“Prince Henry…”
I shook my head. “How bad is it?”
“It’s painful,” she said. She slowly hiked up the soaking fabric, revealing the cuts on her knees. They weren’t serious, but they were bleeding, her calves stained red, her green dress stained to her ankles.
“It isn’t bad,” I said, “but we should bandage it at least, to ward off infection.” I stood and grabbed the water from my bedside table. She winced as I poured it over each wound to clean it out. Reaching behind me for my night shirt I’d thrown off his morning, I ripped one of the course fabric arms off. I shredded it into two strips and tied one around each of her knees. She lightly laid her dress over her legs again. I stood and backed up toward the fireplace. Exhaustion crept over me as I leaned against the mantle.
“What is infection?” she asked after a minute.
“It’s like …” I struggled to translate the medical terms. “A sickness of the blood.”
“It’s not good?”
“No,” I said. I turned my back to her. “You should change out of those wet clothes before it gets worse.”
“Wetness causes infection?” she whispered.
I shook my head, slowly turning to look at her. “No, but it does prevent other illnesses.”
She stood then and headed toward the doorway of my room. She turned and said, “I am glad you saved Piers.”
“Me too.”
“The queen will understand your confusion,” she whispered. “Once she realizes I am your…”
I left the comfort of the warm fireplace and grabbed her by the arm. “My what?”
She shook her head. “Not for me to say.”
“But if you’re my mistress …” I started, though I had no idea where my brain was going with this. I did know that even though I was drained, my dick was quickly taking over any rational thought. The adrenaline from the creek, the CPR, and rushing back to the castle was still strong in my veins. I was the prince, God damn it, and I could fuck anyone I wanted, right?
“No, oh no,” she said, shaking my arm off and backing away from me. “You can’t possibly…”
Did she … goddamn it, she did. She said no. No one had ever … did she really just … My brain literally lost its mind at that point. Did she just say no to Gill? That word stopped me straight in my tracks. I wanted to smile at her, turn on the charm as I always did, but I was simply too tired.
“What goes on here?” Becket appeared in the doorway. I must not have seen him in my haste to get Piers back into the hall.
Marie translated to me quickly. “Lady Julia was caught in the storm,” I said with a shrug. “The queen wasn’t happy about that.”
Becket paused and looked at Marie. After a minute, he said something that made Marie’s eyes go wide and her cheeks blush. She looked at me, a bit of panic on her face.
“What?” I asked.
“He says, uh …” she faltered, looking everywhere but me. “You’ll have plenty of time to make her happy tomorrow.”
“What is tomorrow?” I looked at Becket.
“The consummation, of course,” Marie said. Her face fell, and she looked at the ground.
“Oh shit,” I said, and Becket laughed.
He said something else. Given my conversation with Marie about swear words, I got the gist of his meaning about a certain lady part. Marie just looked at me. “I’m not translating that.”
“I don’t blame you,” I murmured.
Becket kissed his cross and held it out to me, and Marie translated his farewell, until the next day. She disappeared after him.
“Goddamn, it,” I said. I turned and sat on my grand bed. My feet were leaden, and every step felt like quicksand. My arms ached now from carrying Piers, and I noticed my side screamed in agony. I wanted to curl up in front of the fire and forget everything. I wanted to go home.
You should be elated, my brain screamed at me. This time tomorrow, you’ll get to fuck the queen. Isn’t that what you want?
I didn’t know what I wanted.
That terrified me the most.
I wrapped a fur blanket around my shoulders and sat down, cross-legged, in front of the fire. I shook my hair out again, watching the tendrils of water hiss and evaporate as they hit the water. I tried to think of the queen naked, and I couldn’t even bring that imagery to mind.
Instead, it was replaced by Marie’s green dress, clinging to her arms and legs, showing every single imperfection of her body. As quick as that image appeared, it was replaced by her sitting on the rock across from me, smiling. Talking to me about love, swear words, and persimmons.
I wrapped the primitive quilt around my shoulders, stumbled to my feet, and collapsed in front of the fire.
***
“Sire,” Marie’s sweet voice breathed into my ear.
I must have dozed, because I realized I was half lying, half sitting against the foot of the chair, and the fire had died down. The room was freezing. Rain pinged against the open window behind the bed, but the massive shower had finally died down.
“Marie?” I sat up, wincing at the faint pain on my side.
She was sitting right next to me; her legs crossed under her. She was dressed in a dark blue gown this time, and her wimple was gone.
Her hair. I’d never seen her hair. Luxurious brown curls cascaded over her shoulders, a little tendril of a curl sat right in the middle of her forehead. Was this a dream? Was she really here? I asked her as much.
She smiled at me, but it was small and sad. “I’m sorry I was rude earlier. The flowers …”
“Are you allowed to take off your hat?” I interrupted her. It was probably the most awkward thing I could have ever said, but I blurted it out anyway. Goddamn it. When I was around her, my brain always just seemed to go poof and take the fuck off. She made me nervous and anxious for the first time in my life.
“I suppose I can do what I want,” she said, “within limits, of course.” She fiddled with something in her lap, and I saw the same twig she had used to change that boar into a frog in the woods.
“Can I hold it?” I said softly.
She looked up at me. “No,” she said. “Not because I don’t want you to, but because I’m afraid what would happen if you did.”
“Can you really use magic?” I asked, terrified to utter the last word.
“It isn’t like your magic, your medicine,” she said, “but it is different. Sometimes within yourself you just …” I could see she was searching for the right word, “summon.”
She reached up and took a mug of ale that I’d left sitting on the chair earlier. She waved her wand over it, the dried berries tinkling slightly.
I expected sparks or a chorus of angels, some kind of fantastic shit. But nothing happened. She handed me the cup and nodded.
I took a sip. Was it wine? Mountain Dew? What?
Water. It was the cleanest, crispest water I had ever tasted. Fresher than bottled, and smelled faintly of ice and mint. I downed the entire mug.
“You can turn ale into water,” I said, setting it aside. “This makes Jesus Christ look amateur,” I chuckled.
“He taught me that trick,” she said, looking into the fire. “He was a great man.”
“Wait … like the actual Jesus Christ?”
She looked at me and nodded. “He’s not what everyone thinks, and history got a lot of it wrong.”
“Like what?”
“He was black, for one.”
“Seriously?”
“Well, at least very dark skinned, anyway. And his voice … oh, it carried for miles. And he loved to laugh. His eyes were always filled with mirth. He was beautiful.”
“Marie … did you have a crush on Jesus?”
Her cheeks reddened. “No,” she said, but I heard the lie in her voice. “He was just nice to us. All of us.”
“And that would be…?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you.”
Frustrated, I ran a hand throu
gh my now dry hair. I frowned at her. “Are you immortal?” I whispered.
“No.”
“Are you like Highlander?”
“Who?”
“Never mind,” I chuckled. “Are you as old as Jesus?”
“No,” it was her turn to laugh.
“Then what?”
“I’ll tell you something if you tell me, Sire.”
I motioned her to continue with my hand.
“When were you born?”
I paused. She had saved my life twice today. I owed her at least a little honesty. “At the end of the twentieth century.”
“You’re from eight hundred years in the future?”
“Eight hundred and sixty,” I whispered.
“Do they have flying cars yet?”
I startled at that. “You know what cars are?”
She nodded, biting her lip. “Motorized horses, with wheels.”
My mouth gaped open. “I—” I shook my head. “No, we don’t have flying cars, but we do have these.” I stood and opened the chest on top of the fireplace, where I’d put my long dead smartphone. I tossed it to her.
“What’s this?” She held it by one corner like it was on fire.
“A phone.”
“A …” she stared at it. “I remember phones. They cranked to life. They did not look like thin boxes.”
“It’s dead,” I said. “Or I’d show you what it does.”
She shook her head.
I had a feeling it was too much. I took it back and locked it in the chest out of sight.
“What do you do with it?” she asked softly when I turned around.
“You can look up all the information you could ever want to know,” I said, then paused. “But most people use it to look at cat videos.”
“Videos?”
“Never mind.” I shook my head. “Your turn. Spill the beans.”
She looked around, eyes wide. “What beans?”
I groaned, running both my hands over my hair. “Tell me the truth. When were you born?”
She paused, her face twisted with the pain of the truth, as I’m sure mine must have been. “Eleven thirty-six.”
I stared, my mouth gaping open. I wasn’t sure how to respond. “So, you’re eighteen…?”
She fiddled with her wand for a minute. “Or so I’ve been told by the nuns.”
“We’re about the same age,” I murmured, “but that doesn’t explain why you speak English.”
“I grew up in; I think it’s nineteen-twenty? I don’t know where, however.”
“Somewhere in America, I would guess,” I mumbled.
She frowned at me. “I don’t know what that is. My earliest memories are a convent in northern Italy, about eight years ago.”
“You’ve been here since …” I did a little math in my head, “Eleven forty-six?”
“I suppose.”
“So where … when … were you between eleven-thirty-six and eleven-forty-two?” I waited again, waited for her to tell me something, anything.
She just shook her head. “Many places. All really jumbled. A grand library, somewhere in a place with dark skinned people. An island, with mirrors. Hanging gardens. Pyramids.”
My brain kept churning with questions. Holy shit – my brain froze with a plethora of historical information. She’d walked with Jesus Christ. Visited a library? The one in Alexandria? An island with Mirrors – Ancient Greece? She’d seen the wonders of the world, and all before her eighteenth birthday. But, why was she here for so long? How did she get here? I had so many questions to ask. “At least that explains how you know Latin,” I finally said, lamely.
“And French, Italian, and English. Though I haven’t spoken English in eight years, so forgive me, Sire, if it is incorrect sometimes.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“We already went over that,” she smiled.
I just looked at her.
“You … you don’t think I’m crazy?” she said, interrupting my thoughts suddenly.
I frowned. “Why would I think that?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, “I’ve never told anyone. I promised…”
“Who? Who did you promise?”
“It’s not my secret to tell,” she said.
I waited. The silence filled the room as we watched the last embers of the fire slowly crackle. The wind whipped through the window, and I shivered. When I saw she wasn’t going to tell me any more, I took a step toward her. “Why are you here, Marie?” I gazed down at her curly head.
She looked up at me, and I saw tears stream down her face, rolling to the top of the bodice on her dress. “I’m all alone,” she said. “I’m scared.”
I offered my hand. “Come on.”
She blinked up at me. “We can’t…”
“Oh, shut up, I know we can’t.” Yes, yes you can, Gill, my brain screamed. You know you want her. “Come here. It’s freezing.”
She took my hand, and I helped her stand. She tucked her wand away in the folds of her dress. My little brain stirred into action, but I silenced it.
No, I told it, not today.
Normally, yes. I would kiss her until her toes curled and have her out of that dress in no time. But today I was tired, and I knew if I pressed her, she’d run away. I wasn’t sure why, but I knew she would. She said she was scared and alone, and if there was one thing I drew the line at it was taking advantage of women. I knew no meant no—no matter what. However, there was only one way in the world to cure tired and afraid: sleep and human contact.
I led her to the bed, walking backward, holding the blanket around my shoulders with one hand and her hand in the other. I curled up on one side with my head on my hand and she followed me.
“You’re not crazy,” I reassured as we faced each other. I tucked a rogue curl behind her ear. “And you’re not alone.”
She smiled and raised her hand up to touch my face. “Can I touch it?”
I blinked. The last time a girl said that she definitely meant something different. Down boy, I said to myself. I lifted the edge of my shirt, and she ran her fingers down the scar where Jules had taken out the stitches.
“I’m sorry I stabbed you,” she whispered.
“It was important.”
She sighed and struggled to sit up. “I really should go.”
“No, don’t.”
“Henry…”
“Gill,” I said.
“Henry,” she corrected.
I rolled my eyes at her.
“If the servants find us when they come to stoke the fire…”
“Just a little while?” I knew I was begging. I’d never had to beg before. I didn’t like it.
“Alright,” she said finally. “Just a little while.”
“Okay,” I said. “Tell me one of your stories?”
“Which one? I have many.”
I thought about that for a minute. “Do you have one about a brave knight?”
She nodded. “There is a tale told in Breton, Sire, of two knights who lived nearby, one a bachelor, and one married to a fine lady…”
I listened to her recount the tale, sometimes breaking into French when she didn’t know the right word. She wove a story of love from afar and how she watched the knight from her window, and they traded trinkets through the gate, one of them a nightingale in a box. Then the husband found out and killed the nightingale.
“Why?” I said, and I realized I was close to crying. “Why would the husband hurt his wife?”
“It is the way of things,” Marie paused. “A knight cannot have his lady be unfaithful.”
“But they didn’t actually fuck,” I said, and she chuckled at my swearing.
“It doesn’t matter. A look is all it takes.”
“Not where I’m from,” I argued.
“I should like to see your time,” she said. “Are all ladies like Lady Julia?”
I laughed. “Ha, no, they certainly are not.”
“I should still like
to see it.”
“I should like to show it to you,” I said. I was surprised to find it was the truth, even though I didn’t even know how it could be managed. “How does the story end?” I asked.
She finished the poem, and I could hear the anguish of the knight’s wife when she swore she could never look on her love again. I swallowed hard. Any more of this and I might have actually shed a tear, and that would’ve been embarrassing.
“That’s depressing,” I said. “Are all your stories sad like that?”
“Some, yes,” she said.
Before I could stop myself, I said, “Tell me more.”
Her voice was soft and sweet, and I found myself growing drowsier by the second. I wasn’t sure it was from the exertion of the day or the rain that pattered on the sill beside us. Either way, I fell into the deepest sleep of my life.
Next to a woman who was fully clothed.
Miracles do happen, I suppose.
Chapter Nine: That Fucking Curse
“He’s doing okay, though? Piers?”
Jules nodded. It was the next afternoon, and Jules and I were sitting in front of the fire, debriefing, as we did nearly every day. Usually, she was light-hearted, recalling the servants’ events with a bit of gaiety and embellished flourish. My sister was always a born storyteller, much like Marie. Over the last few days, however, the stories hadn’t been as jovial; and her recounting of nursing Piers put a damper on her regaling the events of the night before. I told her about Marie and the flowers, how the queen had reacted, and Jules had no words for me. Instead, Jules had just finished telling me she sat by Piers in the servant’s quarters through the night, checking his breathing, keeping him still, nursing him the best she could.
“No fever?”
“None,” she said, “I checked.”
I sighed. “The worst is over.”
“That was amazing what you did, Gill,” she said, her tone somber.
“I did what any paramedic would do.”
“Yes,” was all she said.
“Marie wants to learn,” I said, suddenly recalling Marie’s request. I remembered the tender way I had bandaged her knees, and how later she had let me hold her. I woke this morning to an empty bed – not the first time in my life – but found myself oddly satisfied. I didn’t know that could happen without fucking. What was wrong with me?
Marie (The Curse of Lanval Book 2) Page 8
