Chapter
XI

Once she would have bolted at his threat. Mayhap she’d heard too many threats from men these past few days and had grown used to them. Mayhap she was too frightened by the death-vault stillness of Christian and his father to take heed. Or mayhap she’d lost what few wits she had after a day of running and hiding.

Whatever the reason, she didn’t run now. She waited for Christian to say something more or to move. He did neither, so she reached out again to touch his arm. The touch was light, but he sucked in his breath and jerked away, his hand coming up to ward off another liberty.

“Don’t make me throw you out into the streets,” he said. “They’re littered enough as it is.”

At least he was talking. “What happened?”

“We were out whoring and were attacked. Would you like to know what we bought and how we used it?”

“I—I’m not going, my lord.” She covered her ears with her hands.

Christian didn’t smile, but she could see a glimmer of halfhearted amusement in his eyes. His shout caught her off guard.

“Hext!”

The man appeared, his face alight with hope. “Get some of my men to cart this parcel back to the palace,” Christian said.

He was going to throw her out. Nora lifted her skirts and sprang away from Christian, running around to the other side of the bed as he shoved himself to his feet. Limping, he nevertheless caught her before she could dodge him. He snagged her arm, dragged her to Hext and thrust her at the man.

“At once, Hext. And see to it that she understands just how unwelcome she is.” He turned away, back to his father.

Hext started pulling Nora out of the chamber, and she panicked.

“No, please. I can’t go back.”

Arthur burst in, drawn by her cries. “Take your hands from my lady!” He kicked Hext’s shin, and the man yelped.

“You let her go!” Arthur proceeded to shout and kick at Hext while pounding him with both fists.

Christian’s roar made the boy squeak and hide behind his victim and Nora. “Silence! By God, I’ve had a surfeit of whining and whimpering.”

Reaching behind Hext, Christian fished Arthur out by the neck of his shirt and held him off the ground, wriggling like a river eel. He dropped the boy in front of Hext, who grabbed Arthur’s hair with one hand while he kept hold of Nora with the other. He began to drag them away.

“God rot your soul,” Arthur said. “We aren’t going back and marry that devil’s minion.”

Christian had resumed his vigil at the Earl’s side. At Arthur’s words, though, he lifted a hand, and Hext immediately stopped.

“What did you say?” Christian asked Arthur.

Nora made shushing noises, but Arthur stuck out his chin and glared at the man across the room.

“They tried to make us sign those marrying papers, but we hid. And we aren’t going to marry that man. He has fits.”

Christian glanced at his father, then rose and walked with an uneven gait back to the three of them. “Hext, take this golden-headed shrike to the kitchens and feed him.”

“We aren’t going back,” Arthur repeated.

“Don’t try my patience, you infant Mars, or I’ll put my good hand to your arse.”

Arthur stomped out followed by Hext, and Christian returned to his father. Left by herself, Nora had no idea if she was meant to go with the others or stay. Christian wasn’t going to throw her out, at least not at the moment. Perhaps she should leave. She could speak to him when he’d rested. Only he wasn’t going to rest. She could see that he intended to keep vigil at his father’s bedside until he bled to death. Tiptoeing as quietly as she could, she crept back to the two men on the bed.

Christian didn’t acknowledge her, but he didn’t try to chase her away either. His inattention allowed her to gather her courage to speak.

“What do the physicians say?”

“What they always say. He is in God’s hands.”

She winced at his laugh. A tortured, lost-soul’s laugh it was, and it turned her insides to boiled cabbage.

“He was in God’s hands last night,” Christian said, “but I was there to see that he fell out of them and into the path of a dagger.”

Speaking before she lost the resolve, Nora asked, “Mean you that those brigands were yours?”

“Don’t be any more of an ass than you can help.”

“Mean you that you knew there would be trouble this night?”

“Of course not. Beshrew you. I can’t take much more of your foolishness.”

“But, my lord, you can’t mean that you are responsible for the evil of men who try to attack honest subjects in the dark, any more than you could help being taken by that terrible outlaw Jack Midnight.”

From the table beside the bed, Christian grabbed a cloth and gently touched it to his father’s brow. The Earl hadn’t moved in spite of all the commotion around him.

“Go away,” Christian said. “My steward will give you chambers.”

“I’ll stay.”

“This is no time for you to become a little donkey. And I’ve no patience left.”

He stood, and Nora knew he was going to toss her out. She skipped backward when he reached for her.

“Please,” she said.

“No, I don’t please.”

He limped toward her, and it was the limp that gave her the idea. She stopped skipping away from him. Allowing him to catch her, she let her body go boneless. Christian caught her and stooped to lift her in his arms. His leg gave way. Dropping to his knees, he cursed as his arms lost their strength.

Nora scrambled out of his grip in time to slip her shoulder beneath his arm as he swayed. His free hand came up to grasp her other shoulder, and she felt the slick, wet smear of blood. Knowing she would draw his fury if she called for help, she pried him upright. It took all her strength, but she succeeded in dragging him to the bed. When they reached it, he fell on his side, gasping and clutching at his thigh.

“My lord,” she began.

“I’ll call my guards.”

Clasping her hands in front of her, she mimicked Arthur by sticking out her chin. “If you do, I—I’ll wait until you fall down from loss of blood and come back.”

“God’s blood.”

“It’s yours that is sprinkled about this chamber, my lord.”

He bit the inside of his mouth. “Why don’t you run from me like you do from your father?”

“If you don’t let me tend your wounds, you won’t be able to watch over your father at all.”

She waited, but there was no blast of obscenities, no threat to hurl her into a dung heap. Silence was as much acquiescence as Christian de Rivers would give her, and Nora took it. Moving slowly so as not to invite rejection, she placed one hand on Christian’s chest and braced his back with her arm. Exerting only slight pressure, she lowered him to rest beside his father.

Nora didn’t give him a chance to change his mind, but set about immediately removing the stained bandages and clothing. She’d tended many an injured pup and stray cat, but never a man. It was unnerving, too, the way this one ignored her. He lay quietly, allowing her to touch him but not looking at her. Either he turned his head to watch his father or he stared up at the velvet canopy that topped the bed.

She was beginning to know him, Nora thought as she realized his blank stare concealed a maelstrom. She longed to ask what troubled him, yet at the same time she feared to know. He traveled paths of darkness, did Christian de Rivers, black alleys peopled with phantoms and beasts in human form, such as Jack Midnight. She wavered between the desire to call him from his world of darkness and the urge to flee.

She left him to request supplies from one of the serving men who waited outside the Earl’s chamber. When she returned with a basket, Christian was lying as she had left him. She produced scissors and began to cut away his doublet and shirt. Once the garments were in shreds, she peeled them away from his chest, then stopped with her hands poised over him.

She was an evil person. She was devouring the sight of him as though he were a cup of sack and she a thirsty pilgrim. She couldn’t prevent her eyes from stealing glances at the way his flesh stretched tight over his ribs, then sank as it topped his lowest rib and descended to his waist. Perspiration formed on her brow, and she patted it with her sleeve before removing the remnants of his shirt.

Next she pulled off his boots. As she tossed them to the floor, her hand came to rest on his ankle. His flesh was cold, and she flushed, contrite at the way she hesitated to remove his hose when he so obviously needed her help. Biting her lower lip, she plucked at the laces at the side of his hip. The material tugged, drawing tight over his codpiece, and she finally gained his attention.

His hand grabbed her wrist, and she met his bleak stare.

“Sweeting,” he said, “if I weren’t in Hell, I would be glad to let you continue. Turn away.”

When he called her back, she found him lying beneath the sheet, his body clearly outlined by its white folds. She lifted the sheet a fraction of an inch, sure that he would make some terrible jest. He surprised her by pulling the cover back to expose his thigh while casting a worried glance at his father. Chiding herself once more for her lack of fortitude, Nora set about cleaning the gash in his thigh. As she wiped away dried blood, she realized the wound would have to be stitched, as well as the one on his arm.

She busied herself gathering needle, thread, and cloths. Noticing a bottle lying in the basket, she remembered the serving man’s comment that there was sleeping potion among the other supplies. The dosage was written on the outside of the bottle. She poured a dash of the liquid in a cup of water and held the cup out to Christian.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I have to stitch your wounds.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“A sleeping draft.”

“No.”

“I will hurt you.”

“Which will hurt worse, do you think—a little embroidery, or waking up and finding him dead?”

She set the cup aside and took up her needle. Unlike her injured puppies and cats, he gave no sign of his pain beyond a tightening of his mouth as she closed the wounds. The whole business was accomplished in silence. By the time she finished binding the thigh and arm, Nora could almost believe he hadn’t noticed what she was doing at all.

“He doesn’t stir,” he said as she straightened.

“When a creature is wounded, its body sleeps in order to husband strength for healing.”

“Or to die.”

She couldn’t think of a believable lie, so she remained quiet. Christian stirred; he raised himself on his elbows and took hold of the sheet that covered him.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I need clothing, and I have inquiries afoot that need seeing to. God’s blood, woman, do you think this attack is a chance happening? It comes on the heels of Bonner’s attempt to take me and break all the bones in my body one at a time.”

She didn’t answer. She simply put her hands on his bare chest and shoved.

He fought her. “Get your hands off me or I’ll—”

“You’re weaker than a newborn pup.”

“And that’s the only reason you’d dare defy me, you sniveling mouse.”

She pressed him down in the bed and straightened the sheet that had fallen to his groin. He reached for the cover again, but she grabbed his wrists and forced them down to either side of his head. His strength gave way suddenly, and she plopped down on his chest. Her nose bumped his shoulder hard enough to sting. She lifted her head to find him furious at being subdued so easily. Her nose throbbed and itched, or she might have shrunk from him. Instead, she was reduced to holding him down with both hands while wriggling her nose in an effort to prevent a sneeze. Christian stopped fighting her and stared, his mouth falling open at the dance her nose was performing. Nora made a little squeak, turned her head, and sneezed.

Mortified, she buried her head in the crook of her shoulder. Her face was hot with embarrassment, but she lifted it because she couldn’t remain perched on Christian’s naked chest forever.

He was lying beneath her without protest now, his wrists no longer flexing and twisting to get free. His gaze, still flat and shadowed, traveled over her features, and the barest of smiles formed on his lips.

“ ‘Untimely grinning is the silliest sin,’ ” he said. His smile vanished, and he closed his eyes. “You’ve cost me what strength I had left, damn you.”

Nora pressed her advantage. “I will keep vigil for you, my lord. I give you my word, before God, I’ll wake you at the slightest change.”

She caught a glimpse of dark violet as he tried to open his eyes.

“I command lords and cutpurses, ladies and bawds,” he said. “Why is it that I find myself surrendering to a mouse?”

She released him, relief flooding her to the bone. “Mayhap it is as you said, and I am but a dragon in the guise of a mouse.”

“Promise. No bleeding, no physicians.”

“I promise.”

As she gave her word, Christian’s body seemed to release its tension. He turned his head toward his father. His lashes fluttered, then lay still.

Nora heard his breathing deepen and knew that he was asleep. Drawing a chair to the bed, she settled herself to watch both men. Hours passed during which she tended them and struggled to find an answer to her own predicament. Sometime during the day Hext returned with the Earl’s steward, and she accepted their gratitude for convincing Christian to rest.

Their gratitude vanished when she objected to the entry of the Earl’s three learned doctors. Sensing a battle, Hext retreated along with the steward. Harpylike, the physicians descended on the sickbed, their thin fingers twitching with eagerness.

One, a spider with a beard that reached to his knees, whispered to the other two. “At least the fires are high. They might keep out the evil vapors.” The spider lifted his brows at Nora and bowed. “Hobart Dogdyke, physician, Mistress Becket. The steward made us aware of your kind offer to nurse the Earl and his heir.”

The physician’s voice rose in a question, and Nora could see the dubious and scandalized expression he tried to hide. Suddenly aware of the consequences of her mad flight, she twisted her hands together and inclined her head in silent acknowledgment of his words.

“This is Thimbleby, my colleague,” Dogdyke went on, “who studied with me in Padua. And that is Clopton the apothecary. If you will pardon us, mistress, we will bleed the Earl now.”

Dogdyke bustled past Nora, followed by Thimbleby, who carried a bag. The apothecary left and returned with several metal basins, while Nora looked on with growing horror. Dogdyke possessed an air of authority that confused her, but she couldn’t break her promise to Lord Montfort. She would rather die.

Dogdyke fished in the bag and withdrew a lancet. “1 told Lord Montfort,” he said to her, “that most people have too much blood in them. Reducing it relieves the body, and when I examine the blood as it flows, I can better perceive the patient’s malady.”

“I—I forbid it,” Nora said.

Wiping his sharpened blade on a cloth, Dogdyke watched the apothecary bare the Earl’s chest. “Fear not, mistress. The Earl’s health is under the influence of the planet Saturn, and I have a new tincture of bitter apple, mercury, turpentine—”

“I said no!” She swept up to the physician and thrust her arm between Dogdyke and the Earl. “No.”

“The Earl was left in my charge,” Dogdyke said. He edged closer to the Earl, his lancet at the ready. “I can’t let you interfere and cost me the life of my most important patient.”

Nora stumbled as Dogdyke shouldered her out of the way. He bent over the Earl while Thimbleby and the apothecary moved to stand between Nora and the bed. She heard the Earl moan.

“He’s waking,” she exclaimed. “Stop.”

No one paid attention, but Christian stirred at the sound. He rose on one arm to find the doctors looming over his father.

“Bloody carrion,” he said, his words slurred. “Get you gone from here.”

He heaved himself up on his knees and grabbed Dogdyke by the throat. The movement must have torn his wounded thigh, because he gasped and lurched to the side. He caught himself before he collapsed on top of his father, and Thimbleby jumped into the fray by clutching Christian’s wounded arm. The apothecary let out a terrified whimper and fled.

Nora stared at what her dithering had caused. Christian fought the two men, cursing and bleeding all the while. If he lost, Dogdyke would bleed his father and Christian would be next. She looked around for something to use as a weapon, and found Christian’s sword in its scabbard tilted against a chest in the corner. Rushing to it, she unsheathed the weapon, then hurled herself at the doctors.

Nora gripped the sword hilt with both hands and hit Thimbleby on his rear with the flat of the blade. The doctor yowled and brought his hands around to protect his buttocks. She lifted the sword and bashed him on the head. Thimbleby plummeted to his knees and fell on his face. She clambored over his back, hefted the sword again, and brought it crashing down on the head of Dogdyke.

The blow made no impression on the fervent doctor, who was busy peeling Christian’s hands from his throat. Dogdyke fastened his own hand over Christian’s wounded arm and squeezed. Crying out, Christian froze, enabling Dogdyke to tear the choking hands from his neck.

“You are under the influence of evil humors, my lord.” Dogdyke shoved Christian, and Christian fell on his injured leg with a moan.

Fury suffused Nora with strength. She swung the sword, whirling it over her head and dashing in against the physician’s thick skull. Dogdyke teetered, and his scrawny body tilted toward the Earl. Christian’s arm shot out, and he sank his fist into the man’s gut. Dogdyke backpedaled, and Nora finished him off by tripping him with the sword. The doctor crashed to the floor and lay shaking his head.

Nora stood over him, sword poised. “Out.”

Dogdyke opened his mouth. She slapped his arm with the sword, and the physician screamed. Flailing his arms and legs, he managed to get them moving in unison and burst out of the chamber on all fours.

Nora followed him, slammed the door shut, and bolted it. Dropping the sword, she returned to the bed to hover over the Earl. Christian lay with his arm draped protectively over his father. Pale, his skin damp with sweat and his mouth tight with pain, he nevertheless managed a weak chuckle before sinking onto his back.

“God’s cock, what a fighter,” he said.

Satisfying herself that the Earl was holding his own, Nora rounded the bed to check Christian. As she did so, she realized what her fury hadn’t allowed her to notice in the scuffle. He was naked and bleeding all over the sheets.

She shut her eyes while her face heated like a baked tart. When no ribald comments were hurled at her head, she opened her eyes. Christian lay on his back, one leg bent and the wounded one out straight. He clutched the wounded leg with his good arm, while he kept his face turned away from her. Contrite, Nora realized he was in too much pain and far too weak to do anything.

“Drowsy syrup,” she said, her embarrassment forgotten.

She snatched the bottle of sleeping draft from a table and poured another dose into a cup of water. Giving Christian no opportunity to refuse, she crept up on him while his eyes were shut in pain and forced the cup to his mouth. His eyes flew open, and so did his mouth. She tipped the contents down his throat. He coughed and sputtered, but he was no match for her, and she won. Most of the liquid went down his throat before he could stop her.

“I’ll flay your arse,” he swore, “you sneaking, sniveling little witch.”

She skittered away from him and waited for the potion to take effect. He tried to rise from the bed, but his arms folded.

“Damn your soul, Nora Becket. Promise. Promise.”

“I already promised, and I didn’t betray you. Please, my lord, rest, and trust me.”

“Trust a mouse.”

He pointed a finger at her, and she watched it weave back and forth.

“Trust is for children and fools,” he said. “Are you going to make me a fool?”

She touched his finger. When he didn’t attack her, she wrapped her hand around his and lowered it gently to his chest, where she held it between her own two hands.

“I promised before God. And … I could never betray you. I—I love you.”

“Jack Midnight was there. He saved my life.” Christian stared up at the canopy. “The mouse rescues me. I feel like a sick snail, and she confounds my will at every turn. At every turn.”

His dark lashes fell, and his voice faded. Nora let out the breath she’d been holding.

With Christian asleep, she was able to tend to both men in peace, in spite of the furor around him, the Earl hadn’t awakened. She checked his wound, smoothed the covers over his body, and devoted her attention to Christian.

Although he had wrenched his wounds, none of his stitches had torn. Nora refastened his bandages, but once this was accomplished, she could no longer ignore the rest of him. God’s mercy, who could? He was all long, straight lines of flesh broken by tight curves of muscle. His intimidating strength was concealed by deceptively smooth skin.

His legs were tangled in the sheets, and she began to untwist them. Grasping material near his groin, she paused and flushed, her brows furrowing. Looking over her shoulder, she reassured herself that she was alone and resumed her inspection.

She was no stranger to the male anatomy. She’d handled too many animals. But stay now, something wasn’t right. He was too small, and if she touched him, he would be soft. Yet his codpiece …

Men were such cozeners, liars, cheats. Perhaps Lord Montfort did not deign to wear outsized protection, but there were many at court who did. The liars. What would happen if she touched him?

“Nora Becket,” she murmured to herself, “you’re fast becoming the bawd he’d like you to be.” She pulled the covers free and spread them over his body. Much better, she decided. It wasn’t proper for her to ogle him like a common trull.

From behind the door, she heard Arthur calling her name. She let him in and held her finger to her lips.

“Mistress,” he whispered. “Hext and I have been out. To the palace.”

“That busybody.”

“No, mistress, it’s good that we went. I’m learning better how to sneak.”

“A godly pastime,” Nora said.

“We heard about you. The whole palace was bustling, and when your father saw that the Queen was disturbed, he put it about that you’d vanished because of a sudden attack of a bad tooth.” Arthur bobbed his head up and down when Nora gave him an astonished look. “Hext says it was to save his honor and prevent the Queen from interfering. Everyone thinks you’re at the town house suffering, and meanwhile, your father searches for you by stealth.”

“Then we have a respite. But we won’t if you prance about the streets of London and catch my father’s eye.”

“I’ll take care, mistress.”

“I know, you’ve learned to sneak and lurk. Holy Mary forgive me for casting the child among knaves.”

Arthur grinned at her, and she dismissed him. Returning to her vigil, she had time to think of the Earl’s state. His wound was near the heart, though a clean one. No wonder the physicians hadn’t dared to probe it. There was no way to tell how deep the puncture was and thus how grave the damage. The only thing to do was to keep the wound clean and the man still—and pray.

Christian’s wounds were much less grave, yet she’d seen animals die of like injuries. Putrefaction could set in for no reason that she could perceive. If it did, this beautiful man would die a long and agonizing death. From her experience, keeping his wounds clean would increase his chances of healing. Why, she wasn’t sure, but mayhap it was because God loved cleanliness.

Settling in the chair she’d put near Christian, she tried to rest while keeping alert for movement from either man. She couldn’t resist reaching her hand out and resting it on Christian’s bare arm. He hadn’t heard her confession of love, but it was for the best. He was too ill and too distraught to bother about her.

Or had he instead ignored her because he didn’t love her and didn’t want her to love him? Nonsense. He didn’t want her to marry the awful Flegge. But mayhap he felt sorry for her, or wanted to bed her first, or both. She didn’t understand him, and she longed to ask him about his true feelings. Yet in all likelihood, if she did ask, he wouldn’t tell. The possibility of getting Christian de Rivers to tell her his real feelings was as likely as getting the Pope to recognize the Princess Elizabeth as legitimate.

Nora brushed a dark lock of hair from his forehead. It was softer than her own hair, and its color was jewel-like in its intensity. She left off stroking it, for each stroke increased her longing for him and her urge to protect him. And his father, who loved Christian with a fierce, protective love that rivaled her own. What would she do if she lost both men when she’d only just discovered the miracle of their existence?

Sinking to her knees by the bed, Nora rested her forehead on the mattress and prayed. God wouldn’t let them die. He was kind, and He knew that she needed Christian. Christian opened her up, freed her from a prison of uncertainty and fear, teased and plagued her into believing in herself. No, God wouldn’t let him die. And when he got well, she would gather her courage until she was strong enough to ask him for his hand. Yes, that was what she would do.

Lifting her head, she whispered to Christian, “ ‘With you I should love to live, with you be ready to die.’ ”