She shook her head at his stubbornness. Without his cooperation, she couldn’t aid him. “I know something of healing,” she admitted reluctantly.
One eye opened briefly. “Truly?”
“Aye. If you want my help, you’ll have to tell me what’s wrong.”
A long moment of silence was her only answer. At last, he said, “’Tis my shoulder. An old injury that refuses to heal.”
She eyed the surcoat and mail and ran her hand lightly over each shoulder, but could detect no heat. “Which?”
He raised his hand and gestured toward his right.
Again, she touched the area, focusing intently for warmth. There! She detected a faint hint of heat. But she could do nothing until he removed the garments. Unless she was mistaken, he wore a padded aketon under those layers.
She bit her lip and lifted the arm that lay at his side. She eased up his surcoat to find leather laces bound the metal coat to his body along his side. She plucked at the laces in the dim light, at last feeling them loosen. “Do you remove them completely?”
William opened his eyes and raised his brow, a smile playing about his lips. “Do you intend to take advantage of me?”
She glared at him. How could he jest at a time like this?
“Aye,” he whispered, “you’d best take off the laces else I’ll not be able to remove the mail.”
As she worked the leather out of the links, she could see he did the same on the other side. “Isn’t it rather uncomfortable?” she asked, referring to the chain mail.
“Nay, my lady. Your touch doesn’t bother me at all.”
Even as she opened her mouth to protest, she realized he quipped. This playful side of him was charming. “Your sense of humor must often cause you problems, William.”
He hissed with pain as he moved his sore shoulder. “I only seek a smile from you. You’re far too somber.”
“We’ll see who is smiling once we remove your mail. I fear it will not be you.”
“Ah, the lady has a sharp edge to her tongue.” He drew a shallow breath, and she could tell his pain struck deep. “You have healing skills?”
The laces were free at last, and she moved to his other side to finish what he’d started. “I do.”
He frowned. “The girl. The little girl who fell off the fence. What did you do to her?”
Cristiana paused in her movements. Keeping her gift hidden kept her both sane and safe. The less who knew of her talent, the better. That included this man.
“I only comforted her.” Those with minor illnesses and injuries could easily be convinced that was the case. Those with more serious ones were often unconscious when she helped them. Either method worked for her. She could tell by the person’s eyes what they knew and what they only suspected.
And whether they deemed her good or evil.
It mattered not to her.
Well, that wasn’t completely true. She didn’t care for the wary expression that came over people when the idea of the devil having a hand in aiding them crossed their minds.
“If you could rise a bit, I’ll try to lift the mail over your head.”
William merely looked at her, his brow arched in disbelief.
“Can’t you lift up on your elbows at least?”
“My lady, the chances of you removing this are slim.” He tapped his chest as he spoke. “Perhaps you should fetch Henry.”
She frowned at the chain mail. “They are only little links. How heavy can it be?”
With a sigh, he rose up onto his elbows and lifted his backside. She pushed the mail up so he could ease down again. “That wasn’t so bad.” She looked at him, quite pleased with her progress.
He gave her a small smile. Obviously, the effort to remove the mail was already taking its toll. She’d best work quickly before his strength left him. She started at his back and lifted the long flap of chain mail. Or tried to.
“Oh, dear heavens. This is heavy. How do you manage to walk about in this?”
“One gets used to it,” he muttered. He drew a slow breath, then sat up and reached for the back of his mail. With her assistance, he lifted it hand over hand until it covered his head then she helped shove it to the side.
Cristiana was breathless from her efforts. The padded aketon proved much easier to remove, leaving only a thin tunic on his upper body. His back burned beneath her hands even through the linen, the fever in full evidence. Yet still he had the strength to remove the mail. Her mouth went dry as she realized how very strong this man was.
At last, he eased back down to the ground, his tunic covering him yet revealing more than she’d seen before, hinting at his muscled torso. She lifted her hand but halted at the thought of touching him.
“You have no supplies to aid me,” he said.
His gaze captured hers, and she found she couldn’t lie to him. “Nay. I do not.”
“What is it that you intend to do?” His eyes narrowed with suspicion.
Her heart sank a little at the look. Would he find her evil after she did what needed to be done?
She dropped her gaze, for she found she wasn’t ready to deal with the answer to that question.
“Let us see the wound first.” With gentle hands, she removed his linen tunic to reveal the muscled flesh beneath. A line of dark hair speared up from the top of his chausses and spread across his broad chest. His stomach rippled as his muscles contracted with pain. She swallowed hard at the sight before her.
While she’d seen men in various forms of disarray before, never had she seen a man in the prime of his life bare-chested. The perfection of his upper body begged to be touched, but she resisted the urge. Still, a work of art such as his body deserved a moment of reverence.
His muscled chest was forgotten as she gazed at the angry wound on his shoulder, its jagged edges gaping open to reveal the swollen tissue beneath. “No sword caused this wound,” she muttered.
“A lance.”
“You received this jousting? I thought there were rules against such things.”
Again, that small smile graced his lips. “Aye, so there are.”
“Someone wished you great harm.”
“Someone wished me dead.”
Her gaze held his. “I’m glad they failed.”
“As am I.” He closed his eyes and seemed to relax. Did that mean he’d begun to trust her?
She berated herself for worrying about such nonsense. She didn’t need his trust to heal him. Knowing how weak she’d be after she helped him, she threw more wood on the fire, noting no one else in the camp had stirred. Even the man-at-arms set to keep watch dozed.
She pulled the furs that had covered her onto William. He would be chilled when she drew the fever out of him.
A wound as bad as this would take all the strength she had and then some. Doubt filled her. She pushed it aside, certain that God would not have put this man in her path if she couldn’t help him.
Luckily, William appeared to have succumbed to sleep; the fever had sapped his strength. That was for the best. She needed to focus all of her attention on the wound and she’d be better able to do so if he wasn’t watching her. Several deep breaths cleared her mind and a familiar feeling of peace came over her. Slowly, gently, she touched the area around the wound, pausing when William moaned with pain.
She glanced once more at the knight, but his eyes remained closed. After shutting her own, she took one last breath and then pushed with her mind, shoving the heat out of William’s shoulder. She held it as long as she could, then released it. The heat rushed back in, reluctant to relinquish its grip. It was worse than she’d feared.
When an injury or illness was severe, she could not draw the pain into herself immediately. The danger was too great. Her only choice was to push the pain out, forcing it to loosen its hold. Only then, when it had weakened, could she pull it into her own body.
How had he ridden all day on his horse, not to mention helping her off that cliff face, with an injury such as this? Guil
t filled her as she realized she was partly to blame.
She gathered herself again, determined to gain the upper hand with his injury. Using her thoughts powered by all her strength, she pushed again and held the heat back even longer. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she wrestled with it.
Again the heat returned, but not as strongly this time. She sat back on her heels, needing a few moments to regain her strength. ’Twas a fine line she had to tread with a severe injury, and a risky one at that.
Should she explain her intentions to the knight in case the results were disastrous? Yet how could she explain what she barely understood? Nay, best to proceed and hope all turned out well.
She rose to her knees above William and placed both hands on either side of his wound. She continued taking slow, deep breaths until that peaceful feeling returned. This time, she pulled the heat into herself and held it tight.
As though needing a place to be, the heat entered her, leaving but a wisp inside William that she could feel. Relief swept through her, chased closely by a throbbing pain so intense, she could hardly breathe.
A whimper escaped her lips, but she bit back the moan. The knight would be alarmed if he saw her like this. She had to hide it as quickly as possible.
William stirred, his eyes opening and resting on her, his tiredness still apparent. “What is it, my lady?”
She knew she was pale and shaking, but there was nothing she could do about it.
“Cristiana? What’s wrong?” He sat up and drew her into his arms.
“I am...fine,” she managed, pleased at the cool feel of his shoulder beneath her cheek. Rather than pull away as her mind told her she should, she took comfort in his strong arms, in the tender way he held her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been held thusly.
“You’re trembling,” he said as he drew her even tighter into his embrace.
Tears filled her eyes at his concern. She couldn’t push away the swell of emotion coursing through her, not sure why she was reacting like this. He didn’t seem to understand what had happened. Or perhaps he didn’t remember it. She’d prefer the latter.
He lifted her chin to study her face, his worry evident. “What’s amiss?”
The pain had faded, but the rush of emotions continued. Unable to speak without sobbing, she shook her head.
His gaze dropped to her lips. What could she do but offer them to him? Slowly, his lips covered hers, warm and gentle. Desire spread through her, causing her to quiver as her heart pounded. She reminded herself that these feelings were only because of her weakened state. Somehow his attentions seemed to aid her, giving her back a little of her strength.
He placed a hand alongside her cheek and turned her face to deepen the kiss. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she parted them in surprise. The intimacy of his kiss thrilled her. Heat spiraled through her body until he became her entire world.
The sensation overwhelmed her, frightening her with its intensity. She couldn’t afford to let this man have that kind of power over her, couldn’t let herself need anyone. No matter how difficult she found it, she had to stand alone.
She pulled back to look into his face. His intense gaze was too much. Exhaustion caught up with her; her limbs felt as though they were full of lead. Her mind numb, she lowered her gaze and spoke at last, “I am tired from...the journey. Please forgive me.”
With slow, careful movements, she lay down on the cold, hard ground, weary from her efforts. Healing him provided a layer of intimacy between them, but that kiss...
She couldn’t complete the thought. Her tired mind couldn’t begin to process what had just happened. As she closed her eyes, she felt him draw the fur over her.
Then she remembered nothing else.
***
William awoke at dawn as was customary for him. Before he opened his eyes, he shifted onto his back and straightened his injured shoulder slowly as he had done the last few months, bracing for the pain. The past fortnight had involved many nights on the cold ground, and each morning was a struggle to ease the pain and tightness that crept in during the night. He moved his shoulder with care, preparing himself for the deep ache that followed.
But felt nothing.
He froze, trying to remember what had happened and where he was. He’d been feverish the night before and feared his shoulder was worsening—that much he knew.
Opening his eyes, he raised his arm. A slight stiffness was all he felt. He touched his shoulder, trying to understand what miracle had befallen him.
His gaze caught on the fur-covered form curled near his side visible in the light of dawn.
He was surprised she hadn’t found some way to escape during the night. His breath caught as he remembered waking up to find her pale and trembling beside him. The kiss they’d shared had been more than he’d expected, certainly more than he’d experienced with anyone before. He could clearly remember holding her with both arms.
What had she done to him?
The last thing he remembered before their kiss was her kneeling above him, her hands pressed against him. His thoughts returned to the little girl who’d so miraculously recovered from her fall off the fence. Cristiana had no healing poultices with her, no herbs to apply, no strange tea to steep and force down his throat. What power did this woman have?
The abbess’ words came back to him, ‘Cristiana is special.’ Is that what she’d meant? He tried desperately to remember what else the nun had told him. What had Cristiana said to him the previous night?
Was this...power, this...ability the reason the bishop wanted her? Did he know of her skill?
He sat up, and pushed back the tent flap to let in more light. With trepidation, he looked down at his shoulder. Gone was the angry wound. In its place was a puckered scar, small in size considering the width of the blade that had pierced him. He touched the area gingerly. A slight tenderness was all he felt, nothing compared to what he’d endured these past months.
Hell’s teeth! What magic had she performed?
He moved over to her and touched her shoulder. “Cristiana.”
She stirred briefly but didn’t awaken.
“Cristiana. Tell me what you’ve done.” He needed an explanation.
She moaned and tried to open eyes that seemed weighted down. “What is it?” she muttered.
“What did you do?”
Wariness dawned on her expression as she lay there looking at him. Disappointment fell over her face before she masked it. “What do you mean?”
So well did she hide her reaction, that for a brief moment, he believed her. He shook his head to clear his mind. “You had best give me an explanation.”
The image of calmness, she raised her brow. “An explanation for what? I fear you are making no sense, Sir William.”
William stared at her, trying to rein in his reeling emotions. He’d been on the verge of thinking himself permanently maimed from his damned injury only to wake to find it gone.
He hadn’t realized how much his wound had changed his whole attitude, his very belief in himself.
Or rather, his doubt in himself.
“I want to know what you did and how you did it. I deserve to know.”
She frowned, as though he spoke a language she didn’t understand. “You had a fever last night. It seems to have addled your brain.” She sat up and pushed off the fur then rose, nearly losing her balance before stepping out of the tent. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see to a personal matter.”
“Cristiana! Wait!” William stood and found himself wincing in anticipation of his shoulder. But nothing happened. Nothing but a twinge that could be blamed on sleeping on the cold, hard ground. “Damn.”
Before she could flee into the woods never to be seen again, he caught her arm. She seemed to be only a shadow of her radiant self this morn. Shadows marked her eyes, her posture less than perfect as though weighted down by some unseen force.
“Leave me be,” she demanded.
“Do you
have any idea how many times you’ve said that to me since we met?”
“Not enough apparently, for you still will not heed my request.”
“I want an answer.”
The flicker of hurt passed over her face so quickly, he wasn’t certain he’d seen it. “I have none. Seek your answer elsewhere.”
“Nay. The answer lies in you.”
She held his gaze for a long moment as though searching for something. Somehow he knew she found him lacking. She shook her head, sighing as she turned away. “I will wake Sister Mawde so we can be on our way.”
“This is not over,” he warned her. “We will speak of this again.”
She didn’t respond.
CHAPTER FIVE
Bishop Thomas Duval gestured impatiently to Father Daniel to cover the letter he’d been transcribing as Abbot Clarke strode into his chamber. He did not want the abbot to discern the contents of the correspondence. Clarke’s lack of respect for his privacy was extremely annoying.
“Good day to you, Thomas. Father Daniel,” Abbot Clarke said, his cheery smile in place as always.
“To what do I owe this unexpected visit this morn?” Thomas asked, making little attempt to hide his displeasure. “Father Daniel and I are in the middle of an important letter. What petty grievance do you wish to bother me with?”
The abbot refused to send a message to announce his visits. That alone annoyed Thomas but was only one of the reasons the man was a constant thorn in Thomas’s side. Clarke took his desire to do good deeds too far—at the cost of the plans Thomas had for the church.
The abbey that Clarke oversaw sat just outside Longsbury. It was Thomas’s poor luck that the abbot was such an excellent steward of the land the abbey controlled. Getting rid of him would prove much easier if he failed his duties.
“Mayhap I’ve come to inquire about your health,” the abbot suggested.
Thomas stilled as worry filled him. “Why? I am in perfect health.”
“Have you no sense of humor this fine day?” Clarke shook his head. “In truth I do have a matter to discuss.”
“As I expected.” Thomas relaxed and gestured for Father Daniel to leave them. As the door closed behind the priest who served as his clerk, Thomas studied the abbot. Clarke stood before his desk, his posture erect, his hands tucked inside the pockets of his black robe.
Vengeance 03 - Believe In Me Page 5
