Defiant Love

by Maura Seger

  But by morning he was gone.

  Brenna heard the news from her sister-in-law. "Duke William has sent him north on some mission," Roanna explained gently when she accompanied the servant bringing Brenna's breakfast. Waiting until they were alone, she smiled reassuringly. "I'm sure he won't be gone long. Not more than a few days."

  "He didn't tell me..." Brenna murmured, unable to meet Roanna's eyes. Her distraught progress through the Great Hall, with Guyon in hasty pursuit, must certainly be common knowledge. Yet the older girl offered no reproach. Beckoning her to sit down and eat, Roanna said, "Don't be worried about him. I haven't been able to find out exactly where he's gone or why, but no one seems to think there's any danger. So let's just enjoy the next few days." Her smile deepened. "We'll spend the time preparing your wardrobe. When Guyon returns, you will dazzle him. He'll forget all about missions for the Duke and... other matters...."

  Brenna agreed numbly. The "other matters" Roanna referred to suddenly seemed so unimportant. All that mattered was that Guyon was not there. Without him, it seemed as though some vital part of herself was cut away. What was left would have to get by as best it could until he returned.

  For all Roanna's reassurance, the next few days passed with excruciating slowness. Brenna slept little, tossing fitfully in the wide bed. When she did manage to drift into unconscious, it was to dream of an angry, scornful Guyon accusing her of never having loved him. Shadows appeared under her eyes and the color fled from her cheeks. Her step grew listless. Despite both Roanna and the Lady Matilda's best efforts to keep her occupied, rarely an hour passed that she did not berate herself for being a sour-tempered, jealous shrew. No one would blame Guyon if he lingered on his journey. What man would want to return to such a wife, who offered him neither trust nor understanding?

  Swamped in self-loathing, Brenna did not notice that the Lady Elene was absent from court. With her usual quiet determination the Duchess had discovered exactly what transpired in the stables. Infuriated by such blatant disregard for the most basic rules of propriety, Matilda made it clear she expected Elene to visit her own estates. Her presence would not again be tolerated at Falaise until the newlyweds were well and truly reunited.

  Although the Duke was normally close-mouthed about state affairs, he relented enough under his wife's prodding to admit that Guyon was due back in a week. On the appointed day, Brenna rose early. Aware that her appearance had suffered, she dressed with particular care. Lady Matilda, taking pity on her, kept her well occupied in the weaving rooms all morning. The afternoon passed more slowly, spent as it was in the solar doing needlework with the other ladies. As dusk began to fall, Brenna's eyes met Roanna's. Silently, the two young women acknowledged that Guyon would apparently not arrive that day.

  When he had still not returned three days later, even the Duke began to feel concern. Quietly, so as not to increase alarm, he dispatched two knights to follow Guyon's route and see if they could find him. The mission itself was important enough to make any delays worrisome. But beyond that, he dreaded the thought of some evil befalling the young man he regarded almost as a brother. Moreoever, he was moved to genuine compassion by Brenna's increasingly anguished vigil.

  "Horse probably threw a shoe," William declared one evening at supper. "He might have trouble getting another. That could be a problem even for a man as resourceful as Guyon."

  Roanna and Matilda hastily agreed, but Brenna knew such an explanation was unlikely. Guyon had ridden almost since infancy. He was never careless with his horses, and was more than capable of reshoeing a mount should it be necessary. Granted, there might have been some other accident. Even the most expert rider did not always sidestep every rabbit hole and rut in Normandy's well-traveled roads. If the horse had fallen, perhaps breaking a leg, Guyon would have been thrown....

  Fighting back her fear, Brenna managed to swallow a few mouthfuls of supper. She had no idea what she ate, nor did she pay any further attention to the conversation. Only when a weary, travel-stained knight entered the hall and approached the Duke did the silent agony of her thoughts break off.

  The knight bent down beside William and whispered urgently. The Duke rose. He paused to say a few words to the Lady Matilda before walking quickly from the Hall with the knight following.

  A slight, barely perceptible gesture brought the chief steward to Matilda's side. In a voice too low to be overheard, she gave some instruction. The man nodded and hurried off, summoning several servants to go with him.

  Catching Roanna's eye, the Duchess said gently, "Lady Brenna, your lord has returned. He is outside." As Brenna jumped up, Matilda placed a restraining hand on her arm. "I must tell you, dear, he has been hurt. The knights who found him aren't sure how it happened, but they fear he has lost a great deal of blood. Fortunately, they were able to get him back here where he will have the best possible care."

  Brenna barely heard her. After registering the single fact that Guyon was injured, her mind ceased to function on any but the most instinctive level. Tearing herself free of the Duchess, she ran from the Hall.

  Several servants and the Duke himself were helping Guyon from his horse. In the flickering light of tar torches, his face was ashen. Dried blood stained his chain mail just beneath his heart. Another gash cut across his forehead. His left arm hung limply at his side. He swayed against the Duke, barely able to stand upright.

  Brenna stopped several yards from him. By a supreme effort of will, she forced her terror down. An hysterical wife would be no good at all to Guyon. She must remain calm and remember everything Edythe had taught her about healing.

  Unaware of Matilda and Roanna hurrying up behind her, Brenna took a deep breath. Drawing on courage she had not known she possessed, she went to her husband. Sliding his right arm over her shoulders, she unobtrusively added her strength to the Duke's. Together, they began easing Guyon up the steps to the keep.

  Some awareness of where he was must have penetrated the haze of pain. His eyes flickered, then opened wider. Lips cracked by fever parted slightly. "B-Brenna..."

  What color remained in his blood- and grime-stained face faded. Cradled between his wife and his duke, Guyon fainted.

  Chapter Eleven

  "You must get some rest," Roanna murmured gently. "It will do Guyon no good if you become ill."

  Brenna did not respond. All her attention was focused on the man lying so still and helpless before her. Since collapsing on the steps of the keep two nights before, Guyon had not regained consciousness. Alternating fits of raging fever and shivering chills tore through him. In the throes of delirium, he had to be forcibly restrained. Gravely injured though he was, his strength remained immense. Brenna and several servants sported bruises from their frantic efforts to keep him covered when he was cold, sponge him down when the fever surged, change his bandages, and whenever possible spoon a nourishing broth into him.

  Roanna, Matilda, and those castle ladies most skilled at healing all took their turn by the bed. But it was Brenna who remained there constantly, refusing to leave his side for even a moment. When exhaustion claimed her, she slept kneeling on the floor with her head resting against Guyon's outflung hand. The slightest sound or movement from him was enough to bring her instantly awake.

  "The wound on his chest has begun to suppurate," she said wearily, not looking at her sister-in-law. They both knew that the worst danger came not from the injuries themselves or even the loss of blood, but from the infections they were powerless to prevent. As the skin around the wounds became hard and red, they could only try to draw out the pus without harming Guyon further.

  "Is the poultice helping?" Roanna asked, eyes dark with worry as she studied her brother.

  Brenna shook her head. "I know the Lady Matilda has used it before to good effect. But this time, it just isn't working."

  "Perhaps in a day or two..."

  Brenna didn't comment, but privately she thought that in a day or two it could be too late. Edythe, who was renowned for being
able to heal those others thought lost, had warned her often of the danger in allowing a fever to continue very long. In the silence of the little room, Brenna could almost hear her sister saying, "Fever drains the body. If it isn't stopped quickly, it can kill as surely as any sword. And even when the patient does recover from a long fever, he is frequently never the same. I have seen men so weakened in body they could not stand, and so destroyed in mind that they were as babies once again."

  Exhausted after a night of almost constant delirium, Guyon was temporarily quiet. Driven to the brink of reason by his tortured ramblings—many of which concerned his love for her and his terrible pain at her lack of trust—Brenna was using the lull to try to pull herself together. She could not postpone a decision much longer.

  A movement in a corner of the room caught her eye. She glanced up at the priest still kneeling before the prie-dieu. At least one of the castle priests had been present ever since Guyon was brought into the room. For the most part, they were unobtrusive. Aside from a few murmured words of comfort, they prayed silently. Downstairs in the chapel, other priests were also praying through the long hours. Grateful though she was for their succor, Brenna knew the priest's presence could rapidly become awkward.

  Wincing from the pain of stiffened muscles, she rose and went to the man. Managing a gentle smile, Brenna whispered, "My lord is resting more easily now. Perhaps you would like to get some supper?"

  Surprised, the priest looked at her hesitantly. He was a young man very conscious of the honor of being in the Duke's household and well aware of the affection his master had for Guyon D'Arcy. It would hardly do to leave the injured lord if he was in any danger. On the other hand, he was very tired and hungry, and the lady seemed quite sincere....

  "If you're sure it would be all right," he murmured hopefully.

  "Quite sure," Brenna promised. "I am certain your prayers are being heard, but you will need strength to continue them. It would make me feel much better if you would take some rest and nourishment."

  Flattered by her concern, the priest agreed quickly. When he had left, Roanna looked at her in bewilderment. "Why did you send him away?"

  Instead of answering, Brenna said, "I need hot water, clean bandages, and a knife. Can you get them for me?"

  Nodding hesitantly, Roanna could not prevent herself from asking, "You mean to lance the wound, don't you? But why did you want the priest to go? Perhaps he could have helped?"

  Too weary and concerned to indulge in long explanations, Brenna said only, "You will see why. Please just get what I asked for."

  Ordinarily, Roanna would not have allowed herself to be kept ignorant of Brenna's intentions. But she respected her sister-in-law and knew beyond any doubt that she could be trusted. Delaying barely a moment, Roanna went swiftly from the room.

  When she returned, alone despite her burdens, she said quietly, "The Lady Matilda is sleeping. The priest is in the kitchens, and the others are either in chapel or also eating. I don't think we will be disturbed for a while."

  Brenna nodded gratefully. She had spent the last few minutes in silent prayer beside Guyon. If she was wrong, or not skilled enough... But she refused to think of that. Everything she knew, and every instinct she possessed, told her that to wait longer would be to invite tragedy. Her mind made up, she moved briskly.

  First, she made a tincture from herbs stored in the chest she had brought from England. Red in color and sharp to the scent, the liquid was known to kill if taken within the body. But spread outside, around a wound, it had some strange property that helped cure infection.

  Pulling the covers back from Guyon, Brenna removed the blood- and pus-encrusted bandage with the poultice underneath and applied the tincture liberally. When the entire area of his chest around the wound was stained, she thoroughly washed her hands with lye soap and hot water. That done, she honed the small knife to razor sharpness. Satisfied that it could cut with absolute precision, Brenna took a deep breath and approached the bed.

  "I still don't understand why you..." Roanna began, now more puzzled than ever. Her sister-in-law's actions were new to her, but by no means shocking. There seemed no reason to have sent the priest away.

  "You will," Brenna said again. For just a moment, doubt shone in her eyes. If Roanna were to panic and raise an alarm...

  Forcing that thought too from her mind, she moved forward to where a tall candle burned next to the bed. Raising the knife, Brenna thrust the blade into the flame. Roanna's eyes widened. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, a soft chant filled the room.

  As the blade passed again and again through the flame, Brenna prayed in a language her sister-in-law had never heard. An ancient language which in the time beyond memory had been spoken throughout the land. With the coming of the Christian god, the old ways were almost extinguished. Only a few still remembered. Like Edythe, who passed the knowledge on to Brenna.

  When the prayer was done, the blade would be clean. It could then be used safely. Brenna was not sure why this was so. Perhaps putting steel into fire somehow appeased the old gods, so that they healed instead of harmed. Whatever the cause, she had seen the method work often enough to trust it absolutely. Guyon's life was at stake. She would not consider opening the wound without a purified knife. Raised in Christianity and as fearful as anyone else of the wrath of the Lord, she understood full well the enormity of what she was doing. Her appeal to the ancient gods was sacrilege. By it, she might be damning her soul to eternal perdition. But if that was what it took to heal Guyon, so be it.

  Roanna watched her in mingled horror and fascination. With her midnight hair tumbling in tangled waves to her waist, and her gray-green eyes as wide and mysterious as the sea, Brenna looked like some ancient pagan priestess returned to life.

  Guyon's blood stained her surcoat. Fire warmed her honeyed skin. Steel shone in the small but utterly determined hand that at last grew still,

  "It's ready," Brenna breathed. "Hold him."

  Roanna swallowed hard. She, too, knew full well what had just happened in the small, quiet room hidden high up in the stone keep. Should her sister-in-law's pagan tendencies ever become known, not even all of Guyon's fierce love would be enough to protect her. Brenna was very clearly risking her own life, and perhaps even more, to save her lord.

  Humbled by the enormity of such selflessness, Roanna obeyed. Without allowing herself to think, she grasped Guyon's massive shoulders and pressed them firmly to the mattress.

  The first cut drove deep. Pus and dark blood oozed from the wound. A sour stench rose to foul the air. Guyon moaned fitfully. Brenna cut again, across the first slash to form a cross. Dropping the knife, she gently eased the flaps of skin apart. Roanna placed fresh cloths to catch the putrified liquid. Through long, anxious minutes, as Guyon tossed restlessly beneath their ministrations, the two girls worked to clean the wound. Only when the blood from it at last ran bright red was Brenna satisfied.

  Dabbing a little more of the tincture into the gashes made by her knife, she quickly stitched the flaps closed. Time and Guyon's own strength would have to do the rest. Slumping with exhaustion, she watched as Roanna rebandaged her brother and placed the covers over him once more. No sooner had both young women subsided next to the bed than the door opened to readmit the priest.

  "I have brought you some food, my lady," he said softly, placing a tray on the table near Brenna. His swift glance went to the man who seemed more restless than before. "Is something wrong?"

  "No," Roanna said quickly. "My brother will naturally become more active as he recovers."

  "Of course... I only thought... You have changed the bandage."

  "It was dirty," Brenna murmured. Forcing herself to pretend some interest in the food, she thanked the priest for his thoughtfulness. He was not satisfied, though, until she swallowed some of the tender beef and fragrant wine he had selected specially to tempt her. Roanna shared the meal, biting into a crusty roll as she eyed the priest anxiously.

  The bloody knife Bre
nna had used still lay on the table. The candle still burned brightly. The very air seemed to reverberate to her pagan prayers. Did the old gods stir within the thick stone walls? Did forces Roanna hardly dared to contemplate move now within her brother?

  If they did, the priest showed no awareness. Glad to have been able to do something for the noble ladies, he returned happily to his prayers. Brenna held her breath as the Latin incantations resumed. Would God show His displeasure at her profanity?

  Nothing happened. The priest prayed, the food stayed in her stomach, and Guyon slept on. Sighing, Brenna felt the tension ease from her. She hardly knew when Roanna took the goblet from her and eased a blanket around her shoulders. Sleep came as a blessing, banishing her fears and restoring her courage.

  Hours later Brenna stirred. Her head, cradled against Guyon's hand, lifted slowly. His skin was cool. Sitting up, Brenna touched his forehead. She felt the faint sheen of moisture on his face before noticing that the bedclothes were soaked. His fever had broken.

  "R-Roanna," she rasped, "help me..." Instantly, the other girl was at her side. Together they lifted Guyon, easing the covers from under him. With the priest's help, he was gently dried and the bed remade. When that was done, Brenna found herself trembling so badly that she could not stand. The first faint rays of hope accomplished what all her terror had not done. She could only sit helplessly as the priest wet Guyon's parched lips and Roanna hurried to summon the Duchess.

  "Our prayers have been answered," Matilda breathed tearfully as she gazed down at the pale but no longer ashen face of the young man she had almost despaired of saving.

  Brenna nodded mutely. She could not bring herself to speak. The knowledge that Guyon would recover so overwhelmed her that her throat closed painfully. It was left to Roanna to make the appropriate responses assuring the Duchess of their gratitude for her help and promising that the moment Guyon recovered consciousness, the Duke would be notified.