“Yes, but I can rub my own thigh.”
“Shall I stop then?”
“No. I confess you have a way of making my leg feel better than I do.”
“Roll over on your stomach.”
His eyes flew open. She’d entered a new level of shock to his medieval sensibilities.
“Don’t start with the I shouldn’t do this talk. Your leg is feeling better, I know from how it feels in my hand. I’m going to massage your calf and it will feel wonderful too. Trust me.”
“Perhaps we should share some wine first. It feels like we should. My wine bag is in the basket next to the fish bucket.”
Several swallows later, his mood mellowed and he let her work on his calf. She suggested letting her massage the thigh of his injured leg but he said absolutely not and refused to discuss it further.
Emily settled for a partial victory. Once his pain passed, Simon fished until time for the midday meal. While he fished, she walked along the riverbank gathering flat rocks as equal in size as possible.
****
After dinner that night, when the minstrels Richard had hired left, some of the men went into the village. Richard, Simon, and Emily retired to their chambers.
Emily warmed the stones she found in a pan she borrowed from the kitchen. Unsure how exactly to heat them other than over a fire in her chamber, which she feared would make them too hot, she thought to try heating them in hot water. When the stones were hot enough for the heat to penetrate cloth but not too hot to handle, she wrapped them in a length of linen. She checked that the corridor was empty and went down the hall to Simon’s.
She knocked on his chamber door. Hopefully, he’d let her use the hot rocks to help ease the tension in his good leg. In the past she’d had trouble with stiffness in her neck and back and she’d given hot stone massage therapy a try. It worked for her.
“Emily. Is anything wrong?” Simon asked, answering his door. He peered down the corridor in both directions. “Why are you here?”
“I’m going to help you even more than I was able to earlier today,” she said, stepping past him and into his chamber.
He opened his mouth to object, no doubt. She quickly added, “I know this is improper...in your world. I’m fine with it and if you think about it, you should be too. There’s only us and Richard on this side of the castle and he’s done for the night. No one else is around.”
“And, you took the opportunity to barge your way into my chamber to show me rocks?” he asked, looking from her to the stones and back.
“These are part of the treatment. I need you to lie down and I’m going to plant these warm stones in different places along your spine and leg. You’ll feel great when I’m done.”
Simon touched several of the stones.
“They won’t burn. They’re not painfully hot,” Emily reassured him.
A placating half-smile was followed by a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You obviously don’t know how they stopped the bleeding from my injured leg and the battle wounds of many others.”
She didn’t remember the details of medieval medicine. From his demeanor and the barbarity of the treatment in this time she did recall, whatever they did, it was horrible. “Like I said, this won’t hurt. I’ll need you to undress a bit for the treatment to be most effective.”
“I won’t take my chausses off. People or no people close at hand, I am not taking the chance. I will remove my shirt.” He’d slipped out of the tunic he wore at dinner and put on a blousy linen shirt Emily assumed he slept in. He loosened the leather lacing from the shirt and pulled it over his head. In the soft candlelight, the few strands of grey that had begun to dot the brownish hair on his chest caught the light and looked like silk threads. She knew he was barrel-chested. That was easily seen no matter what he wore. With his shirt off, she saw how well built he truly was, with a much narrower waist and heavily muscled arms.
He sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. When he finished he asked, “Now what?”
“Lie on your stomach and try to empty your mind of worries and everyday matters.”
He stretched out with his arms crossed under his head. She put the linen aside and lined his spine with half the warm stones. The second half of the stones she placed on the back of the thigh and calf of his good leg. “All right so far?”
“So far.”
Working the muscles of his shoulders with her hands, she asked with genuine curiousity, “How did they stop your leg from bleeding?”
The muscles across his back flexed under her fingers, forcing her to manipulate them harder. She didn’t have a lot of strength in her hands and they’d be sore later, but he was hurting. The crutch threw ordinary movement off, not just the leg. His shoulders and back had to suffer with the shift in weight. She pressed the heels of her hands deeper into his shoulders and along his neck. He hadn’t answered and when she figured he wouldn’t, he did.
“First the arrow from a crossbow pierced my greave and entered below my knee. I continued to fight, of course. The wound was bad but not so crippling as to keep me out of the fight. I was close-in fighting a French cavalryman when another came to his aid. Trapped between them, the second knight struck the knee of my injured leg with his morning star, crushing the bone.”
The knotted muscles in his back relaxed as he talked. Perhaps speaking of the event that dramatically changed his life, helped, gave him a bit of emotional release. Emily credited her contribution too.
“I knew when the injuries occurred both required cauterization. After the battle, the Prince sent his personal battlefield surgeon. My leg from the knee down was beyond repair, which I knew, but it’s still a gut-wrenching thing to hear. Blood poured from the morning star wound and would from the arrow wound once the barb was removed. Two burly priests had me bite down on my sword belt as the barb was removed. The same two held me down while the surgeon heated my sword to red hot.”
A shudder passed over Emily in anticipation of what was coming next.
“They put the blade to my wounds, burning damaged flesh, sealing the veins and stopping the flow of blood.”
“Dear God, how could you bear it?”
“I didn’t have much choice. The first was the worst pain imaginable. That is until the second cauterization after the amputation. I fell into a faint when they applied the heated sword again.” He gave a deep sigh and said, “You can press harder. I won’t fall faint beneath your ministrations.”
She briefly entertained the idea of climbing on top of him and straddling his hips to massage his back and shoulders. She chickened out, afraid he might get the wrong idea. To avoid being considered a tart, she’d have to tell him no, if he became too amorous. A man like Simon wouldn’t ask twice. She’d settle for massaging from the side.
He moaned and turned his head so they could talk eye-to-eye. “You’ve the hands of an angel. The feel of them upon my sore body is a touch of heaven.”
She smiled and said, “Thank you.” You don’t feel so bad yourself.
Chapter Sixteen
Elysian Fields
Two weeks later, the last week of May, 1357
The knights filed out of the hall, laughing and talking among themselves. They all looked relieved when Emily announced class was over. Richard had given her several of his old ledger books with monthly costs of food and other castle supplies listed along with the amounts paid and the vendor. He supported her efforts to teach the knights how to read and understand accounting basics.
She’d burned through all the candles in her chamber the night before trying to decipher the Middle English entries for what was purchased. Nor did she know what some amounts translated to, like bushel and peck, only that they were agricultural in nature. The knights already knew basic math, which helped. She varied the lessons to keep the men from getting bored. When not working on ledgers, she concentrated on reading and writing.
Closing the accounts book she used that day, Emily asked Simon, “What’s the word in the bar
racks? Are the men hating the lessons?”
“The weather is good and they’re used to working outside and enjoying the sunshine.”
“Avoidance of a direct answer. That means they’re not liking the lessons. I feel bad you’re making them come when they hate it.”
“Oh well. An hour out of their day won’t kill them.”
“What about you? Are you hating it?”
“You’re a fine teacher.”
“Simon, that is not an answer. You can be honest.”
“I’m not excited to learn my letters. I am afraid I still don’t see how this is a boon to me, but I do like learning to solve math problems.”
“You and the others don’t need to know how to read complicated written language. What I’m hoping you take from the lessons, is a means to save time, and possess an efficient way to determine all the financial aspects of running the castle. If something happens to Richard that prevents him from performing his duties, you’ll be able to step in as acting steward.”
“I understand. Richard and I agree it is good idea. I just don’t like all the plan entails.” He propped his crutch against the table, then half sat, half leaned against the table. Taking the book she held close to her chest, he set it down next to him. “My favorite part of the lessons is the teacher. She’s much merrier on the eyes than a load of scribbled numbers.”
“Thank you. You’re the first student who’s ever flirted with me.” She skipped pointing out her students in her other life were nine and ten years old.
A faint grin flashed before he looked up toward the leaded windows. “The sun is brilliant today,” he said, looking back at her. “I wondered if you’d care to go riding with me. I could get Beulah to pack us a spot of food.”
The mention of a ride and picnic stirred thoughts of Electra and their fateful ride with Roger. She considered suggesting they stop at the outcropping. Maybe, just maybe, the portal would open and she’d get home. She dismissed the thought. She couldn’t in good conscience leave Electra behind. Electra would never leave her.
“From your silence, I take it my suggestion of a ride doesn’t please you.” Simon straightened. “I’ll return this to Richard.” He picked up the book.
“Stop. I’d love to go riding with you. I was just thinking of what might be a nice place to rest and eat.”
“I know a place. You go ahead and have the stable boy saddle one of the mares and I’ll join you as soon as Beulah has filled a basket for us.”
Emily hurried to her chamber and switched her soft shoes for the field boots she wore the day she wound up back in time and dashed out to the stable. Simon hadn’t arrived yet when she got there. One of the stable boys was polishing the silver trim on a bridle and she recruited him to tack up a chestnut mare she liked. Simon had told her no one had named the horse and that she was one of the least ridden. Emily said she wanted to name the horse and Simon didn’t mind so she called the mare Ruby.
Emily sat on the turned-up bucket the boy had used while he went about the task of tacking the mare. The bucket was in a shaded area of the barn and not in the entry’s line of sight. As she waited, Harold and Cedric, another knight, came in chatting. They’d sat together in Emily’s class whispering while she spoke. One sharp look from Simon silenced them for the rest of the lesson. Each went to the stall where their mounts were kept, talking as they saddled their horses. Neither man had noticed Emily sitting in the corner.
“I’ll be happy to see the ladies at the Bear and Badger tonight,” Harold said. “I’ve been too long without female companionship.”
“What about Annie the milkmaid? I thought you and she were...you know?”
“No, we are not, not anymore. The woman could talk the bark from a tree. My lord in heaven, she rambled on and on the entire time we...well.”
Cedric gave a little shake of his head. “I’m disappointed in you. I’d have thought you, of all men, would figure how to keep her from being able to talk.”
“I tried that. Sadly, it’s but a temporary reprieve.”
“Which wench do you plan on whiling away the evening with tonight?”
“Either Binney or Ruth. I want nothing to do with Louise. What a wickedly unpleasant tart. She’s the reason the other two charge Simon extra. At her urging, they told him to his face cripples are evil to look upon. That what was left of his damaged leg was an abomination to gentle eyes. If he wanted their company, he must make it worth their time.”
Cedric stopped what he was doing. “Good lord, I had no idea they treated him so poorly. If that’s how she wants to be, Louise won’t see coin from me either. Did Simon tell you this?”
“No. He’s too proud to ever share such an insult. I heard it from the horse’s mouth, or in this case, the whore’s mouth. I overheard the three repeating what was said and laughing.”
Appalled by the whore’s attitude and mean-spirited treatment of Simon, Emily almost revealed herself, desperate to add her own comments to the topic. An unexpected pang of jealousy over Simon’s intimacy with another woman fired her anger as well, even if the woman was a stupid skank.
Harold and Cedric left as the stable boy brought Ruby to her. She mounted and trotted Ruby around the bailey, warming her up, the whole time the hateful whores preyed on her mind. She didn’t know what she’d do yet, but she’d do whatever it took to show Simon he was as attractive as any two-legged man.
Simon came out with an old flour sack in his hand. “I’ll be but a moment,” he called and limped faster toward the stable.
Emily smiled and waved and hid her dismay at seeing the sack with their food. In her pea brain, she pictured him coming out with a picnic hamper like the ones at Fortnum and Mason’s. The need to brush off whatever clung to the food from the sack put a damper on the romance of a picnic with a handsome knight.
****
Simon showed her a path lined with wild roses that led to the river. They rode along the banks and took turns asking each other about what their childhoods were like. Simon’s father was a fletcher and died of consumption when Simon was four. His mother was a maid at Elysian Fields. The old Baron helped raise the boy. When Simon turned seven, the Baron made him one of the young helpers to the keeper of the hounds. Then, when he was twelve, he became a squire and ultimately a knight.
Emily talked about her parents and what she and her sisters were like growing up. She told him about her love of animals and the menagerie that waited for her at home.
He spoke at length about his friend Stephen, who was orphaned at a young age. Emily cried when he talked about their friendship and how much he missed Stephen. Sadness over her family crushed down on her. He’d reminded her of Esme and her family and how much she missed them.
Simon halted his horse and made a clicking sound with his tongue to stop Ruby. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. My reminiscences weren’t meant to be sad.”
“They’re not. I love hearing about your boyhood and friendship with Stephen. It made me think of my family.”
“I know you miss them. I truly hope we’ll find a way to get you home again.”
Emily couldn’t tell from his face whether he regretted that possibility or not. She’d like to believe he would. Dare she ask? Electra would tell her no, after she first told her to stop crying that is. Electra wasn’t big on emotional displays. No one in the family could figure out where her stoic quality came from as Emily and Esme and their mother wept at all sorts of things. They’d even cried along with Rocket, the raccoon, when Groot in Guardians of the Galaxy died. Electra’s weak spot was animals. She cried at Facebook videos of orphan baby elephants or rhinos. She volunteered every year to cook for the local animal shelter’s fundraiser, but that warm-fuzziness never quite made the crossover to humans.
Simon’s attention was still on her. What the hell, why not ask? He can only say he doesn’t give a whit if she leaves. “If I were to find a way home, would you miss me?”
His brows lifted halfway to his hairline and
Simon quickly looked away. She refused to regret the question. It was fair. She wanted to know because she’d miss him, but she wouldn’t tell him unless he admitted he’d miss her first.
“This is a good spot to have our repast. The river is like silver glass today and we have the shade of the cliff in our favor.” He jumped to the ground and untied the sack from the pommel of his saddle.
“Simon Boatwright, you are avoiding answering me. I’ll turn this horse around and leave you standing here like a beggar at a banquet unless you talk. If it’s no, then say so. I’m a grown woman and able to withstand disappointment.”
“You’d be disappointed if I said no?”
“I would. I’d be very disappointed.”
“Are you saying you’d miss me and be sad?”
“You answer first.”
He set the sack down, tucked his crutch tight to his underarm and grasped a handful of her skirt. He tugged her down far enough for him to get his other hand on her waist and lifted her to the ground. Impressive maneuver, considering she wasn’t a petite thing and she was coming off at an odd angle.
“I’m not a man who’s good with words,” he said, letting go of her when her feet touched the ground. “I can only speak my heart. I’d miss you more than I know how to say. I’d miss you in ways I’ve never missed any other.”
This was where she should wait for him to kiss her. Common knowledge among women. The ball was in his court, so to speak. But as far as she was concerned, this wasn’t the time or place to stand on ceremony. She grabbed his head in both her hands and pulled him down so their lips met. She planted the biggest kiss that was still short of a wet, sexy French kiss on him. When she finished, he drew back, looking utterly bewildered but only for a few seconds. He wrapped the arm free of his crutch around her and laid the longest, most thorough French kiss on her that she’d ever had. Who’d have guessed behind that stiff Captain of the Guard persona lurked a seriously hot kisser.
Simon released her and took a small step away. “I don’t wish to stop, but I will because it is the right and proper thing to do. I won’t besmirch your reputation.”
In Time for You Page 17
