DARKNESS AND LIGHT
Henry closed his eyes. He was exhausted. Too tired to move. Too tired to stand. Too tired to speak. The woman who had helped him – the woman in the street, who was called Ainsley – had strapped his shoulder and stopped the worst of the bleeding. Even so, the pain wore on him, grinding him down as he rode. He had made it back to the manor at last. He had taken the long way through the forest, to avoid any possible pursuers. Then he had ridden up to the stables.
Now, at the end of all that, I find I'm right.
He had discovered his anger was justified. He had been right about how Amice and the duke's eldest son felt about each other. It had been that which had got him into all this trouble in the first place. He would laugh, for the irony. But everything hurt. He looked at the roof. He was so tired.
“Henry!” Amice was saying. She bent down beside him, her hand brushing his hair. He closed his eyes. He would not let her see how she tortured him.
He sat up. Everything hurt and he hissed through his teeth, expelling the agony. She stared at him.
“Henri, please! Tell me where it hurts. What happened?”
Henry shook his head. He didn't want to say anything or do anything. He felt angry, wretched, and exhausted. He looked at Amice and then at Adair. He glared at him and then glared at the stable hand who stood beside him, just for good measure.
Adair cleared his throat. “Alex?” he said to the stable hand.
“Yes, sir?”
“Fetch the apothecary. Or the physician. Or the priest. Whosoever is closest. This man needs urgent succor.”
“Yes, milord.”
“I'm...fine.” Henry wheezed. He felt a stab of resentment for Adair twist his belly. As if it wasn't wicked enough that he had taken his heart from him. Now he was trying to save him? He wanted to spit. He would have, except that Amice moved and knelt in front of him.
“Henri,” she murmured in French. “Please. Tell me where you're wounded.”
“Not...sore,” he ground out. By the holy wounds, he didn't need her pity. She was the one who had decided to turn her back on him. Who preferred this quiet, grave, noble fellow to him. He looked past her at the other groom. “Tend my horse.”
The man stammered something incomprehensible and looked at Adair. Henry closed his eyes. As if it wasn't bad enough to be at Adair's mercy without having the stable hand ignore him too!
“Will someone tend my horse?” he said in French.
Adair nodded. “I will send Hamish to see it done.”
“Do that.”
He ignored Amice as she asked him, again, what was wrong. She shook her head, and then stood. She walked away, across the aisle between the pens. He blinked. He hadn't expected that, somehow. He made himself be angry with her instead.
Good. The more she stays away from me, the better. I can't bear having her close.
Having her close meant he could feel the warmth of her, smell her scent, and touch her. His body wanted her so badly and he couldn't let himself feel that way. Couldn't let himself want her. It was better this way. Better she was with a man of her own country. He was so much better suited to her.
He dragged himself to his feet, sick of being on the floor. He leaned on a fence, panting. Black spots blinded him. He was starting to sway and he thought he might collapse again. He grunted and forced his head up, finding himself looking at Adair. A man stood just behind him, a tall man in a white priest's robe.
“Ah. Lord Henri. Meet Father Matthias. Thank you, Father, for coming at such short notice.”
“No, we don't need his help,” Henry said, staggering to his feet. “I'm...perfectly...capable.” He leaned against the wall, and then took a step forward. His leg went out from under him.
“Yes, we do,” Adair said succinctly. “Please, Alex, Lewis? Take him up.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Closing his eyes against the complete humiliation of being lifted up by the two youths, Henry let them help him up.
“I'm fine,” he protested. The two stable hands said nothing.
His bruised and aching body propped up between them, the procession headed out into the dark. Later, lying on the bed, the physician standing at the bedside looking down on him, a new dressing on his wounds and a hot brick at his feet, Henry relaxed.
“You are feeling better?” Father Matthias asked.
“I'll probably live,” Henry said with the ghost of a smile.
“We pray you do,” the priest said gently. “These rogues...they don't clean their weapons, I'm afraid.” He shuddered distastefully.
Henry chuckled. “No. I suppose they don't.” During the course of his work, he had come to like the physician, who seemed a reasonable and intelligent man. He had explained he had been wounded in a street fight, which was true. The reason for his presence in a street where a band of thugs patrolled remained his secret.
I need to find out who's following me.
He closed his eyes as the physician checked his forehead and pulse, nodding quietly to himself.
“You seem to be in working order, my lord,” he said.
“Pleased to hear it,” Henry grinned.
“I will be in the castle for a few days – it's just as well I happened to be here this afternoon,” he added. “His lordship would be most grieved had I arrived too late to help one of his guests.”
“Oh.” Henry said, neutrally. He himself had another opinion on that matter. Whoever had sent the man to watch him, he was fairly sure it was the duke. The man as good as knows my name. He knows I'm not Lord Henri, anyway. Moreover, he's not stupid.
“Lord Henri?” the physician murmured.
“Mm?”
“Forgive me, but I need to check your skull. I have a strong suspicion it may be cracked.”
“Oh. Well, I'd rather you checked,” Henry said dryly. The priest favored him with a thin smile.
Henry winced as the priest's deft fingers moved over his skull, probing the bone. He reached a sore place and Henri jumped.
“Ah. There we are – no wonder you were in such a bad way. It wouldn't surprise me if there is a crack.”
“Oh. Lovely,” Henry said dolefully. He laughed. “How long until I'm fit to ride again?”
“My dear sir. I understand your frustration,” he said. “But you must have patience. A week of rest is worth a month of attempted action, passed in agony, in my opinion.”
Henry chuckled and it hurt so he stopped. “I agree, Father.”
“Good. So, when I prescribe a week in bed, I expect to be heeded, young man.”
Henry nodded. In some ways, it was a relief to have someone take charge. “Yes, Father.”
As the physician finished his work, Henry sighed. Now he was stuck in this place, badly injured, with a man who wanted him dead and all alone. I think Amice has decided she hates me.
At least, I think Adair suspects something. With Amice on his side...he shook his head. She might be enamored of the fellow, but she wouldn't betray him.
She's flippant, not cruel.
All the same, as he lay there listening to the physician quietly leave, he felt as if she had wounded him worse than the brawler had. He had trusted her, slept beside her. He had loved her. He knew that now. Why did he know that now, when it was too late? I am a fool.
He heard footsteps in the hallway. The fire had died down now, and he could barely see anything other than the ruddy glow of the coals in the grate. He tensed. Who was there?
He sat up in bed, wincing as the bandage moved and the wound pulled painfully. He breathed through his mouth and waited. Clop. Clop. The footfall was coming closer.
Henry rolled sideways, planning to ambush the prowler. He slid out of the bed onto the floor, glad that his arms held his weight as he reached down. He was invisible now, concealed in darkness. He was also blind.
The door opened and he wished he could see who entered. All he could see was the patch of faint light where the night was less dark out beyond the door than here. The footsteps stopped.
Then, so slowly, so quietly, someone tiptoed in. Henry held his breath. Whoever it was meant to kill him. He had no doubt about it. He lay very still, keeping his breath regular. It was rasping in his throat and he could feel his heart thumping, loud and hard, in his chest.
The footsteps scuffed towards the bed. He felt his muscles tighten. Don't move. Don't breathe. Shut your eyes, or the reflection from the edge will give you away. He shut his eyes.
Whoever it was reached out to touch the bed. Stopped. He heard them step closer, clearly wondering where the person who was supposed to be asleep there had gone.
There! He saw the sway of cloth as the person moved. They were heading to the end of the bed. They were almost in the firelight, and he could almost see them coming closer and closer...
Light. Warm and golden, it shone in through the open door.
“Henry?” a voice said. He knew that voice. Amice!
He wanted to shout out. However, whoever it was, they had heard too. They turned in the doorway. Amice screamed. Henry stood up then, as whomever it was rushed at her.
“Amice!”
She moved and ran toward him just as the would-be murderer ran out. Amice slipped and almost fell into his embrace.
“Henry! Oh, dearest...” she sobbed. He held her close, his arms tight around her warm, shivering body as she sobbed against his chest. “What happened?”
He sighed. He was still shaking. As he slowed down, he was suddenly aware she was wearing thin linen. So was he, as far as that went. He was in his night attire. So was she. He stepped back.
“Amice, my dear,” he said. “We shouldn't...”
“I won't leave you.”
He smiled. “Sweet of you, dearest.”
“I can't risk it coming back.” She spoke harshly. “Besides, if whoever that is hasn't left, I want to be with you.”
Henry chuckled softly. He knew it was dangerous. Apart from the fact that whoever it was might be in the castle – if anyone saw her in his chambers their reputations would both be finished.
At this point, does it matter? I'm not even who I say I am. And as myself, I have no reputation to speak of. For her sake, though, I ought to refuse. But...
“I will be safe,” he insisted. His voice was rough. He wasn't sure whether the person would return that night, and the thought of being in here alone when they did was unpleasant. The thought of having her here, though, was...too good.
He shivered, though not from tension. He sank down onto the bed. She was already sitting there. He stared.
She wore her hair down, and it hung about her sweet form like a curtain. Her body was sweetly curvy, her full breasts tight and pressing at the fabric of the loose-cut dress. She sat with her head bent forward, the flame of her hair bright around her, long arms loose beside her.
“Amice,” he said gently. He slid down into the bed, aware that there was nowhere for her to sleep. “You cannot stay here.”
“I will not leave,” she said.
He chuckled. “Well, I'd rather that you didn't, if I tell the truth.”
Her eyes widened. “But, Henry?”
“What?” he asked. She looked so taken aback that he had to laugh. “What is it, dearest?”
She smiled at him. “You are the most...” she shook her head. “You were so cross!”
“Me?” Now he was really confused. “I wasn't cross, dearest. Sad, yes. But cross?”
“Sad?” Amice stared at him. “That was you, sad?” She shook her head again. “Why were you sad?”
He chuckled. “You needn't make it sound like I was dancing naked in front of the queen's council chamber. I was sad because I thought...” he shook his head. “Forgive me, dearest.”
“Forgive you for what?” Her voice was suspicious. He had to smile.
“Forgive me for being a little possessive of you. I know it's stupid of me. I mean, I only...” he trailed off. She was spluttering.
“You were possessive of me? How? When?” She sounded angry, but she was smiling.
“Earlier. When you were...” he trailed off. “I shouldn't comment. I have no claim, no right to.”
“Comment on what?” she asked. “Henry, for the love of reason, will you just tell me?”
He chuckled. “If you insist.”
“Mm.”
He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. The light from her lantern was spreading warmly through the room and he could see the glow of it waver and dance on the beams. Her skin glowed in the lamplight and it flamed brightly in the copper river of her locks.
“When you were talking to Adair,” he said, “I felt jealous.”
“You were jealous,” she said. “Of him. And me.”
“Yes.”
He let out a long shaky breath. Went to stoke the fire. When he had it burning again, the room bright with warm gold-orange light, she looked at him.
“Henry, you are daft.”
He smiled. “Why?”
“How must I know why?” she countered, then chuckled. “Very well. I can't believe you thought that!”
“Thought what?” he asked. He was genuinely baffled.
“How could you think that I was really interested in him? I was trying to help!”
“Help.” Now it was his turn to be confused.
“Trying to make them feel more amenable toward us,” she explained. “Henry, how can you think that I want anyone...” she shook her head, her cheeks flaming.
“Anyone..?”
“Anyone but you?”
He stared. The room was silent again. “Oh, Amice,” he said, with some passion.
She shook her head. “Forgive me. I shouldn't say that.”
“Oh, but you should.”
He was beside her then and, feeling the ache in his wound but not noticing overmuch, he bent to kiss her. Her lips parted sweetly under his and his loins ached as he drew her into his embrace, his mouth firm on hers, savoring the softness below his hard lips.
He pressed himself against her, relishing the feeling of her soft body against him, the way it yielded to his hardness. He drew her more against him and winced with sudden longing as her sweet curves pressed up against his throbbing body.
She gasped as he kissed her and she moved closer so that it seemed as if their bodies were a single form, so closely were they moving. He could smell the sweet perfume of her skin, a smell that was part floral, part rich spice. He held her in his arms and wished he could take her into his bed.
She was pressing herself against him and he could feel the soft firmness of her body against him. He ached to touch her breasts, to suck them. However, he knew if he did that he would not stop until...
“I should stop,” he murmured. He stroked her hair and she gave a small gasp.
“I should stop also.”
He chuckled. “Well, then.”
Neither of them moved. He had sat a way back, but he was still in close enough proximity to feel the warmth of her hand by his, to feel the warmth of her body on the side of his arm. He wanted her so badly. He closed his eyes, groaning as he imagined how sweet it would be to draw her into his bed and hold her close. How amazing it would be to explore that soft body under that shift, feeling the skin that he imagined would be like satin under his hands as he stroked the curve of that sweet waist and drew her nearer still.
Stop it, Henry!
He stood and very firmly made himself shake out his cloak. He wrapped it around himself and sat on the clothes box. “Now, my dear,” he said firmly. “I am going to shut the door and put this against it.” He motioned to the chest on which he sat. “And then you are going to sleep.”
“In your bed?”
“Yes.”
She looked at him with big eyes.
He sighed. How he wanted her. “I will sleep here,” he said, in answer to the question her eyes asked.
“It's cold over there.”
“Very well,” he said as he tried to pull the chest to the door. He managed, grunting and waving her away when she slipped over to help him. “I can...manage.” The action of bending over to grip the chest made the skin of his wound pull taut and left him hissing in pain.
She watched him with big eyes. He shook his head.
“I'm...fine.”
She gave him a skeptical look with those big eyes, but agreed.
“If you say so.”
“I do,” he said. “Now. You go and go to sleep. I will curl up on this chair by the fire under my cloaks. See?” He went to the chair and wore one cloak, while the other he pulled around his knees.
“If you say so,” she said skeptically.
“Yes, indeed.”
She made a face at him. He chuckled.
She slipped in lightly under the covers and he watched her, fascinated. When he first laid eyes on her he would never have imagined that he would share so intimate a scene with her. They had slept next to each other in the hut, but this...here in the bedchamber, in her nightgown, it was much more arousing somehow, much more close.
He tensed, feeling the longing grow unbearable as he watched the firelight shimmer down her hair, the slow sway of it as she bent and slid into the four-poster bed. He sighed.
“Goodnight,” she said. She looked so sweet his heart ached.
“Goodnight.”A moment later something hit him. He blinked.
“Pillow,” she explained. “For your head. Or you'll slouch.”
He put it under his head, chuckling, and soon enough fell, exhausted, absolutely sound asleep.