Surely fatigue was the reason that the idea of her suffering didn’t bring him the satisfaction he wanted.
His relief at having the chance to help William rather than returning home to bury him knew no bounds. For that he was grateful. But what else could be done to help his brother recover? He wished he had the answer.
During his absence, a message had arrived, informing him that his mother and father were in Poitou on the king’s business but would come as quickly as possible. He had to hope that William would hang on until then.
Returning to the keep, he found himself outside William’s chamber. Only to check on him, of course. It certainly wasn’t to see what Elizabeth was about.
He stopped outside the oak portal and watched, his gaze riveted on the woman who was now his wife. She moved about the chamber with the easy grace that had struck him the first day they’d met.
One of the maids smiled at her. Walter seemed to have succumbed to her magic as well. The old man’s wrinkled face had lost its usual sour expression, and he even grinned for a brief moment. Nicholas couldn’t blame them for liking her. He knew all too well how quickly her charms cast a spell.
The chamber’s appearance had improved already. The floor had been swept clean, and a wool rug graced the wooden planks. Sunlight streamed across the bed where the blankets were neatly smoothed. He sniffed appreciatively at the now fresh smelling room.
Even William looked more like himself except for his unnatural pallor.
He had to admit the room now held optimism. Perhaps William could rest comfortably after the changes. If that were true, Nicholas was grateful.
Walter chatted easily with Elizabeth. Lord knew the old man could talk. The maids giggled at something he said, and Elizabeth chuckled as well, at ease as she directed them.
He caught Walter’s gaze, and the old servant gave him a nod as though to reassure him all was well.
Elizabeth, involved with her activities, hadn’t seen him. The opportunity to continue to watch her unnoticed further proved irresistible.
Not for the first time, he wondered at her optimistic attitude. With all the difficulties she’d encountered in her life, her buoyant spirit was a surprise. Especially considering the events of late.
Her demeanor brimmed with quiet confidence though shadows smudged the delicate skin beneath her eyes. She wore a simple burgundy tunic that looked far from new. The soft material clung to her slender curves. The deep wine color turned her skin to alabaster with an echo of color in her cheeks and lips.
Her hair was pulled back into a long, thick braid, but several strands had escaped to frame her face. They curled beguilingly around the curve of her cheek, reminding him of the night he’d seen her in similar disarray. A surge of desire flooded through him at the memory of her standing barefoot in the kitchen.
Of her in his arms.
Of his lips pressed to hers.
Annoyed with the direction of his thoughts and the yearning they brought, he moved his gaze to William. She was part of the reason he lay there nearly lifeless. Why couldn’t he remember that?
Nicholas turned away and headed toward his own chamber. He rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. Rest. That was what he needed. Sleep would give him the control that seemed to elude him when she was near.
He entered his chamber and halted in his tracks. Her chest sat on the floor at the foot of his bed. His gaze caught on something else out of place, and he realized her gown and undertunic hung beside his clothing on one of the wooden pegs on the wall.
Hell’s teeth! She was sleeping in here? Incredulous, he ran a hand through his hair as he reached for the door to demand that a servant remove her things.
But then he stopped.
His head rolled back on his shoulders, and he closed his eyes. What reason could he possibly give that would explain why he refused to share a bed with his wife?
Though he had no intention of bedding her, he couldn’t have the servants thinking their marriage wasn’t one in truth. That would create another set of problems and more scrutiny, which he did not need.
He looked back at his bed. The idea of sharing that small space with her in the nights to come was inconceivable. His desire for her warred against his wish to make her suffer. But who would be the one to suffer in this arrangement?
He unfastened his chausses, cursing as he did so at his desire for her. He shed his clothing, threw back the covers, and dropped to the bed. The sweet scent of flowers she carried with her already permeated the bed linens. With a moan, he turned toward her pillow and inhaled, only to jerk back. What was he doing?
He focused on keeping his mind carefully blank. He could do this. It was not a problem. The last thing he wanted was to dream of his wife. The soft breeze coming in through the windows caressed his body and eased him into sleep.
No problem at all, he thought, as Elizabeth’s face smiled up at him through the mists of a dream.
*
Blue light.
Another vision – too powerful to stop.
An unfamiliar bed chamber, dark and narrow.
A man sat propped against a pillow in the bed. His chest bare except for a bandage on his left shoulder.
Just like William’s.
He moved gingerly, moaning in pain. Who was he?
Nicholas scanned the room, searching for clues.
A fire in the hearth.
A wooden chest draped with a tunic.
A sword beside the man glinted in the firelight. The hilt a writhing dragon with sparkling green eyes.
The light flashed again, and the image was gone.
Nicholas sat up, breathing heavily. His head pounded, the after affect of every vision he had. He slowed his breathing deliberately, knowing that as his heartbeat steadied, the pain in his head would ease as well.
“My lord? Is something amiss?” Elizabeth asked, her voice full of concern. She rose from where she’d been kneeling at the foot of the bed, the lid of her chest open with clothing draped over it.
Appalled that she’d seen him in the midst of another vision, he shook his head, anxious to deny anything was wrong with him. “Nay. Nothing.”
She frowned, her eyes narrowed. “Are you certain?”
“Merely a bad dream.” He waved away her concern, hoping she didn’t see the tremble of his hand as he did so. He couldn’t have slept long, for the afternoon sun still lit the room.
With a timid smile, she moved to sit on the edge of the bed, her brown eyes steady on his. “I have bad dreams on occasion as well,” she confided. “I find it helps to speak of them.”
What he wanted was for her to get out of his chamber so he could think. The woman had no idea of the havoc she wreaked upon him. She sat there, waiting so patiently, her gaze falling to his bare shoulders and chest, feeling much like a caress. He stirred uncomfortably beneath her warm regard.
For a long moment, he was tempted to tell her the truth about his visions, only for the pleasure of watching her run. If she knew of the monster he hid, she would keep her distance and save him the trouble.
“I’m fine. Don’t let me keep you from William.” He adjusted his pillow and turned his back on her to lie on his side. He closed his eyes, trying not to envision the hurt that was most likely on her face.
He felt her weight leave the mattress, then heard the door latch shut. He waited several moments to be certain she’d left before rolling to his back and glancing around to find the room empty.
How long would he be able to hide the visions from her while they shared a chamber? Annoyed, he threw an arm over his eyes. Little could be gained from worrying about something over which he had no control.
His thoughts turned back to the vision. What had this one meant? It seemed unrelated to the others he’d recently had. Neither the man nor the room had been familiar. Nicholas focused on him for a moment, attempting to recall his features.
Then Nicholas caught himself. His normal reaction to a vision was to suppress all it told him un
til nothing remained but a vague memory. The strangeness of this one somehow increased its importance. With all that had happened of late, he tried to remember instead.
If it had to do with William...
He would do anything to help William. Hadn’t he proven that already?
He concentrated, picturing the man again. He was dark in coloring with a week or more of whiskers on his face. His eyes had been closed, his brows a dark slash across his forehead. He seemed fit, perhaps the same age as Nicholas. The injury especially was a puzzle. How odd that it was located in the same place as William’s.
The sword was another clue, for it had been unique. Was the man a knight or a lord? Hard to tell from what little Nicholas had seen. The room had been simple, but Nicholas had the impression of a chamber in a keep rather than in a garrison or the like. The tunic had been too far away for Nicholas to tell if it was of quality suitable for a lord. The color of it though, he thought suddenly. The color had been bright, some shade of red. Rich, vibrant colors such as that meant noble birth.
As quickly as excitement filled him at his discovery, the feeling changed to frustration. How many times had he traveled this same path with his visions? Trying to make sense of the random things he saw had proved impossible in the past. He’d chased too many false trails to put any faith in what the images showed him.
He paused as he reconsidered. Many of the visions he’d had of late held truth. Perhaps his interpretation of them hadn’t been completely accurate, but at least parts of the visions had proven true.
William would not have killed Elizabeth’s brother by cheating in a tournament. If William hadn’t killed him, then who had? Perhaps the joust had been a bad accident with William at the center of it. Such things happened on the lists, regardless of the precautions taken with blunted tips on lances and the like.
Still, discovering more about the man in his vision and the unique sword would be a worthy endeavor. No harm could come of making a few discreet inquiries. While he refused to go on another wild goose chase himself, he could send Brom to look into it.
If they had no luck with the sword, perhaps Brom could discover the location of the next tournament and ask questions there.
One way or another, he would solve this mystery soon.
*
Elizabeth arched her sore back, weary to her very bones. Afternoon shadows filled William’s chamber. Her first day at Staverton had proved to be a long one. She’d done everything she could think of to make him more comfortable. The chamber had been cleaned, the bed linens changed, even the heavy curtains draping the tester bed had been taken outside and shaken to remove any lingering dust.
Now she waited for Mistress Mildred. The healer had been occupied with assisting the delivery of a babe, so hadn’t yet arrived.
In truth, she’d remained here to avoid Nicholas. His rejection of her offer to listen to his bad dream had stung deeply. The man frustrated her so. Why did she bother to reach out to him? He obviously wanted nothing to do with her. She’d best remember that.
Elizabeth’s stomach grumbled, and she tried to remember when she’d last eaten. Yesterday on the road, she realized. Dry bread and cheese, of which she’d had very little.
Before she could go and see about some sustenance, a woman appeared at the door. She gave Elizabeth a friendly smile as she curtsied. “I’m Mildred, my lady. How is he?” she asked. Wasting no time, she moved toward the bed, a basket on her arm.
Lines of experience creased her face. Her dark hair was streaked with gray and braided so tightly that it looked as though it must hurt. Her simple brown woven tunic was clean and neat. She carried herself confidently with her back straight and her movements quick.
Elizabeth stepped forward, relieved that she appeared competent. “Not as well as we’d like.”
“Let us see how the wound fares.” With efficient but gentle hands, she removed the strips of linen binding his shoulder.
Elizabeth moved closer, curious to see what his shoulder looked like since she’d last seen it. Although still a nasty wound, the injury seemed to have improved, at least to her inexperienced eye.
“Has he woken?” Mildred asked.
Elizabeth shook her head. “From what I’ve gathered, it’s been some time since he’s stirred at all. The priest gave him last rites.”
“Aye, well, I think that’s the only thing young Father Michael knows how to do, so he continues to do it, just in case,” Mildred said. “God bless him.”
Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile as a small bit of relief filled her. “I’m hoping he’s wrong.”
“Indeed. Father is trying to make sure he appears useful. I think that’s the third time he’s given poor Sir William last rites.”
“How odd.”
“He’s a young one, our Father Michael. Still learning the proper things to say and do for us simple villagers.” She flashed Elizabeth a smile before returning her attention to William. “This one’s a puzzle though. His wound is healing, but too slowly. He should’ve woken by now.”
“I thought the same,” Elizabeth murmured. When Mildred glanced up at her with her brow raised, Elizabeth shrugged. “Not that I have much experience in such matters. Still, it seems odd that he remains unconscious.”
“You’ve sound instincts, my lady.” She touched his cheek with the back of her hand. “The bump on his head seems to have jostled his brain.”
“His head? Whereabouts?” Elizabeth asked, alarmed. She hadn’t noticed a head injury when she’d looked at William during his brief stay at Amberley.
“’Tis here, on the side of his head. I fear that might be his biggest problem. Blows to the head are unpredictable.”
“Oh, dear.” Elizabeth looked at the bump clearly visible under William’s dark hair. How could she and Margaret have missed it?
“I think if I knew more about what happened to him, it might aid his recovery.”
The ramifications of her desertion of William struck Elizabeth anew. Remorse ripped through her, weighting her limbs. She’d thought his injury would be self-explanatory, but obviously that hadn’t been the case. “I might be able to help with that.”
Mildred looked at her curiously, and for the second time that day, Elizabeth found herself explaining, “I’m the one who left him at the gate.” She proceeded to repeat what she’d told Walter.
As she spoke, Mildred listened attentively, then shrugged when Elizabeth finished. “You must’ve had good reason for it, my lady.”
Much to Elizabeth’s relief, Mildred seemed to refrain from judging her actions.
Mildred poked and prodded the injury on William’s shoulder. “The cut is jagged and deep. There’s still heat around the edges of it. If he would only awaken, I’d recommend he sip some bistort root tea. That ought to reduce the pain and swelling as well as the redness and heat.”
“Mary told me he’s not drinking anything.”
Mildred shook her head, a frown marring her brow. “That’s a problem for certain.”
“There must be some way to get him to take the tea. What if we dripped some in his mouth?” Elizabeth asked.
Mildred paused, considering her suggestion. “It would take a lot of drips to make a difference.”
“But surely some would be better than none. The trick would be to make sure he doesn’t choke on it.”
After some discussion, they agreed the best method would be to dip a cloth in the tea and let the tea drip into his mouth, hoping it would be enough to help, but not so much that it might choke him.
Mildred set a pot of water over the fire to heat then dug in her basket to find some dried bistort root. Once the water boiled, she ladled some in a cup and added the root to steep.
“You’re sure you want to help with this, my lady?”
“Indeed I am. Mary will assist me. We’ll take turns with it.”
“I do think we need to get liquid of some sort in him at this point. If this works, perhaps we could alternate it with a bit of broth
on the morrow. He needs to regain his strength.”
Mildred helped to open William’s mouth and watched as Elizabeth dipped a corner of a clean cloth in the tea and let it trickle into his mouth. “Well, the progress will be slow, but it seems to work.”
“I prefer slow progress over none at all,” Elizabeth added as she forced a smile. In truth, it seemed a hopeless task but she had to try.
Mildred watched a bit longer, then packed up her supplies. “I’ll return on the morrow and see if there’s been any improvement. You’ve certainly made him more comfortable already, my lady. We’ll hope that will aid his recovery.” With a wave and a smile, she was gone.
“I hope this helps you, William,” Elizabeth said as she continued dripping the tea into his mouth. “After all, we’ve got to do something. Perhaps I can nag you to awakening with my chatter.”
She was in the middle of telling him an amusing story from her youth that involved her brother, Gregory, when she sensed a presence behind her. She tensed, heat suffusing her cheeks. The awareness she felt could be caused by only one person.
Her husband.
*
Anger coursed through Nicholas as he took in the sight before him. With his heart hammering in his chest, he stalked into the chamber and grabbed Elizabeth’s arm, the evidence still in her hand. “What do you think you’re doing? Attempting to kill him yet again?”
He knew he shouldn’t have trusted her. Her flushed face and tense shoulders clearly showed her guilt. Disgusted, he jerked her up before him and away from William. He should’ve guarded over things himself.
Her eyes widened with alarm, or was it guilt? “My lord, release me at once.” She pulled at her arm, but he held her tight.
A cloth stained dark red was clutched in her hand. His stomach plummeted. Dear God, what had she done now?
“What is this?” He lifted her hand to view the rag more closely. “Poison?” He looked to his brother, anxious to see what harm she’d caused. William’s mouth was agape and the corner of it was stained with the liquid.
Vengeance 02 - Trust In Me Page 11
