Lady of Steel

by Mary Gillgannon

  “I wonder who he is.” Nicola glanced toward the window. “’Tis not impossible I’ve met him, or at least heard of him.”

  “Is this something we must decide at this moment?” Glennyth asked. “In a day or two, Fawkes may be well enough to take charge.”

  Engelard stepped forward, clearly unable to hold back. “But by then Mordeaux might well be lost. Then they’ll have a base from which to attack us.”

  “FitzSaer may have surrendered the castle already,” Nicola said.

  “It’s your fault FitzSaer is even at Mordeaux.” Reynard said.

  Nicola glowered at him. Reynard was like a dog with a bone. He could not stop blaming her for her mistakes.

  Glennyth stepped between them. “You both care for Fawkes. For his sake, you put must put aside your ill will. We are all of us weary and hungry. Let us go down to the hall and eat. Then take some rest before making any decisions.”

  “Your words are wise, Glennyth,” Nicola said.

  Reynard’s expression was grudging. But he would not argue with Glennyth.

  They all went down to the hall. While everyone ate, Nicola wrapped some bread and cheese in a cloth. Glennyth raised her eyebrows questioningly.

  Nicola said, “I’m going to look in on Fawkes.” She hastened up the stairs. Fawkes would not be ready for such hearty fare, but Old Emma was, and she definitely needed it. If Fawkes roused, she would fetch him some broth.

  If he roused. The thought made tears prick her eyes. What if he never awoke, but slipped into unconsciousness and died? She would never be able to tell him all the things she yearned to share with him. About Simon, and why she’d hidden him away. And how much she loved Fawkes and had from that first fateful afternoon when he came to her bed.

  She forced herself to fight off the crushing despair. Glennyth believed Fawkes would heal. She must take courage from that.

  Old Emma was dozing on the stool, snoring loudly. Loud enough that it seemed Fawkes should have awakened. He lay as still as a carved effigy. But his face was flushed and glazed with sweat.

  Nicola shook Old Emma’s shoulder. The servant let out a snort. “Milady, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drift off. But as you can see, Fawkes hasn’t awakened and there’s been no change in his breathing or color.”

  “Did you give him water?”

  “He didn’t rouse, and I was loath to disturb him. After mumbling and groaning in his sleep for a time, he finally went quiet. I thought it best to let him rest.”

  That Fawkes did not rave or thrash around seemed like a sign he was mending. Or it could mean his will to fight was weakening.

  “I see you’ve brought food,” Old Emma said. “I doubt he’ll be able to eat.”

  “The food is for us. We must also keep up our strength.”

  “Very good, lady.” Old Emma accepted a chunk of bread spread with cheese.

  Nicola sat on the side of the bed and ate as well. Old Emma finished first and got up and poured them each a cup of water from the pitcher on the table.

  The food and water revived Nicola. Not only did she feel less tired, her mood was better. The terrible dread lurking in the pit of her stomach for the last two days eased a bit.

  “Now what?” Old Emma asked.

  “I need to sleep. I am near dead on my feet.”

  “Sleep then, lady. I’ll keep watch over the two of you.”

  Nicola felt a surge of affection for the elderly servant. Old Emma could be annoying at times, and bold to the point of insubordination. But there could be no doubt she loved Nicola and would do anything for her.

  Nicola washed her hands in the basin and loosened the lacing on her gown. Then she went to the bed and lay down beside Fawkes. Between the mess of the poultice and the smell of sickness, she couldn’t detect his usual enticing masculine odor. After the poultice was removed, she would have to bathe him. The thought of washing his smooth-skinned, hard-muscled body soothed her, and she drifted to sleep.

  ****

  It was a lovely dream. He was riding in the forest. Nicola followed on her mare. The trees echoed with the trills of birdsong and the ground was flooded with the hazy violet mist of bluebells. He turned to look at Nicola. The look of loss and despair on her face startled him and made him want to go back to her. But there wasn’t room on the pathway to turn his horse. He could only go forward.

  When he turned back again, Nicola was far behind. Even from a distance, he could see her expression was heavy with grief. She looked as if she’d been weeping. He tried to call a reassurance, but no sound came from his throat. Desperate, he managed to turn his horse. But when he rode back, all he caught was a glimpse of her crimson cloak and long black hair as she vanished among the trees.

  He sought to hurry after her, but the pathway disappeared before his eyes. Faced with an impenetrable mass of forest, he halted. Loss and grief choked his throat. Nicola was gone and he was utterly alone. A moan of despair escaped him.

  The forest vanished as he woke. He realized he was in bed in the tower room. Old Emma leaned over him, her dark eyes narrowed in concern. “Sa sa.” She stroked his arm. “’Twas a bad dream, is all. You’re safe, and there is Nicola beside you.”

  He turned to look. Nicola appeared deeply asleep. “Is she well?”

  “She’s very weary. But sleep is all she needs. And you…” The servant scrutinized him. “You look a mite better. While you’re awake, you should drink some water. Glennyth insisted.”

  “I also need to make water. Can you fetch Reynard or one of the other knights?”

  “No need for that. I’ll help you.”

  The servant brought a tall narrow jar so he would not have to get out of bed. He felt himself flush with embarrassment but allowed her to assist him. Afterwards, he lay back, panting. “Jesu, I’m as weak as a newborn. And what’s this stuff on my shoulder? It smells foul.”

  “’Tis not the poultice that smells, but the poison it’s drawing from your flesh. I had my doubts, but I vow Glennyth’s scheme is working. We’ll see tomorrow. For now you should sleep.”

  Old Emma brought a blanket to cover both of them. Fawkes took Nicola’s hand. She didn’t wake, and he soon joined her in slumber.

  The next time he roused, it was to the sound of snoring. Old Emma dozed on the stool by the bed. Nicola was still asleep beside him. She’d scarcely moved since he last woke. He took her hand again, feeling the delicacy of her fine bones, the sharpness of her fingernails. One of her nails was broken and jagged and her fingers were roughened. What had she been doing these last few days?

  For a time Reynard had made him think she didn’t care for him. But now, lying beside her, remembering what they’d shared, he decided his friend’s doubts were nonsense. It was true Nicola wasn’t like other women. She was fiercer. Bolder. More independent. She would not have survived if she had not been like that.

  He wondered how many days ago he was injured. He couldn’t be certain. It felt like he’d been insensible for a sennight, but he doubted it was that long. At least his fever had eased and his head was clearing. He was aware enough to know he was lucky to be alive. His wound could have been mortal, but he’d been given more time. Time to feel the sunshine on his face. To smell the sweet scents of flowers and fresh-cut hay. Taste the tart bite of berries, the hearty richness of roasted meat, the yeasty perfection of a fresh loaf. To enjoy the fruity intoxication of wine and the dark bitter goodness of ale.

  All the pleasures of the flesh, including the greatest one of all. The delight of loving a woman. And not just any woman, but Nicola. Beautiful Nicola. He squeezed her hand. She made a soft sound in her sleep and stirred. Reluctantly he let go of her hand, not wanting to wake her. ’Twas clear she needed her rest.

  Exquisite Nicola. So fine and delicately made. And yet beneath her seemingly fragile beauty, she had a core of iron. Like the most skillfully crafted damascene steel sword, she could endure great trials and challenges and yet not break. His lady of steel. She might seem as cool as an ice-co
vered blade, or burn as hot as molten iron in a forge. When he’d met her, she’d seemed remote and distant as the stars. But then in his arms she’d turned as hot as a summer bonfire.

  He sighed, wishing he could hold her close. But even if he was willing to risk waking her, he wasn’t certain his left arm was capable of such movement. He flexed it and felt the answering shriek of pain. It would be a long while before it healed and it might never be the same. If his left arm ended up useless, how would he wield a sword? Or ride? Would Nicola still love him if he were a cripple who could not defend her or her lands and property?

  His sense of reprieve faltered, but the next moment he thrust his fears aside. He had not suffered through all of this to end up a broken, ruined man. Somehow he would find a way to do what needed to be done. He would not waste this second chance he’d been given.

  Determination flared in him, but his body still felt weak. Reluctantly, he gave in and closed his eyes. He savored the moment of lying peacefully next to Nicola. For once she wasn’t leaving him and riding off to Mordeaux.

  Mordeaux. All at once he remembered the babe. Alys had told him Nicola’s babe was alive. He had a vague memory of Old Emma telling him the babe was his son. Had that really happened? He had to be certain.

  But he would not wake Nicola. Old Emma could tell him what he needed. There was a damp cloth near his head. With his good arm, he lobbed the cloth at Old Emma. She woke with a start.

  “Emma,” he whispered. “I need you.”

  “What is it, my lord?”

  He motioned for the servant to approach. “I have a memory of Alys telling me that Nicola’s babe didn’t die. And another of you telling me the boy is my son.”

  “Both things are true.” Old Emma bobbed her head emphatically.

  Fawkes let out a sigh of contentment.

  Old Emma grinned. “I told Nicola you would feel this way. I told her she was foolish to keep the truth from you.”

  “I still don’t understand why she did so.”

  “I’ve told you all I know. But when she awakes you should hear it from her lips.” The servant perused him. “I’m thinking you’re well enough to eat something. I’ll get some broth from the kitchen.” Old Emma shuffled from the room.

  Fawkes closed his eyes and tried to rest. But the emotions churning through him would not relent. He had a son! They must send someone after the boy as soon as possible. The next moment, he remembered the child was at Mordeaux, and in danger. And here he was, trapped in this room. Old Emma might not be back for a while. Frustration built inside him. Part of him wanted to wake Nicola. But he knew she needed her rest.

  He shifted restlessly on the bed. Now that his fever had eased, maybe he could get up and make his way down the stairs. Find someone and get them to fetch Reynard.

  Gritting his teeth, he sat up. Dizziness overwhelmed him. He went still, waiting for it to pass. When he felt better, he held his left arm against his chest and shifted to the side of the bed. He lowered his legs to the floor and attempted to stand. His vision went black. When it cleared he lay half on the bed and half off it. With great effort he maneuvered himself back into bed and lay panting from exertion. It was hopeless. He had no choice but to wait until Old Emma returned.

  She finally did so. He ordered her to fetch Reynard, but the servant insisted on feeding him some broth first.

  When he finished, she went to get Reynard, and after what seemed like a long while, his captain entered. “What’s wrong?” Reynard glanced at Nicola, still asleep. “What do you need that Nicola or Old Emma could not fetch for you?”

  “Is Gilbert back? Is there any news about his family? Hilary and the two children?”

  “Nicola found them, but she was forced to leave them behind so she could bring Glennyth here to treat your wound.”

  “No one’s gone after them?”

  “Nicola sent young Anselm and two knights.”

  “Have they returned yet?”

  “Gerard and Engelard did. They brought news. News that complicates everything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Glennyth said not to tell you until you were stronger.”

  “God’s bones, Reynard! I’ll go mad if I don’t find out what’s happening.”

  “We can deal with this, Fawkes. There’s no reason to trouble yourself.”

  “No reason? I find out I have a son and now he is missing and possibly in danger and there is no reason to trouble myself?” He wanted to shake Reynard.

  “Nicola says the boy is your son, but I don’t know if I believe her.”

  “Old Emma said he was.”

  “Old Emma would always back her mistress.”

  Fawkes glared at Reynard. “Why do you refuse to believe he’s my son? Do you think Mortimer sent another man to her bed?”

  “If the boy is yours, why didn’t she tell you? I’m sorry, Fawkes. I wish it were true. I wish…”

  “You wish what?” Nicola had awakened. She sat up in bed.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Nicola saw Reynard and was immediately on edge. She could not escape the man. He was everywhere, constantly reminding her of her mistakes. He spoke now, his sarcasm as cutting as ever. “Fawkes wants you to explain why you didn’t tell him about Simon, his son.”

  What could she say? The truth sounded witless even to herself. But it was all she had. “At first I didn’t know you, and ’twas clear you believed the worst of me. And then later…” Her voice softened as she recalled the moments of tender lovemaking they’d shared. “Then I was afraid if you knew I’d lied, it would ruin everything…everything that we shared.” She met Fawkes’s gaze, willing him to recall the splendor of their lovemaking. They closeness they had shared in bed.

  Reynard made a sound of disgust and Nicola’s insides squeezed with anguish. It was long moments later before Fawkes spoke. “I want to see him.”

  She nodded. “I warn you, he looks nothing like you. Anyone would think he was Mortimer’s. And yet, that’s not possible, as you know.”

  “I want to see him,” Fawkes repeated.

  So do I, Nicola thought miserably. And hold him in my arms and know he is safe.

  “If the boy is missing, it’s your fault,” Reynard said. “Indeed, all of this is your fault. If Mordeaux falls…” Reynard broke off as he realized he’d said too much.

  Fawkes stared at Reynard. “If Mordeaux falls? What do you mean?”

  Reynard’s expression was grimmer than ever. “Nicola’s plotting has finally borne fruit. There’s an army outside Mordeaux’s walls.”

  “Glennyth advised us not to tell you, lest we distress you and slow your healing,” Nicola gave Reynard a reproving look.

  “How big an army?” Fawkes asked. “Who commands them?”

  “We know very little.” Reynard shot Nicola a baleful look. “For all we know, your wife is a part of it. Perhaps her plan was to have FitzSaer kill you and then cede both castles to this ally of John’s. She plotted to rid herself of one husband and succeeded. Why should she not do so again?”

  Nicola made a sound of exasperation. “I despised Mortimer! Fawkes I love!” She spoke with passion, and sought to convey her feelings to Fawkes with her expression. Words were far too empty and inadequate to explain what she felt for him. The truth shone through only in those moments when they were alone and their bodies were joined in perfect, magical rhythm.

  If they were alone now, she would touch him. Caress his flushed, sweaty face. Press her lips to his, not caring that he stank of sickness, stale bran and onions.

  But with Reynard in the room, she could not do it. He would mock any tender gesture she made and find a way to twist it, until the pure love that poured from her heart became something sly and malevolent.

  All she could do was plead with her eyes, begging Fawkes to remember what it felt like to be joined with her. Their bodies like two rivers flowing into each other, violent and wild and yet mingling so completely they became one powerful, unstoppable curr
ent.

  That was what had produced their son. Suddenly, she knew that Fawkes was right. If he saw Simon, he would know. He would see beyond Simon’s fair angel looks, and remember the passion that created the child and believe that this was his son. Only a child born of their love could have made her do the things she’d done the past four years.

  She saw the anguish in his gaze and knew he understood. He’d gained a son and in doing so, lost control over his life. All his previous hopes and dreams were banished now, made shallow and insignificant. All that mattered was ensuring the safety and the future of his son.

  Perhaps that’s what Reynard had fought so hard against. Not because he feared Nicola’s hold on Fawkes’s heart, but because he feared Simon’s. Reynard’s role in Fawkes’s life would be changed forever, and he did not like it.

  Fawkes turned his attention back to Reynard. “Do we know if FitzSaer has surrendered Mordeaux to this invader? Do we have any idea who leads this enemy army?”

  “It seems certain FitzSaer has surrendered the castle,” Reynard answered. “I don’t think he would dare imprison Sir Gilbert if he didn’t feel confident he would have support from one of John’s allies.”

  “And you say Sir Gilbert has not come back yet. It would help greatly if we had his counsel. He knows the garrison at Mordeaux far better than we do.”

  “He hasn’t returned. But you must remember his mission was to seek out his wife and the children. He cares more for what happens to them than he does for the future of Mordeaux.”

  Fawkes nodded.

  “I suppose whether he has found them has great concern for us all. If FitzSaer controls Gilbert’s family, then he has a powerful bargaining tool.”

  Fawkes looked at Nicola. “Does FitzSaer know Simon is your son?”

  “I’m afraid so. I don’t know how he found out. I can’t believe Hilary or Gilbert ever revealed the truth to him.”

  “Perhaps he found out when he was living here,” Fawkes said. “From Alys.”