29

“What in the name of God are you doing?” Jane demanded.

“Administering the last rites, my lady.”

“How dare you?” Jane was outraged. “I sent for you to marry us. Get on with it, can you not see he is in agony?”

The priest looked momentarily confused, but one glance at Jane’s face told him exactly what he must do.

“We are gathered together here in the sight of God to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.” He glanced worriedly at Lord de Warenne, then rushed on. “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

Lynx’s green eyes glittered and all watching thought they saw him nod.

“He answered in the affirmative,” Jock Leslie said firmly.

The priest repeated the vow for Jane with the added question, “Wilt thou obey him and serve him?” “I will,” she vowed solemnly.

Jock spoke up quickly, “I give this woman to be married to this man.”

Jory stepped into the chamber. The bittersweet moment was so poignant, the tears still streamed down her face. She placed her hand on top of Jane’s, which in turn covered Lynx’s. “I will plight my brother’s troth,” she murmured raggedly. “I, Lincoln, take thee, Jane, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part—” Jory sobbed once, then continued, “and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

Jane’s clear voice rang out, rushing through the vow as quickly as she could. “I, Jane, take thee, Lincoln, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, and thereto I give thee my troth.”

Jory slipped off her ruby ring and slid it onto the third finger of Jane’s left hand. She took in a ragged breath and repeated after the priest, “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee honor, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”

The priest omitted the psalm, the epistle, the gospel, and the blessing. “I pronounce that they be man and wife together. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

Jane turned immediately to the priest. “Thank you, Father. That will be all. If I need you, I will send for you.” She turned back to Jory, who was valiantly trying to muffle her sobs. “I don’t know if I can heal him, but I promise you I will love him.” Jane looked at his knights who had gathered in the chamber. “Thank you for bringing him home to me. I will take over his care now. Thomas, Taffy, come with me to the stillroom, I need your assistance.” Her eyes sought out Keith’s. “Summon the Welsh healers to the adjoining chamber.”

As the squires tried to keep up with her, they told her they would nurse Lord de Warenne; that his wounds were so horrendous, it was no job for a lady.

“Thank you both, I need your help, but I will tend his wounds and his body myself. Lord de Warenne has so much pride, it must humble him beyond belief to have his weakness exposed to his men.”

It took all three of them to carry the decoctions, powdered herbs, distillations, and electuaries from the stillroom up to the Master Tower. “I will need a steady supply of clean linens.” The squires hurried off to do her bidding, quite relieved to be told exactly what to do.

Alone with her husband, Jane lifted his hot hand to her lips, murmuring soft words to soothe him, then drew aside the covering that wrapped his body. The stench that arose almost staggered her. “I know how you suffer, Lynx,” she murmured gently. “Give yourself to me … put yourself in my hands completely … turn your will over to me and I will try to take away your pain.”

She watched him blink his eyes to show her that he heard, but Jane knew that even as ill and debilitated as he was, it would be almost impossible for Lynx de Warenne to give himself entirely to another’s keeping. She smiled into his eyes and slid her hands into his hair so that her fingers touched the base of his skull. Jane focused on what she was attempting to accomplish and tried to ignore for the present the appalling filth of his once beautiful mane of tawny hair.

Along with the steady pressure of her fingertips, Jane crooned to him, telling him how to separate himself from the pain. “I love you so much, my darling, give me your pain … let it go, don’t be afraid … I’ll be here … let go a little at a time.” Jane knew that the most important part of healing was touching. Her fingertips moved in ever widening circles at the back of his skull and her voice fell into the same mesmerizing rhythm as her fingers.

Inside her head was in stark contrast to her outward calm. Panic, fear, love, hope, and despair warred passionately within her. She wanted to treat everything at once, his fever, his filth, his wound, but her instincts told her that the first thing she must grapple with was his acute suffering. Jane knew she would do anything to take away even one small part of his pain, so she decided to bribe him. “If you will sleep, I will bring your son when you wake … sleep now, let the pain go, push it away.”

Her heart ached for the plight of this once strong warrior, who had never given his trust to a woman in his life; now he had no choice. It took the best part of an hour before Lynx closed his eyes in sleep, but to Jane, there was no longer any such thing as time; no day and night; no past or future; only this present moment.

When she was absolutely certain he could not see her, she closed her eyes in dismay. His life hung by a thread as fine as a cobweb. It was a miracle that he had survived the journey home. Deep within the secret recesses of her mind Jane knew he was dying, but she vowed not to acknowledge it. Despite her tightly closed lids, the tears escaped and like scattered pearls dropped onto her tightly clasped hands.

In the adjoining chamber Keith awaited Jane with the Welsh healers. When she joined them, she cut straight to the heart of the matter. “I don’t want to know how this happened, there will be time aplenty for the telling later. First, I want to know what you have done for him, then I want you to assess the extent of the damage for me, and finally I want your advice on the best way to heal him.”

After consulting with the Welshmen, Jane turned to her brother. “Keith, go to the monastery for me. The Franciscans do scientific experiments with minerals. I want some permanganate salts and potash, and perhaps sulfur, if they would be so kind. Please hurry.” When Keith tried to protest, she said, “Don’t tell me again that my husband is dying. At this moment he lives, and this moment is all we have.”

When Jane returned to the bedchamber, Lynx was no longer peacefully sleeping. His squires each carried in a stack of fresh linen sheets and towels, and Jane immediately set them new tasks. “Thomas, I want hot water right away and tell them in the kitchen to keep a good supply on the boil continually from now on. Taffy, ask one of the cooks to make Lynx some barley water.”

When they left, Jane took up one of the decoctions she had prepared from the milky juice of the white poppy mixed with honey and water to help cover its bitter taste. She poured a small measure into a cup; it was not safe to give a man more than half an ounce.

Jane had no idea if Lynx heard or understood her, but she spoke to him as if he did. “I want you to try to drink this, my love. It could make you vomit, but enough will stay down to ease your pain and bring you sleep.” She held the cup to his lips and tipped it. Lynx took the bitter white liquid into his mouth and swallowed. Almost immediately he began to retch and vomit. Jane was horrified by his agony, but knew she had to be cruel to be kind.

Thomas arrived with hot water and together they cleaned up and put fresh sheets on the bed. Then Jane kept her promise. She ran down to her own chamber and carried her son upstairs. “See Daddy,” she crooned, carrying him close. It almost broke her heart when she saw Lynx’s mouth half curve into a smile. She prayed to every saint and every goddess she had ever heard of that the poppy would carry Lynx into the arms of Morpheus.

The moment his eyes began to close, she sat down beside the bed and fed her hungry baby. When she returned him to Grace Murray, she said, “I’m not going to have much time for his lordling, Grace. I think we should get him a wet nurse, because there are going to be times when I can’t even feed him. Ask Judith to come and see me, perhaps she will be generous enough to move into the adjoining chamber down here and bring her new baby with her.”

Jane hurried back upstairs. She lay down beside her husband and held his fevered hand. She whispered her magic words of love and hope, pouring them over him like gentle rain. Her eyes caressed his face, noting the sharp cheekbones and the slant of his jaw, now covered with a golden stubble of beard. Jane was too watchful to sleep, but she rested her body while the opportunity presented itself.

As she lay with him, she convinced herself that they were connected by an invisible thread that could never be broken. It had drawn them together in the beginning. It had been extremely tenuous until they had made a child together and now the magic thread connected all three of them. It was fragile at the moment, but it would grow stronger until it became a cord and eventually, with love and trust, it would become a cable.

Jane stubbornly refused to entertain negative thoughts, knowing they would sap her strength and debilitate her. This was a bad time, a wretched and devastating time that must somehow be gotten through, not necessarily with grace and dignity, but any way she could. They would have to live through the bad, so they could experience the good. Once she had heard someone say, “If I keep a green bough in my heart, the singing bird will come.” And that is what Jane believed deep inside her soul. If Lynx meant enough to her, and he most assuredly did, somehow she would save him.

    In her luxurious apartment at Edinburgh Castle, Alice Bolton could hardly believe that Fitz-Waren had accomplished what he set out to do. My revenge is complete! she told herself over and over. Lynx de Warenne deserved to die for the things he did to me. I did what I vowed I would do: I destroyed him and used his own cousin to do it!

Alicia had been terrified about her future, but now she realized that she had done the right thing. In all the time she had been with Lynx de Warenne, she had never been able to rule him, nor even influence him much. Fitz-Waren was entirely different. She could manipulate him as easily as a puppet. The trick was knowing which string to pull.

“Fitz, when your father arrives and tells you of Lynx’s death, you must show surprise and shock. Both of us must mourn with him and shower him with sympathy and understanding for the loss of his beloved nephew.”

“The old swine will have no one to turn to except me.”

“I will go now and make sure his rooms are comfortable. There is nothing like a woman’s touch to bring solace to a grieving heart.”

Fitz stared at her with dispassion. The false bitch didn’t even realize the irony of her words. She was the most cold-blooded female he had ever encountered. He thought longingly of Jory de Warenne and how he would like to comfort her in her hour of grief. Amazingly, Fitz saw no irony in his own thoughts.

    When John de Warenne arrived at Edinburgh Castle from Scone he was exhausted physically and bereft emotionally. He was relieved that he would be able to send word of the English conquest at Irvine to the king in France, but personal satisfaction from the victory was impossible with Lynx’s imminent death staring him in the face.

These days the governor traveled with his own personal guard of twelve, two of whom were his squires who acted as body servants and slept in an adjoining chamber. His squires immediately lit a fire, prepared his bath, and ordered him food, though lately his appetite was small.

John sat before the fire, gazing into the flames. He did not seem to notice that Fitz and Alicia had entered his chamber until Fitz-Waren spoke.

“Father, you look ill.”

John lifted his chin from where it had sunk onto his chest and stared at the intruder. He seemed suddenly to become aware of where he was and what had gone before. “I am sick at heart. What good in gaining Scotland if I lose Lynx de Warenne? The price is too high.”

“He died with glory, fighting the enemy, as any noble warrior would wish,” Fitz said firmly.

John stared. Fitz spoke as if Lynx were already dead and most likely by now he was, God rest his soul. “God moves in mysterious ways … he gave him a son and a heir at the last minute.”

“Lynx had a son!” Alicia murmured to herself before she moved forward with purpose. “My lord earl, the child is a bastard; Lynx de Warenne was not married to the servant girl who claimed to be carrying his child.”

John stared at Alicia, seeming to notice her presence for the first time. “You are wrong,” he said quietly. “Lynx left here after Christmas for the sole purpose of wedding Lady Jane, so that his child would be born in wedlock.”

“How do we know it is his?” Fitz demanded.

John looked at him with sorrow. “Indeed, how does a man know if his son sprang from his own loins?”

Fitz’s eyes narrowed with hatred. The urge to commit a murder gripped him by the throat and only the squires’ presence stayed his hand.

“I intend to confirm Lynx’s son as my heir to the earldom of Surrey as soon as I receive official word that my nephew has died.”

“Lynx de Warenne lives?” Alicia demanded incredulously.

“When I last saw him, though I doubt he survived the journey home to Dumfries; his wounds were horrendous.” Tears streamed down John’s face, oblivious of those who witnessed them.

    The moment Fitz-Waren closed the door of their own chambers, Alicia turned upon him like a snarling she-wolf. “You useless bastard, can you do nothing right? Lynx de Warenne lives!”

The back of Fitz-Waren’s hand smashed across her mouth, sending her staggering across the chamber. “That is the last time you will call me bastard,” he hissed, stalking after her. “All I ever get are crumbs from the de Warenne table. Even you are Lynx de Warenne’s leavings!”

A terrified Alicia realized she had pulled the wrong string. She saw his intent and began to scream. His fist shot out to silence her. As Alicia went down, her head struck the solid brass fender of the fireplace, silencing her forever.