My Valiant Knight

by Hannah Howell

  When Gabel reached the place where he had left Justice and Ainslee, he barely recognized it. Justice had clearly gathered some men to enlarge the shelter, make a fire pit, gather some supplies, and even lay out bedding with plenty of blankets. Ainslee now lay near a gentle fire on several layers of pelts. Gabel knew he would have appreciated it all the more if Ainslee had been awake. He slipped into the shelter and sat down on the blanket-covered straw bed Justice had arranged next to Ainslee. The maid hurried away before Gabel had a chance to thank her for her help.

  “Before you ask—nay—I did not insult the girl,” said Justice. “She is a very timid girl. Since she has a child, I thought her husband may have been killed in the battle, but it appears that her babe is Duggan MacNairn’s bastard.”

  “She was his leman?” Gabel did not think it could be safe to have MacNairn’s mistress tending to Ainslee.

  “Nay, just another of his victims. MacNairn was one of those lairds who felt it was his God-given right to bed any maid he pleased, even if she said no.”

  “These lands will be the better for his leaving of them.”

  When Gabel idly brushed his hand over Ainslee’s forehead, he tensed and held his hand in place on her brow. The skin beneath his hand was dry and hot. Ainslee had slipped from the unsettling grip of unconsciousness into the terrifying grasp of fever.

  “Fever?” Justice whispered when he saw the look of horror on Gabel’s face.

  “Aye.”

  “We will return to Bellefleur on the morrow, and Ronald will soon restore her health.”

  Gabel said nothing, simply began to bathe Ainslee’s face with cool water and fervently prayed that his cousin was right.

  Twenty-one

  “You have paused to touch her face at nearly every mile,” Justice murmured as he watched Gabel lean over the cart to lightly brush his fingers over Ainslee’s fever-flushed cheeks.

  Gabel grimaced, ignored the young maid Morag’s sympathetic smile, and moved away from the cart. The day was clear enough, but to the north there were some very ominous clouds forming. Although he had been able to make the feverish Ainslee comfortable in a cart, he had not been able to find any covered vehicle, and that troubled him. Ainslee was wrapped securely against the chill in the air, but she had no protection against the rain or the snow. If the storm caught up with them within the next hour or so, before they could reach Bellefleur, they would have to seek some shelter, and Gabel could see little of that in the land they traveled over.

  Even as dawn had brightened the skies over the battered Kengarvey, Gabel had felt torn about the journey he was about to make. Because Ainslee was wracked with fever and delirium, he had wanted to stay where he was, nursing her until she was well enough for a long journey. He had also felt a strong need to get her to the comfort of Bellefleur and into Ronald’s care. It had been the thought of Ronald’s skills which had decided him. The moment they had all ridden away from Kengarvey, however, Gabel had begun to be plagued by doubts about his decision to move her. He had to continuously remind himself that Ronald could well be Ainslee’s best chance for survival.

  “I but reassure myself that she has not worsened,” he explained to Justice as the two of them rode side by side behind the small cart which held Ainslee.

  “Within the hour we can give her o’er into Ronald’s care,” Justice said.

  “ ’Tis my hope that he will agree with my decision to move her.”

  “She is no colder bundled in that cart than she would have been in that shelter at Kengarvey. And cease looking at those storm clouds at our backs. I do not believe they can catch us ere we reach Bellefleur’s gates, but, even if the weather begins to turn against us, we are close enough now that we will not have to suffer it for long.”

  “Aye, I know it. In truth, I know that all you say is the truth—in my head. ’Tis the rest of me which frets like some old woman.” He exchanged a brief grin with Justice.

  “Well, tell that old woman that Lady Ainslee has not worsened, and will soon be lodged in a place where she will have all she needs to heal.”

  Gabel nodded, but he did not fully share Justice’s confidence. Ronald was skilled, but was he skilled enough? Bellefleur had every comfort Ainslee could need or want, yet people could still die even when surrounded by the greatest of luxuries. He knew it was the presence of the fever that scared him. Too often he had watched it burn away the strength and the life of a fully grown, strong man. Knowing that, it was hard to find faith in everyone’s assertions that the tiny Ainslee could successfully fight it off.

  When Bellefleur finally came into view, Gabel felt a sense of nearly heady relief. The chill and damp of approaching night and the storm lurking to the north had rapidly increased in the past hour. Soon even the heavy wrappings they had sheltered Ainslee in would not be enough protection.

  The moment Gabel and his entourage rode through the gates, Elaine and Lady Marie hurried out to greet them. Gabel was pleased that, despite their shock and upset over Ainslee’s wound, his aunt and cousin accepted his assurances that he would explain everything as soon as Ainslee was taken care of. They helped to get Ainslee to her bedchamber, while he hurried to find Ronald. He left the old man with the women to tend to Ainslee, while he went to clean up from his journey.

  By the time Gabel returned to Ainslee’s bedchamber, Ronald had done his work, shooed the women away, and was seated at Ainslee’s bedside. “How is she?” Gabel asked as he moved to the other side of her bed, tentatively reaching out to touch her forehead and silently cursing the heat he felt beneath his hand.

  “Weak, battered, and feverish,” Ronald answered bluntly. “No need to keep touching her head. I have a fine skill at healing but even I canna wipe away a fever in but a few moments.”

  Gabel smiled faintly at Ronald’s ill humor. “It would not have surprised me if you had done just that.” He sat down on the edge of Ainslee’s bed and took her hand in his. “A part of me rather hoped that you could,” he said quietly.

  “Weel, laddie, I wish I could too, but I canna. The wound looks clean, she hasna lost any more blood since it was last tended to, and I find no signs of the wound turning poisonous.”

  “All good things and, yet, I hear a strange hesitancy in your voice, as if you do not wish to tell me everything”

  Ronald shrugged. “I dinna, for ’tis clear that ye have a fear of such things, and I dinna wish to be adding to that.”

  “Any man with a few wits scattered in his head would fear the deadly touch of fever.”

  “Aye. Weel, the truth then. I would feel more confident about her chances for recovery if that bastard Duggan, her blood-drenched swine of a father, hadna done her such harm already, ere she was even wounded by the arrow. He beat her savagely at least twice.”

  “How can you tell how often he did it?”

  “The color of the lassie’s bruises tell me. Some are fainter than the others. There are two different sets of bruises. I am fair certain of that. And the poor lass has lost weight, which she didna have too much of to begin with. The time she spent at Kengarvey stole away a lot of her strength. Howbeit, the lass is a good wee fighter.”

  “That she is, but this time she may face too great a challenge.”

  “ ’Tis in God’s hands.”

  “Aye, and may He forgive if I touch upon blasphemy, but I wish He would at least let us know His plans and spare us this gut-wrenching fear, or leave it in our hands.” He fleetingly smiled when Ronald chuckled. “And what of you? Are you strong enough to tend to her?”

  “Aye, although I confess that I am not as strong as I would like to be or need to be. I will have to allow others to help, so that I might rest from time to time. I ken that I will do the child no good if I make myself ill and weak ere she has begun to heal. Now, if ye wouldst be so kind, would ye tell me how she came to be wounded, and how Kengarvey fares?”

  Gabel took a deep breath and reluctantly told Ronald everything, pausing in his tale only to answer Ronald’s fe
w sharp questions. He sensed no blame behind Ronald’s quiet grief over those who had died, forced to pay the highest price for all of Duggan MacNairn’s follies. When he told Ronald how the brothers had reacted to the news that he was now the lord of Kengarvey, Gabel waited to see what the older man thought. He also wondered if Ronald would have any opinion on Donald Livingstone.

  “I am pleased to hear that the laddies have survived and have accepted their loss,” Ronald finally said.

  “Do you really believe that they have?” Gabel asked, needlessly readjusting the blankets over Ainslee.

  “Aye. In truth, I dinna think any of them believed that they would live long enough to rule there anyway, or that there would be anything left of Kengarvey. The lads have their faults. Who wouldna, after being raised by Duggan MacNairn? Howbeit, Duggan didna have the full raising of them, and their mother left a strong mark upon their hearts and souls. Ye need not worry that another Duggan MacNairn lurks there.”

  “Colin seems to believe that his sister Elspeth is the one who has their father’s nature.”

  “A mean-spirited, heartless lass. Aye, had she been born a mon or wed a husband with the stomach for battle, she could have been another Duggan.”

  “She could yet prod her husband to take up the fight on her behalf.”

  “Only if he doesna have to go to war o‘er it. Livingstone may do a lot to try and get what he wants, but he will ne’er do anything to bring an army to his gates or go to battle himself. ’Tis our good fortune that Elspeth wasna married off to a warrior. Livingstone will come, and he will argue for what he wants. He may even take his claims to the king. But ye can refuse the oaf without fear that ye will soon be riding off to battle Ainslee’s kinsmen yet again.”

  “Good. Now, all I need to worry o’er is Ainslee. There is a lot I must tell her and ask of her when she recovers.”

  Ronald said nothing, and Gabel found the man’s lack of assurances unsettling. He ordered Ronald back to his bed for a few hours, since Ainslee was resting as comfortably as she ever would while held so tightly in the fever’s grip. He wanted someone to tell him that Ainslee would be well again, yet, when they did, he found little comfort for he could not believe the reassurances. As he took Ronald’s seat in a chair by the bed, Gabel had to smile over his own vagaries. The only one who could convince him that she would heal was Ainslee herself, and she had yet to give him any comforting signs. He prayed that he would see one soon, for the longer the fever possessed her, the less were her chances of recovery.

  Gabel stretched and moved to splash some cold water on his face. It had been three long days since he had brought Ainslee back to Bellefleur, and he had spent a great deal of that time at her side. He had bathed her with cool water, seen to her needs, tried to force some hearty broth down her throat whenever she was aware enough to swallow, and tried to comfort her when she was caught in the terrors the fever produced in her mind. Only once had she recovered enough to recognize him, calling him by name and reaching out to touch his face. He had been unable to take much comfort in that, for she had quickly revealed that she did not know she was ill, where she was, or even what day it was.

  He poured himself a tankard of wine and returned to his seat by her bedside. Even when he left her side to tend to what little work he still did, or to seek out his own bed, he got little rest from his vigil. Leaving her side did not stop him from worrying or wondering if there had been any change in her condition. Ronald’s increasing ill humor told him that the man was also getting very concerned.

  Deciding that it was time he took yet another useless break from watching at her bedside, Gabel leaned forward and placed his hand on her forehead. It had become a habit, an act he repeated with almost embarrassing frequency, but this time he froze. He lifted his hand and gaped at it, the dampness on his palm glistening brightly in the light from the candles by the bed. Numbly, he replaced his hand on her forehead. Suddenly he leapt to his feet and proceeded to feel her whole body. Ainslee was drenched in her own sweat from head to toe. Gabel stood by the bed, torn by all the things he wanted to do, from hugging her to racing through the halls of Bellefleur screaming the news that her fever had finally broken.

  He took several deep breaths to try and calm himself, succeeding only enough to stop himself from acting like a complete madman. Although he hated to leave her alone in case she woke, he knew he had to fetch Ronald. As a compromise he went to the door and told a passing maid to fetch the older man. He then returned to Ainslee and sat down on the edge of the bed. Gabel took her hand in his, stared at her face, and tried to will her eyes open. He wanted to see that her eyes were clear of the clouds of delirium that had darkened them for days.

  Ainslee inwardly grimaced and shifted slightly. She felt weak, battered, and uncomfortably damp. When she realized that someone was holding her hand almost too tightly, she opened her eyes, a little startled at the effort it took to do so. When she was finally able to see Gabel clearly, she tried to smile, and winced when she discovered that her lips were too dry and cracked for her to do so comfortably.

  Gabel pressed her hand to his lips, not meeting her gaze for a moment, and she studied him. He did not look very well. There was a wan look to his dark skin and a look of great weariness lining his face and darkening his eyes. When she tried to reach out to touch the bristle of beard on his face, she cursed. She was too weak to do more than lightly brush her fingers over his cheek, before she had to drop her arm back down on the bed.

  “I was thinking that ye looked most poorly, Gabel,” she said, surprised at how hoarse her voice was and how it hurt to speak. “Howbeit, I begin to think that I must look a great deal worse. Have I been ill?”

  Gabel laughed shakily, amazed and a little embarrassed by the emotion choking him. “Aye, you have. This is the first time you have said anything sensible since that arrow buried itself in your flesh.”

  For a moment Ainslee did, not know what he was talking about, then memory flooded her. She tried to reach up to touch her shoulder, then decided there was no need. She could feel the wound. The fact that it was not as painful as it ought to be told her that she had been out of her senses for some time.

  “How long have I been ill?”

  “Four days.” Gabel decided to keep his answers short for fear that he would begin to babble and tell her far more than she was ready to hear.

  “I am back at Bellefleur?”

  “Aye. I brought you here for you could be better cared for, Kengarvey had little shelter and few supplies.”

  “Kengarvey,” she whispered. “How are my brothers? How many died? Does the keep—” Her eyes widened when he placed a finger on her lips to silence her. “Do ye fear to tell me? Is the news so bad that ye think I shall fall back under a fever again?”

  “Nay. I but want you to be quiet. You have lain abed wracked with a fever for four days, near to five, if one counts the day you were wounded. You should not use up what little strength you have regained in asking a lot of questions. Ah, Ronald,” he said when the older man hurried into the room.

  To his relief Ronald took over, hushing Ainslee, cleaning her, and dressing her in a clean gown. Gabel used the time to compose himself. One of the things he had grieved over as she had lain so ill, was the possibility that he had lost all chance of telling what was in his heart. The words had swirled in his head every minute she had been ill, and they now sat on the end of his tongue, fighting to be said. He knew he was close to giving into the urge to tell her everything he felt, but now was not the time. If nothing else, she might accept his words and reply in kind out of gratitude for all he had done, or she could be too weak to refuse him. He dreaded the thought that she might not return his feelings, but the idea that she would accept him without really wanting to, out of gratitude and mayhaps even pity, was even harder to bear.

  When Ronald stepped up to him and helped himself to some wine, Gabel glanced back at the bed and saw that Ainslee’s eyes were closed again. “She has not fallen back into a
fever, has she?”

  “Nay,” Ronald replied. “The lass is just weak, and my attentions wearied her. ’Tis just as weel that ye werena at her bedside, for the lass can have a foul blasphemous tongue at times.”

  Gabel grinned, knowing that Ainslee’s ill temper was a good sign. She might be weak in body, but her spirit was still strong. He was sure that was what had helped her fight off the fever.

  “Do you believe she will now begin to truly recover?”

  “Aye. The wound has been healing weel despite her fever, and her eyes and mind are clear. She will be verra weak for a while, and we shall have to bear the bite of her tongue, for she will try to do more than she ought, sooner than she ought.”

  “She will stay in her bed until you say otherwise. Aye, even if I must bind her to it.”

  Ronald laughed and finished off his wine. “The evening meal is being set out. Do ye wish to go to the hall? I can sit with her.”

  “Nay. You go and have a page bring some food up here, enough for me and for Ainslee. She may not be able to eat much yet, but her appetite will soon return.”

  “Aye, and ’twould be best if she ate hearty for a while, to regain her lost strength and some of that lost weight. The lass is naught but skin and bone.”

  “Ah, but ’tis most fair skin and bone.”

  Gabel laughed at Ronald’s look of disgust. When the man left a moment later, after one final look at his patient, Gabel returned to his seat by the bed. He discovered himself constantly brushing his hand over Ainslee’s forehead and cheeks, and smiled at his own foolishness. When she had been ill, he had been constantly looking for a sign that the fever had lessened or left, and now that it had, he kept looking for its return. He knew, however, that he also sought reassurance that she really was on the path to recovery.