by Alexa Aston
Her hands lifted his from his head and skated down his arms. Nothing broken so far. She rolled him to his back, trying not to drink in his warrior’s magnificent frame. She had tended to many injured men over the years, but this stranger’s powerful build was unlike any she had ever seen. Even covered in bruises, he took her breath away.
Alys prodded him and found he’d sustained broken ribs and then discovered a stab wound in his lower right thigh. Throughout her exam, he remained unconscious and the Kinwick men around her were quiet.
She rose and faced her father. “His injuries make it dangerous to put him across a horse. We are but a quarter hour from Winterbourne. Ancel and a few others can go there to retrieve a cart.”
“Shall we take him to Winterbourne?”
“Nay, Father, for he will need tending for some time. I’d rather he be under my and Mother’s care at Kinwick.” She looked to her twin. “Bring back wine and clean linen and place a few blankets in the cart. We need to make him as comfortable as possible and keep any jarring to a minimum.”
Geoffrey sent half his guard with Ancel. When Hal demanded to go with them, a single look from his father silenced the lad. Alys knew he wanted to keep Hal and Edward with him to ensure their safety.
Alys unfastened her cloak, glad the day had warranted her wearing it. She draped it over the man. Unsheathing the baselard that she always wore tucked into her boot, she lifted her cotehardie and kirtle and pulled the hem of her smock down. Slicing through the smock’s thin material, she created several long strips.
Motioning at two of the soldiers, she instructed them to lift the man so she could wind the cloth about him. The road back to Kinwick was far from smooth. She wanted his ribs jostled as little as possible. She returned the dagger to her smock, removing more material which she used to wrap round his thigh. The stab wound had stopped bleeding, but she wanted it to remain as free from dirt as possible until she could pour wine over it to cleanse the damaged skin.
She sat in the dirt and had the men lower the injured stranger back down, directing them to place his head in her lap. Cradling it, she studied his face as they returned her cloak to cover his bare body. Though covered in the dust of the road, this man seemed slightly familiar to her. Alys wondered if their paths had crossed during the time she fostered with the queen. She had met hundreds of courtiers in London and at the various palaces Edward and Philippa frequented. Mayhap she had seen or even met him during those days long ago.
Not only was his body built for war, but his face was beyond handsome. She guessed him to be a handful of years older than she, possibly five or six. Mayhap he returned from the wars in France and was headed to his home when he was attacked.
Her father knelt next to her. “He’ll live?”
“Aye. It will take time for him to heal, but I foresee no problems in his recovery. Mother and I will look him over more carefully once we have him back at Kinwick and clean him up.” She paused. “I’m thinking he might be a soldier returning from France.”
“I thought the same,” he agreed. “It would explain why he was alone on the road. The man was probably eager to return to his family.”
“At least Ancel will now understand what I have tried to tell him. England has changed.”
“And not for the better,” Geoffrey confirmed.
Ancel returned with the soldiers from Kinwick and another ten men from Winterbourne, led by the earl himself.
“Lord Hardwin,” greeted Geoffrey.
“My lord.” The earl gave a deep bow. Alys noted how the earl had always been respectful—even deferential—toward Geoffrey de Montfort, even though they were of equal rank. She knew Lord Hardwin had sought his neighbor’s advice many times over the years.
Her father explained the situation to Lord Hardwin and that they wanted to return the injured man to Kinwick.
“I agree. Lady Merryn and Lady Alys will take excellent care of him.” Winterbourne placed a hand on her father’s shoulders. “Just as I will do the same for your three sons.”
Geoffrey nodded. He called Hal and Edward to him and said his goodbyes. Alys then hugged her twin, hating to let him go, but knowing he must return to his duties as squire to the earl.
“Take care, Brother,” she whispered as he brushed his lips to her forehead.
“I will. And I will do my best to keep Hal and Edward out of trouble.”
She laughed. “Good luck with that.”
Alys went to her horse and untied the sack from the saddle horn. She took it to Lord Hardwin. “From my mother. It’s herbs that Lady Johamma needed.”
“I trust she will know what to do with them. ’Tis good to see you, Lady Alys. You must come visit us and your brothers once you have healed this injured stranger and seen him on his way.”
“Thank you for the invitation, my lord. I will do so. I enjoy your boys and look forward to seeing you all soon.”
Her father shook hands with Ancel and saw him to his horse. The earl’s men surrounded the three de Montfort boys and set out for Winterbourne.
She turned to her father. “Let me tend to his leg wound with the wine, then I’ll ride in the cart and try to keep him steady.”
Alys returned to the injured man and unwrapped the strip of cloth from his leg. She poured the wine Ancel had brought back across his thigh and rubbed gently until the blood and dirt had been flushed from the wound. When it did not begin to bleed again, she examined it and saw the cut to be fairly shallow. She decided to let it remain free and receive the healing open air on the journey back to Kinwick.
Motioning to the men surrounding her, she stood and had them place the stranger atop the blankets in the cart. She stood and allowed her father to lift her into the vehicle as Hemmet tied both his and her horses to the back of the cart and climbed up to take the reins.
“I’ll set a slow but steady pace, my lady. We will be back at Kinwick Castle in no time.”
The guard fanned out as Hemmet popped his wrists and the horse started off.
Alys rested the stranger’s head in her lap again and once more studied his handsome face, trying to recall where she might have seen him.
Chapter 5
Alys absentmindedly stroked the man’s hair as they rode through the gates of Kinwick. She had murmured comforting words meant to reassure him when he stirred a few times. It took them twice as long to return home since the cart moved more slowly than traveling by horseback.
Her mother and Tilda stood waiting as they drew near the keep, an anxious look on both of their faces. Her father had sent a rider ahead to notify Merryn that they were bringing home an injured soul. Alys saw her mother’s twitching fingers, a sure sign she was upset.
Hemmet steered the cart toward the foot of the stairs that led up to the keep. As he brought it to a halt, the soldiers in their party dismounted and moved to the vehicle. Two of them jumped up and took the ends of the blanket that the man rested on in their hands. They lifted it, keeping it steady as they handed it off to others waiting on the ground.
“We have a bedchamber ready,” her mother said as Alys eased down, her legs stiff from being bent for so long. “Follow Tilda,” she called to the men.
Their devoted servant scurried up the stairs, four soldiers carrying their guest atop the blanket.
Her mother linked an arm through Alys’ as they followed. “I had water boiled and whatever medicines and herbs we might need to tend to this man brought upstairs. Tell me everything. Messengers rarely relate the entire story.”
As they ascended the stairs and moved down the corridor, Alys described the scene they had come upon and the various injuries the man had suffered.
“The only thing I worry about is that he has not regained consciousness,” she said.
“The blow to his head must have been severe.”
“I agree. The size of the lump is vast. He tried to rouse himself but fell back into unconsciousness as we traveled home. Other than that, we can treat his broken ribs and the bruising on h
is torso. It’s the head wound that worries me most.”
“Do you believe he killed the other men you found scattered about?”
“It’s the only explanation. He’s a most impressive man, Mother. Tall and broad-shouldered, with corded muscles that come from long years of training. I feel certain he swings his sword for a living and was probably returning from France when attacked.”
“But why was he on the road alone?” Merryn mused.
Alys shrugged. “You know men. They believe they are invincible. Father thinks this man was anxious to reach his family and had no others that traveled in his direction to keep him company. I believe he must be a nobleman since the thieves stole every stitch of his clothing—down to his boots. They even took the saddle from his horse.”
She kept from her tenderhearted mother what had happened to the injured animal. It would only cause Merryn distress to know the horse had to be put down.
They entered the bedchamber across from hers, the one her brothers shared when they were home.
“I thought to place him here. It will be easier to care for him with you close by and the solar but a few doors away.”
Servants appeared, carrying buckets of steaming water.
“Set them here,” her mother commanded.
The soldiers had placed the man onto the largest bed in the room and awaited orders from their countess. Merryn had them lift the man’s limbs as she pulled the blanket from underneath him. A low groan echoed in the room.
Alys ordered everyone out, instructing Tilda to bring broth in case the man awoke. She and her mother examined him carefully, finding no more broken bones other than his ribs.
“We need to wash him first,” her mother said. “Then we can better tend to him.” Merryn always emphasized cleanliness when caring for the sick and injured, believing they had a better chance for regaining good health this way.
Alys dipped a cloth into the closest bucket and began with the stranger’s face, holding his chin steady as she ministered to him. The more she gazed upon him, the more Alys believed she had been introduced to him at some point. She had a good memory for names. Once he awoke and shared his with her, she was certain she would recall the time and place of their meeting.
They washed his limbs and torso in silence. Alys could not avert her eyes during the process. The more she touched the man, the more perfect he seemed, as if chiseled from stone and then made into flesh. She stroked the cloth against his massive chest, wiping away the dirt and blood. Her scalp tingled and her lips followed suit, soon followed by her heart racing. Her stomach bounced about giddily, as if she’d danced too fast, making her head swim.
She avoided touching his manhood, which had come to life under their ministrations. Alys sensed the blush on her cheeks and skipped over his member, moving down his muscled thighs. Even the man’s calves spoke of his beauty, curved in such a way that caused her mouth to grow dry.
Her mother had them roll the stranger to his side. “Hold the candle close, Alys.” She combed through his hair with her fingers. “The knot is large, but I find no cut anywhere.” Her mother gently washed where he had suffered the blow. “Make a poultice for it. Ease him to his back again for now.”
While her mother stitched the wound on the man’s thigh and then dressed it with Saint John’s Wort, Alys created a poultice to reduce the swelling. They lifted him again so that she could place it against his skull and wind thin linen strips around his head to secure it in place. Once they completed that task, the two women worked together to coat the man’s ribs with comfrey and wrapped them tightly in clean linen before they rubbed a salve over his bruised body.
“He will need to eat rose hips for the bruising,” Alys said as she drew the bedsheet over him. “I would also macerate cabbage leaves to place on his ribs for tomorrow to further reduce the swelling and encourage healing.”
“Crushed parsley will also help,” her mother suggested.
“I agree.” She thought a moment. “He’s a large man. Even taller than Father. If you bring me cloth, I can work on a new gypon for him to wear once he’s up and about.”
“You plan to stay with him?”
“Aye. I feel responsible for him. I wouldn’t want him to awaken alone in a strange place after surviving the attack on the road. I will sit with him. Learn his name and where he was headed. We can send a messenger so that his family won’t be worried when he doesn’t arrive.”
Her mother rose. “Tilda will bring you needle and thread and material. I myself can work on breeches for him.” She looked at their patient. “Now that he is clean, he is quite handsome.”
“He is,” Alys said softly.
“I’ll see to the cabbage and parsley, as well. We can apply those in the morning.”
The door swung open. Tilda entered, bearing a tray. “I brought a bit of bread and the broth you requested, my lady. Some weak ale, too, just in case.”
“Thank you, Tilda.”
Merryn said, “I will check on you later and see if you have need of anything. Come, Tilda. We need to find material to make our guest some new clothes.”
The two women left the bedchamber. Alys remained seated on the bed. She took the stranger’s large hand in hers. It was warm. She touched his forehead and found it slightly warm. She hoped she could keep the fever at bay if, in fact, it was fever. She’d discovered that men tended to run more hot-blooded than women. She and her mother were forever dressing in layers to ward off a chill, while her father and brothers never seemed to grow cold, even in the dead of winter.
Tilda returned a short time later with the sewing supplies. Alys retrieved a chair and sat it next to the bed and placed the candle closer to the edge of the table it stood upon, the better to see as she worked. She occasionally glanced up at her patient. He seemed to be resting comfortably. Her mother brought her the evening meal and checked on her again before bedtime.
“I am happy to sit with him,” she offered.
“Nay, Mother. I will remain.”
Alys closed her eyes, thinking back on the day’s events. She must have fallen asleep for her body jolted, almost pitching her from the chair.
She knew who he was.
Grasping the candle, which burned low, she used it to light another one beside it. Gripping the newly lit candle, Alys brought it close and studied the man in the bed.
“He’s Kit Emory,” she whispered aloud. “I cannot believe I didn’t see it before now.”
Alys had dreamed of Kit several times over the years. As she watched the sleeping man, she recognized signs of the boy she had briefly met. Well, not actually a boy. She had been ten and two and Kit at least five years older. He’d been on the cusp of manhood. Obviously, his body had developed since they’d last seen one another. His frame had grown even taller, filling out in a most pleasing fashion. Kit must have left court, despite his father calling him to his side, in order to join the scores of Englishmen who fought in France.
His face had matured, but she grew more certain by the minute that it must be him. She remembered his easy smile and the brilliant green eyes that seemed to see to the depths of her soul.
Would he remember her?
Probably not. Years had gone by since she last saw him at Windsor Castle on the day of the queen’s death. And in those passing years, surely he had married that wretched creature, Richessa, who constantly had spoken in glowing terms about her betrothed. Alys remembered Richessa bragging how the match was a most advantageous one and would benefit both of their families. Of course, they would have gone through with a marriage. There would have been no reason not to do so.
A dull ache made her head begin to throb. To have found Kit after all these years—only to lose him all over again.
But . . . where was his family home? She couldn’t remember much about the Baron of Brentley, Kit’s father, who had been one of many noblemen who advised the king. Wasn’t his estate located to the west of London? If so, why on earth was Kit on the road between Winterbourne
and Kinwick?
A cough startled her, followed by a heavy groan.
Alys looked down and saw she still held the candle above Kit. She set it on the table.
“You’re safe, my lord,” she said soothingly, stroking his arm reassuringly.
“I am parched.” He tried to sit up and sucked in a quick breath.
“You are injured. Broken ribs. And a dagger wound, though it’s not too deep.”
“My head. It aches,” he complained.
“You have a large knot where someone struck you rather forcefully. Mayhap more than once even.”
He laughed weakly. “I fear they struck me other places, as well. My body throbs with pain all over. As if I have been kicked and then trampled.”
She chuckled. “You probably were. You are a mass of bruises. Soon, you will be a rainbow of colors while you heal. Black will turn to purple and then fade to a garish green and finally a sickly yellow.”
He attempted a smile. “Then I have something to look forward to.”
“If you believe you can sit up, I will help you to do so. I have broth and some bread and a weak ale for you to drink.”
His stomach rumbled loudly at the mention of food. “You describe a feast, my lady. How can I turn down such tempting fare? Please assist me.”
Alys did her best to prop pillows behind him and not jar him much. She guided the cup of ale to his sensual lips. He wrapped a hand around hers as he drank in order to steady it. Her insides fluttered so much that she thought she might take off and soar like a bird around the room.
Tamping down the giddiness, she told him, “Enough. Now try some of the broth.”
He looked at her. “I’m ashamed to admit it, but I haven’t the strength to bring it to my mouth. Can you help me?”
“Of course, my lord.”
It took several minutes, but he finished the broth she spooned for him and ate a few bites of the soft bread.
“I would say that was a successful meal.” He frowned. “But where am I? What happened to me? How did I wind up in such terrible shape?” He grinned. “Even if it is a beautiful lady who has come to my aid.”
