As Lady Clysta closed the door, Emelin shook her head again. She’d welcome any new thoughts that would help her face the problems back at Langley.
Sunlight outlined the closed shutters on the small, narrow window when Emelin opened her eyes. How advanced was the day? She had to prepare for the lengthy journey ahead. The problems she’d struggled with last night hadn’t resolved themselves. Nothing for it but to lie and hope the two men believed the tale.
In the cool room she hurried to don her gown and slippers. Twisting the now-smooth length of hair into a braid, she tied the end with a strip of linen Lady Clysta had provided. A thoughtful, generous lady.
Being with her brought back the faint memories of Emelin’s mother, the more recent ones of Stephen’s mother. Emelin had thought she no longer missed those relationships. Now faced with the motherly Lady Clysta, she felt a longing to be comforted.
She shook it off. She was no longer a child, but a woman who would bear her own children. And she vowed to be a loving, understanding mother.
The corridor was deserted. In the great hall, a few stragglers lingered.
A maid saw her at the foot of the stairs and hurried forward. “My lady, if you would like to sit, I will bring you cheese and bread.”
“Has Lady Clysta come down?” Emelin was surprised to see so few people around.
“Oh, yes. She has gone to the infirmary with Sir Daviess. Sister Ressa summoned them.”
Emelin’s heart dived to her toes. “Is the knight worse?” She had started for the door when she heard the maid’s, “Oh, my lady, yes.”
Chapter Eighteen
Panic gripped Emelin as she raced across the bailey. When she burst through the door, the small group around Giles looked up. The nun was at his injured side, while Lady Clysta and Sir Daviess stood on the other. The two men-at-arms who had tied him down the day before hovered nearby.
They’d done so again, and Giles struggled against the rope. Emelin heard a distant cry, then realized it came from her own mouth
“No need to worry, my dear.” Lady Clysta tried to project calmness, but tension limned her tone. “His fever has risen, yes. Sister Ressa believes it’s natural and won’t threaten his recovery.”
Emelin circled the pallet and took her place at his shoulder, leaving room for the healer to work. She touched his brow and took his hand. This time, it did not calm him. He continued to toss his head from side to side.
The healer held a new pad loaded with foul-smelling ointment. From the discarded linen, she could see fresh blood among the greenish residue of the old herb paste.
“There is some blood,” the nun acknowledged, following Emelin’s glance. “The rest is drainage, which is good. If the poison comes out, it won’t be trapped inside the body.”
Pray God she was right. When the fresh bandage was in place, Giles quieted. The connection intrigued Emelin. “The pain must be great, but he stopped moving when you finished,” she said. “Does the dressing ease the discomfort?”
“That is indeed odd, my lady.” Sister Ressa paused and looked thoughtfully at the now-still Giles. “Certainly there is pain. But it seems he tries to defend himself when anyone touches him. He is a warrior, trained to battle. Even unconscious he senses someone near and reaches out for something—his sword, I believe.”
The nun finished removing the soiled dressings and murmured to the others who stood watch over the patient. Emelin paid little heed, merely assuring Lady Clysta she’d be in soon. When they had gone, Emelin pulled over a three-legged stool and sat beside Giles. He lay still, now, although his breathing was uneven. Worse injuries than this had not laid him low, and he would recover from this one. As Sister Ressa said, he was a warrior.
Here he would be well cared for. And if she succeeded in diverting Garley, Giles could continue his journey with no more trouble.
The decision had been made. Why did she hesitate? This was the perfect time for her to leave. And she must return to Langley, settle her future.
No matter how unreal the last few days had been, the outside world beckoned. And her world was crowded with problems, not the least of which was the fault of the man in front of her. He had abducted her and dragged her who knew how far. She still had no idea why. Oh, he made some preposterous claim that she was in danger. That was foolish.
What wasn’t foolish was the way he dominated her feelings, her very thoughts. He posed some lure for her she couldn’t explain. When they were together, she lost all sense of duty and obligation. When he held her, she was safe, content, and the world well lost. When he didn’t hold her, she longed for the time he did so again.
Sir Giles of Cambrai was right. Lady Emelin of Compton was in grave danger. But the danger came from him. She had to leave.
Emelin bowed her head and offered a brief prayer for Giles, then for herself. She lifted her head—and looked into his eyes. He was awake! He tried to lift a hand, but she caught it against her breast.
“Are you…all right?” His voice was a rusty croak.
“Yes. Yes. It is you who are hurt. Lie still and don’t speak. I’ll get you a drink.”
By the time she located water and returned to the pallet, his eyes had closed again. He didn’t answer her, but his chest moved. There. Didn’t that show he would be fine? He recognized her and now he slept. Before she could change her mind, Emelin rushed from the room. She would just break her fast, then she and her escorts could take to the road.
How she managed to evade the gentle questions of Lady Clysta and Sir Daviess for the next few minutes, she didn’t know, but before long she was ready.
The couple watched from the hall steps as she walked to the mare. She smiled absently at its saddle. No riding bareback this day. A short distance away, two soldiers sat their horses patiently waiting.
Emelin stopped. She could see the door to the chamber where Giles lay. A great weight seemed to press against her chest and shoulders. A fire burned in her belly.
As she prepared to mount, the back of her mouth tingled. Was she going to be ill, here in the bailey in front of everyone? Her glance again went to the closed door.
“Wait.” She gulped back the gorge in her throat. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t abandon Giles, alone and hurting, with strangers. They wouldn’t understand him. Lord Osbert had waited this long, another day or two wouldn’t matter. And Garley—could go hang.
“I—I believe I will remain for another day.” She swung around to the old couple. “If I may?” The moment the words were out of her mouth the enormous weight lifted from her heart. She had made the right decision, she knew it then.
Lady Clysta trotted down the steps and held out her hands. “Of course, my dear. Stay as long as you like.” She placed a plump arm around Emelin’s shoulders.
Inside, the lady called for wine and led her to the hearth. When Sir Daviess took Sir Thomas off to inventory the garrison’s winter supplies, the two ladies were alone. Emelin leaned against the chair back and closed her eyes to await the inevitable questions.
It was a few moments before Lady Clysta spoke. “I can’t but think you are in some kind of trouble. I might be able to help if you could bring yourself to confide.”
Emelin dreaded to discuss her problems with strangers, yet she owed some information to her hostess. She opened her eyes and leaned forward, her voice earnest. “You do deserve an explanation. I must ask that you not speak of it to anyone else.”
“But I must tell Sir Daviess.”
“Anyone other than your husband, then.”
“Very well. Unless the tale involves a threat to our king, I will vow silence.”
Could she do this? To reveal everything might put Giles in danger. Secrets had a way of winging free, no matter the good intentions. And what might Sir Daviess say in an unguarded moment, if he were not himself? No, to reveal the entire story would be unwise. Perhaps part of the story would suffice.
With a deep breath, she began. “Sir Giles believed me to be in danger. He insi
sted I visit a friend where I would be safe. But we took a wrong road during the storm a few nights past.”
Emelin paused for a sip of wine. What she had said was correct, for the most part. Now how much of what happened after should she relate? The older lady sat, hands clasped in lap, and waited with an encouraging expression.
“I—I must admit I did not believe he had my best interests at heart,” Emelin continued at last. “I slipped away when he was asleep. That’s when I stumbled upon the outlaws. They forced me to go with them. When Sir Giles awoke and found I had left, he followed me. Again. You see, he…wasn’t willing for me to travel alone. He thought it too dangerous.” She sighed. “He’s a stubborn man.”
A sharp cough interrupted the story, and Lady Clysta resorted to her wine. When she lifted the cup away, Emelin thought a smile played in the silver blue eyes. But it was gone in an instant.
The lady’s expression turned serious. “It is fortunate he followed you. Those men were dangerous. Sir Thomas believes they are the band that raided several of our tenants. They burned three cottages and…attacked the women. One man who tried to stop them was killed. Think what might have happened if Sir Giles had not found you.”
Emelin shivered at memories of currant-eyes and his lewd suggestions. She nodded. “You see why I must be certain he will recover. My journey can be postponed for a few more days.”
Silence met her. She looked up, afraid of the other lady’s reaction. Lady Clysta was considering her with lips pursed and a slight frown. “I believe there must be more to your story?”
“There is, but truly you are better off not knowing. If my brother should come to collect me, you can honestly say I did not tell you the whole. But I pledge to you I have done nothing unlawful and nothing that threatens the king. The problem involves a misunderstanding I am certain can be resolved when I return to Langley.”
Just let this kind old lady be persuaded, and Emelin vowed to confess and do penance according to the church’s decision. Except if the priest at St. Ursula was involved, she’d be on her knees for the rest of her life.
“Let us do what we can for this knight of yours, then we will decide about the rest.” Lady Clysta rose. “I think I will see what Cook might have. Perhaps he would appreciate some nice warm stew when he wakes. The chamber you had last night is yours for as long as you like.”
She paused and looked searchingly at Emelin. “Just do be careful, my dear. Your brother may not be pleased when the two of you are reunited. Men have a way of behaving unreasonably when they think they have been crossed. Now you’d best rest so you’ll be fresh to look after Sir Giles.” She patted Emelin’s hand.
Lady Clysta was correct. Garley would be furious. He could very well keep his promise to send her back to the convent for the rest of her life if Lord Osbert rejected her. That eventuality would be faced when the time came. Right now, she had work to do.
In her small chamber, she unpacked her meager belongings. When she saw the comb the lady of Granville had hidden among the clothing, tears filled her eyes. Emelin prepared for her vigil by changing into her own gown. It had been washed and mended. Unfortunately, not all the blood stains had come out. A few red-brown blotches dotted the fabric. But it would do for this duty.
Giles still slept when she reached the tower room. His arms were bound—loosely she found—to keep him from moving too vigorously and opening the wound. Although she understood the reason, she didn’t like it. A young girl sat nearby playing with a kitten.
“I’m to watch him and call Sister Ressa if’n he wakes up,” the girl announced, popping up from the three-legged stool. “But he’s been right still, just mutterin’ sometimes.”
“Thank you. It’s an important duty. I’m here now, and I think we can relieve him of those ropes, don’t you? Find one of the men, and let’s get them removed.”
The girl nodded, tucked the tabby beneath her chin, and trotted to the door. “I ’spect he’ll be glad you’re here, milady.”
Emelin checked Giles’ face. It was hot; fever still moved through him. The bandage looked fresh so Sister Ressa must have visited not long ago. The nun was more knowledgeable about treating battle wounds than she, but Emelin could help with the ordinary duties of healing. How thoughtful of someone to send the girl to keep watch.
She straightened his blankets, recognizing them as those she and Giles had brought. Clean now. Each detail she saw here at Granville impressed her more.
Soon, one of the two men who had been present earlier entered, followed by the little girl. He untied the rope, coiled it and dropped in on the floor by the pallet.
“Thank you,” Emelin said.
He looked pleased and nodded. “Call if’n you need help, milady,” he said. “Or send Missy, here. She’ll fetch me right fast.”
The curious Missy came to stand beside Emelin and looked at the still Giles.
“He be a handsome one, right milady? I ’spect I’ll marry a man just like him. ’Cept not so old, a’ course.” She brought the kitten around to look at the handsome old warrior. “See, Dammit?”
“What did you call your kitten?” Emelin wasn’t sure she heard correctly.
“Dammit,” Missy replied matter-of-factly. “It’s what my brothers call her. When she wants to play with them, they say, ‘Git outta here, Dammit.’”
Biting a lip to keep from smiling, Emelin shook her head. The little one didn’t look more than a half-dozen years. “How old are you Missy?”
“Not sure, milady. My mam died when I was little. It’s me ’n my brothers now. Only Jem’s here, though. Will went with the king’s man to save the country.”
Emelin’s breath caught in her throat. This king’s man must be the one Sir Giles followed. And the visitors Sir Daviess had talked of.
“Will is very brave, then,” she said. Missy’s head jerked up and down. “You must miss him. How long has he been gone?”
“Not long afore you came, I think. Lots of the others went with him. Sir Daviess says it’s their duty, ’cause the king’s off fightin’ for us. Somewheres. Don’t ’member where.”
“Do you happen to remember where they were going?” Emelin ignored the faint guilt that plagued her for questioning a child.
“Will didn’t say. Just said for Jem t’ watch out for me.”
Giles chose that moment to groan, and Emelin turned. “Missy, hand me that bowl of water. I’ll put a cool cloth on his face.”
The two kept vigil beside Giles throughout the morning. A maid brought a tray at midday and bid Missy come to the kitchen for a bite. When she was alone, Emelin picked up Giles’ hand and watched him. He was a handsome one for sure. The planes of his face were sharper now, the hollows deeper below high cheekbones, apparent even beneath the growth of beard. Around his deep set eyes, faint shadows played.
His beautiful lips were cracked. She wished there was ointment for them. Her finger gently traced their contours as she recalled how they felt. Soft and hard at the same time. A tingle skittered down her back. Until Giles, she’d never been kissed on the mouth before. The feelings that came with his kisses were overwhelming. They’d certainly overwhelmed her good sense.
Here she was, the sharp-tongued, stubborn Emelin who knew her duty, ignoring obligation. Choosing to remain at the side of an unknown, possibly traitorous, mercenary who would steal her virtue if she wasn’t careful. Her biggest concern: There would be no thievery involved. She feared she would gift him that virtue with a smile.
His long, thick eyelashes fluttered, eyelids lifted. Dull gray eyes were unfocused. His callused hand squeezed hers and his eyes drifted closed again.
He whispered, “Ma mère. Where are you?”
In his fevered mind, he called for his mother. Emelin’s throat tightened with tears. How could she comfort him? She slipped an arm beneath his shoulder, leaned her forehead against his and whispered, “Here, my child. I have you safe.”
As she moved away, her lips brushed the hot skin of his temple.
Her tongue traced the faint taste of perspiration. When he moved restlessly, murmuring words she couldn’t make out, she placed her hand on his chest and stroked. If only this could ease his pain, calm his troubled spirit. How strange that when they touched, she felt comforted, as well.
All that afternoon, she remained by his side. She bathed his face and neck, urged sips of water as often as possible. When Sister Ressa returned to check the bandage, Emelin asked to perform the task. The wound showed no signs of putrefaction, although the site was red.
“Less drainage,” the nun observed. “A good sign. You have some experience with healing?”
“A little,” Emelin admitted. “I was learning more until…recently.”
“Then you may change the dressing later. I’ll leave the salve here.” The good sister reminded Emelin of a bird in her quick, precise movements. She was as small and thin as a bird, as well. Her face was serene, the fine lines and wrinkles that marked it hardly visible in the dim room.
“How do you come to be here, Sister?” Emelin couldn’t help but ask.
“It must seem strange,” the other woman agreed. “Lady Clysta is my younger sister. She asked me to come when Sir Daviess suffered a setback some months ago, and I received permission for a visit. I have remained because I am…needed. But soon I must return to Lincoln. My heart tells me it is time.”
The room was silent after the nun left. Missy was not there, so Emelin sat in the dim room, adding fuel to the brazier when it burned low, applying cool cloths, praying for the knight who lay before her.
Not long after the sun set, Giles became restless, tossing his head, muttering. Emelin managed as best she could. She didn’t want to tie him down again.
His movement became more erratic until she stood, draped an arm across his upper chest and grasped his opposite shoulder to restrain him. The touch to his shoulder triggered an unexpected response. His arm swung up. This time she ducked.
His eyes shot open, and he stared at her in recognition. “Emelin? You’re here? I’ve been searching for you. Be careful, love.” His arm dropped and he quieted again. After a few moments of silence, he said, “Emelin? Are you here?”
Silverhawk Page 18
