Jenna Jaxon - Time Enough to Love 03

by Beleaguered

  “What are you doing there, wife?” Thomas sounded even more exhausted.

  “I am brewing a tea to reduce your fever, husband. My mother taught me several simple remedies, and I would help ease your pain.”

  “Whatever you will, love. You may tend me as you see fit.” Thomas shifted upon the pillows, and a low groan escaped his lips.

  Alyse stepped toward him immediately. “What pains you?”

  “My head. It has pounded since last night.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why did you not tell me?”

  “’Twas only a headache.” He sighed and refused to meet her gaze. “I thought ’twould pass.”

  She would not chide him, although she wished she had known of his malady before now. He need not have suffered so long. Oh, but she ached to go to him, wrap her arms around him, and comfort him with her presence. But ’twould only distress him. Instead, she busied herself with the herbs. “Let me finish this tea, and I will make you an infusion of betony as well.”

  His gaze met hers once more. “You are quite the physician, dear wife.”

  She wished she knew more of the symptoms of this disease. If she could only feel his skin, smell his breath…

  But when she took a step toward him, he raised a hand to ward her off. “Close enough, Alyse. Close enough.” His lids dropped back down as if of their own accord.

  So maddening not to be able to tend him properly. “Thomas?” He opened his eyes a crack. “Tell me, love, what else do you feel? You have a fever and chills, a headache, and you are fatigued. Is there more you have not told me? I promise you I can help.”

  “Nay, Alyse. That is all.” He grunted. “’Tis enough.” His eyes closed again, and she turned back to the fire. Pouring water into the herbs to brew the tea, she tried to remember what Margaret had said about Lady Maurya’s death.

  Fever and chills, and of course the swellings. Did she mention anything else? Alyse shook her head. She had plenty to treat at the moment.

  As she set the cup on the table to steep, a knock sounded at the door. She hurried to open it and found a large mug of beef broth thrust into her hands. It smelled heavenly. Pray God it would tempt Thomas. Quietly, she approached him, bent on making him sup a little.

  “Alyse,” he warned the moment she came within arm’s length of the bed.

  “I sent for some broth, Thomas. You should eat, my love, to give you strength. If I put it on the floor, can you reach it?” She stooped and slid the mug to where it could be easily grasped. After she stood up, he reached for the mug and managed to grip it, but he simply did not have the strength to lift it. His hand dropped from the mug.

  Her heart cried at his feeble effort and the look of despair on his dear face.

  Enough. To the devil with Geoffrey and his rules.

  She strode to the bed, despite Thomas’s weak attempts to ward her off, picked up the mug, and held it before his protesting mouth.

  “For pity’s sake, Thomas! On my oath, I will not touch you, but you cannot do this alone. You must allow me to help if we are to have any chance of your recovery.” She pushed the rim of the mug to his lips and urged them open. “Drink.”

  Obediently, he swallowed the broth. “Mmmm.” The small sound of pleasure warmed her like a thousand suns. He managed a smile that tugged painfully on her heart.

  “Take another sip.”

  He complied then raised a hand and waved away the cup. “Think you there is hope of my recovery?”

  She moved back to the table to check the consistency of her concoction and to garner time to answer him. Her words had sought to cajole him into drinking the broth. Did she believe them true?

  Carefully, she strained the leaves and brought the infusion to him. “There is always hope, Thomas.” But she would not lie to him. “And there are miracles.” She held the tea for him to drink, which he dutifully did, though he wrinkled his nose at the pungent taste.

  “Aye, love, there are miracles. I have one standing before me.” The longing in his eyes twisted a knife in her heart. Best distract him before her tears began once more.

  “Are you warm enough now, Thomas?” Sweat had popped out on her forehead and neck.

  “’Tis better now. The broth and the tea helped. And that fire feels wonderful.” Thomas lay back on the pillows, his brow smooth, his eyelids heavy. “So tired.” He should rest, but she was loath to miss one minute with him. Time had suddenly become their most precious commodity.

  “Then what you need most right now is sleep.” She could not deny that which might strengthen him.

  “What I need most right now is you, my love. Come sit and talk with me.” He pointed to the chair at the foot of the bed, but Alyse shook her head.

  “I need to gather the betony for your headache, and I want you to try to sleep while I’m gone.” She made her tone as enticing as possible. “I promise not to leave until you are asleep, and I will awaken you as soon as I return.”

  He nodded, and his eyes drifted shut. Oh, but she longed to hold his hand, to smooth his face, to press her kiss upon his brow. How could she refrain from touching him when her arms ached to enfold him?

  Sheer willpower stayed her hands as she waited. Priceless seconds that might be their last slipped away. Finally, in the heavy silence, her husband’s deep, even breathing told her he slept. She quickly let herself out of the room and headed to the medicinal garden near the manor’s vegetable plot. She had explored here soon after their arrival in Loremo. ’Twas good to be prepared against sickness, her mother had told her even as she had taught her about healing. If only her mother were here now. Or Uncle Antoine.

  Good Lord. She stopped, bent over to pick a stem of the betony. Monasteries. Why had she not thought of it before? Her Uncle Antoine was an abbot at a Benedictine monastery and had often told her of the work his order had done with healing the sick. ’Twas why her mother had so much medical knowledge.

  With swift, sure hands, she gathered the necessary plants and retraced her steps to her chamber, hope speeding her feet.

  When she reached the place where two corridors joined, she paused. Should she consult with Geoffrey first, see if he knew of a religious order hereabouts? By now remedies might have been found to help. She stared down the hall toward their chamber then back into the corridor that led to the main part of the manor. Her heart said to check on her husband. Scarcely a moment later, she opened the door and quickly approached the bed.

  Please God let him still live.

  She sighed with relief to see Thomas slept, face flushed, and covers kicked to the floor. She dropped the betony on the table and stooped to right them. It took all her willpower to stop herself from feeling his forehead, though she could see from his high color he burned yet with fever. Torn between her need to stay and tend to Thomas and her desire to seek out other remedies, Alyse hesitated, watching her husband’s uneven breathing. She shook her head. She had to try.

  After putting water on to boil, she slipped out of the room, making sure not to waken Thomas. She headed back to the stairs and toward Geoffrey’s chamber. He should know if there was a monastery nearby; and perhaps they would know of a remedy.

  As she hurried on down empty corridors, the lack of bustling inhabitants caught her attention. She passed only a few servants and not one courtier. Strange. Where had all the people gone? Had they fled so quickly, leaving her and Thomas alone? She sped her steps to Geoffrey’s chamber.

  For the second time that day, she knocked on his door, but this time he opened it almost immediately, and his face drained of color. “Has Thomas…?”

  “Nay, Geoffrey.” Anger at his assumption set her teeth on edge. “Even this pestilence does not move so quickly. We do not even know for certain that he has that dread sickness. His ailments are not specific to one disease alone.”

  Geoffrey narrowed his eyes, pursed his lips as if to speak, but instead shrugged and joined her in the corridor. “Then why are you here? I thought you were hell-bent on tending him?” He
crossed his arms over his chest with a studied carelessness.

  “He is sleeping at the moment.” Infuriating man. “I went to fetch betony for his headache.” She waved the stalk of purple flowers at him, infusing the hall with its aromatic smell. “I thought I should come ask if you had heard of any remedies being used to treat the disease.”

  Geoffrey shrugged. “You might ask the physician, except he is dead as well. From what I have learned this morning, fully half the household is sick, dead, or dying.”

  Dear God.

  Her jaw went slack, the horror of his words robbing her of speech. She stood staring at Geoffrey, who stared back in stony silence, as if daring her to talk of remedies. At last she gathered enough moisture in her mouth to swallow and regained the ability to speak. “Is there nothing we can do?”

  He clenched his jaw. “I have given orders that people are to keep to their chambers as much as possible to reduce the spread of the contagion.” The worry lines in his face had deepened. He carried the welfare of a princess of England and what was left of her entourage on his shoulders. A heavy burden he had had no choice but to assume. “There are certain servants who have been chosen to serve the princess’s needs and those of her immediate court who are still living.” Dull blue eyes stared at her out of the haggard face. “Other than that, I fear I am sadly lacking in ideas.”

  His bitter disappointment in himself, in his inability to save those around him, wrenched her already torn heart. “Why do you not take Mary and the princess and leave as we had planned this morning? The three of you could take the carriage and escape to the countryside.”

  Geoffrey glanced toward his chamber door and sighed. “Mary’s ordeal this morning has weakened her in body and mind. She is not able to travel.”

  “Could you not take the princess then, and Anne if she is still well?” If he could save the princess, mayhap all would not be lost. “As long as there is someone with the Her Highness as chaperone, it would be permissible.”

  “And leave y—” He shifted away from her. “Mary here alone?” He scowled at her as though she had blasphemed. “I could no more do that than...than you could leave Thomas. Would you be willing to go with me and the princess?”

  Alyse shook her head. He was right. She would not leave her husband though it meant Joanna remaining in grave danger. So did Geoffrey care so deeply for his wife? The sting of jealousy pricked her, yet she beat it back. She had come to love Thomas. Why should it be different for Geoffrey?

  “I beg your pardon. I am so distraught I did not think. Of course you could not leave Mary. But is there no way to send the princess to safety?”

  He glanced at the floor, unwilling to meet her eyes, and shook his head. “I fear, Alyse, we must simply ride out the storm here. If the princess can survive and there are courtiers left to accompany her, then we can try to reach England. But as of now, there are not enough noblemen to protect her or women to act as chaperones who are willing to undertake such a journey. While the sickness rages, we must wait and see.”

  Alyse nodded, seeing the sense of his words, yet she trembled for the princess, who now had only Lady Anne to attend her. She wished she could go to the young girl and offer hope and comfort, but between Thomas and Joanna, there was no question who commanded her loyalty. For better or for worse, her duty lay with her husband.

  “Was there anything else, Alyse? I should go back to Mary now.”

  She shook her head sadly. If Geoffrey had become this despondent, they truly all must despair.

  “Know you of a monastery close by?” She fought to keep the hope from her voice.

  “Aye.” He cocked his head. “Would you have me fetch a priest for Thomas? The princess’s confessor is dead.”

  “Dear Lord.” Alyse swayed, and Geoffrey’s hand steadied her. “Oh, I had not thought of a priest for the last rites.” She burst into tears. Thomas would die unshriven and face the torments of Purgatory for countless years. Why had she not thought earlier? ’Twas now late afternoon. “Can you fetch one, Geoffrey? They may also have medical knowledge against the pestilence.”

  He shook his head. “’Tis at least an hours’ ride back along the road to Bordeaux then a turning, twisty path up a hillside in the dark. There is not enough time. If he survives the night, I will go in the morning.”

  “No! No, you must go now! He cannot die without confession. Please, Geoffrey, I beg of you.” She sank to her knees before him.

  Holy Mother, please, let him see reason.

  He reached down and pulled her up, drew her near, and kissed the top of her head. “You may hear his confession, Alyse. I have done so on the battlefield. As this scourge seems to be God’s will, it must serve.” He clasped her fiercely to him and whispered, “Goodbye, my love.” Before she could say a word, he had opened the door and disappeared inside.

  Alyse stood looking at the closed door, clenching her hands until her palms ached.

  Damn you, Geoffrey Longford.

  Slowly, she squared her shoulders and started for her own chamber.

  As Alyse entered their rooms, Thomas’s labored breathing revealed his worsened condition. She laid the betony on the table then stole toward the bed, dread in her heart. Even in sleep, his face was flushed with fever and he struggled for breath. His body moved restlessly, thrashing feebly beneath the covers. He seemed in pain still, his brow furrowed and his mouth pursed.

  She could not bear to see him in such torment. A sob escaped her throat, making him start from his sleep and wince.

  Such displays must stop. He should see her calm and in control. For both their sakes. She gave him a shaky smile. “Forgive me, my love, for startling you. I did not mean to wake you until the infusion was ready.”

  With an effort, Thomas shook his head. “’Tis all right, my sweet.” His voice was now thick with pain. “I would be awake when you are near. Sit, Alyse. I have need to tell you much, and I fear my time grows short.” He stopped, worn out with the effort of speaking as Alyse drew near the bed.

  “Let me but prepare the betony, and I will come sit by you while it steeps, my love. A moment only.” Anything she could do to ease his pain must be done, though his greater weakness sent fear coursing through her.

  Hurriedly, she tore the flowers from the stalk and dropped them in the cup. A moment to splash the hot water on them, and she pulled the chair from the foot of the bed halfway to its head, within easy reach of him.

  “Alyse, you are too close.”

  At his protest, she shushed him firmly. By God’s breath, she’d had enough. Boldly, she took his hand as it lay on the coverlet, appalled by the heat that radiated from it. How on earth could she manage to cool him?

  Outraged, Thomas tried to snatch it back, but she held on and gazed into his beautiful brown eyes.

  “My love, if it is God’s will that I take this sickness then I will do so no matter what I do or say. And if God wills it, he will spare you or me or both or neither. It is out of our hands, love. I will hold your hand and comfort you as best I can for as long as I can.” She touched her lips to his hand. “And remember, my dearest husband, early this morning we touched and kissed and caressed all during our loving. So say nothing of my touching you now, for I held your body within mine only a short time ago. If holding aught will bring on this disease then I have already taken it from you.”

  His face contorted with fear, but she stroked his hand gently until he seemed to calm once more. “What would you tell me, my lord? I would have you speak what you will.”

  “I scarce know what to say, Alyse. How many ways can I say I love you?” The sincerity and love in the hoarse voice smote her heart, and she brushed back tears.

  “You need say nothing at all, dearest heart, for I see your love whene’er I behold your face.” ’Twas hard to see that love shining there now. She took his dear hand and entwined their fingers. “You have done me that honor, and I have never doubted you.” Her eyes brimmed over and tears ran down her cheeks unheeded. “I lov
e you, too. You must know that.” She squeezed his hand. “You have been the best of husbands. No one could have been kinder or more loving.”

  Dear Lord, I cannot bear this.

  “Shhh, Alyse. Weep not, my sweet. Let me remember your lovely face without tears.”

  “Oh, Thomas.” She could not obey him, for the tears could not be stopped. Her throat tightened until she could scarce breathe.

  With an effort, he separated their fingers and slowly raised his hand. She helped him place it against her face so he could wipe the tears away, comforting her once more. Her gaze sought his beloved face, but a shadow under his arm drew her attention instead.

  “God, no.” She gave a strangled cry and leaned forward, gently moving his arm to reveal a dark mass. Blood drained from her face and blackness stole over her vision. She gripped his arm and turned back to her husband, but his face showed no fear.

  “Aye, and there is another on the far side of my neck. I felt them hurting when I awakened.” He spoke with that careless tone he affected to mask his most intense emotions.

  ’Tis truly the end.

  All hope ebbed with the appearance of the swellings for ’twas said they heralded the final stage of the disease. God would grant no miracle to them today.

  “My love, you must not despair.” He spoke in a low, soothing tone despite his pain. “We say goodbye but for a short while. I pray this sickness does not take you, for I still have hope that you carry my child. ’Tis possible now, is it not?” He looked at her eagerly.

  The idea acted as a spark to her dulled mind. She might carry Thomas’s child.

  “Aye, my love.” She smiled for the first time in what seemed a lifetime. “It is very early days yet, but ’tis certainly possible that your babe grows in me this moment.” She stood and stepped closer to him then placed his hand on her belly. “Pray God he is growing there even now and can feel his father’s hand caressing him. I will tell him of this moment, and of your love for us both.”