Chapter 15
Marcus slowly opened his eyes. His head felt heavy and his limbs sluggish. He glanced around and saw he was in a small bedchamber. A woman dressed in pale yellow cut with scarlet sat next to the bed, her face in shadow.
Where was he?
He closed his eyes. Images danced through his mind. A small child in harm’s way. Diving to save the boy. A sword slicing him. Pain. Then Jess ministering to him. Cleaning him. Stitching the wound. A litter. But where did it take him?
Opening his eyes again, he decided he must be inside Lord Margrave’s keep. Why, he didn’t know. He raised his head slightly and looked down to his bare chest. Large squares of linen still covered it. He could smell the assortment of herbs rising from the poultice underneath the cloth. He remembered his body raging like an inferno. Hands comforting him. Washing him. Cool water touching his inflamed skin.
It must have been the Wenshaw healer who’d attended to him. Then who was the noblewoman beside him now?
She stirred, her head turning, the candlelight striking her face.
It was Jess dressed in the fine silk cotehardie. Where on earth had she gotten such a garment?
Slowly, her eyes blinked open. She sat forward, touching his forearm and then placing her hand against his brow.
“You’re awake.”
“Aye.”
“The fever’s gone, thank the Blessed Virgin.” She sat back. “You are lucky. We’ve seen no sign of infection festering.”
“How long did the fever last?” he asked.
“Three days. I’m sure you are hungry and thirsty.”
She started to rise but Marcus caught her wrist.
“Stay with me a moment.”
Jess chuckled and sat again as he took her hand. “I have stayed with you every moment.”
His eyes roamed over her. “You look lovely.”
A blush tinged her cheeks. “Thank you. When Lady Serafina saw that my tunic was covered in your blood, she offered this as a replacement. It belonged to her daughter, who left it here on her last visit. She was with child and it no longer fit her.”
“You were made to wear finery such as this, Jess.”
“Aren’t you full of compliments today?”
“I would see you dressed this way always. In fact, I need to purchase you something to replace what my blood ruined.”
“Nay, Marcus. You already bought that beautiful red wool for me. Even though you are a knight, I know you don’t have much coin to spend.”
Jess stood and leaned over, giving him a soft kiss. She backed away, releasing his hand.
“See, a kiss is something you can freely give me with no cost involved.”
If only she knew the cost to his soul every time they kissed. Marcus felt as if he teetered upon a precipice and might plunge over it any minute.
Tumbling into love. With her.
“I will go to the kitchens and return with bread and broth for you.”
“I am far hungrier than that.” His belly growled loudly, supporting his words.
“We’ll start with something light. I’ll also have the servants bring hot water. Now that your fever’s broken, you’ll need a proper bath.”
She moved to another chair and indicated the clothes lying upon it. “What you wore was ruined. The bloodstains wouldn’t come out. I’ve made you something new to wear in its place while you slept.”
A knock sounded on the door and Jess went to answer it. She admitted an older woman who came to his bedside.
“You look much better than you did when you first arrived, Sir Marcus,” she stated. “I am Auriol, the healer at Wenshaw.”
“Thank you for your care,” he said.
Her blue eyes assessed him. “I needed to do very little. Jess seems to know as much as I do about herbs and how to tend to an injured man.” She glanced to Jess. “No fever?”
“None. I’m off to the kitchens to bring him some food and request hot water for a bath. I know that will make him feel better. Clean bedclothes, too, will help.”
Jess left and Auriol asked if she could check Marcus’ injury. She gently removed the linen and studied him carefully. Marcus could see the line of neat stitches trailing from under his left shoulder, cutting diagonally across his chest. The healer dabbed along the seam, first with a clean cloth and then inspecting it with her fingers.
“I think since your fever’s gone and no infection has arisen, we can dispense with the poultices. You are young and strong and should heal quickly.”
“I will need to thank Lord Margrave and Lady Serafina for sheltering me.”
Auriol stepped back. “That girl never left your side. If anyone deserves your gratitude, it should be Jess.” The healer narrowed her eyes. “And if you have any sense, you’ll make sure she never leaves your side again.”
Turning, the woman left the bedchamber.
*
“You should head to the stage, Jess,” Elias said. “Bartholomew will be waiting.”
Jessimond returned the sewing to her tent and retrieved her lute. A month had passed since Rand accidentally hurt Marcus. The mummers had all watched out for the knight since he’d returned to the troupe, not allowing him to lift or load anything until two days ago. Marcus had declared he was fit to do everything he had before and resumed his usual duties as they packed up and traveled to Lord Burhampton’s estate. Denwell was the next to last stop for the company. After this, they would complete their season at Glenmore. From there, she and Peter would journey to Ancel and Margery’s estate.
As she walked to the stage, Jessimond inhaled deeply. Autumn had always been her favorite season. She enjoyed the cool, crisp air and changes in the foliage. She thought about the harvest occurring at Kinwick now and how, within a few weeks, she would be back with her family.
She hadn’t spoken to Marcus of her feelings for him, despite Auriol’s urging. If he would have indicated he still possessed strong feelings for her, she would have in a heartbeat. Instead, the only kiss they’d shared since the accident had been when he’d awakened after his fever broke. Even then, she’d been the one to kiss him. It was brief and sweet but nothing like what they had previously shared.
Since Marcus didn’t seem inclined to touch her anymore, Jessimond assumed he was doing what he thought best. The season would soon end. They would be going their separate ways. It would be wrong of her to press him for some kind of commitment. Marcus and Rand would return to their liege lord’s estate and whatever duties awaited them. She would take up her old life.
And be miserable, pining for Marcus every day for a lifetime.
Bartholomew awaited her backstage. He handed over his lute and picked up the two stools they would sit upon. Jessimond still felt guilty sometimes when they performed together. She understood how much Bartholomew enjoyed the crowd’s attention and hated that Elias and Moss insisted they continue to sing together. Still, Bartholomew was always pleasant to her and never brought up how she had been forced upon him.
Jessimond joined the troubadour, handing his lute to him, and they sat. By now, they could communicate without words, their voices blending seamlessly. Bartholomew continued to select the songs they sang together, while she chose some of her original compositions for when she sang alone. They always closed together with a sweet ballad.
She’d finally grown accustomed to looking out at the audience during the performance. It was hard to imagine only a couple of months ago how frightened she’d been that first time she joined Bartholomew on stage. Sitting with the troubadour and performing before large groups of people now seemed like second nature.
As her partner began plucking his strings, Jessimond noticed a tall man standing near the back of the crowd. His intense gaze caused an eerie chill to creep up her spine. Even as she joined in the song, she continued to sense the heat of his stare boring into her from across the way.
Jessimond forced herself to remain focused on their songs. She looked across the crowd every now and then but never back to where she knew the man stood, not wanting to be distracted. Finally, they ended with a last song and exited the stage. Hamlyn brushed by them and launched into his narrative as Agatha readied the mummers to take the stage.
She decided to return to the camp and finish the gown she’d begun from the material Marcus had purchased for her. The soft, red wool would be a combination of a tunic that mere Jess Gilpin would wear and a cotehardie that Jessimond de Montfort would slip into. She hoped to wear the creation at least once so that Marcus could see her in it. Once she returned to Kinwick, she doubted she would wear it again. It would be too painful to don because it would bring about too many memories of this time with the mummers and the knight who had claimed her heart.
“May I leave my lute with you, Agatha?”
“I’ll take it, Jess.” Her friend slipped the lute between two crates. “It will be safe there.”
“Thank you.”
Jessimond started back to the mummers’ tents. She decided to stroll through the faire before she did so. It had been several days since she had and was always something she enjoyed doing, meeting new people and viewing their wares.
Then the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She looked over her shoulder and saw the man from before. He was about her father’s age and dressed as a knight. Mayhap, it was someone who had visited at Kinwick and recognized her. Jessimond decided she should speak to him before he might question anyone else in the troupe about her.
Motioning to him, she moved away from the stalls. She remained in view, though, in case she needed to summon anyone. After all, this man was a stranger to her.
As he approached, Jessimond asked, “Do we know each other?” She had an odd feeling that somehow they did.
He gave her a wistful smile. “Greetings, my lady. I am Sir Rodric Shelley, in service to the Baron of Netherfield.”
She didn’t recognize the name or face—yet something told her she knew this man.
“I am no lady, Sir Rodric,” she replied. “My name is Jess Gilpin. I am with the mummers’ troupe.”
“Aye. I heard you sing. You look and sound like an angel.”
“Thank you. I have not been singing for long. I am a seamstress for the company.” She had no wish to share her true past with this stranger.
“They do not need the other troubadour. You outshine him in every way.”
“I am happy to share the stage with Bartholomew,” she said testily.
“Will you be singing again?” he asked hopefully.
“Aye. I do a few songs with Bartholomew before each play.”
“Then I look forward to hearing you again, Jess. I will also bring the baron with me. He will want to hear you perform.”
“You are welcomed to do so, Sir Rodric. We will be at Denwell the rest of this week.”
Jessimond turned and left the knight. She longed to look back over her shoulder but didn’t want him to think she was curious about him. Returning to camp, she put the encounter from her mind and was able to complete her outfit over the next two hours. Deciding to wear it for the first time, she slipped it on and returned to the stage. Smoothing the fine wool over her undertunic, Jessimond felt pretty and confident.
Agatha came up to her. “This is beautiful, Jess. Where did you get it?”
“Marcus bought the material for me several weeks ago. I finally had time to make it up.”
“You are so talented. When we reach Kinwick, will you teach me how to sew? I know the basics but nothing ever comes out right.”
She hugged Agatha. “I’d be happy to do so.”
Once more, Jessimond joined Bartholomew. She decided not to look for Sir Rodric, doubting he would have returned to the faire so quickly, much less with his liege lord. They completed their set and acknowledged the crowd’s enthusiastic applause. Since the play following would be the last of the day, she kept her lute and started back for camp. She wanted to add a few leeks and spices to the evening stew that she’d left simmering.
Jessimond passed the area where Marcus and Rand sparred. She stopped and watched the pair at a distance. This was the first stop they had gone against one another again since the accident because Jessimond had not wanted Marcus to burst his stitches. Instead, Peter had taken Marcus’ place and done a wonderful job in replacing the knight. Peter had told her while he enjoyed swordplay, he was more than happy to allow Marcus to return to it because what he really liked was participating in the plays. She had teased him about wanting to become a mummer instead of remaining a blacksmith. Peter told her this was his youthful time of adventure and he would be more than willing to settle into life working next to his father. Jessimond thought part of that was because Agatha would return with them to Kinwick, and Peter would not want to go off and leave her behind.
“Celia! Celia, wait!”
Jessimond heard a voice frantically calling and glanced around. She saw no other woman nearby and wondered who the man might be addressing. Stopping, she saw two men rushing toward her.
One was Sir Rodric. The other was a nobleman with dark blond hair edged with silver. As they drew near, she saw he was just over two score and of medium height. His dark brown eyes widened as he came to a halt in front of her.
“God in His Heavens. I cannot believe it.” The nobleman shook his head in disbelief and looked to his companion. “Rodric, you weren’t mistaken. She is Celia made over.”
Jessimond looked at them in confusion. “Who is this Celia, my lord? I am Jess Gilpin, not whom you seek.”
He swallowed, a pained yet hopeful expression on his face. “I am Gregory de Challon, Baron of Netherfield. I think . . . nay, I believe . . . that you are my daughter.”