Captive Rose (43 page)

Stunned by his vehement outburst, Leila rose from the
bench and followed him from the room.

So that was why Philip had been so cold toward her, she
thought incredulously, waiting in the dim hallway as he locked the door and
pocketed the key. He felt threatened by her knowledge of medicine! Why else
would he have scrutinized her so strangely when they first met, as if he had
already decided he disliked her?

"I'll show you the great hall first," he said
tersely, leading the way as they left the keep. "This vast courtyard is
what we call the bailey . . ."

Leila scarcely heard him, her thoughts reeling.

It was very clear to her now that Philip was escorting
her around the castle only because Guy had asked him to. She also suspected
that any civility he had displayed to her yesterday had been wholly for Guy's
benefit. She had seen that the two men were close. Philip probably did not want
to give his brother the impression that anything was amiss.

Sweet
Jesu
, how she wished
she could tell him outright that he had nothing to fear from her! One day soon
she hoped to be gone from this place.

But she kept silent. Otherwise, Philip would surely
tell Guy, and then where would that leave her?

***

A few hours later Leila longed to return to the
solitude of her bedchamber. She would never have imagined her tour could prove
so taxing; she doubted she would ever remember all the minute details Philip
had told her about daily life in a castle.

She had seen countless rooms and buildings; the
timbered great hall with its cellars, pantries, buttery, and musician's
gallery; the vaulted chapel; the kitchens; the scullery; the servants'
quarters; a barracks for mercenary knights; a smithy; a laundry; stables;
barns; a brewery; on and on. The only respite had come when they visited the
walled garden just outside the kitchen.

She had lingered there among the barren fruit trees and
last herbs of the season, feeling bittersweet delight and longing when she spied
rose bushes in one corner from which still hung a few fragrant blooms. She had
recognized the bright pink flowers at once.

Damask roses. Just like the ones growing in the
courtyard she had shared with her mother. Wondering how her favorite flower had
ever come to be planted in this faraway garden, Leila was almost glad when
Philip urged her to move on with him to the last site on their tour, the row of
storehouses at the far end of the bailey.

Now she leaned with gratitude against some sacks of
grain just inside the open door, listening with half an ear as Philip droned on
about the contents of the building.

"Our foodstuffs are stored in here, staples such
as peas and beans, onions, salted meat and fish—"

"There you are. The castle guard said I would find
you in one of these storehouses."

Both she and Philip turned in surprise to find Guy
silhouetted in the low door frame, his shoulders hunched and his head down to
accommodate him.

As he stepped inside and straightened to his full
height, Leila was overwhelmed by the sight of him. He was so massive, his
slightest movement revealed such power. She never ceased to be amazed by how he
could fill a room with his commanding presence. As his gaze raked her, she felt
a dizzying warmth sluice through her veins, which increased tenfold when he
took her hand in his large one. It frightened her to realize how much she had
missed him.

Philip broke the charged silence. "You're
back
early, Guy. Did you catch any of the culprits?"

"Unfortunately, no. We searched the woods
surrounding the village and found many
hoofprints
in
the mud, but the tracks disappeared when we came to the river," he replied
grimly. "We'll find them, though, and they'll pay. I'll not suffer these
raids upon my land."

"And the village?"

"Four houses were torched, but no one was killed.
The bastards tied up the peasants and got away with horses and livestock. Not
much else. It couldn't have been more than ten or fifteen men, perhaps a
renegade band that broke off from the bulk of the rebels harassing the Marcher
lords to the north." Guy's voice became tinged with impatience, and he
gently squeezed Leila's hand. "We can discuss this later, Philip. Has my
wife seen the last storehouse yet?"

"No." Philip looked confused. "I hadn't
planned to show her that one. There's nothing in it, remember? Before you left
this morning you ordered that it be emptied and swept clean, and so it has been
done. Have you decided upon its use?"

"A week ago, on my wedding day," Guy said
mysteriously. He glanced at Leila, a sly twinkle in his eye. "I have a
surprise for you, my love. Come." Looping his arm around her waist, he
called out to his half brother as he guided her through the door, "I'd
like you to accompany us, Philip. As steward of my estate, you need to know
what I have planned. There will be some
expenditures
involved."

Wondering crazily what Guy was up to, Leila blinked at
the bright sunshine, for the interior of the storehouse had been very dark. She
practically had to run as he hurried her past four similar buildings, only
slowing when they reached a smaller storehouse set off by
itself
.
She saw over her shoulder that Philip was not far behind them, his expression
grave.

"We kept saddles and harnesses in here until this
morning," Guy explained as he pushed open the door, "so it will
probably smell like leather and horses for a while." Once inside, he
released Leila and hastily pushed open the wooden shutters on both sides of the
room, flooding the empty interior with fresh air and sunlight.

"What is all this about?" Philip asked
doubtfully, standing on the threshold.

Guy took Leila's hands and drew her into the middle of
the room. "A gift for my beautiful, beloved wife," he answered,
gazing into her eyes. "It doesn't look like much now, but it will soon.
Leila, what do you think of your new hospital?"

She was dumbstruck, her heart thumping wildly. Had she
heard him right or was he merely toying with her? No, she could tell from his
expression that he meant exactly what he had said.

"Hospital?" she finally managed, tears
dimming her vision. They began to spill down her cheeks when Guy nodded firmly.

"Most married women of rank are content to oversee
their husband's household as they've been taught to do since childhood, but I
know that would never make you happy. And I want you to be happy, Leila,"
he said fervently, his touch gentle as he cradled her face and wiped away her
tears. "I want you to see that your dream can be fulfilled here at
Warenne
Castle. With me."

Incredibly moved, Leila lowered her wet lashes, afraid
of what he would see in her eyes.

She had never known a moment of such weakness. She was
so ready to surrender to him, to admit the love she held imprisoned in her
heart . . . but something would not let her. Fear, obstinacy? Some lingering
resentment against him for altering her life so drastically? She could not say.

Perhaps she had told herself so many times since the
day of the tournament that their love could never be that she had actually come
to believe it. They were from two different worlds. How could they possibly
find happiness together? Kismet should never, never have thrown them into each
other's arms!

"The afternoon we married," Guy was saying, "I
sent some of my men to scour the markets in London for rare herbs and spices,
even
cautery
irons and other surgical tools. If need
be, I'll send them back for whatever else you might require," he
continued, unaware of the furious turmoil raging inside her. "And if there
are any special medicines you want, I plan to send messengers twice a year to
Marseilles to meet the trading ships from the Holy Land. Tomorrow you'll find
twenty beds in this room, and I've already picked three able servants to help
you. I don't want you working yourself too hard, my love. And Philip will be
there to help you, too" —he glanced up at his half brother— "won't
you?"

"Never!"

Guy stiffened and his hands slid from her face. As he
moved slightly away from her, she did not turn around. She did not need to see
Philip to know how incensed he was. She had heard it in his voice.

"Tell me I misunderstood you, my brother."

"No. You heard me well. I cannot and will not
condone this . . . this hospital" —Philip spat— "either as a healer
or as a priest. It is blasphemy!"

Guy's reply was slow in coming, as if he could not believe
what his brother had just said. Finally he replied, "I have always valued
and trusted your counsel, but in this matter you have overstepped yourself.
Explain your charge, and quickly."

"So I will, for I can no longer remain silent!"
Philip blurted. "Christian or no, this wife you have brought among us is a
heretic! Her beliefs are not ours! She grew up among infidels, and from
everything I have been told about her, she has clearly been influenced by their
evil ways. Yet I might have been able to forgive all of this if she renounced
her heathen past and her profession, and became a proper mistress to this
household. The preposterous idea you now propose has made that impossible!"

"Why?" Guy shouted.

"You already know the answer, but your love for
this woman has blinded you to it," Philip accused him, clearly undaunted
by his brother's explosive outburst. "To allow your wife to practice her
questionable skills is a direct challenge to the Church. If your tenants or
knights become injured or ill, they come to me or go to the monastery infirmary
in
Abergavenny
where care is advocated, not a cure.
Sickness is from God, to be healed by divine intervention, not by medicines and
surgery—"

"It was not divine intervention that saved my life
in Damascus," Guy cut him off harshly. "It was Leila and her adopted
father. If not for their knowledge and medicines, as well as Leila's skill with
the hot irons with which she sealed my wound, I would not be alive today!"

Leila started when Guy touched her arm, saying with a
quietness that belied the boiling anger in his eyes, "Leave us. I will not
have you hear any more of this ranting. But do not fear, my love. You shall
have your hospital."

Her throat was so painfully constricted she did not
attempt a reply. Rushing past Philip without so much as a glance, she fled the
storehouse. She ignored the puzzled looks of servants, knights, and men-at-arms
alike as she hurried toward the keep, scalding tears tumbling down her face.

Why had her mother done this to her? Why? Leila raged, desperately
needing someone to blame for the terrible pain that was ripping her apart.

Renounce her past? Renounce her profession? How could
she? It would be the same as tearing out her soul. Surely Eve knew she would
never live peaceably in this world. How had her mother ever believed she would
find happiness here?

Entering the keep and running up the stone steps, her
footfalls echoing in her ears, Leila cursed Eve.

Slamming the bedchamber door behind her, she cursed
Guy.

Throwing herself on the bed, she cursed the impossible
love that had crept like a thief into her heart.

***

Guy found her in their room a half hour later, standing
as still as a statue before the window which overlooked the winding River
Usk
.

"Leila?"

She did not turn or answer. He saw her shoulders stiffen,
and his heart went out to her. By God, if he had anticipated Philip's outburst,
he would never have shared his plans with his brother. To think she had heard
all those horrible accusations . . .

Guy walked to the window, but he did not touch her. She
looked so vulnerable, like fragile glass that might shatter on contact.

"Leila," he said softly, gazing at her
profile. "The matter has been settled. You will hear no more dissent from
Philip. I want you to try and forget everything he said. Your hospital will be
ready tomorrow."

Unblinking, she stared down at the river.

"We reached an agreement, he and I," Guy
continued, wondering if she was even listening. "If Philip keeps his
objections to himself, he will remain my steward. I believe he values his position
too highly to trouble you again." He waited for a reply. None came. "Leila,
did you hear me?"

Silence reigned for a long, long moment, but finally
her lips parted.

"Those roses in the garden," she
murmured,
her low voice almost a whisper. She did not turn
her head, but he saw a tear trickle down her cheek. "Damask roses."

Sighing, Guy knew now that her mind was not on Philip. "What
of them, my love?" he asked, pressing her gently.

"How . . . ?"

Understanding flooded him. "My father brought them
back from the Holy Land as a gift for my mother. He was also a crusader knight."

Another tear slid slowly down her cheek. "They're
so far from home."

A tightness
gripped his
throat, her deep hurt becoming his own. Folding her in his arms, he, too, gazed
out unseeing at the river. He could say
nothing,
he
was so choked by emotion.

Philip's words had done their damage. He sensed, deep
in his heart, that he and Leila would have to start all over again. At that
moment, she was as far from him in spirit as if she
were
across the Mediterranean Sea, half a world away.

Chapter 23

"May I roll those bandages, Lady Leila?"
Nicholas asked, eagerly eyeing the new pile of linen strips atop the table. He
pointed with pride at the clumsily rolled bundles he had stacked in a lopsided
pyramid. "See, I finished the ones you gave me."