“My thanks, little queen.”
He walked back to Bianca. Behind him, the bees descended once more, to cluster around their hive. Before him, Bianca looked on with a mixture of fear and awe clearly painted on her features. Once more, her mouth hung open. Robin smiled. He drew to a halt before her, and broke off a small piece of honeycomb, popping it between her parted lips. Her mouth abruptly closed, her lips brushing his finger as he withdrew, and a wholly unfamiliar shiver swept down his spine. Their eyes met, and he saw the concern in them.
“There was no need to fear.” He spoke softly, trying to ease her heart.
He saw her jaw work, chewing the sweet comb. She swallowed, and a small smile of pure pleasure graced her mouth. The fear eased out of her eyes, replaced by twinkling delight.
“Of course. Because you’re an elf.”
He rolled his eyes. The mortal chit was teasing him.
“A sprite? An imp?” She laughed up at him. “A brownie?” She looked down at the pot, and smiled gently. “Thank you for the honey.”
“It was no trouble.”
“I believe you.”
It took him a moment, but he realized what she meant.
“There are mortals who can harvest honey from a hive.”
“Not the way you did. That was… magical.” She shook her head. “But that isn’t why. I just believe you. That’s all.”
He was touched. “Perhaps it is because you trust me.”
“Perhaps it is because I am a foolish child who wants to believe in fairy tales.”
“I cannot deny, I have often thought you were a foolish child.” She gaped at him in mock indignation, but he put a finger against her lips to forestall her response. Again, he felt the shiver race down his spine when he touched their soft, yielding surface. He shook it off, and let a teasing grin paint his face.
“It just so happens that, on this occasion, you are also right.”
Chapter 12
Bianca had enjoyed her morning out in the forest, but as they made their way back to the cave a somberness came over her. She dreaded the task at hand, and wished there were some magic she could use, to cure Isabelle without—
She whirled on Robin. “Can you heal Isabelle?”
He looked startled. “What?”
“Can you cast some spell and heal her?” She spoke urgently.
He sighed, and shook his head. “Bianca, no. In the first place, I told you, I have no skill for healing. I was not only referring to herbs and roots. In the second place, even if I were skilled enough to heal Isabelle through an enchantment, it is strictly forbidden.”
“Forbidden for you to heal us?”
“No, we may assist you in any endeavor we deem worthy, so long as we use mortal means to do so. To do otherwise would break the Accords.”
“I don’t understand. You climbed the tree, and harvested the honey, and it wasn’t the way a mortal would.”
“That is different. A mortal could have done those things.” He shook his head, and then gave her a considering glance. “It is difficult to explain. I will tell you what I may, but it should wait. For the moment, all you need to know is that I am not capable of healing Isabelle. And you must turn your thoughts to the task at hand.”
She sighed. Robin was right. She had only been trying to find a way, any way—even a way she only half believed in—to avoid what was coming next. So she straightened her shoulders, set her jaw, and picked up the pace. Delaying would make nothing easier.
No matter how much she wanted to.
They hadn’t strayed far from the cave, and it took little time to return. Bianca held carefully to Robin’s hand as she worked her way along the narrow ledge that ran behind the waterfall. Getting wet would be bad enough, but she didn’t want to lose the honey pot in the pool. Once they were safely past the slippery ground at the opening of the cave, she turned from Robin, shutting him out of her thoughts. Her focus narrowed, until all she saw was the patient before her.
Isabelle was unconscious, still caught in the feverish haze that was part sleep, part delirium. When Bianca uncovered her back there was little change from the day before; the suppurating wound lay open, weeping blood along with white streams of infection. The smell was rank, with the stench of death and decay coming from a live, breathing body. Bianca closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath—despite the smell—and said a short prayer to any of the gods that were listening. Then she began to work.
First the water. She stoked the fire, and set their largest camp pot full of water down in the hottest part of the flames. While it rose to a boil, she gathered her tools. Her knife she wordlessly handed to Robin, along with a whetstone. The sound of the blade scraping along the stone filled the cave, providing a grating rhythm to her work. She pulled the pot of mash close to the fire, where it could warm, and set the crock of honey in front of her. She broke up the chunks of comb, squeezing each one, letting the honey seep out over her fingers. When there was nothing in the pot but pure golden fluid she pushed that over to the fire as well.
When water in the large pot was steaming she threw in the birch bark. She let it boil a few moments, and then filled all their tin mugs with the pure birch tea, before using the rest of the infusion to wash all the bandages, and her hands. Finally, she took the sharpened knife from Robin, and held it in the fire a few moments.
There was nothing left to prepare.
She motioned to Robin to take up his place by Isabelle’s shoulders. This was going to hurt, and even in her current state, Bianca expected Isabelle to thrash around. She lowered herself once more to sit on Isabelle’s hips, firmly pinning the lower half of her body. Once Robin had his weight centered squarely over Isabelle’s shoulder blades, Bianca took one more deep breath, and began to cut.
She kept her movements smooth and steady. Rushing would have it over faster, but it could cause her to make a dangerous mistake. Using only the tip of the blade, she bore down into the swollen flesh around the wound. It took very little pressure for the keen edge to pierce the taut skin, and immediately infected matter began flowing from the rupture. She drew the knife a few inches before retracting the blade, leaving the cut to continue disgorging its contents.
Beneath her, Isabelle tensed and twitched, but she couldn’t move with their combined weights holding her.
Bianca began another cut, a handspan from the first. She had considered this carefully, and was planning on making six cuts; three above and three below the wound. She hoped that would provide enough drainage for the infection, without causing too much further damage to Isabelle’s back. The second and third cut went as smoothly as the first, but while she was making the fourth cut, Isabelle woke up.
She did it with a cry and a violent jerk of her shoulders, that almost dislodged Robin. Bianca hastily withdrew the knife, fearing her friend’s movements would drive it too deep in her flesh, but Isabelle kept up with her wild thrashing.
Robin leaned down near her ear, and attempted to calm her. “Isabelle, you must hold still. Bianca is trying to help you.”
“No, no!” The queen bucked, hard, but she was weak from the fever and illness. “You leave her alone! She’s just a child, a child!”
Robin looked up, and Bianca knew he saw the tears in her eyes.
“Brannon beat her once before, when she found out he was whipping me, and tried to stop him. It was what finally made him stop summoning me, the fear that others would find out, but that final time he made both our backs bloody.”
“Bianca…” It was a plaintive cry, from the woman beneath her.
“I am here, Isabelle.” Bianca leaned over, careful to keep her body from touching the wound, but coming as close as she could to her friend. “I am fine. I know this hurts, but I need you to hold still.”
There was no response, but the older woman’s shoulders stilled. Swiftly, Bianca made the final two cuts. Isabelle jerked and cried out, but made no further attempt to escape them. When Bianca cast the knife aside, Robin sat back
a bit, not releasing Isabelle, but taking some of the pressure off her shoulders.
Bianca took a moment to examine the cuts she had made. The swollen area had already deflated a great deal, but Bianca knew she had to remove as much of the infection as possible. So, while Isabelle shivered and shook beneath her, she steeled herself, and began to clean the knife cuts, as well as the original wound.
She used the birch infusion from the pot. Irrigation was one of the simplest and most effective methods of cleansing, so she held the cuts open with one hand, while pouring the infused water in with the other. Isabelle cried out, and Bianca felt tears rolling down her own cheeks, but she continued, washing away all trace of the infection. When, at last, Isabelle’s back was as clean as she could make it, Bianca began packing all the cuts with her mash. Finally, she coated the entire expanse of Isabelle’s back with honey, sealing it from further infection, and pressed the clean bandages down on top of the honey, to keep the dirt from coating the sticky surface.
When she was done, Isabelle spoke in a weak voice.
“That hurt.”
Bianca felt the tears, which had begun to abate, return. “I know.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She leaned over and kissed Isabelle on the temple, then drew up the blanket. The queen drifted off into a deep sleep, while Bianca dissolved into sobs.
Robin didn’t try to comfort her. He just picked her up, and wrapped her in the blanket Isabelle had used as a pillow. Then he lay her down close to her friend, and wiped her cheeks dry.
“You are exhausted. Sleep. I will wake you if there is a change.”
It was barely midday, but Bianca was too tired, too emotionally wrung out to argue. She felt nothing but a wave of gratitude.
“Thank you.”
He leaned over and brushed a gentle caress across her temple.
“You are welcome.”
***
Bianca awoke to a murmuring voice. The cave was awash with a green glow—the late afternoon sun filtered through the fall of water. She focused, and realized the voice was Robin’s, telling the tale of their morning out of the cave. He began describing the look on her face, when he sprang up into the birch trees, and Bianca heard the thin sound of weak laughter coming from behind her.
Bianca turned her head slowly, hardly daring to hope. There, her cheek propped on her hands so she could face Robin, lay Isabelle. Her face was wan and tired, but there was no sign of the fever’s flush anywhere. In front of her was one of the reserved mugs of birch tea, and when Isabelle reached a hand out to grasp it, her hand was sure, if not entirely steady. The queen was obviously still very weak.
But she was better.
Crying again, this time out of sheer relief and joy, Bianca crawled forward and threw her arms—gingerly—around Isabelle’s neck. Robin fell silent and the two of them clung to each other. Bianca would have stayed that way a long, long time, but, after a moment, Isabelle gently patted her back, and pulled away.
“Bianca, I am more grateful to you than I can say. And I know you’ve been busy, keeping me from imminent death. But, dear,” the queen gave a delicate pause, and then wrinkled her nose. “Have you bathed recently?”
Bianca stared at her friend in shock, then began giggling. Behind her, Robin chuckled, and before long Isabelle was laughing weakly along. The cave echoed the sound back at them, as though the rock walls shared their mirth.
Isabelle was better.
Chapter 13
Bianca was taking Isabelle’s comment to heart. When their laughter had trailed off, she kissed the queen once more on the cheek, and then skipped out of the cave to go wash in the pool. Robin deemed it safe enough to let her go unattended, and he busied himself making Isabelle more comfortable. The older woman needed the sleeping rolls shaken out, and she wanted a chance to rinse her face and hands. Once she was comfortably settled back on her stomach she closed her eyes and drifted off. Even that small amount of activity had worn out her meager store of energy.
Robin gathered up the sweat-stained blanket Isabelle had discarded, and some of the used bandages, and left them next to the fire. Then he took the largest pot and headed out past the waterfall. A few feet away, well outside the range of the spray, Bianca had dropped the saddlebag that held her fresh clothing. Next to that, in a heap, lay the bright red fabric of her riding habit, along with the unbleached linen of her chemise. He crouched down, careful not to splash her belongings, and dipped the pot full of cold, clear water.
He didn’t look up until he heard her startled shriek.
At the piercing sound his eyes snapped forward, searching the banks of the pond for any threat or danger. Finding none he moved his gaze to the water around Bianca. Had a snake startled her? A fish nibbled her toe? He could spot no disturbances, and Bianca seemed in no hurry to clamber out. In fact, she was sinking ever lower in the chilly water, arms crossed protectively over her chest, glaring at him with accusatory eyes.
Ah. Of course.
“Robin!”
“Yes, Bianca?” His voice was full of resignation. It was silly, but he supposed the conversation would play out to the end. He placed the pot on the rock ledge, and crossed his arms over his chest, prepared to wait out the inevitable.
“I’m bathing!”
“So?”
“So—turn around!”
“You mortals, always so concerned with your bodies. Every other worldly creature goes clad only in that with which nature graced it. Why are humans so intent on hiding themselves in swaths of fabric?”
Bianca paused, and looked thoughtful, but then shook her head, dismissing his point. “It’s a matter of propriety.”
“I understand the convention, Bianca, I simply do not understand why you made it a convention in the first place.”
“Easy for you to say, when I’m the one naked and you’re standing there fully dressed.”
“Oh, is that your problem?” Robin raised one eyebrow at her, and then, in one swift motion, uncrossed his arms and drew his shirt off over his head. He tossed it aside, and planted his hands on his hips. “That is rectified easily enough.”
Blood rushed to her snowy cheeks, and she swallowed before responding in what was almost a whisper. “What are you doing?”
“Returning us to an equal state of dress.” He pulled off his boots, set them back from the edge, and began unlacing his breeches. “I confess, like most of the Fae, I am more comfortable without all these layers. They keep me from feeling the air on my skin.”
He got his breeches down to his hips before Bianca broke from her stunned shock and whirled around to face the other direction. She was blushing so hard the backs of her ears were bright red. He almost laughed, but then her movement in the water caused her shoulders to rise up out of the pond, and the laughter died in his throat. It was one thing to be told the story of how Brannon had punished her.
It was another thing entirely to see the evidence right before his eyes.
“Bianca.” His whisper was almost inaudible. He slipped into the pool, making hardly a ripple, and eased towards her. As he came nearer the mass of scars took on distinct lines and edges, until he could see where individual lash marks had cut across her back.
“Don’t come any closer.” Her voice was nervous.
He’d almost forgotten his teasing, in the shock of seeing her scars. He took a moment to calm her embarrassment. “I am sorry, Bianca, I am not mocking you, now. I… have never seen your back before.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed just a bit. “I always wear high-necked gowns to hide them. Not many people have seen them. Really just my bathing maid, and Isabelle. And now you.”
“Why do you take such pains to conceal them?” He hovered behind her in the water, taking care not to touch her, but tracing the awful lines of the scars with his fingers, ghosting them through the air a few inches above her skin.
“At first I kept them covered because they were tender. It was just for comfort. Once the
y healed, though…” She trailed off. Her chin dipped down toward the water, and Robin could see the tiny rings forming where a few teardrops had fallen to the surface of the pool. When she continued speaking, her voice was so low he had to step even closer, to catch her words. “There is something shameful in being so completely helpless, so completely in the power of another.” Her shoulders began shaking. “I had run from him, but never defied him. I could do nothing but beg when he killed Thomas. And I never moved to stop him, when he whipped me, over and over. How could I show the entire court the visible proof of my cowardice?”
Robin felt a hole open inside his chest: a yawing, aching chasm. Once, perhaps, he would have agreed with this girl. But he had watched, and listened, and he now knew better. Bianca was tender-hearted, but she was no coward. She had a rare kind of bravery, something born of determination and courage under fire. He wanted to gather her in his arms and comfort her—had even moved to do so—when he remembered that, in their current state, she would hardly find that comforting. A sob escaped her, and he ground his teeth silently. Compassion was an unfamiliar sensation for him, and being thwarted in his desire to express it was frustrating. He needed to ease her heartache.
Moving ever so slowly, he reached forward and used one hand to draw her hair back from her face. She had twisted the sooty black mass into a knot, to keep it free of the water no doubt, but tendrils had escaped to hang damp and loose. One by one he gathered them back up and tucked them into the knot on the back of her head, stroking her hair lightly with his fingertips, offering her the gentle comfort of the touch of another living creature.
When her sobs eased he spoke.
“I see no cause for shame, here.”
“Do you not?” It came out like a sigh. “I am so weak.”
“It matters not how strong a man is, if he is locked in an iron cage. You were not weak. You were trapped.”
“It’s hard to see it that way.” His hand had not ceased its gentle movement, and she reached up to catch it in one of her own. “But thank you, anyway.” She pressed her cheek against his hand, then turned her face into the caress so that her lips rested in the center of his palm. It was an innocent gesture, full of trust, and, perhaps, affection, but Robin’s response was anything but innocent. The silken touch of her lips changed the ache in his chest to something much more warm, and primal. He was shocked, thrown completely off his guard. He took a deep breath while he fought to suppress the clamoring of his body.
Once Upon a Romance 03 - With True Love's Kiss Page 8
