Authors: Susan Sizemore
group of women by the central hearth.
******************
Simon pulled off his helmet as a groom led his horse away. The sky couldn't decide whether to snow
or rain, so it was doing both in fits and starts. The day was drawing to a close, though there hadn't been
much light to begin with. His cloak was soaked through. His arms ached from sword and shield work, as
did his back and thighs from sitting on a horse all day. The fighting outside the walls and in the bare
woods had gone more his way than the invaders' in the last two days, but they hadn't been driven off.
Tomorrow he would have to fight again. Simon wanted a cup of mulled wine, a joint of meat, and his
bed. Of course he wasn't going to be so fortunate as to get what he wanted, not in this life.
First he took off his gloves, then he swiped sweat out of his eyes, then he turned to the anxiously
waiting priest. "What?"
Father Andre hopped nervously from foot to foot as he answered, "The foreigner, my lord. She's in
my church."
"What of it? We could all use to prayers for peace."
"She's not praying."
Simon was in no mood for guessing games. "What is she doing?"
"She's boiling water."
"Where? In the baptismal font? With what?"
He remembered the blaze that had been in the look she'd given him before she'd left his chamber.
However, he refrained from suggesting to the priest that Diane could light fires with an angry glare.
"She brings the water from the bath house, but she does have braziers set up in the church," Father
Andre told him indignantly. "She must be a demon, for she has the church as hot as the pit. She jumps
around and points and grimaces at good folk until she gets her way. She's got the washerwomen
laundering blankets and linen as well, as though it were spring cleaning time."
"What? Why?"
"First she swept out the rushes in the church. Those were fresh rushes."
"Why?"
"Somehow she managed to convince the women to use the church for nursing the wounded."
Simon nodded. "That makes sense."
"Does her washing the floor before letting anyone in make sense? And, she keeps scrubbing it, as
though cleaned stones have anything to do with tending the sick."
"Perhaps where she comes from—"
"She won't let any wounds be cleansed except with her foolish boiled water. It's madness."
Simon rubbed his jaw. He could use a shave. Hot water sounded good to him. Perhaps he could get
Diane to scrub him. "What does Jacques say?"
"To leave her be." Father Andre pointed a shaky finger at him. "You must do something."
"I'll have a look at the wounded," Simon agreed. The priest didn't look happy with Simon's words, but
he turned and led the way to the church door.
There was more light in the church than Simon was used to, and more heat. The sensation was
strange, but not unpleasant. He welcomed the warmth, and quickly shed his damp cloak. He tossed it
over his arm, and stood for a moment with his eyes closed to let the warmth seep in. When he opened
his eyes he saw Diane. For a moment he found himself simply studying her profile as she bent over one of
the patients. She looked tired, and not quite so young as he recalled her being. Her expression also held
something of the strength and serenity of a Madonna, as though she had no time for fragile emotions right
now. He drank in the sight of her. It was as soothing as the mulled wine he'd craved a few moments
before.
Apparently, he'd missed her even while his mind had been on nothing but the defense of Marbeau.
A half dozen or so of his soldiers and several injured villagers lay on pallets that took up the center of
the nave. The place did not have the usual stench of a sickhouse. The wounded looked clean and well
cared for. Simon gave an approving nod. He walked slowly to where Diane sat cross-legged next to a
man propped up on pillows. She was patiently spoon feeding the man broth from a wooden bowl. Simon
savored the sight of her even as he ran his gaze over each pallet he passed.
She looked up as he reached her. Her expression was wary and impertinent at once.
Simon smiled. "You think I'm going to send you back to your room, don't you?" He put his hands on
his hips. "I should. This is no place for you. You're upsetting the priest," he added when her reply was a
nonchalant shrug.
She lifted her chin haughtily, then went back to feeding the sick man with a feigned unconcern that
plainly said she didn't see a large man in full chain mail armor looming over her. And wasn't about to put
up with any criticism from him even if she did. He was more amused than annoyed by this act of
defiance.
He knelt beside her, and turned his attention to the wounded man. This one had a deep sword slash
across his chest, and another wound in his arm. Both were neatly bandaged with clean dressings. The
man's color was better than Simon expected from someone so badly injured. His breath didn't come in
sickening wheezes of the lung fever that often accompanied serious wounds.
Simon leaned forward, and his arm brushed Diane's. He patted the man on the shoulder. "How goes
it, Philip? Have you any complaint of your nursing?"
Diane found the soft clink of Simon's armor as he moved incongruously musically and pleasant. She
also found his closeness pleasant, though he stank of old sweat, horse, and blood. She didn't care how
much he smelled. Maybe it was because she'd unconsciously been waiting to see him carried into her
makeshift infirmary at any time during the last two days. She hadn't realized how much she hadn't let
herself think about Simon until he was here beside her.
She darted one quick gaze at his raptor-sharp profile. He looked dangerous even while he made a
compassionate gesture to one of his men. A ripple of excitement went through her, and she quickly
looked away. Simon's proximity left her confused and shaken. Literally. She nearly dropped the bowl as
the physical reaction overtook her. She closed her eyes for a moment, but that only made her more
aware of Simon's presence. So she opened them, took a deep breath, and did her best to concentrate on
her patient instead of the Lord of Marbeau.
"The foreigner's a good nurse, my lord," Philip answered before she could lift another spoonful of
broth to his lips. "Best I ever had."
Simon nodded. "Good." He turned and took the bowl from Diane's hands. "You," he spoke to a
woman nearby. The servant hurried to him. He handed her the bowl. "Finish feeding this man."
"Yes, my lord."
Simon hauled Diane to her feet, and, with his hand firmly on her arm, escorted her to the church door.
"When did you last sleep?" he asked when they got there. "You're shaking from exhaustion."
Her shoulders shook, but with silent laughter. She covered her mouth with her palm to hide her
amusement, but he saw the glint in her dark eyes even in the shadows of the church door.
"Are you going to share the joke, Diane?"
She looked up at him and shook her head.
Simon continued to frown. "If I drag you from here to get some rest, will you just come back?"
She nodded.
"I thought as much. I'm too tired to drag you very far, anyway." She reached up, and sympathetically
patted his cheek. The warmth of her touch soothed him. He put his hand on her wrist and leaned into her
cupped palm. "You take good care of my people," he told her. "Thank you for your concern."
Father Andre came through the doorway before he could say anymore. "What will you do about the
foreigner, my lord?" he asked nervously.
Now, there was a very complicated question.
Simon released Diane's hand. He looked at the priest. "She is to have your cooperation in everything
she does," he answered Andre.
"But—" the priest sputtered.
"If she wants to boil every bit of water in the well, you'll fetch it for her. The wounded are to be tended
as she sees fit. Am I understood?"
Andre looked outraged, but Simon was more interested in the pleased expression on Diane's face.
Not triumphant, but pleased. A bit of warmth curled around Simon's guarded heart at seeing that Diane
was truly interested in caring for his household, and not simply trying to gain power over him with false
kindness.
"Give my lady whatever she wants," he told the priest. "I'll give the same orders to the steward."
Andre knew when to give up. He bowed his head meekly, "Yes, my lord."
Simon turned his full attention back to Diane. "Come in to supper?" She looked tempted, then she
gazed back at the sickroom. She sighed and shook her head. He sighed as well. "Well, I'm going to
supper, and to take this armor off for a while." It was his turn to cup her cheek, and notice that he left a
streak of mud on it when he took his hand away. "I'm filthy, and getting you that way. I'll get cleaned up
and see you later."
He very nearly bent down to kiss the mud away before he left her. After he'd left her he didn't know
why he hadn't.
******************
Philip was asleep, propped up on a half-dozen pillows to help ward off pneumonia. The cape was damp.
It smelled of wet wool and fur, and Simon, she thought when she surreptitiously rubbed her cheek against
the soft, brown fur lining. In her own world, she was firmly against wearing animal fur, but this felt
wonderful, she admitted. Wonderful or not, the weather was cold and Simon still needed it back. First
she hung it up to dry on one of the clotheslines strung up near the charcoal-filled braziers. Then she spent
several more hours moving among the patients. Oddly enough, seeing Simon, getting his approval for
what she was going to do anyway, left her feeling happy and revitalized.
There wasn't much she could do, not really. Jacques had offered her a chest full of herbal medicines,
but she didn't have the faintest idea how to use them. He'd also mentioned that Lady Genevieve had
been the one who was good with herbs and plants. She hadn't really wanted to hear anything about the
late Mrs. de Argent, so she'd set to work doing what she did know about.
It had not been pretty. She'd thrown up the first time she'd seen a sword wound up close and spurting
blood. None of the other women who'd showed up to help tend the wounded had thrown up. So she'd
told herself to get over it and get on with it. She'd gotten used to it.
She hadn't actually sewn up any of the wounds herself. Several of the gentlewomen who spent most
of their lives embroidering turned out to be skilled at the crudest kind of emergency surgery. Diane had
made it her job to see that the wounds didn't get infected, or that other posttraumatic problems didn't set
in. Keeping people warm and clean was the best she could do, and so far it seemed to be helping. Only
two of the hacked-up soldiers that had been brought in had died so far.
The problem was, they kept bringing hacked-up people into the church, and burying more that didn't
make it off the battlefield. Father Andre kept saying Masses for the dead while the women worked to
save the living. It was a busy, noisy place, and Diane had made it her world for the last several days. She
was afraid that if she left, she wouldn't have the courage to come back.
Once Simon's cloak was dry, she decided she should venture out, if only for a little while. She didn't
want the Lord of Marbeau to freeze, after all.
She met Simon at the door as she was going out. He wore clean clothes instead of armor. His fair hair
was combed back and glimmered in the moonlight that poured down from the indigo sky overhead. He
carried a basket over one arm.
"The weather's cleared," he said. He held up the basket. "I've brought you bread and cheese."
He took her hand and drew her outside. The air was crisp, but not as cold as it had been earlier.
Diane looked up and saw that the night sky was glorious, full of far more stars than she was used to. She
took a deep breath. The air still smelled of mud and woodsmoke, but there was no taint of the sickness
and sour sweat that filled the church. Just to breath in this different atmosphere was wonderful. She
turned an appreciative smile on Simon.
He smiled back. "Let's sit on the hall steps and eat under the stars, shall we? I promise not to try to
feed you this time," he added when she hesitated.
The night was beautiful. She was hungry. Besides, Simon was the only person in this world she really
felt comfortable with. And he looked so anxious to please her. She didn't know why. She didn't think he
was taking time out from fighting a war to romance her. Which was good, since she didn't have time to