A Knight's Vengeance (49 page)

With light fingers, the matron touched the wound. "Mercy," she muttered. "I now understand why the Pope issued an edict to ban the use of the crossbow." She leaned closer and inspected the shattered flesh. "Thank God we had time to seal the wound."

Elizabeth shuddered. For the rest of her days, she would remember the soldiers wrenching the bolt from Geoffrey's limp body. Had he felt pain? Had he felt the blood spurt when—?

"Do not faint," Mildred said in a sharp tone. "I cannot spare the time to cut mint and revive you."

Elizabeth's eyes fluttered open. She had not realized they had closed, or that she swayed on her feet. Straightening her shoulders, she forced her fear to the back of her mind.

Rummaging in her basket, the healer withdrew a small earthenware flask of cooled, boiled water. She added greenish oil that smelled of rosemary and lavender. "Bathe him, milady. Start with the crossbow wound."

Elizabeth took the linen cloth and washed his chest with great tenderness. The water soon turned crimson, but she tossed the bowl's contents into the fire and resumed with fresh water. When finished, she swabbed the grime from his face.

Mildred worked beside her. She rinsed the gaping wound and the slash down his chest with a pinkish lotion. "St. John's wort, betony, and goose-grass to staunch the bleeding and heal," she said, in answer to Elizabeth's questioning glance.

"And that?"
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose at the odorous ointment the healer rubbed into the wounds.

"Betony and nettle."

Geoffrey did not stir.

The matron dropped her pot of ointment into the basket. "I must gather ingredients for a fresh poultice, and bring more blankets, too. The fever will start soon."

"Fever?"

"'Tis a grave wound
. '
Tis a miracle he still breathes."

"That is a good sign, is it not?" Elizabeth said, clinging to the spark of hope.

Heading to the door, Mildred begrudged a smile. "I suppose 'tis."

Taking Geoffrey's hand, Elizabeth squeezed it to let him know she was beside him, waiting for him to recover.

Waiting to tell him how much she loved him.

She sat on the bed's edge, keeping watch, her fingers cradling Geoffrey's, until the matron returned with fresh nettle leaves. She crushed them using a mortar and pestle and pressed them over the wound.

Sick with worry, Elizabeth rubbed her hands over her arms. Geoffrey still had not stirred, and his breathing seemed shallower than before.

"The fever has started," Mildred said.

Elizabeth scooped up the wool blanket the matron had brought and spread it over Geoffrey, and tucked the edges under the mattress to keep in his body heat.

Frowning, Mildred reached into her collection of bottles and drew out a flask of pale liquid. She motioned for Elizabeth to move to the end of the bed and popped the lid of the flask. "Lift his head."

"What are you giving him?"

"Feverfew and burdock root in wine
. '
Twill help control the fever. And," Mildred added with a wry smile, "to dull his pain, a touch of monkshood."

Elizabeth gasped. "Are you certain the quantity—?"

"Not enough to do him harm, I promise."

As instructed, Elizabeth cradled Geoffrey's head in her hands. Mildred forced her finger between his teeth and pried open his jaw. His mouth went slack. With care, she poured in a few drops of the liquid.

The tonic drizzled from the corner of his lips and dripped onto the blanket. "He did not drink it," Elizabeth said.

"He cannot swallow." The healer pressed closer. "Tilt his head a bit more. I will try again."

This time, as Mildred sloshed in more of the elixir, she ran her fingers inside his mouth and depressed his tongue. The liquid vanished down his throat, and she nodded. "There."

Exhaling a shuddered breath, Elizabeth returned Geoffrey's head to the pillow. She trailed her fingers through his silky hair. He had liked that tender caress, most of all after lovemaking. He had once said it reminded him of his mother, of the way she had soothed his stubbed toes and bruises when he was a boy.

"You love him?" Mildred asked.

Elizabeth would not deny the emotion that had rooted deep in her heart. "I do.
Very much."

The matron set the flask on the table beside the bed. "I cannot excuse what he has done, but he would have made you a fine husband."

"Not would, Mildred.
Will."

*
    
*
    
*

Some time later, Elizabeth admitted two menservants lugging a straw pallet. Both appeared flushed and tipsy. In the brief moment the chamber door stayed open, she noted that despite the late hour, the raucous celebration in the hall continued.

"There, if you will." She pointed to the floor beside Geoffrey's bed. They dropped the bed with a thump, releasing a cloud of dust.

Mildred half-coughed, half-snorted.
"You cannot think—
"

"I am," Elizabeth said. With a word of thanks and an authoritative wave, she dismissed the two men. They hurried away, no doubt eager to down more ale.

The matron's brows drew together, and her lips compressed into a forbidding line. "You would be wise to retire to your own bed for a good night's sleep. You look exhausted. Terrible, if I may say so. If aught happens to Geoffrey this eve—
"

"—I wish to be here." Fighting the weariness in every joint in her body, Elizabeth looked at Geoffrey. "He is my betrothed," she whispered. "I cannot leave him now, when he needs me most."

She stretched a clean blanket over the pallet and settled herself for sleep. Squeezing her eyes shut, she ignored the straw poking into her cheek and the drafts that skimmed under the shutters and across the floor like a ghoul's breath. In the long, dark hours of the night she lay awake and listened to Mildred's snores and Geoffrey's shallow breathing.

The fire cast indistinct patterns on the stone walls. Unable to drift into slumber, she thought of the first time she woke in Geoffrey's bed, content in his arms, and watched the fire dance on Branton's walls until she fell back to sleep.

She could not imagine life without Geoffrey.

He had become part of her soul.

Rolling onto her side, she stared at his broad hand lying limp atop the blanket, the hand that had wielded his sword and won him all he had desired for so many agonizing years. As he had wished, he was now the rightful lord of Wode, and he had achieved it without killing her father, for which she would forever be grateful.

How desperately she hoped Geoffrey would not die, after all he fought for lay within his grasp.

She had not told him how much she loved him.

Elizabeth squeezed her weeping eyes shut.

When her eyelids
flickered
open, daylight shone beyond the shutters. She tossed aside her blankets and leaned over him, and traced his lips with her finger. His breath gusted against her skin.

A joyous cry burst inside her. Had Mildred not said that if he lived till the morn, he might survive?

The matron grunted and, with awkward movements, rose from her mattress in the corner of the room. "He lives?"

"Aye!"

"Do not smile so, milady. His fever is high. Wash him with herbal water while I check the wound. When you are finished, do it again."

As Elizabeth rinsed Geoffrey's face for the second time, a knock sounded on the door. She scowled, for the maids who brought wood for the fire knew not to make so much noise.

She threw open the door.

Bertrand stood in the corridor. "Milady," he said, looking sheepish. "Your sire asks that you come to the hall. Baron Sedgewick has arrived. He wishes to see you."

Elizabeth resisted a disgusted groan. Sedgewick had led his army back to Avenley yesterday, and she had hoped not to see him again so soon. She would spare him only the briefest moment. Nodding to Bertrand, she said, "I will be there soon."

Pressing the door closed with her palm, Elizabeth glanced down and despaired at the state of her bliaut. She had not changed garments since yesterday, and had not yet sent a maid to fetch clean clothes. The silk bore smudges of Geoffrey's blood and herbs. She had not even washed her face. Yet 'twould be discourteous not to even make an appearance, when her father requested it, or keep
him
and the baron waiting. She made her way to the hall.

Through the pervasive fog of wood smoke, she saw the baron and her father had pulled up chairs near the hearth. The enticing smells of fresh bread and warmed gooseberry jelly wafted to her.

Sedgewick dropped his roll. "Beloved." He struggled to his feet, licking jelly from his fingertips. His eyes widened at her dishevelment. "You are hurt?"

"I have been tending Geoffrey," she said.

"So your father told me." Sedgewick's smile turned cool. "He says you have not left de Lanceau's side. You and the healer slept in his chamber last eve?"

"We did. He has fever."