Vengeance 02.5 - A Knight's Christmas Wish

by Lana Williams

  Rylan eyed the steaming water longingly. Already he could feel his tired muscles easing. He’d nearly forgotten the lady’s offer of a bath. In short order, he dismissed the servants as he had no desire for help or an audience.

  “I’ll go check on the horses, Sir Rylan,” Joseph advised him, his hand already on the door.

  “Do not dally for you will be the next to bathe.”

  “No need. I’m fine, sir.”

  “I’m the one who has to smell you, and there is definitely a need.” Rylan could tell by the look on Joseph’s face that he intended to avoid a bath at all cost. “I’ll expect you to return anon.”

  Joseph scowled. “Aye, sir.”

  The door shut behind him, and Rylan breathed a sigh of relief at not having to pretend all was well anymore. Exhaustion stole over him and for the briefest of moments, he considered the bed rather than the tub. But the steaming water beckoned. He knew he’d feel all the better for it.

  After removing his chausses, he carefully placed first one leg over the rim, then the other with his stubborn tunic still on. He sunk down into the water, sighing with appreciation as he leaned back and let the water soak his tired body. After a time, he gently eased his tunic from the deep cut, rinsed it in the water and then hung it on the edge of the tub.

  A glance at his injury showed the gash was indeed festering. White puss edged it and a nasty odor scented the air. He could only hope the hot water helped. His enemy’s sword had pierced his mail, cutting his flesh and breaking his ribs. It still hurt like hell. The fact that it wasn’t healing would delay his recovery. All he could do was bandage it again after his bath and hope the healer in his family’s village could aid him. Another two, maybe three days’ ride would see them home.

  The very idea of home filled him with a longing so deep, it pierced his chest.

  He closed his eyes as memories flowed through him, mostly good, some not so much, but all welcome. For as long as he could remember, his mother and father had watched him like a hawk, waiting for a sign that he had the second sight his father had. But he’d seen nothing, no matter how hard he’d tried. If he’d said anything that could possibly be a sign of the gift, or rather the curse as his father often called it, they’d take him aside and question him. But he saw nothing and couldn’t help but feel he’d disappointed them.

  Then his younger brother had passed three summers and the second sight had come like a flood to him. The same had happened for his sister. Rylan had felt as if he didn’t belong. He’d done all he could to compensate for that. In truth, his wish to prove his own worthiness, at least to himself, was what had driven him to fight with the king in Flanders. What better way to prove one’s worth than to fight for king and country?

  He sighed. In reality, it had proved nothing. He felt no different, no less worthy of being the eldest born to Lord Nicholas de Bremont. The only thing he’d learned over the past two years was that war was a miserable thing. Killing others brought little satisfaction, even when they’d tried to kill him first.

  He’d learned one valuable lesson: family should never be taken for granted. He no longer cared what he’d believed separated them. He only cared that he had a family who loved him. He’d simply have to overcome his feelings of inadequacy.

  He dipped lower in the tub to submerge his head briefly then reached for the small pot of soap chips. A sniff revealed the faint scent of pine. He scrubbed his hair, moving gingerly so as not to jar his ribs. Too late he realized even his limited movements caused his wound to bleed again.

  “Damn.” With soap in his hair, he had no choice but to submerge once again.

  Vaguely he heard the muffled sound of knocking and lifted his head from the water, soap stinging his eyes. Relieved that Joseph had returned to aid him, he called out, “Enter. Quickly. Hand me a towel.”

  He held out his hand, eyes closed, until at last he was handed a cloth. He wiped his eyes and face then looked up to find Lady Kayte’s big blue eyes staring at him. Her gaze dropped to his bare shoulders then to his chest, her eyes growing rounder by the moment.

  Rylan had never been so uncomfortable in his life.

  * * *

  Kayte was well aware of how red her cheeks must be based on how hot they felt. Still she couldn’t tear her gaze from the knight. Brown eyes framed by long, damp lashes were wide with surprise. His cheek bones were high, his nose narrow. Shoulders as broad as an ox made her stare in disbelief. His massive chest was just visible above the lapping water. He looked nothing like the only other man she’d previously viewed though his bent legs blocked the more intimate details.

  “I’m terribly sorry.” She bit her lip, all too aware of the lie she’d just uttered for she wasn’t sorry. Not a bit.

  “I thought you were Joseph.” He held the linen aloft as though not certain what to do with it. “Did you need something, my lady?”

  “Only to speak with you. If it’s convenient. Or rather, when it is.” She spun away, looking at anything but him. “I didn’t realize you were bathing.” She clamped her lips together before she said something even more stupid since she’d been the one who’d ordered the bath. He must think her a bumbling fool.

  “Mayhap you’d prefer to wait outside while I dry off?”

  Then she realized why he’d been holding the linen so oddly. He must think she’d come to aid him with his bath. Many ladies did this as a courtesy for guests though she’d never done so. Not that they had many visitors. She didn’t want to offend him, not when she needed to ask such a big favor.

  She whirled to face him only to see that he’d started to rise out of the tub. The sight of the large, muscular knight dripping with water caused her mouth to gape. His hands were braced on either side of the tub, the corded muscles in his shoulders shifting as he paused. A fine covering of dark hair coated his chest, trailing toward a thin line to where the water lapped at the flat planes of his stomach. Her gaze caught on a nasty gash on his side that was red and swollen. She couldn’t help but draw closer at the sight of the wound.

  “You’re injured.”

  He quickly lowered back into the water as he glanced at her warily. “Nothing to worry over.”

  “That’s far from the truth.” With one finger, she gestured for him to rise again so she could take a closer look.

  His brows rose in surprise. “Are you a healer?”

  “I know something of it.” She waited but he did not rise. “I must examine it so I know how best to treat it.”

  Still he did not budge. “I’d prefer to don at least my chausses before you do so, my lady.”

  “Oh.” She retreated, realizing how forward she’d acted. She couldn’t imagine what he thought of her. “Of course. I’ll wait outside.”

  He nodded, those dark brown eyes following her progress toward the door.

  “Let me know when you’re…ready.” She shut the door behind her and closed her eyes.

  Dear heaven

  . The man was magnificent to look upon. Mayhap she should fetch Anne to see to his wound. She started forward then halted. Nay. She’d told him she had healing skills, and she did. The question was whether she could examine him without embarrassing both of them. She pressed her fingers over her eyes, certain she’d never forget the sight of him.

  Then she berated herself. If she could aid him, he would be more likely to help her in turn. That was exactly what she needed. Her brazenness surprised even herself but desperation and fear prodded her as nothing had before.

  The door opened behind her, and she turned to find Sir Rylan standing in the door, chausses on, tunic off. He raised a brow. “I’d appreciate you taking a look.” He opened the door wider and gestured toward his side where blood trickled down.

  “How long ago did you receive this injury?” She drew closer, concerned with the angry look of it.

  He moved back into the chamber. “Nearly a sennight past. I fear my ribs are broken as well.”

  She took a closer look at his face, noting his f
lushed cheeks, remembering that he’d appeared warm in the great hall as well. He must have a fever. How had he managed a trip across the Channel, not to mention several days riding a horse, with such injuries?

  Rylan’s gaze caught on something over her shoulder, and she glanced back to see his squire standing just inside the door.

  “Sir? Shall I return later?” The young man glanced between them as though worried he’d interrupted.

  “Nay. Your bath awaits.” Rylan nodded toward the tub.

  “Oh, but—” He stared at Kayte, eyes wide.

  Kayte hid a smile. Clearly he had no desire to bathe while she was there. “May I ask a favor before you bathe?”

  He looked relieved at her request. “Of course, my lady.”

  “Can you please venture to my chamber at the very top of the stairs and request my box of herbal remedies from Anne? Tell her Sir Rylan is injured and that I require linen bandages as well.”

  “Of course.” With a glance at Rylan who nodded, the squire darted away.

  “That boy will do most anything to escape a bath.”

  “I believe that is true for most lads his age.” She frowned as Rylan grimaced. “Please, sir, lay down before you fall.”

  Rather than argue as she expected him or any man for that matter, to do, he turned toward the large bed.

  She hurried ahead to pull down the covers and fluff the bolster. A glance at his filthy chausses gave her pause. “Perhaps you should remove those before you retire.” She fetched the towel he’d left on the bench and gently pressed it to his side to staunch the flow of blood.

  He held the towel for a moment, then looked down at his unlaced chausses.

  “Oh.” She could see his dilemma but wasn’t certain how to aid him. “I will keep my back to you.”

  Though he hesitated, she did as she’d promised and turned around. The scent of the soap mixed with the forest wafted toward her. She did her best not to sniff him though his scent was quite appealing.

  The few times she’d smelled Rainald, it had been a different experience. He’d smelled sour. No other word described it. His shoulders hadn’t been nearly as broad nor his chest as thick. His chest and stomach had been puffy and bloated, his white skin pock-marked. She knew appearances shouldn’t matter, but he had been old. It had been difficult to allow him to touch her, especially when he’d been so drunk both times. She shuddered at the memory.

  She heard the rustle of the covers as Rylan settled in the bed. “I’m decent,” he announced.

  With a reminder to herself as to her purpose here, she opened her eyes once again to find him laying on the bed with the covers drawn to his waist.

  “I’ll try not to hurt you,” she whispered. His brown eyes held hers, and he gave the barest of nods. No doubt anything she did would not compare with what he’d already been through.

  As gently as possible, she moved aside the linen and placed her fingers along the gash to ease it open. His skin was hot to the touch, not a good sign. She could see bits of thread and debris in it along with the puss of infection.

  Joseph entered the chamber, carrying the wooden box she’d requested. A maidservant followed with a pitcher of water and a basin as well as a stack of folded linens. “Lady Anne said you’d need these, my lady.”

  “Thank you, Mary.”

  Joseph set the box on the table beside the water. “How does it look?”

  “It will be fine after we remove some of the puss so we can put a poultice on it.”

  In short order, she’d cleaned the wound, prepared a poultice to place on it, and bound the knight’s ribs. Rylan had flinched once and grimaced several times. Now his eyes were closed, making her wonder if he slept or if that was his way of dealing with the pain.

  As she gathered her things to leave, she realized she hadn’t had the chance to speak with him about her and Anne traveling with him. But as she took in his flushed cheeks and glazed eyes, she doubted he’d be traveling anywhere on the morrow. Even as she watched, his eyes drifted closed.

  She gave Joseph instructions to mix the dried herbs she’d left with wine if the knight woke in pain.

  Dirt smeared the boy’s face, and he smelled rather sweaty. “Do not forget that bath. Sir Rylan will not be pleased if you fail to wash as he requested.”

  By the guilty look on the boy’s face, she knew he’d intended to do just that.

  “Do I need to remain here to make sure you do so?” she asked.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she noted Rylan’s mouth curve. Obviously he wasn’t sleeping after all.

  “Nay, my lady. I won’t forget.” Joseph scowled as he glanced at the tub.

  She leaned closer to the knight. “Rest well, sir. Please do not leave Cumberford until I’ve had the chance to speak with you.”

  His eyes opened briefly, his gaze less than focused, but he nodded. That would have to do for now. She gave one last stern look at Joseph then took her leave.

  With luck, the knight would remember his promise and within a day or two, she and Anne would be well away from here. Assuming Harold didn’t hear of her plan.

  Chapter Three

  Rylan stirred as a cool cloth was placed on his hot forehead. The sweet scent of lavender filled his nose, and he sighed as a gentle hand soothed his brow.

  Was he still on the battlefield? Nay, the feel of blankets under his hands confirmed that. He shifted and a burning pain shot down his side. Broken ribs. He remembered now and took shallow breaths, hoping the sharp pain would lessen.

  Again the cloth drew across his brow, down the side of his face, easing his discomfort. Surely it wasn’t Joseph who did so. The boy was as awkward as an ox. Did an angel tend him? He hated to think he was close to death. That meant he wouldn’t make it home for Christmas. He refused to allow that to happen.

  His throat was parched but even as he thought of it, an arm lifted his head and a cup touched his lips. He drank deeply of the water.

  As he sank back against the pillow, he opened his eyes to see who aided him. “Kayte?” He chose not to question why pleasure filled him at the sight of her.

  She smiled. “How are you feeling?”

  “Hot. Tired.” His words slurred, making him frown. He must be more ill than he realized.

  “You have a fever.”

  Ah. That explained much. He nodded his understanding. His eyes drifted closed as her hand smoothed his brow yet again.

  “Before you sleep, I need you to drink this.” She put her arm beneath his head.

  The softness of her breast brushed his cheek. He couldn’t help but nuzzle against it. How long had it been since he’d felt a woman’s embrace? Too long, for he couldn’t remember.

  She raised a cup to his lips again, but this time, a warm, foul smelling substance greeted him. He coughed as the thick liquid entered his mouth.

  “It tastes terrible, but I promise it will quicken your recovery.”

  He opened his eyes to look up at her, wondering if this was some sort of trick. Did she mean to poison him? The brew tasted more like something found in a pig pen than a remedy to aid him.

  Her luminescent blue eyes held his for a long moment. Even in his feverish state, he could see no sign of deceit, no wish to harm.

  She smiled and something inside his chest released. “I promise,” she said. “Drink it fast and wash it down with water.”

  With no further complaint, he did as she bid. The damned stuff did not go down easily though. He couldn’t help but sputter as he finished the last of it. His eyes watered as he drank more water to remove the taste of the foul substance.

  Again he eased back on the pillow but found he already missed the softness of her breast next to his cheek. His eyes popped open at the thought. Mayhap it was the fever or the remedy, but the words came out before he stopped to think. “Are you certain you’re not Rainald’s daughter?”

  She laughed. “Nay. I am—or was—his wife.” A shadow crossed her face as she said the words.

  At o
nce he felt guilty. She’d lost her husband, yet here she was nursing him and he repaid her by saying rude things to her. “I am sorry for your loss.” Had he said that when he’d delivered the news? He couldn’t quite remember.

  Her gaze moved away. “As you may have guessed, we were not close. Nor had we been married long—only a sennight before he left to join the king.”

  That explained her lack of grief. Seven days was hardly long enough to form the base for a good marriage.

  She straightened the small pots and cups on the table beside the bed as though she needed something to do. “Did you know him well?”

  “Nay.” And what he did know, he did not care to share. If she had any good memories of him, he’d prefer she keep them. “We may have fought on the same battlefield, but in truth we had little contact.”

  She nodded. Her eyes held his again. A faint rose bloomed in her cheeks as her gaze dropped to take in his chest. “You are nothing like him.”

  Rylan wasn’t sure if she meant in temperament, for the man had had a foul one, or in looks. Mayhap both. The idea of this beautiful woman anywhere near Rainald made him grimace. The lord had been fifty and five years—quite old compared to Kayte. Her skin was alabaster smooth. Her nose had a faint upturn at the end. Her bottom lip was much fuller than the top one, and when she bit it, awareness shot through him. Surely that was some odd side effect of the remedy he’d just swallowed.

  “I need to put a fresh poultice on and change the bandage now that you’re awake.”

  He nodded, averting his gaze. If he stared at her any longer, his body might embarrass them both.

  She drew down the covers, her fingers trailing along his chest. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see those slim, elegant hands tending him, but his imagination took over and was far too detailed.

  She unwrapped the binding, reaching under him to free it. He tried his best to focus on the pain the movement brought, but it did not outweigh his desire. He opened his eyes again, searching for anything to distract him.