Morgan cried out in agony. The sword stuck fast, and neither man could pull it out.
Morgan’s heart sank as Derek slumped over and fell from his horse. Her body felt powerless and numb. Derek got to his knees and tried to stand before stumbling like a blind man before he finally hit the earth.
Morgan made it to his side before Robert made a full circle back to where Derek lay. She could barely see through her tears as she bent over him. The beautiful armor was dented now and blood seeped through his leather tunic where the armor had been punctured and where part of the awful lance still protruded.
She looked up at Robert, glad that he was alive but hating him for what he’d done. She was furious with both of them for bringing it to this, and yet, the only thing that mattered was whether Derek lived. For she felt certain she, too, would die if Derek, her beloved Earl of Kensington, were to expire.
Absorbed in her own pain that Derek’s very life slipped away with every drop of blood, she didn’t look up right away when Hugo came forward to carry him off the field. Robert, too, came close, gently taking her elbow. She looked at him with unbridled fury ready to strike if he continued to try and take her away. He let go of her arm, sadly defeated, and instead helped Hugo remove the lance from Derek’s limp frame.
Morgan removed Derek’s helmet and threw it aside. “Derek, talk to me, please.” Tears clouded her vision. “I never meant for you to get hurt,” she said, placing his head tenderly upon her lap as she stroked his cheek and cradled him in her arms. Her voice was raw with agony. “What have I done?”
~~~~
“Don’t let him die,” Morgan prayed.
The castle’s surgeon wiped his scissors and scalpel with a solution resembling egg whites. Derek lay on a hard cot covered with clean linen. His handsome face appeared bloodless. Other than a few shuffled footsteps and the gentle clinking of instruments being cleaned, the room was eerily quiet. Odelia and Hugo assisted the surgeon in stripping Derek of the rest of his armor and then his tunic. The physician took Derek’s pulse while Odelia washed the blood from his chest and shoulder.
Morgan winced when she caught a glimpse of the gaping wound. Odelia finished her task and came to her.
“This is all my fault,” Morgan said.
“‘Twill do no good to blame yourself, my lady.”
“I shouldn’t have gone out to the fields. Robert was right. He said that by coming to his side I’d given him the strength of four knights. I would do anything to take it back.”
Odelia patted Morgan’s hand before she returned to the doctor’s side to see if she could be of further service.
Morgan stepped closer, saw the fine lines etched on Derek’s face, her husband’s face, the Earl of Kensington’s face.
To think the man she’d been looking for had been right before her eyes all along. He couldn’t die. She was sent here to save him, not send him to an early grave. How could this be happening?
The physician was way too old, she thought, as she watched him lean closer to get a look at the wound. He appeared half blind. As the man used a knife to probe the wound for pieces of metal, Derek twisted in agony, semi-unconscious, but not immune to pain. Hugo held him down while Odelia liberally applied a gooey balm. Then the doctor hastily stitched the wound and bandaged the shoulder with wide strips of cloth.
“‘Tis the best I can do,” the physician said, his voice weary from the effort. “The bluish color that already spreads, tells me the wound might be infected.” He looked to Odelia. “Keep it clean, for if the rot should set in he will surely perish.”
Hugo took the old man by his bony shoulders and hastily led him out the door before the man could say anything more.
Matti entered hours later and they were all relieved to see her. It was already nightfall and Matti was red in the face and out of breath. “I came as quickly as I could,” she said.
Matti looked at Derek’s pale face, made the sign of the cross, praying quietly before speaking again. “Poor man,” Matti whispered. “He has been ever so hungry for love,” she added after a long pause. She took hold of his limp hand and kept her eyes on Derek as she spoke. “A bit of kindness here, a smile there, that is what he craves and needs most of all. ‘Twould make your insides weep to have witnessed the icy coldness his father lent upon him.”
“Those scars,” Morgan said, noticing for the first time how each thin faint line resembled the other, “what happened?”
Matti closed her eyes.
Morgan’s stomach turned. “Did his father do that to him?”
The silence was maddening as it dawned on Morgan that there might have been some truth to the gossip she’d overheard last night. “Is this the reason Derek’s mother left…was she beaten too?”
A tear fell across Matti’s cheek as she nodded. “Lord Vanguard has sworn Hugo and me to secrecy on the matter. Though I had thought he would have told you by now. A horrible day it was the day his mother left. She hardly escaped with her life.”
“But why would she leave Derek with a man like that?” No wonder Derek’s soul was so badly bruised.
“She came back for her son; she did. With a small band of friends for protection, but Simon refused to let her see him. She died before she managed to gain help from either the king or the church.”
“Does Derek know the truth?”
“I tried to tell him on many occasions, but he refuses to talk of his mother. As far as he’s concerned she never existed.”
“I overheard others talking about his mother. I never got the chance to tell him,” Morgan said, stepping closer to Derek and touching lightly at one of his scars on his arm. “How could his own father do such a thing?”
“Worse than the beatings was the fact that Derek did all he could to win his father’s love,” Matti answered sadly.
“What did he do?” Odelia asked.
“He would make things. Surely you know of what I speak. Little things that make a child proud: a mud sculpture…an awkward sketch. Sometimes he’d spend all day with a chore he thought might please his father. But he did these things continuously, in a desperate, child-like frenzy, hoping to catch his father’s attention. A fruitless endeavor, I’m afraid. Never a glimpse or a nod, or acknowledgment of any kind did he get from his father. We all tried to make up for Simon’s neglect,” Matti said, smoothing Derek’s forehead with a wet cloth. “Hugo tried hardest of all, but the lad never gave up, not for a long, long time.”
Odelia appeared hypnotized by the story.
“More than ten years ago,” Matti went on, “when Lord Vanguard turned twenty. Aye, that was when something inside of Lord Vanguard died. It seemed he no longer cared if his father existed at all. Although Lord Vanguard and Hugo had become close, and the young lord had the loyalty of his father’s people, he no longer smiled or took any joy in life. He began to concentrate on his training instead, becoming fearless with his sword. Strangely,” Matti said as if she could even now picture Derek in her mind all those years ago, “after Lord Vanguard stopped seeking his father’s attentions, Simon suddenly took notice of him. Only after Derek no longer cared, did Simon Vanguard dare to speak to the boy, who, of course by then, was a grown man. I believe Simon went to his grave a deeply remorseful man.”
Matti looked Morgan square in the eye. “Until you came, my dear, only then did Braddock see a change in their lord. So abrupt was the change in him ‘twould make a chameleon green with envy the way his colors changed so quickly. God’s mercy child, you have made the man’s heart smile again. A sight we have not seen for many years. So be glad for what you have given him…no matter what happens now. ‘Tis a miracle you were sent to him.”
“Let us not give up yet,” Odelia said as she pushed her way to Derek’s side. “The king’s physician said there was still a chance.”
A miracle, Morgan thought. A true miracle.
Morgan watched Odelia clean the flesh around the wound, trying to make Derek more comfortable. Watching Odelia and Matti huddle ov
er him renewed her hope.
Hope. The impalpable thing she had thrived on as a child. Hope…that wonderful feeling of wishing for something with unwavering and confident expectation. It was an unrelenting desire she’d given up on when all the hoping in the world had failed to produce that which she desired most. Had hope made her parents come for her? Had hope made her any friends? She shook her head and pushed her thoughts to the back of her mind, for if ever there was a reason to begin hoping again, now was the time.
“I want you both to get some rest. I’m taking over now,” Morgan said.
Odelia was reluctant to leave until Morgan added, “We will all take care of him in shifts. If we’re going to help him get through this, we’ll need to take turns.”
~~~~
Morgan stood by the window, staring out at the huge pale moon that hovered over Windsor. Four nights had passed since Derek had been wounded. When was he going to wake up? Her stomach knotted as she glanced over her shoulder at him. He looked deathly pale. Her husband was the Earl of Kensington. But he was also Derek Vanguard: kind, yet courageous; strong yet tender; stubborn and bullheaded. She smiled fondly as she remembered dancing with him beneath the stars.
Rubbing an aching temple, she turned away from the window and moved to his side. The cool air felt good against her skin. She stroked her fingers through his hair as she’d done so many times over the last few days. Was it Derek’s lost soul that had summoned her through time, or had the armor itself brought her here? Hadn’t she always felt a bond, a unique closeness to the armor? And hadn’t she felt compelled that night at her mother’s store, driven by an invisible force to see his face beneath the visor?
She thought suddenly of the witch who spoke of her return from the dead; of Amanda who was without her own true love; and then of her mother, whom she missed so very much. She held her head between her palms. She needed answers but always came up with more questions instead.
Her gaze fell back to Derek. She’d never liked arrogant, obstinate, cold-hearted men, and yet, she’d fallen in love with one of the cockiest, most stubborn men she’d ever met.
She crawled beneath the blankets and drew close to his good side. His body felt warm and strong. “You cannot die, Derek Vanguard,” she said firmly. “I won’t let you.”
It was just after dawn when Odelia came into the room. “Amanda, ‘tis morning. Time to wake up.”
Morgan yawned, forgetting for a few fleeting seconds where she was. But seeing the concern on Odelia’s face brought all the horror of the last days flooding back. She jerked upright, looked at Derek and felt his forehead with her palm. “He’s burning up.”
Morgan slid out of bed and quickly dunked fresh linens into a bucket of clean water. She began to clean his wound. Odelia used one of the cloths on Derek’s forehead to bring his fever down. “I had a terrible dream, my lady. You were in a small cottage, drenched with sunlight, and you floated upward like the cottony seeds of a dandelion. And then you disappeared. Gone in an instant.”
“Not now, Odelia,” Morgan said as she checked his fever. “He doesn’t look any better, does he?”
“I am afraid not, my lady.”
“Something is terribly wrong. He should be better by now.”
Matti entered the room as Morgan unwrapped bandages from Derek’s wound.
“You need to eat,” Matti said.
Odelia gasped when she saw Derek’s wound. The deep gash was red and raw, oozing with thick, yellowish fluid.
Ignoring them both, Morgan grabbed the doctor’s utensils from the high table and sorted through them until she found the sharpest blade.
“What are you going to do?” Odelia asked.
“The wound isn’t healing. There’s got to be a piece of the sword’s tip still left inside. I’m going to find out.”
“My lady,” Matti said, “mayhap we should seek the physician’s help.”
“The doctor is a quack. Yesterday he refused to look at the wound, saying once again that he’d done all he could. The only reason he came at all was because the king ordered him to.” Morgan sighed. “I won’t sit here another minute and watch him die…not when there might be something I can do.”
Odelia padded across the room, bringing back with her a large goblet filled with a strong red wine. “I heard Lord Vanguard’s plaints the first time the physician cut into him. Bloody hell if I will listen to him whine again.” She propped Derek’s head up in a hefty arm and poured the liquid down his throat. Wine drizzled over his chin and onto Odelia’s tunic.
Morgan sterilized the knife in the fire before she came back to stand over Derek. She poured alcohol over the wound and blade. She licked at dry lips.
Matti wiped at Derek’s feverish brow. Her hands trembled as she placed a leather strip between Derek’s teeth before she took hold of Derek’s left arm. Odelia held the other. They both looked at Morgan and waited.
Morgan removed the hard-to-find stitches with the tip of the blade. Using wet towels to soften the damaged skin, she managed to open the wound slightly. The process took interminably long, but all three of them were patient. She hardly needed the knife, using her finger instead as a feeler to search the wound, pushing her finger deeper as the wound opened.
Derek moaned. Odelia and Matti held him tight, every muscle tense. He was as weak as a wounded dog and Morgan winced as she added another finger, pushing farther downward. Her eyes widened, surprising even herself when she felt a piece of jagged iron embedded within the wound.
Derek groaned with a great passion of pain as she withdrew the metal. With the piece of iron came a new surge of crimson blood. Odelia used all her strength to hold him down until his head fell back into the pillows like a corpse.
Working quickly, Odelia cleaned the wound with alcohol as Morgan instructed. Matti stanched the flow of blood with a pile of clean linens. Morgan found the doctor’s needle and set about sewing Derek up. Biting her lip, intent on stopping the flow of blood as quickly as possible, Morgan made her first stitch and the second with a steady hand. When she was done, she examined the stitches and frowned. Shayna would definitely scold her for such sloppy work, she thought.
~~~~
Bright rays of morning light came through the window, hitting Derek smack in the eyes and making him grimace. He tried to sit up until the pain in his side tore through every muscle he possessed. He laid still, gritting his teeth in discomfort.
What day was this? he wondered. As he reached upward to wipe at his dry mouth he snarled in agony. His lips felt dry and parched. His insides burned. He looked to his bandaged shoulder and recalled with amazing clarity the reason for his suffering.
DeChaville. The name caused fury to override any pain he felt, and he clenched his teeth and pushed his legs over the side of the bed, swallowing the excruciating torture that followed. A terrific hunger gnawed at his belly.
He stood, his legs weak beneath him. The bed beckoned him to lie back down, but stubbornness prevailed. A fleeting vision of an angel passed within his mind, and he recalled memories of his wife calling his name and soothing his brow, confessing her undying love for him. But he knew well enough she would never have come to him. He had seen the way she gazed at her lover, afraid for DeChaville’s life. He had sorely wished ‘twas himself she had gazed upon in such a manner. His gut ached to think she would always love another.
An under-the-weather smile crossed his lips as his next vexing thought turned to getting DeChaville’s impertinent neck between his hands so that he could squeeze the very life from him. This deliberation made the wrenching pain a bit more tolerable as he took a few feeble steps toward the door. His muscles relaxed a bit after the first steps and the pain was not nearly so bad, he told himself. He took two more steps, grimacing as he tried to catch his breath.
Hugo entered the room in time to see a wicked snarl on Derek’s face and one arm outstretched in hopes of finding some invisible support. Derek stumbled into the big man’s arms.
“‘Tis good t
o see you up, my lord; shall we dance?”
Derek grunted, pushing away from Hugo with his good arm. Somehow he managed to get back to the bed where he collapsed.
Hugo smiled brightly. “All will be glad to know that you have finally awakened. I will see that the maids have hot water brought up for your bath and—”
“Wait,” Derek said weakly. “Food, I need food. And water first to quench this eternal thirst. And what day is this?”
“The twelfth, my lord.”
Derek looked doubtful. “You mean to say I have been ill-functioning for five days now? Absurd. I will have DeChaville’s head for this. I was to be back home ere two days ago.” He finished his rambling and swept a hand through the air. “Send for the maids to see to my bath and food. And water, Hell’s teeth get me some water!”
Hugo tried to take his leave, but he was not quick enough.
“And Hugo, have the men get the carriage ready for a quick departure. I expect to see the towers of Braddock before sundown.” He laid his head back on the pillows and closed his eyes.
Hugo bowed low, glad to see that his lordship was back to his old, unpleasant self.
~~~~
Morgan sort of liked the wacky, eccentric character that King Henry was and she added him to the list of people she would miss when she returned to her own time. The King did seem to be overly nervous at times, especially when she asked him what he thought about a woman ruler. His eyes doubled in size and he looked as if he might have a stroke. The seeds of insanity had definitely been planted, she decided sadly. Hastily, she changed the subject, deciding to forgo the tale of Queen Elizabeth and what little she knew about her reign.
The king wheezed with unrestrained laughter at her tales of Robin Hood and her much revised tales of Sir Lancelot. She was laughing, too, after he told her that next to Queen Guinevere she was the fairest lass in all the world.
Return of the Rose Page 21
