by Lisa Shea
She tried to speak, but no voice emerged from her tight throat.
“Penrith keep,” he rumbled in a low, reassuring voice. “You are safe.”
Her hand went to the sharp pain at her side. The area was bandaged, and she groaned. What had she done now?
“It is healing,” he offered. “Right now it is the poison we are more worried about. You need to rest.”
He offered another drink of mead, and she took it, then fell back, exhausted. Pain seemed to blossom across her entire body, and a wave of chills ran over her. He drew the cloth across her face again, his eyes attentive. “I am here,” he murmured.
For some reason this soothed her, and she nodded, closing her eyes and falling back into troubled dreams.
* * *
Bright light streamed against her eyelids. She pried them awake against the sleepy crust. The room seemed to glow in brilliant white, from the embroidered alabaster curtains at the window to the thick ivory fur rug which fronted the blazing fireplace.
A slim girl in burgundy turned, laughing in delight when she saw Lucia’s eyes were open. Lucia tried to speak, but no words would come.
The whiteness flared and faded away.
* * *
Darkness again. The deep brown eyes were back, steady at her side, and this time he eased her to half sit, then slowly fed her spoonfuls of chicken broth. She shivered but could not tell if it was with an icy chill or a searing heat. Her side throbbed with pain. She struggled to voice a question.
“How …”
He brushed a tendril of hair back from her eyes. “How long have you been out?”
She nodded weakly, staggered at the exhaustion caused by such a simple effort.
“This is your second night,” he informed her, putting the empty bowl on a table beside the oil lamp. “One more night and you should be through the worst of it.”
She moved a hand down to her side again, but this time she could not get even a word past her lips.
“You want to know how bad it is?” he asked.
She nodded wearily.
“The wound was shallow; it will heal in a few weeks and leave a minor scar. It was the dwale you ingested which your body is fighting with now.”
She looked up at him in confusion. She had been poisoned?
He glanced down at her fingers. “You got it on your hands when you cleaned your wound,” he explained gently. “And then, when you were building the cairn, you must have put your singed fingers in your mouth at some point.”
The vision hit Lucia clearly. The leaping flame as she had set the pile alight, her instinctive move to soothe the burned fingers. And then she had stood back to watch …
Tears flooded her eyes as it came back to her. Her dear friends had been slain, had fallen at her feet protecting her life with their own. She shuddered with sobs, and suddenly strong arms were holding her, comforting her, wrapping her in their security. She cried against him for long minutes.
Finally, when she had exhausted herself, he lay her back against the pillow. She found she had twined herself around his arm, and he did not withdraw it as she descended into an ebony darkness.
* * *
The whiteness blinded her, and with it came a lively, fast-talking man with blond hair and bright gaiety. He streamed out story after story of dragon-filled battles and beautiful maidens with flaxen hair. The young girl in burgundy brought mugs of ale; he helped Lucia down a mouthful or two before resuming his recital of his tales.
She wanted to know their names, but he seemed not to sense the questions in her eyes. She lay back, drifting.
* * *
The embers of the fire flickered against the darkness, and she turned toward the brown eyes she knew would be at her side. His voice was comfort and familiarity. “There you are,” he murmured. “Ready for some soup?”
She nodded weakly, leaning against his sturdy warmth as he eased her to sitting. He smelled of musk and leather and juniper, and she breathed in the aroma as he settled her back against her pillow. She opened her mouth dutifully as he brought the bowl to her lips. The tight burning in her throat had gone, although it still felt raspy from disuse.
“Out of danger?” she ground out between sips, overcome with a fresh fit of shivering.
His eyes shadowed slightly. “Getting there,” he murmured. “The wolves’ heads must be working with a new mixture, something more potent than we’ve seen before.” He brushed her hair back with a tender move. “But you have a fierce strength within you. A lesser person would not have made it through this far. Just one more day and the fever should break.”
Lucia thought back to when she had first seen him. She had been racked with pain, curled up against her horse’s flank, all hope lost. And then he had been there by her side, and even when she flashed her dagger to his throat the man had not moved a muscle. He had remained still, willing her to trust in him.
To have that kind of courage …
Her lips creased into a smile. “Glad I did not kill you,” she forced out through a tight throat.
His eyes widened for a moment, and then he chuckled, nodding. “So am I,” he agreed.
His look grew serious. “One more night,” he urged her. “It will get worse before it gets better. You hang in there.”
She nodded, and then her lids fell closed again.
* * *
The brightness of the sun, the whiteness of her room, nearly blinded her, and her body convulsed with endless shivers. The blond man glanced nervously at the maid who waited nearby. “Ellie, maybe you should call Matthew,” he muttered.
“But surely Stephen – ”
The man gave a sharp shake of the head. “Stephen is exhausted; he barely leaves the room as it is,” he countered. “Let the man sleep another few hours.”
The room went awash in ivory sparkles, and she was lost.
* * *
Orange and crimson shadows danced on the walls, a steady hand was brushing along her forehead with a damp cloth, and a concerned voice murmured at her ear. “You can do it,” he insisted, holding her as another wave of teeth-rattling tremors shook her. “Hang in there. This will be the worst of it.”
There was a movement by the fireplace, and she wearily looked up, her eyes creasing in surprise. Her father stood there, his gaze warm and steady on her. He was wearing his leather armor, his sword at his hip, and he nodded in approval at her struggle against the poison.
“Father,” she called out weakly, her voice rich with relief. “I thought you were dead.” Thank God. He had escaped the bandit onslaught after all. She had believed him lost when he held the exit gate, refusing to come as she fled with the final group. How could he have stood against so many?
Stephen’s voice was tense with concern at her side. “You hang in there,” he repeated, drawing a moist cloth against her forehead again. His eyes glanced to the fireplace, then back to her again.
Another movement, and her brows creased in confusion as Michael, her twin, stepped up next to her father, his eyes shining with pride. “Michael?” she ground out. She forced herself to speak, to rasp out the words against a burning throat. “You should not be here. I love you dearly - but who is watching over our people?”
Stephen’s glance grew more focused, and it was a moment before he let out a breath. He turned to take a mug of mead, and then he was holding her in his arms, easing the warm liquid down her throat.
“You need to rest,” he insisted, his voice rough. “Let your body fight the poison off. You can get through this. I know you can.”
With an effort she dragged her eyes from the wavering vision of her family and back up to his warm gaze. His eyes were rich with worry, and she gave a half smile.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
The tension in his forehead eased slightly, and he nodded, then carefully laid her back down against the pillow. Again she curled up against his hand, and again he made no move to pull it free as she drifted into an endless sea of night.
&nb
sp; Chapter 3
Lucia gradually became aware of her surroundings, slowly drifting up from a thick cocoon of contentment and quiet. The first sensations to penetrate the dense fog were the gentle comforts of her bed. She felt mild surprise; the last she remembered that seemed real she was curled up next to her horse, huddling for shelter against an icy winter storm. She had been wounded in her side.
Her numb mind refused to admit the events which had driven her to that spot. Her eyes still closed, she stretched her fingers gingerly down to her side, waiting for the pain when she touched the wound.
Her hand instead found soft bandages and a dull, throbbing ache. Her eyes flew open, and she looked around in surprise. She was immediately struck by the ivory glow of the furnishings. The bed she lay on was covered with soft sheets and a fluffy, alabaster tapestry comforter. A diaphanous hanging surrounded the bed and protected her from drafts.
She turned her head to the right. A wooden chair was pulled next to her end of the bed. A table beside it held a bronze oil lamp with a beautiful, spiral handle. She gazed at the lamp for a long time. It was unlike any she had seen before, with an elegant swoop to its body and a row of sturdy raised bosses tracing a line across its middle.
She pushed herself up to a sitting position and gazed around the rest of her room. A comforting fire crackled in the marble fireplace. A door to its right was closed, and near it stood tables and an intricately carved dresser of fine, stained mahogany. To the left two windows, through which the winter sun shone brightly, were curtained with a thick white cloth, tied on each side. In one corner, an old harp sat, polished to a soft sheen.
Lucia felt very out of place. She didn’t belong in this pristine setting. But it was more than that. Something was missing ... something important.
Confused, she tried to get up, but as she moved a voice rang out from the second, open doorway to the left.
“Don’t you get out of that bed, miss,” scolded a young-sounding voice. A girl with straight, waist-length blonde hair and wearing a deep burgundy overdress over a long white linen chemise, walked out of the open door and crossed to the first door, checking that it was locked. She appeared to be no older than thirteen. “I am under strict orders to keep my guest rested, healthy, and clean, and that I am doing. Though it is not easy what with all of your visitors,” she added, smiling. “That Ian has looked in on you at least twice this morning already! The other girls are quite jealous.”
Lucia tried her voice, and found that she could talk, despite her dreams of raspy muteness. “Good morning,” she murmured, and Ellie smiled delightedly. “Your girls have no cause to worry,” Lucia added with a wry smile. She wasn’t going to be here long enough to cause anyone any jealousy.
She pulled back the covers. Who was Ian? The eyes that watched over her? Was that a dream?
Ellie’s young face lit up with insight. “Oh! Do you mean you are already married?” she asked, coming over to the side of the bed and pulling aside the bedcurtains.
Lucia shook her head. “No,” she replied quickly, as she pushed up into a sitting position. She found that she was dressed in a long, cream-colored nightgown with delicately embroidered slippers to match. White, white, white!
She was a dirty stain on this room from a fairy tale. This wasn’t where she belonged.
She swung her feet around and tried to stand, but a sharp pain shot through her side, and she stumbled. The girl was there in an instant, supporting her by the arm, strong despite her small size.
“Thank you,” offered Lucia ruefully. She sat back on the bed and tried to clear her thoughts. “I guess I was ‘rescued’ by this Ian, then.” Her voice began to come to her more easily, and the fog slowly dissipated. “I think I remember someone in the storm. Yes, someone found me ...” She looked over at Ellie. “Did Ian find me in the woods near this place? Where are my belongings?” Lucia was still having trouble with her memory. She looked around the room, but could see none of her possessions amongst the perpetual whiteness of the accommodations. Lucia didn’t like this - she felt much better when she was in control of a situation. The annoyance helped her think more clearly.
“It was Ian and Stephen who found you,” supplied the girl with a smile. “They brought you here. Matthew, one of our brothers, helped work on your wounds. That was a week ago.”
That caught Lucia’s attention. A week had passed! Maybe some of her dreams were not quite fantasy after all. She knew this girl’s name, after all. She glanced over at the table, at the oil lamp which sat on it. Had the warm eyes been a dream or a reality?
Ellie continued, “Lord Edmund will be holding a council meeting later tonight to go over what they know. They had hoped you would be well enough by then to give them some information. They are still not quite sure what to make of you.” She chuckled, but looked sideways at Lucia, her own curiosity clearly evident.
The young girl continued. “Ian’s last visit today was to bring the message that, if you felt up to it, his father requested your presence at tonight’s meeting.” She smiled broadly at the memory. “He really has fallen for you, and has been with you at least a half hour each day, telling you all manner of stories! Just think - if Ian has truly been caught by your beauty ...”
Lucia’s frustration flared briefly at the romantic pushes Ellie was giving. She held in her impatience with an effort - the throbbing pain in her side was quickly being overtaken by a pounding headache. It appeared that keeps of all sorts bred silly gossip.
Keeps ... Lucia brightened at the thought. She must have made it to Penrith. If the maps were right, it was the town closest to the front of the Gray’s advance. It was where she had been heading when she was attacked.
The maid’s giggle brought her back to her current situation. The thought crossed Lucia’s mind that she didn’t remember being silly when she was young. Maybe she just hadn’t had the luxury. It seemed so long ago.
She struggled to her feet. “Not to worry, I am not going after your hero!” She glanced around. “Do you have anywhere to wash up in here? I would like to change into my own clothes, if I may. If they want to meet me, I am prepared to talk to them.” She had a million questions she wanted answered, now that her mind was regaining its focus, but she doubted Ellie would have the information she sought.
Ellie paused for a moment, and Lucia flushed. She realized she did not know the customs of this area. “I understand some regions feel bathing is dangerous, especially when you are ill,” she commented quietly. “My father was in the Crusades, and he learned something of medicine while in the Holy Land. I know it might seem odd to you, but I think getting this dirt and sweat off of me will help me feel better.”
Ellie gave her a soothing pat. “Oh, it was not that. My family comes from the town called Bath. As you might imagine, I am probably as fond of them as you are,” effused Ellie with a smile. “You seemed to be regaining yourself, so I took the liberty of drawing a hot bath for you in the next room. It will take off that layer of dirt.”
Ellie tucked herself under Lucia’s arm to support her, and together they moved to the doorway. Ellie glanced up momentarily at Lucia before continuing.
“I was hesitating because you mentioned your apparel. I have put your clothes on the shelves by the wall.” She held her tongue for a moment, but then asked with curiosity, “They look like, well, if you do not mind my saying so, men’s clothing. Have you brought any dresses?” Lucia shook her head no. What good would dresses have done her on her journey? Still, in these story-like surroundings, she flushed with embarrassment. She apparently didn’t fit the part they expected her to be playing.
Ellie continued, “Well, not to worry. My friends and I are going to fix that. You are taller than I am, but we can make do. No woman as pretty as you should be without a good dress or two.”
To Lucia’s chagrin, her face deepened to berry red. To hide her confusion she turned, quickly looking down at the floor. She couldn’t remember the last time someone complimented her on her looks
; she usually didn’t brook such talk. True, sometimes the question had come unbidden to her, in the privacy of her room, when another long, lonely night stretched out before her. Was she pretty? Would a man find her attractive? She shook her head. How long ago had that been, when she’d had the luxury of idle thought? Lucia couldn’t remember.
Ellie took Lucia’s silence as denial; she stopped and turned to face Lucia. “You are pretty,” she repeated firmly. “With the way you had braided your hair and wore those rough outfits it would be tough to tell, but if we get you in the right clothes you could be the prettiest woman here!” She gave a sharp nod of her head to emphasize the point, then smiled and took up Lucia’s waist again, careful to avoid her mending wound.
“Anyway,” she added brightly, pursuing yet another thought, “the council does want to meet you. After all, we do not know who you are. They just found you half frozen and brought you in here. That is what the meeting is all about. That and the recent Gray attack. There seem to be so many assaults recently, but we are holding strong!”
With such good nature behind it, and the soft lilting sound of Ellie’s speech, the prattle became almost soothing, and Lucia’s headache eased. “Thank you for your help,” she smiled to the young maid, genuinely appreciating the assistance. “And please, call me Lucia.”
They finally made it through the doorway, and Lucia was impressed and grateful to see a golden-tiled room with the typical wooden half-barrel tub in the center. A wooden plank laid across one end held a bowl of rose petals, undoubtedly dried the previous summer. Colored glass filtered the sun into a pretty mosaic across the beautiful tile which covered most of the floor. The tub was filled to the brim with steaming, rose-scented water. Lucia slowly slipped off her slippers and nightgown and eased herself into the warm water. She leaned her head back as Ellie gently unwound her braid and lathered her hair.
