CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‡
A Fire Within
Nearing Worcester
Worcester was a city that was partially in ruins.
Surrounded by a massive forest and bisected by the River Severn, a waterway that flooded the city now and again, Worcester had seen better days. Tribes had attacked it from the south some twenty years earlier and burned a great deal of it, and reconstruction had been slow because of continued tribal battles that had been going on since the great burning. But the cathedral stood, soaring into the cloudy sky, like a great bastion of hope and faith amidst the ruins of the struggling city.
After leaving Evesham, she was back to riding her shaggy mare, Ghislaine led the knights through trees and meadows towards this downtrodden city. Three days since the arrow strike that had nearly crippled her, she was wasn’t feeling particularly well but she wasn’t one to give in to illness or injury of any kind. The Normans had learned that about her. She’d only ridden with Gaetan the night of her injury when he’d rushed her to Evesham Abbey where the knights had proceeded to tend her – all of them, in fact.
Every one of them knew what she had done to draw out the enemy and save them from an ambush, so in that one swift motion, she’d changed the minds of them all. It had been an act of bravery by a woman like none other. Even de Moray, who had always been so suspicious of her, was now a believer in her honesty and intention to help. Although the price of proving her worth had been high, it had been worth it in Ghislaine’s opinion. It was worth it even more in the way that Gaetan was now being so attentive to her.
But he wasn’t the only one. When it came time to tend her wounds, it was like having nine physics while Jathan simply stood by and watched, praying furiously while the knights dealt with the wound. When they’d reached Evesham after the attack, the priests from Evesham’s cathedral were very helpful and brought boiled linen and medicines, herbal remedies, that promised to help the wound.
Once they were able to take a close look at the damage, they could see that the arrow had missed her bone. It was a clean puncture straight through her leg. Unfortunately, Aramis has been correct – it was a dirty wound. The arrow had pushed leather and fabric into her leg as it traveled and that was something that needed to come out. The knights knew it and so did Ghislaine. As she bit off her groans of pain on a rag, Gaetan plucked out the debris by candlelight with a long set of iron tweezers provided by the priests.
It had been a rather harrowing experience but one that had understandably bonded Ghislaine to the knights. They’d all been wounded at one or more points in their lives so they well understood her agony when it came to cleaning out a wound.
But Ghislaine was strong. She didn’t faint or go into hysterics even when Gaetan put stitches in her leg, and Aramis patted her on the shoulder more than once during the procedure. The big knight with the muddy dark eyes remained by her side until Gaetan’s eyesight began to give out in the weak light and then he took over, cleaning out what Gaetan had missed. When both Aramis and Gaetan were satisfied they’d sufficiently cleaned the wound, it was doused again with wine to cleanse it and honey was applied as a salve to keep away the poison. Gaetan then wrapped it up tightly.
But Ghislaine didn’t stay awake long enough to suffer extended pain. Exhausted to the bone from the events of the day, the monks had given her a draught of wine with poppy powder in it to make her sleep, and sleep she did. She slept well into the morning and no one bothered to wake her up.
In fact, as she slept against the wall of the cathedral covered up by several cloaks that the knights had so thoughtfully deposited on her during the course of the night, Gaetan and his men secured all entrances into the cathedral and refused to let anyone in while she slept. They threatened anyone who tried. For that day, the priests of Evesham had to hold mass on the steps at the front of the church.
When Ghislaine finally awoke well into the morning and realized what Gaetan and his men had done, she had to admit that she was very touched. Aramis and Lance de Reyne brought her food, simple gruel and watered wine, but she slurped it down as Aramis went to check her wound. But that brought Gaetan around and he pushed Aramis aside as he checked his handiwork on her leg personally. Little did Ghislaine know that he was getting a bit of a thrill at the tender white flesh of her thigh and, Gaetan thought, so was Aramis.
There was a competition afoot.
In fact, Gaetan became somewhat territorial over her, especially around de Russe whom, he suspected, was becoming rather enamored with the woman who bested him at Westerham. He’d known Aramis for years and he’d never shown much attention towards women, considering them a necessary nuisance and nothing more. So for Aramis to show Ghislaine the concern he was, in fact, had Gaetan concerned.
It shouldn’t have, but it did.
Gaetan wasn’t entirely sure why, other than the fact his attitude towards Ghislaine was different since the arrow strike. He’d been pulled towards her from the start but now, that pull was stronger than he could control. He’d once considered taking her as his bedslave but, somehow, she was too good for that. She didn’t deserve to be relegated to a man’s bed. She was courageous, beautiful, and strong. So very strong. A woman like that deserved to be a queen.
Or the wife of a great warlord.
That thought had occurred to him while he was cleansing her wound again with wine. She flinched but she didn’t utter a sound, not like she had before. She was steeling herself to the pain, becoming accustomed to it, and the more he held that tender white thigh in his hands and tended the arrow wound, the more he admired a woman who should bear her pain so stoically. But when that word crossed his mind… wife… he’d almost dropped her leg and probably would have had de Lara not been holding the ankle to steady it.
It was a foolish notion that had startled him. He wasn’t meant to have a wife. He had three bedslaves, three children, and he didn’t need a wife. At least, those were his usual thoughts, thoughts he’d had for years. But in the same breath, it occurred to him that he had never wanted a wife because he’d never met a woman he considered worthy. What better wife to take than the sister of Edwin of Mercia, linking Norman and Saxon, cementing alliances? But he wouldn’t marry her simply for the alliance.
He would marry her because he was coming to think she was something very special, indeed.
But Ghislaine was oblivious to Gaetan’s thoughts as he checked her wound twice more that day before she went to sleep. The knights had delayed their journey for two full days to tend to the woman who had sacrificed herself for them. But the morning of the third day, they set out for Worcester through dense forests and a road that narrowed so much, at times, that they had to pass through in single file. The weather had been rainy one day, sunny the next, and as they neared the city, the temperature rose to the point where the water in the ground and in the trees turned into steam and the air became heavy with moisture. Compounded with the humidity from the river, it made the air rather uncomfortable.
The knights were sweating beneath their mail and tunics and even Ghislaine was feeling hot as the air around them turned into a steam bath. She was wearing layers of clothing and she rolled her sleeves up as much as she could, trying to find some relief from the sticky warmth. She kept wiping the sweat from her forehead but she soon came to realize that her cheeks were also very hot – unnaturally hot.
Riding behind Gaetan as they passed through a stretch of trees that, once again, had them riding single file, she touched her cheeks discreetly, realizing with dismay that she had a fever. She’d felt rather queasy all day but she has attributed it to the fact that she was taxing her body by traveling with a nasty wound to her leg. It didn’t occur to her that it was because she was beginning to run a fever.
Fear kept her silent as they continued to travel, fear of becoming a burden, of even being left behind as the knights continued on to Alary’s lair. This was her quest, too, and she didn’t want to surrender this moment of moments, when she finally felt as if she was a part of something, accepted by men she’d proven herself to. It had been a difficult and long fight, and she wasn’t about to relinquish it. She prayed fervently that the fever would be mild and that it would quickly pass. It was simply her body’s way of dealing with the poisonous humors that were inside of her as a result of the arrow wound.
God, please rid me of this fever, she prayed silently. It was a prayer she said repeatedly as they traveled beneath the bright sun, which was only compounding the problem. When the road would widen and the knights would spread out, Gaetan would end up on one side and someone else, usually de Russe, would end up on the other. She was terrified they would see how red her cheeks were so she tried to keep her head down and not speak with any of them, as much as it pained her. Gaetan was finally showing her the attention she had been hoping for and she very much wanted to show that she was receptive to it, but now she was afraid to.
Afraid he would see her illness in her face.
After several hours of travel, they stopped to rest the horses along a small creek in a thicket that was heavy with moisture. The water bubbled down the rocks as the horses drank. Wellesbourne and St. Hèver even went so far as to pull their horses into the water, splashing them to cool them off. Ghislaine, meanwhile, had wandered upstream a bit, kneeling down with her painful leg beside the crystal-clear water to splash some on her face. It was cool to her skin and felt wonderful. As she dried her face off with the sleeve of her cote, she heard footsteps next to her. Turning slightly, she caught sight of Gaetan’s boots.
“Is the weather always ridiculously hot in October?” he asked.
She kept her head down, pretending to still splash water on her face. “Nay,” she said. “A day like this is most unusual.”
Gaetan moved up beside her and crouched down as well, putting a big hand in the water and drinking from it. “How does your wound feel?”
She nodded. “It aches,” she said, an understatement. She paused a moment before continuing. “I… I have not had the opportunity to thank you for tending it so carefully. I do not think any physic could have done a better job.”
He wiped the cold water on his face. “It was the least I could do, considering you risked your lives for all of us.”
“I did what I believed needed to be done.”
“I know.”
A brief silence followed, but not uncomfortable. It was rather warm, in fact. Gaetan remained crouched next to her, now watching the stream bubble as water dripped from his hands. “We are near Worcester.”
“We are.”
“How far to your brother’s stronghold?”
Ghislaine cocked her head thoughtfully but, in doing so, she realized that she lifted her head and exposed her red cheeks to his scrutiny, so she quickly lowered her head again.
“Very close,” she said. “We will be there by tomorrow.”
He grunted. “I had not realized we were so close.”
She nodded. “We are quite close,” she said. Then, she sighed thoughtfully. “I have been thinking of my brother and of his travels. If he continued to travel as slowly as he was when we first began to follow him, then he would be at least three days behind us, mayhap more. Even with our delay in Evesham, I do not think he has caught up to us. On the road he is traveling, unless he has deviated, he will come through Kidderminster. The road our party is on will come up west of Kidderminster and it is my assumption that we will reach Tenebris before he does.”
Gaetan shifted so he was sitting on his buttocks now, resting his weary body. “I have been thinking the same thing,” he said. “We will be waiting for him when he arrives.”
“It would make for a perfect ambush if we can single out de Lohr and steal him away before my brother can hurt him.”
It was a bit of covert tactics and he looked at her, approval in his eyes. “You are a clever little mouse,” he said, grinning. “I have never met a woman who thought so logically. Mayhap, you should have been the one to command Harold’s army. On second thought, it was a good thing that you did not. We more than likely would have lost.”
Ghislaine fought off a modest grin. “I am not a pampered Saxon lady, as you well know. I think like a warrior. It is how I have been trained.”
Gaetan was looking at her, the way her dark hair draped over her shoulder, the shape of her body beneath the cote that clung to her in places. But he also noticed she was sitting oddly with her right leg favored. He knew, from experience, that injuries like that hurt a great deal to the point where even routine movement was excruciating. But she bore it stoically; not even a whimper.
A strong lady, indeed.
“Your training has been invaluable in our quest to find our comrade,” he said. “In fact, I cannot imagine having made this journey without you.”
It was close to a compliment from Gaetan, as far as compliments went. He wasn’t the kind to give an encouraging or positive word, or so he seemed. Ghislaine dared to glance over her shoulder at him, her red cheeks partially obscured by her hair. “I would say that it is unfortunate that we had to make it in the first place, but somehow… somehow I am not. I believe some understanding has come out of this. Understanding for Normans. Mayhap you even understand my people more as well.”
He shrugged. “I understand that they are proud,” he said. “I understand that they are skilled but not organized.”
Before she could reply, more than likely to dispute his comment, Camulos wandered up, tail wagging. Instead of going to Gaetan, he went straight to Ghislaine and licked her on the chin with a big wet tongue and wet fur around his mouth. She groaned, wiping the slobbery kiss away.
“And I understand that Normans have smelly dogs that they treat like children,” she said, trying to move away from Camulos as he sat down next to her. “Why does this dog like me so much? Does he not know that I despise him?”
Gaetan laughed softly as his dog leaned against her. “He has good taste in people,” he said. “If he likes you, take it as a compliment.”
“I want him to go away.”
“Do you really?”
She thought better of her initial reply, which had been an affirmative. The dog had been her only companion when the knights had taken to ignoring her. Making a face that suggested surrender, she shook her head.
“I suppose I do not,” she said, putting a hand on the dog’s big head. “He is annoying but ridiculously sweet. I have never seen such an affectionate dog.”
Gaetan reached out to slap the dog affectionately on the back. “I acquired him with the hope that he would help me in battle,” he said. “Alas, that was not to be; the first battle I took him to, he ran right towards the enemy with his tail wagging. They almost stole him from me.”
Ghislaine looked at the dumb dog, grinning in spite of herself. “I would believe it,” she said. “I suppose he is not entirely annoying.”
Gaetan watched her pet the animal, who lapped up the attention. “He likes you a great deal,” he said. “In fact, you may have to take him with you when you return home. I am not entirely sure he will be happy with me any longer.”
Return home. Ghislaine pondered those words. In truth, she hadn’t even thought of returning to Tamworth since this quest started and now that the eventuality was on her mind, she realized that she couldn’t return to her lonely life. She would miss these arrogant, powerful knights who had made her feel more companionship than she’d ever felt in her life. She would miss this silly dog, the jittery priest, and the sense of purpose they all had. She didn’t want to lose any of it.
Her movements slowed as she continued to pet the dog.
“I do not think I should return home,” she said.
Gaetan’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh?” he asked. “Why not?”
She shrugged, feeling very bold with what she was about to say. “Because I do not think I should leave you alone in this country,” she said. “You do not know the people or the customs, but I do. I… I think I would be of great value to you.”
Gaetan watched her for a moment before a faint smile began to tug at his lips. He was quite glad she’d made that suggestion because the thought of her returning home, of leaving him, didn’t sit well with him either. The thought of losing his little mouse was a sad thought, indeed.
“You think so?” he said. He pretended to think on it. “Once I reclaim Kristoph, I am moving on to the north. I have been asked to secure it.”
She looked at him, then. “Then you need me,” she said firmly. “The north is a wild place with tribes and customs you would not understand. I understand them and I could be of great help to you.”
His smile grew when he realized she was eager to do it. Eager to go with him. God, was it really possible that she might be feeling something for him as he was feeling for her? It seemed like an impossibility given how they’d met and the trouble they’d had during their association, but there was no denying the magnetism between them. He looked at her, she looked at him, and the world seemed to stop for a moment. He couldn’t remember when it hadn’t always been like that.
He couldn’t imagine never seeing her again.
“You have already been of great help to me,” he said. “But what of your home? Won’t Edwin miss your presence? Surely he cannot do without you, either.”
Ghislaine shrugged, looking back to the silly dog. “There is nothing for me at Tamworth,” she said. “With Hakon gone these two years, there has been nothing there for me ever since he died. That place is a tomb for me. I do not want to go back, not ever.”
Gaetan was curious about the dead husband, the man she’d only mentioned once. “Hakon,” he repeated. Now the husband had a name. “You said that he had drowned?”
“Aye.”
“May I ask how it happened?”
It was a polite question. Strangely, she didn’t feel the angst she usually felt when answering it. “There was a shipwreck two years ago at Ponthieu when Harold tried to take men into France,” she said. “Hakon, as my husband, was one of Harold’s knights. He was one of the few to drown in the shipwreck.”
Gaetan remembered the incident, mostly because one of his allies had taken Harold hostage for a time after the shipwreck. “There were several ships, as I recall, tossed about by a storm.”
Ghislaine nodded. “Aye.”
“Did you have children?”
“Nay.”
“But you miss him.”
It was a statement, not a question. Ghislaine nodded, once. “Every day.”
She left it at that and Gaetan didn’t push her. He was starting to understand her sorrow at a dead husband she was evidently fond of, but it seemed more than that. No more husband, a home she didn’t want to return to… was that why she was willing to escort his knights northward? Because it helped her forget the memories of a dead husband? She was a lady with secrets and sorrows. Perhaps she was running from them; perhaps not. In any case, he appreciated that he was coming to know her a little more, as moments of conversation like this on this journey had been rare. But as he looked at her lovely face, he caught a glimpse of her red cheeks as she was looking at the dog. He’d been leaning back on an elbow but now he sat up.
“Why are your cheeks so red?” he asked. “Come here. Let me feel your face.”
The smile vanished from Ghislaine’s lips when she realized he was on to her secret. “That is not necessary,” she said quickly. “It… it is the sun. It has burned my face.”
Gaetan’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “That does not look like a burn from the sun to me.”
“It is.”
He didn’t believe her; that was clear. In an instant, he was reaching around the dog and grabbing Ghislaine by the arm, pulling her over to him so he could put a hand to her face. She tried to pull away but he laid a big palm against her forehead and, immediately, his eyes widened.
“You have a fever,” he said seriously. “How long has this been going on?”
Ghislaine looked at him fearfully. “I am sure I do not have a fever,” she insisted weakly. “It is simply too much sun.”
Gaetan sighed faintly. “Mousie, you do, indeed, have a fever,” he said, somewhat gently. “I must look at your wound. There is poison in it.”
Ghislaine was looking at him with great distress, completely overlooking the fact that he’d called her mousie, a pet version of the “little mouse” term that he seemed to like so much when addressing her. Had she not been so afraid of his discovery of her fever, she would have been very touched. Flattered, even.
Giddy.
“It can wait until we reach Worcester,” she insisted. “Truly, I feel fine. I simply think I have had too much sun.”
Gaetan acted as if he hadn’t heard her. “We must get you to Worcester immediately and seek a physic,” he said. “They do have physics in this barbaric country, don’t they?”
She nodded. “Aye,” she said. As Gaetan began to rise, she grabbed him by the arm, preventing him from moving. When he looked at her, curiously, she gazed up at him with teary eyes. “Promise me you will not leave me in Worcester while you go on without me. I do not want to be left behind.”
Gaetan had never been one to be swayed be feminine wiles or tears but, at this moment, he was quite swayed by the tears. He didn’t like to see them on her face. “I cannot make any promises,” he said, though it was gently done. “If you are ill, you cannot travel. You know that.”
Her features crumpled. “I do not want to be left alone,” she wept as tears streamed down her face. “This mission is as much mine as it is yours. I must see it through.”
Gaetan felt a good deal of pity for her. Taking the hand that was on his arm, he lifted it to his lips for a tender kiss simply to comfort her. “You are very dedicated and I appreciate that,” he said patiently. “But if you are ill, you cannot…”
Ghislaine was so distraught that she couldn’t even spare the thrill for the kiss he’d just given her. “Please!”
She was weeping louder now, attracting attention. Gaetan sighed heavily as he rose to his feet, lifting her up to stand. De Russe, the ever-present protector, was immediately at her side, appearing quite concerned with her tears.
“What has happened?” he asked her. “What did Gaetan say to you?”
Gaetan rolled his eyes. “I did not say anything to her,” he snapped quietly. “She is running a fever. We must get her to town and locate a physic. If her leg is becoming poisoned, then it must be treated.”
The concern on de Russe’s features grew. “I knew it was a dirty wound,” he muttered, reaching out to take Ghislaine’s right arm as Gaetan took the left. “Come along, my lady. We will go and find you a physic.”
Ghislaine was feverish and unhappy. She pulled her arms from their grips even though they were only attempting to help her. “I can walk alone,” she said, incensed. “I am not feverish. It is simply the sun.”
Gaetan looked at Aramis’ questioning expression over the top of her head, shaking his head faintly to indicate that the lady was wrong in her assessment of her illness.
“Then let us at least get you out of the sun,” Gaetan said patiently.
By this point, the other knights were gathering around her, drawn by her weeping. De Moray and de Winter, in particular, were looking at her with great concern.
“My lady?” de Moray asked. “What has happened?”
Gaetan prevented her from answering. “The lady is ill,” he said. “Get the horses. We must leave for Worcester immediately.”
“I am not ill!”
“Of course not.”
Gaetan had an amazing amount of patience with her as they headed for the horses. He wanted her to ride with him but she balked, insisting she ride her own horse, so de Lara brought the mare around and helped her to mount. Her leg was very tender, making it uncomfortable to ride, but de Lara was clever. In helping her mount, he was able to get a hand on her leg, pretending to help her but what he really wanted to do was feel the limb to see if it had any temperature to it. Once he helped the lady settle, he turned and walked past Gaetan, muttering in the man’s ear.
“Her leg is on fire.”
Gaetan’s heart sank. Gesturing to his knights to mount up, soon they were all moving in the direction of Worcester, which was less than an hour away. They could see the top of the cathedral as soon as they left the thicket and passed onto the road, and then on to the city that was still devastated by tribal wars and a flooding river.
Now, as they entered the outskirts of the beaten city and headed towards the city center, the fever that Ghislaine had been trying to ignore was growing worse. She could tell because her eyeballs were growing hot, a sure sign that her fever was worsening. She also felt strangely weak and her head was swimming and rather foggy. It was an increasing effort for her to stay upright on her mare because she wanted nothing more than to lay down and sleep.
Behind her, she could hear small talk from the knights as they passed into the town. De Russe, riding behind her, came up beside her and handed her a purple flower that he’d ripped from a vine they’d passed. The flower brought a weak smile to her face and she held on to it as they continued into the town proper, past the waddle and daub buildings and the inhabitants of the town who, at just past noon, were winding down their business for the day.
Children ran about, playing, and Camulos found a dog friend to sniff at but the dog ran off, leaving poor Camulos rather bewildered. But Ghislaine didn’t notice any of it; she was starting to feel dizzy as her flaming cheeks and burning eyes raged. It hurt to even keep her eyes open, so she closed them, briefly, to bring them some relief.
Up ahead, Gaetan was speaking to Téo and Wellesbourne about the town and the possibility of finding a physic for Ghislaine. But as they chatted, a shout from behind stopped them.
Gaetan turned around, swiftly, just in time to see Ghislaine hit the ground as she fell from her horse, unconscious.
“When did you say she was injured?”
All nine knights, Jathan, and the silly dog were crowded into a small, grossly dirty one-room hut that was near the Worcester cathedral. Mannig was the man asking the question. The abbot at Worcester had referred the knights to him when they’d shown up at the cathedral door carrying a feverish, half-conscious woman. Mannig was actually an apothecary, not a physic, but he was known to treat the sick and injured and, at the moment, he was the best option they had. The abbot didn’t know of a local physic to refer, so they had to go with the apothecary. Gaetan, greatly distressed by the turn of events, answered the man’s question.
“Three days ago in an ambush,” he said. “What will you do for her?”
Mannig was a tiny man with a bushy beard and a bald head. He was also very old and had seen a great deal in his life, which meant he lacked tact at times. He simply spoke what was on his mind because he had no time for pleasantries.
Moreover, he was looking at nine very big Norman knights and was quite puzzled as to their presence, especially in the heart of Saxon England, but that curiosity would have to wait. He had a sick woman on his hands and the knights wanted answers. When the knight who seemed to be the leader of the group asked the question, Mannig turned back to the bed where the woman was sleeping feverishly and fitfully.
“She has the poison in her,” he said. “It is a matter of taking the poison out and healing her humors. She is in very bad humor.”
He was speaking with a strange mix of his language and Latin terms, which gave the knights pause when listening to him. They were all multi-lingual, as was necessary in these times, but it took them a moment to decipher what he was saying. Even so, Gaetan already knew what the old man was telling them. He was impatient with a fool who spoke the obvious.
“What will you do for her?” he asked again, trying not to sound angry or desperate about it. “And what can we do to help?”
The old man glanced over his shoulder at the patient. “Everything depends on how much poison is in her body. If it is too much, then I can do nothing. But if there is a chance….”
Gaetan cut him off. “Then examine her now. Waste no more time.”
The old man dutifully went to the bed and bent over Ghislaine, peeling back the layers of clothing on her leg. The movement jolted her awake and she slapped her hands over the leg that the old man was trying to uncover, trying to stop him from moving her painful limb. Gaetan, Aramis, and Téo went to the bed, quickly, to calm her.
“Be at ease, little mouse,” Gaetan said quietly, kneeling down by her head and pulling her hands away from her thigh. “We have brought you to a healer. He wishes to inspect your wound.”
Ghislaine looked at him, her eyes big in her pasty face, and shook her head. “Nay,” she breathed. “It is nothing. I must go now.”
She tried to get out of bed but many hands stilled her as the old man finished peeling back her cote and shift to get to the trousers she wore beneath. The entire time they’d been traveling, she’d never parted ways with her trousers, which she was comfortable with, but she’d continued to wear the cotes that Gaetan had given her, making for many layers and an awkward mix of clothing for the lady warrior who had never dressed like a lady.
It had also been part of the problem when the arrow penetrated; there had been many layers to go through, taking many layers with it into her leg. There was a binding around her right thigh, stained with seepage, which the old man carefully unwrapped. All the while, Gaetan kept eye contact with Ghislaine to keep her calm.
“We are in Worcester,” he told her softly. “The priests at the abbey sent us to this man. He will help you.”
In just the past few hours, Ghislaine had gone from lucid and feverish to hardly lucid and burning with fever. The poison in her body was creating a muddled mind and her thought processes were affected.
“The abbey?” she repeated. “Where is the abbey?”
Gaetan smiled faintly at her. “Not far,” he said. “We took you there first.”
“The abbey is still here?”
He nodded to the odd question, stroking her forehead simply because he couldn’t help himself. She was so very sick and he felt so very miserable for her, an odd reaction from a man who had little compassion for anyone other than his men. Even when Adéle had been giving birth to his sons, he’d been away at the time and had spared little thought to the woman who was struggling to bring forth his children. It was cold of him and he knew it, but it was of no matter. There was no emotion involved when it came to his bedslave, a mere possession and nothing more.
But with Ghislaine, the situation was much different. She brought forth emotion from him that he never knew he had, a depth of pity that he didn’t know he was capable of, but he was afraid to show any of it, afraid it might look like weakness. Still, seeing her so ill made him sick to his stomach and he felt foolish for it, wrestling with this sense of compassion he was unused to.
She made him feel.
“The abbey is still there,” he murmured. “Quiet, now. Let the apothecary look at your wound. He will know what to do.”
Ghislaine simply nodded, her eyes never leaving his. There was that faith again, reflected in her gaze, faith he’d seen before and faith that made him feel stronger than anything he’d ever known. He continued to hold her attention as, down below, the apothecary took a sharp knife and cut away her trousers to inspect the wound better. Aramis and Téo hung over the man’s shoulder to see the wound for themselves.
“You will not leave me here?” Ghislaine asked, her voice hoarse and weak.
Gaetan continued to stroke her forehead as he gazed down at her. “I will not leave you here. You are part of us, Mousie. I would not leave you behind, not ever. Put your mind at rest.”
Ghislaine sighed, relieved by his words. She clutched his hand tightly as if afraid to let him go. She was just starting to doze off again when the old man touched the arrow entry wound and she nearly came off the bed, shrieking in pain. Even de Moray and de Reyne rushed forward to keep her still because she was kicking so, throwing a knee right into Aramis’ chest as he stood over her. The man grunted as the wind was knocked from him. Now, everyone was rushing to still her as the old man peered more closely at the wound.
“Keep her leg still,” he commanded quietly. “She is raging with fever and the leg is full of poison. Who cleaned the wound after she was injured?”
Gaetan looked at him. “I did,” he said without hesitation. “It was doused repeatedly in wine before we stitched it.”
“Did you remove any debris?”
Aramis answered before Gaetan could; he was very worried for the lady. “It was a dirty wound,” he said. “We took out what we could find but there is always a chance that more was pushed deep that we could not get to.”
The old man bent over the leg, inspecting the wound very closely as Ghislaine was all but pinned to the bed by the knights. When the old man touched the cat gut stitches that Gaetan himself had put into Ghislaine’s leg, pus began to seep out from between the strands.
The knights all saw it and it was something no one had wanted to see. Pus meant poison, and poison would kill. The leg itself was swollen, the area around the stitches red and angry. The old man pushed again on the wound and more pus came forth.
Now, everyone was looking at the apothecary, waiting for a brilliant answer on how to cure the woman, but the apothecary remained silent as he continued to inspect. He had de Reyne help him bend the knee up so he could get a look at the exit wound, which didn’t have the pus or swelling that the entry wound on the top of the thigh did. De Reyne lowered the leg down as the old man stood up.
“There is poison in the wound, of that there is no doubt,” he said, “but the wound on the back of the leg is clean. That tells me that the poison has not spread.”
It was good news as far as news of the wound went, but she was still in grave danger. He moved away from the bed as the knights watched him with a mixture of curiosity and impatience. He just seemed to be puttering around at that point. Even Wellesbourne, who hadn’t shown much interest towards Ghislaine one way or the other, was unnerved by it.
“Well?” he finally demanded. “What do you intend to do?”
The old man went to one of the long dilapidated tables in his hut and began knocking things around, evidently looking for something. Mice scuttled off of the table as he banged about.
“I intend to cut the leg open and clean out the poison,” he said. “If I do not, she will die.”
It was a simple statement, to the point, but it was something no one wanted to hear even if they already knew that fact. The mood of the room had gone from one of great concern to one of sadness now as they realized their guide, the woman who had become part of them in spite of their rocky relationship with her, was seriously ill.
As it often was with wounds, if the initial injury didn’t kill then the chance of poison after the fact often did. Now, they were facing that very situation and there wasn’t one man who wasn’t feeling pity for Ghislaine.
Their little warrior was facing her most difficult challenge yet.
“How will you clean out the poison?” Gaetan wanted to know, although he already suspected the answer. He simply wanted to hear the old man’s process. “What medicaments will you use?”
The apothecary didn’t answer right away; he was pulling the items he needed off of his table. In fact, he had a handful of what looked like strips or straps, and when he rounded the table on his way to a second table over near the door, he held out the straps to de Winter, who was the closest to him.
“Tie her down,” he instructed. “She cannot move while I am cutting her wound open.”
Denis looked at the straps in his hand with a good deal of apprehension before looking to Gaetan for instructions. Would they tie her down? Or would they do as they were doing now, which was holding her down themselves. Gaetan saw Denis’ expression and he shook his head, faintly.
“Nay,” he said. “We will not tie her down. We will hold her. Tying her down would only terrify her.”
The old man was casual in his reply. “As you like,” he said, “but if she moves, I may cut more than needed. I may do further damage. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
“Straps will not touch her,” Aramis said in that threatening tone he used so often. “We will make sure she does not move.”
Gaetan’s gaze moved to Aramis, who was standing down by her feet. He was reminded, yet again, that his knight, his longtime comrade, might be feeling the same thing for the lady that he himself was. Gaetan was starting to think that he needed to have a word with Aramis about it if Ghislaine survived all of this. If he was going to stake a claim, then he’d better do it quickly.
Providing she lived.
That was all Gaetan cared about at the moment.
The old man wandered between tables, picking up what he needed by way of a cracked wooden bowl. He tossed a few things into it; a large needle, cat gut, two knives of different sizes, and a wad of boiled linen. He picked up a second bowl that had a cloth covering it that, when removed, filled the air with the stench of vinegar. Then he came back over to the lady on the bed, and the knights surrounding her, and began to hand things to the men who weren’t involved in pinning the lady to the bed. Wellesbourne and Jathan ended up holding the two bowls.
“Now,” the old man said as he settled himself between de Reyne and de Moray, who were on the right side of the bed and pinning down the right side of her body. “This will be painful and she will not like what I am doing, but it is necessary. You must hold her as still as you can else she will do more harm to herself. Are we clear?”
De Moray responded. “We are not fools, old man. Get to it.”
Gaetan shot de Moray a disapproving expression; he didn’t want the apothecary insulted just when they needed the man to do a job. But the old man seemed not to notice. He simply peered closely at the infected would and held out a hand.
“Bring me my knives.”
Wellesbourne came around and knelt down next to the old man, extending the bowl that had the knives and other sharp objects in it. Taking forth the larger of the two knives, he didn’t even warn them when he immediately began to cut the sutures on the entry wound of her thigh.
Ghislaine stiffened with pain and those holding her clamped down. The apothecary went to work on his screaming patient.