MAKING PLANS
Sean was standing by the window when he heard the door open. He spun around, winced in agony and fell back against the wall.
He heard an arid laugh.
“Young man, perhaps you would be wise to obey the injunction of your physician and get into bed?”
He let out a shuddering breath. “Yes, Father Matthew.”
The priest's soft face was grinning under the snowy-white beard. “Quite so. What did you think you were doing? I'm curious.”
Sean shook his head, a weary half-smile on his lips. “Sorry, Father. I was trying to leave the infirmary. I can't stay in here any longer.”
Father Matthew smiled. “Well, if you let me dress that wound, perhaps I can consent to a walk in the courtyard. I was young too, once – believe it or not as you will – and I know how terrible it is to be stuck within four walls.”
Sean grinned. “Thanks, Father.”
He considered telling the old priest what he suspected - that someone had made an attempt on his life, but where would he start? Perhaps he was being foolish and overly-suspicious. He sighed. Sitting down, he let the priest gently unwind the bandages. He grimaced as he pulled away the gauze, waiting for the agony of it being pulled from the raw flesh.
The gauze came away cleanly. The physician breathed in. “No corruption to smell,” he said with a smile. “And the wound is starting to pucker at the edges. Good. You're young and strong, and you'll mend.”
Sean smiled. “Thanks.”
“Well, then. A fresh bandage, then a walk. In that order. And some breakfast. And these can be burned. Sir Clarence?”
“Yes, Father?”
“Do take these away and have them burned?”
Sean had to smile as the physician-priest passed out the soiled bandage in a basket. The knight's eyebrows lifted in surprise at the succinct command. Nonetheless, he hurried away promptly.
“There. Now,” the priest worked as he spoke, smearing lineament on the wound, and then bandaging it slowly and systematically. “Let's say an hour out in the sunshine. Then I need you back in here again. That bandage should be changed three times a day. It's clean yet, but if it starts to weep around the edges, foul humors can get in and taint the wound.”
“Yes, Father.”
Sean listened to the priest explain his work, wondering with a secret smile what Marguerite would say about it. He imagined she would be well-equipped to discourse with the man. He was tempted to ask if he followed the school of the Hermetics or of Paracelsus, but he thought the poor old priest might pass out. At the very least, he'd need to know why an ill-educated soldier knew such things.
“Right,” he said when he was done. “Out you go. Be back in an hour, mind.”
“Yes, Father.”
He headed out into the sunshine, relieved to be out in the cool, fresh air.
Over by the fountain, he stopped. The sun was blazing down onto the flagstones and the scent of water drifted up, cool and refreshing. He lowered himself onto the rain-scented stone around the fountain and breathed deeply. The priest was right; it was good to get some sun.
He closed his eyes and then opened them as a shadow fell across his eyelids. He stared up into the colonnade. A woman in a white dress stood there, looking down. Marguerite!
“Milady!” he called up cheerfully. He saw her flinch, then make a hushing gesture with her hands. He frowned. She made a motion with a hand that suggested stairs, and climbing down. He nodded. A minute later, she appeared in the courtyard. He stood to meet her.
“Milady!”
“Hush,” she whispered. They walked together to the shadow of a column. There, unable to control his urge, he wrapped his arms around her and his lips descended passionately on hers.
She sighed and melted into his arms. Then, after what felt like an age where his tongue grappled softly with hers and her body pressed into him, he moved back.
“Sir,” she whispered. “Oh, Sean...”
He shook his head. She looked terrified. “What is it?”
“Sean, we have to leave. Soon. Today.”
“Leave?” He frowned at her, feeling suddenly alarmed. Had all the stress turned her mind? “My dear. What is it?”
She shook off his stroking hand as he touched her hair. “Listen to me,” she whispered. “You were right. It's Rodham.”
“What is Rodham?” he frowned.
“This is,” she put a hand on his side and he jumped, hissing out a breath. She shook her head. “Sorry. But he did send someone. I know it.”
“How?”
She drew in a shaky breath. Keeping her fear at bay, she quickly told him her story.
When she had finished, he stared at her. He felt his heart thudding in his chest. He felt rage such as he had never even imagined fire his blood. “He did what?”
Marguerite flinched. “He hit me, Sean. Not hard. No, please! Don't be angry...” She trailed off as he shook his head, letting out a rush of breath.
“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “I shouldn't be angry. It's not you. Not your fault. I want to hit him,” he said simply.
“Oh, Sean.” She sighed. She reached up and her soft, tender hand stroked his cheek sweetly. “You're so good to me.”
He huffed out a breath. “Good to you? No, my dear. I am natural. The man is mad.”
“I think so too,” Marguerite whispered softly.
“We have to leave,” Sean nodded. “We can't stay here.”
Marguerite frowned. “But...where can we go?”
Sean shook his head. “We'll think of something. Back to Aberleigh would be a good place to start.”
Marguerite nodded. “I agree.”
“When would we go?” Sean asked. The thought of riding with this wound was disconcerting to say the least. It went down almost to the bone across his ribs and when he walked it pulled terribly. The priest had stitched it, but he knew he was courting disaster if he rode with it.
“We cannot go until you are fit to ride,” Marguerite said.
“But we have to leave soon,” Sean said. “Before Sunday.”
Marguerite nodded. Her pale, gentle face was tight with nerves. “We must.”
Sean nodded. “Well, then. We will leave tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow! But, Sean…”
“Tomorrow is Thursday,” he said softly. “And I will be ready.”
Marguerite looked as if she was about to protest. Sean leaned in and gently kissed her cheek.
“We can do it,” he said softly. “We have each other. We have love. It is all we need.”
She smiled, though her eyes were damp with tears. She nodded. “We will succeed.”
He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her. She made a soft sound and buried her face in his neck. She leaned in and he leaned closer, his loins aching as he pressed against her body. He could smell the sweet, soft fragrance of her hair and feel her warm, firm body filling his arms. He thought that if he died right then, he would die content.
“Marguerite,” he whispered into her hair. “I love you so.”
She sniffed and nestled closer, a small creature seeking comfort. He kissed her hair.
“Sean,” she said solemnly. “I love you too.”
When she looked up into his eyes, Sean felt his heart melt. He knew then that whatever happened, he would find a way. He had to. He was not going to live another day without her.
* * *
Sean waited until evening before he left the infirmary again. As the guard changed and Fraser replaced Alec, he heaved himself to the door and stuck out his head. “Fraser?”
“Sean!” Fraser grinned. “You madman. I don't think you're meant to be doing that.”
Sean shook his head, grinning as Fraser tried to shoo him to the bed. “Fraser, listen. Could you find Camden for me? We need to talk.”
Fraser frowned. “Of course. But Sean...”
“Just go and find him?” Sean said tiredly. “Please?”
Fraser nodded. “Of course, old friend.”
Camden appeared, handsome face tired but happy. He looked like he'd just been dragged away from a banquet. He probably had been.
“Sean! How fares my wounded comrade?”
“Fine. Listen, Camden. We need to talk.”
“What is it?” Camden frowned.
Sean told him.
Camden's face darkened and then he whistled. “Sean. Whew! That's a strong tale.”
“I'm sure it's true. Listen. We need to leave.”
“I understand that,” Camden nodded. “But don't you think you should speak to her father first?”
“Her father?”
“Yes,” Camden nodded. “Lady Marguerite's father. Lord Alexander. He's here for the wedding.”
Sean stared. “You mean...you mean they had it arranged?”
“Possibly,” Camden nodded. “In any case, Lord Alexander has been at court. He's helping with the defenses of the castle. I think he has the intention of rising up the ranks by promotion and favor. Anyhow.” He shrugged. “He's here. You can talk.”
Sean frowned. “You think he'll listen?”
“I think anyone would have to believe your account, Sean,” Camden said gravely. “And when something can be done through the front door, so to speak, why try to sneak around through the window? Be up front, Sean. That's my advice.”
Sean nodded. “I agree.”
“Right,” Camden said. He gave Sean a smile, albeit a little exasperated. “Well, then, my impulsive brother. We can agree on that.”
“Yes,” Sean said. “We can.”
He would meet her father.