by Wood, Lynn
She was numb herself to the screams echoing in the lovely glade around her, the moans of the dying but not yet dead, the dreadful cries of both triumph and defeat when a blade struck home, and the blood, the rivers and lakes of blood that filled the earth surrounding them and now ran in rivulets towards the stream on the edge of the glade that would meet up with the river they would follow to the sea where Luke’s ship awaited them to take them home. Home. The word no longer meant what it once did to her. It was no longer the parapets of Heaven’s Crest the word brought to mind, but Luke. Home was no longer a place. It was a person. Luke was her home, and she would defend him until her last breath. That she understood. And with understanding came renewed fervor. She sat straighter in the saddle. She looked with pride on those she fought alongside. These men, regardless of their Norman ancestry, were her own now, were her husband’s, were their family, and she felt no shame, even in the Saxon side of her soul, to fight by their side and defend them even as they defended her, their former enemy.
At Arden’s warning snort, she turned in the saddle just in time to use her dagger on the club-wielding arm of the man intent on knocking Luke’s soldier senseless. He dropped the club but the wound she inflicted was not enough to stop him from shouting his rage and rushing in her direction. Fortunately, the soldier who she just saved from a thrashing turned in time to prevent him from reaching her. Melissa couldn’t help but blanch at the bloody sight, but even so her eyes were filled with relief and appreciation when she met those of her savior’s. He nodded briskly in response, then turned to ward off another determined attack.
Melissa wasn’t certain, despite her will’s fierce determination, for how much longer her limbs would obey its direction to remain upright in the saddle. It seemed like hours had passed since the initial clash of swords, and still the outcome of the battle was uncertain. She was beginning to hope they might just leave this green glen alive when she heard fresh doom approaching them in the form of the thunder of dozens of horses galloping towards them. Their enemy took new life from the sound and for a moment the battle seemed to pause as everyone took in the significance of what additional reinforcements would mean to the outcome of their struggle. Luke turned in the saddle, their eyes met and locked, and Melissa’s heart stopped when she realized he was bidding her a last farewell.
“No, no,” she whispered as his lips curved in a gentle smile, and his eyes swept over her face, as if he was memorizing her features.
“Now, Rafe,” he shouted over the almost eerie silence and confused, Melissa tore her eyes from his to see what was happening. Unbeknownst to her, his close friend and commander had worked his way to the center of the circle until his mount was pressed up against Arden’s side. Before Melissa understood what was happening he reached out and swung her from her saddle and placed her in front of him. Then in the next instant he urged his horse through the opening Luke’s men carved out among their enemy and took off at a gallop away from the battle, away from the glade, and away from her husband who she feared she would never see again, ignoring Melissa’s stunned denial.
“No, no. Stop. Turn back.” This time she screamed her denial. “Luke!! Luke, no!!” There was no response from her husband. He couldn’t hear her cries, her pleas to let her die by his side. She understood what he was doing. He would send her to his father. Even if he never inherited the title of the Michaels’ lord, his son would do so. Exhausted, overwhelmed, Melissa burst into chaotic tears, still fighting futilely against the steel embrace of the arms of the man who held her. She understood. She even honored her husband for his choice. He would never leave his men on the field of battle, but no one would blame him for sending his close friend to see to his wife’s safety.
She comprehended the silent man who held her must regret as deeply and bitterly as she did her husband’s command to leave his lord and his comrades and ride off himself to the safety of the ship waiting to take them home to Normandy. Maybe if they reached it in time they could send help back. There must be men manning the ship. Surely they could wield a sword in defense of their lord. For a moment she let foolish hope take root in her heart, but then she accepted they were still too far away to reach in time to make any difference to the deadly contest being waged behind them, especially with more numbers riding to the assistance of their foes.
The tears slowed to a trickle then dried completely on her stained cheeks. She puzzled over their lessening flow until she realized her body recognized what her mind could not yet accept. Tears would not bring her husband back. Tears would not undo the events of this day. As if in a daze she lifted her hand in front of her face, noting numbly it still grasped the jeweled hilt of her blood-stained dagger. She felt the fresh tension in the arms holding her and knew he feared she might use the blade on herself. It was a tempting prospect and she knew unencumbered as she was she could strike quickly before Rafe could prevent her, and inflict a mortal injury upon herself and join her husband in death. She dropped her hand into her lap, denying the temptation and herself the coward’s way out. She was carrying her husband’s child, perhaps his son and heir. She would not deny him his birthright. Nor would her husband welcome her company in eternity if she shamed him by effectively murdering his son or daughter.
Melissa drifted in and out of consciousness on their race across the wilderness. They did not once stop or even slow; even to staunch the flow of blood from Rafe’s wounds, one on his jaw, and the other on his thigh. The blood from the open wound on his jaw dripped in a constant flow from the wide, open gash to land on her head. More than once she brushed the moisture from her eyes and her hand came away red. She thought to tell him she could bind his wound and treat it with herbs readily available in the Saxon spring, but her words died on her lips. He would not stop until they reached the safety of the sea. He would be insulted by her suggestion he see to his injuries when his friends and comrades were still contesting for their very lives.
As if in a dream she awakened to the salty tang of the sea on the air. For a moment she was confused about where she was, thinking she had just washed ashore on Stoney Point near her former home. Then memories flooded back and she moaned her painful denial. She could see a large ship in the distance, too large to enter the cove where Rafe stopped and lifted her off his steed’s straining back. She heard him speaking urgently to the men she just noticed waiting on the shore, a skiff beached nearby. She was vaguely aware of the astonished glances they kept casting in her direction, taking in her blood-stained cloak and skin, and the dagger she still gripped in her hand.
Rafe returned to her side and held her shoulders as if he was afraid she was going to faint at his feet. “They will take you to the ship where you will be safe. I must return to my lord.”
Tears filled her eyes that he would leave her and because he was able to return to her husband’s side when she could not. Seeing she was incapable of doing so, he led her towards the waiting skiff and helped her into it. He introduced her to the men who would row her out to her husband’s ship, and she nodded in acknowledgment but could not force her lips to form any words. She heard Rafe warn the men not to attempt to take her dagger from her and then he helped them push the skiff into the water before turning back, gaining his mount, and galloping off in the opposite direction.
It was a silent passage across the water. When they arrived at the ship, the captain peered over the side, exchanged a questioning glance with one of the men in the skiff, then when he heard it was his lord’s wife they carried, he instantly saw to her being taken aboard and seeing to her comfort. When he became aware of her sorry condition, and heard his soldier’s hurried explanation for it his eyes filled with compassion. It was with a fatherly kindness he led her to Luke’s cabin and ordered fresh water to be fetched and heated for a bath for their lord’s wife.
After seeing her settled as best he could, he left her alone and then returned short minutes later carrying a tray of food and drink. Melissa just stared at it as if she was unsure of its purpo
se. Tut-tutting he laid the tray on the chest near the bed, and obviously unsure what to do with a blood-soaked young Saxon woman, who just happened to be his future lord’s wife, waited with her in silence for the copper tub and water for the bath he ordered to arrive at the cabin.
It was with obvious relief he greeted its advent. Since he could hardly offer his assistance, and there was no other woman onboard to help her bathe, the older man finally left her alone. Melissa was repulsed enough by her blood-stained skin and gown she shed her clothes, then stepped over the bloody heap to slip into the blissfully hot water. She scrubbed herself clean of dried blood until her skin was raw. The water was red by the time she finished rinsing her hair, reminding her of the river of blood from the dead staining the green grass of the clearing where her dreams died. She sat in the red water until it grew cold, wondering if Luke was still alive, wondering if he would come to tell her of her husband’s death. Her hand moved to her stomach where his child grew, and she forced herself to climb out of the tub and dry herself with the fresh cloth the captain left for her. Eying her blood-stained gown with distaste she opened the chest and found clean shirts she assumed must belong to her husband. With fresh tears in her eyes at the reminder of her loss, she slipped one on then she all but crawled across the cabin to the bunk and fell into it. Wrapping herself in the quilt she curled into a fetal position and sobbed herself to sleep.
Chapter Twenty Eight
She woke disoriented to the sound of her husband’s deep voice whispering along the edge of her dreams. When the memories of blood and death assaulted her, she huddled deeper within the confines of the quilt, trying to recapture the familiar tenor of Luke’s voice. She clung to the muffled echo of his laughter and knew then she was still dreaming. No one could laugh so lightheartedly after what they experienced today. Other voices intruded on her dreams, all male, all coming from above, on the deck…where Luke and his men would be if they’d lived. She ruthlessly crushed the seed of hopefulness trying to take root in her breast, uncertain if she could recover from the devastation of having that faith proven false.
When her husband’s distinctive voice once again seeped through the ceiling to settle around her, Melissa threw off the quilt and jumped out of the narrow bunk, hoping if she woke completely from her nap she could force herself to face the awful truth. Certain reality, as unpleasant as if was, was preferable to the prospect of losing her mind. She almost tripped over the bag someone placed in the tight space, and quickly righted herself, giving the bag an irritated look, before bending down to examine it closer, thinking it looked exactly like the one her grandmother lent her for her journey to Normandy. She shook her head in denial, knowing it was impossible for it to be her bag, because if she was looking at her bag, then one of Luke’s men must have survived long enough to bring it to the ship.
She shook her head again, as the hope she tried to squelch earlier reasserted itself, teasing her with the notion that if one of Luke’s men survived to deliver her travel bag to the ship, then maybe she wasn’t imagining the sound of Luke’s voice above her. Maybe he was the one of his men who survived to deliver her travel bag to his cabin.
Unable to suppress the resurrection of her dreams, Melissa quickly stripped out of Luke’s shirt, and searched her bag for a clean gown. She pulled it over her head, not bothering with a chemise or other undergarments, then left the cabin and followed the sound of voices to the ladder down the hall which led to the upper deck.
The sound of her astonished gasp as her head emerged on the upper level was drowned out by loud male voices all talking at once. Melissa only had ears and eyes for one, where he sat seemingly relaxed and definitely still alive on a bench with his arm extended so the sun-leathered sailor at his side could tend to his wound. It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a dream. The four words circled around and around inside her head until she grew faint. She was so focused on scanning what she could see of her husband’s body for additional injuries, she was unaware of the conversations dropping off and silence descending as her husband’s men became aware of her watching them from where her head poked out from the opening for the stairs.
When Luke noticed his men’s distraction he followed the direction of their gazes. Husband and wife’s glances met and locked. In the silence that followed Melissa felt her heart begin beating again as relief swamped her, leaving her so weak and unsteady, she thought she might very well be in danger of falling down the steps she just climbed.
“Don’t you dare ever do that again,” she commanded in a voice heavy with emotion before turning away and descending back down the same way she ascended.
Luke smiled at her retreating head, thinking he really should remind her not to give him orders, especially in front of his men, but he was so happy and relieved to see her alive and unharmed he couldn’t summon the appropriate level of outrage such a dictate warranted. Instead he turned to the man stitching up his arm. “Are we just about finished here, Mic?”
When there was no response, Luke looked up to find his ruthless soldier with a gift for healing, staring in bemused amazement at the vision that just disappeared below deck. Luke couldn’t blame him. He was pretty certain his own eyes wore a similar dazed expression.
“Mic?” he prodded.
“Yes, milord?” The older man was still staring at the empty space on the deck where Melissa’s head appeared a moment earlier.
“That pretty lady was my wife, Lady Melissa.”
“Yes, milord.”
“I’m a lucky man, Mic.” Luke announced, grinning up at the soldier tending his wounds. Then his eyes drifted to the hatch his wife just descended through. He knew his face wore the same dopey grin as Mic’s when as he repeated his pronouncement. “I’m a very lucky man.”
“Yes milord, though I couldn’t help but notice your lady seems a little put out with you.”
Luke chuckled and admitted freely, “Yes, well the truth is Mic, my pretty lady is always put out with me.”
Mic’s eyes sparkled. “What did you do to set her off this time?”
“I saved her from a bunch of murderous rogues and a violent, bloody death.”
“Hm. Seems to me most ladies would be appreciative of your consideration.”
Grinning, Luke replied, “One thing I’ve learned in the course of my brief married life, my bride is not, and never will be, like most ladies, a fact I thank the Almighty for on a daily basis. So if you’re about finished patching me up, I’d better go see what I can do about changing my lady’s opinion of her husband’s decision to send her to safety here on the ship.”
“Good luck with that,” Rafe threw the comment at Luke’s departing back.
Luke waved his acknowledgement but didn’t turn around. He was too busy hurrying to his cabin.
By the time Melissa returned to Luke’s cabin she was shaking all over. She crossed the space to stare out the porthole at the passing sea. Her thoughts wouldn’t settle. Visions of Luke’s dead and bloodied body kept chasing themselves through her head. She still didn’t know how he survived. From the familiar faces she saw on deck it appeared as if most of her husband’s men had survived. How was that possible? Maybe she was still dreaming. If so, she prayed she never woke up. She didn’t want to ever again experience the feeling of existing in a world where Luke wasn’t. She became aware of him, standing there, just beyond her shoulder, but didn’t bother spinning around. She knew the space would be empty. He’d only appeared to her that one time when she was a little girl. “Thank you for sparing him to me.” There was no response to her expression of gratitude. After a moment she added softly, “I have a favor to ask you.”
Muffled male laughter filled her thoughts. “By my account the scales are already stacked rather unequally in my favor between you and me.”
Sighing, Melissa conceded his point. “I know, but I have to ask.”
“Then do so.”
“Will you go with Michel? Will you look after him for me?”
She heard his own heavy sigh echo in her thoughts. “I cannot make any promises. Some men are bent on their own destruction.”
“Michel is not one of them.”
“Perhaps not, but it is not for me to interfere with his destiny.”
“I understand, but will you?”
He chuckled at her persistence. “I suppose it is no little thing to have a beautiful woman in my debt.”
“I imagine you have legions of them.”
“Hm, perhaps, but none who intrigue me as you do.”
“Why?” It was an uncomfortable feeling to be a source of fascination to her current companion.
“I am not certain. Perhaps it is because you are not afraid of me.”
Melissa shrugged. “Everyone dies.”
She could feel his amusement at her response, then he reminded her of their conversation from long ago, “Since we are friends, I suppose I could accompany your brother on this romantic quest of his. I do have a soft place in my heart for romance.”
“Thank you.”
“Speaking of romance…”
His voice trailed off as the door to the cabin was flung open, and Luke’s voice called to her from the doorway.
She swung around from the little window giving her a view of the sea. Luke’s eyes roamed over her even as hers wandered over him, taking in the evidence he was here, alive, his wounds tended, and minor enough he was still on his feet and regarding her with a look of both pleading and astonishment.
“Melissa you cannot possibly be angry with me for seeing to your safety. I am your husband. What kind of man would I be if I did not have a care for my wife, or the life of the child you carry within you?”
