not as difficult as thinking her dead.
He watched her sleep. He was tempted to go inside the room and wake her, ask her to come back to him. For he was weary. Too weary, in fact, to go get her.
He forced himself to walk, holding onto a chair and a table for support. He finally reached his bed and fell into it.
His neck and groin were still swollen and sore. His head pounded in his skull and he felt like hell all over. But he remembered her in his arms, in his bed at the inn. He remembered how she felt, so tight around him. He thought of groaning then wondered if it was wise that he should work himself up in such a way. But the scent of her covered him from being in her bed, in her arms. The memory of her smile, her kisses, her voice as she cried out his name made him feel hot again. He wouldn’t die. He wouldn’t leave her.
He fell into a deep slumber and didn’t hear Simon waking up and moving about downstairs. He didn’t see Lily leave her spot next to little Eddie in the middle of the night to prepare some
tea for his dearest friend.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lily stayed awake all night with Brother Simon, feeding him her blends, and wiping his forehead with vinegar and water as she had done with Elias.
Strangely, Pip spent the night beside the brother. At first, Brother Simon reacted with fear but Pip purred and the sound seemed to calm him. After an hour, they became friends, with Brother Simon giving in quickly, mostly because he had no choice. Petting the feline seemed to calm his breathing as well. But not enough.
Morning came quickly. Lily didn’t want it to—for with every hour, her dearest friend, Brother Simon grew worse.
She didn’t know why it had waited so long to attack him, or why so viciously? Was it a stronger strain coming from Elias?
“Do you think the children no longer need you?” Lily asked at his feet. She’d done her best trying to make him comfortable, sitting him in an oversized chair with his feet up on a cushioned stool Lily had sewn herself. “Do you think your duty to Elias is over?”
He shrugged his scrawny shoulders under his robes. “Elias has you. I have not seen him so lost to anything—anyone, the way he is lost to you.” He closed his eyes and shivered and coughed beneath his blankets. Pip crawled into his lap and snuggled closer to him. He took a moment to gather himself again. He reached for her hand with a trembling one of his own. “My heart is glad for him,” he reassured her. “I knew he would be well for I saw him struggle to walk to the pulled curtain where you slept. It took him a long time and my heart roared for him in silence. For he is a strong, determined man and one I am very proud of.”
She wanted to be glad Elias had felt better enough to get out of bed but she couldn’t feel happy with Brother Simon so sick.
Oh, how she hated this sickness. How randomly it chose its victims. How quickly it devoured them.
“Brother Simon?”
“Aye, lass?”
“You do realize that you are petting a cat, do you not?”
