Captive Rose (45 page)

Guy glanced wryly at Leila, who was smiling at the boy's
antics despite her deep anguish.

"His manners leave much to be desired, but he's a
good lad." His gaze trailed over her lingeringly. "And oh, how I envy
him his company." Throwing her a roguish smile that hinted of their
reunion later, he rumpled Nicholas's hair and was gone.

Leila walked to the door, unable to take her eyes from
Guy as he crossed the bailey and mounted Griffin. She felt a small sticky hand
clutch hers.

"Come on, Lady Leila. Let's make some more
bandages until cook gets here."

She nodded, watching as the huge gates swung closed
behind the small band of six
knights
, but still she
did not move. It was only after she felt an impatient tug that she shut the
door and followed Nicholas back into the room.

***

"I've heard enough," Guy said grimly to Henry
Langton as they strode from the farmhouse back to where the rest of his men
were waiting. "Damn Philip and his pious fervor! No wonder Leila's
hospital has remained virtually empty. He's scared everyone away with his
nonsensical warnings. Eastern witchery. The devil's magic. I'm going to
throttle him!"

He got no response from Henry, nor did he expect one.
His usually jovial knight had become more subdued with each farm and village
they visited. There were no merry jests to lighten this situation. It was very
grave indeed.

Guy swept up the reins dangling on the ground and
mounted a restless Griffin. "Let's get back to the castle before it grows
dark," he muttered, his five knights falling in behind him as he nudged
the huge
destrier
into a thundering gallop.

How dare Philip jeopardize all the progress he had made
with Leila? Guy raged inwardly, his gaze piercing the gray dusk settling over
the surrounding woods. Just when he was beginning to catch glimpses of a new
emotion in her eyes—not defiance, resentment, or simply desire, but something
that set hope flaring in his heart—now he would see only disappointment and
hurt as she withdrew from him again. Damn!

Half brother or no, Philip would pay for this gross
indiscretion. Any man who would so wantonly disregard an agreement could no
longer be trusted. On the morrow, there would be a new steward at
Warenne
Castle.

Burning to get home so that he might exact his
retribution, Guy urged his war-horse into a fast canter as they rounded a curve
in the road. He was so caught up in his angry thoughts that he did not hear the
deadly zing of arrows until it was too late. As one struck him in the left
thigh, cleanly piercing his chain mail, he roared out through his pain, "Ambush!"

Guy lifted his shield to fend off another barrage of
arrows and, grabbing the wooden shaft, yanked it from his flesh. Blood spurted
and he cursed, realizing the pointed iron head remained embedded in the wound.

There was nothing to be done about it here, and no time
to staunch the bleeding. Drawing his sword, he plunged Griffin into the woods
after the retreating attackers, who looked to be Welsh from their short leather
jerkins and bare legs. God's
bones,
and he had thought
they were done with these rebels!

Several quickly disappeared into the dense undergrowth,
but Guy caught up with one man who was almost to his horse. With a single swipe
from his sword, he decapitated him. Charging on through the gathering gloom, he
heard shrill death screams behind him and hoped they weren't the cries of his
own men.

Spying another Welshman already in the saddle and
veering his horse hard about, Guy gave chase and easily caught up with him,
having the advantage of momentum. Dodging a swinging mace, he struck sideways,
and the dark-haired man shrieked horribly, falling from his mount and writhing
upon the ground. Guy jumped down from his
destrier
to
deal a death blow, but his sword stopped in midair when he saw his victim's
bearded face. The dying man was no Welshman.

"You!" Guy cried, recognizing Baldwin
D'Eyvill
. He fell to his knees, wincing at the fiery pain
in his thigh, and grabbed the knight's bloodied jerkin to shake him hard. "By
God, man, what mad folly is this?" he demanded, drawing great ragged
breaths.

"So . . . you still live," Baldwin rasped,
his hate-filled eyes glittering deliriously in the twilight. They fell to the
crimson stain spreading beneath Guy's chausses. "But not for long. You
will not escape death again as you did in the Holy Land." He grimaced, his
hands futilely gripping his gaping stomach wound. "At last. At last I have
avenged . . . my beloved Christine."

Cold realization settled upon Guy. "You murdered
the Syrian Governor's messenger." When Baldwin turned away, groaning, Guy
shook him again fiercely, disregarding the knight's cries of pain. "You
bastard! Your foul treachery almost cost me my head!"

He was greeted by a bubbling rattle from Baldwin's
throat, and knew then the man had only moments to live.

"Tell me, damn you! Roger planned this ambush,
didn't he? You and the others were sent to murder me, but you disguised
yourselves as marauding Welshmen so the blame could not be traced."

"Revenge will be sweet . . . for both of us,"
the dying knight whispered cryptically, a macabre grin on his swarthy face. "See
you in hell, de
Warenne
. The arrow . . . was poison .
. ."

Baldwin jerked, gasping desperately for air as blood
oozed from the comer of his mouth, then suddenly he exhaled in a wheezing gasp
and fell still. Dead.

Guy released the jerkin, his hands stiff from clutching
it so tightly, and looked with horror at the wound in his leg.

A poison arrow. God help him. His own mortality was so
glaring at that moment he could almost taste it. He could almost smell the
stench of death creeping over him. One burning thought seized him.

He must get home. He must see Leila. If he was destined
to die this night, let it be in her arms, the arms of the only woman he had
ever loved.

"Langton!
Burnell
!"
he shouted through the trees, rising shakily to his feet. He wiped the cold
sweat from his face, knowing true fear for the first time in his life. Was it
happening so swiftly?

Feeling strangely weak, he hoisted himself into the
saddle as the sound of hooves pounded toward him. Relief flooded him at the
sight of Langton and two other knights. They would help him get home.

"My lord!" Henry cried, reining in beside
him. "We've been searching for you. We managed to cut down four of the
rebels, but the rest escaped—"

"Not rebels," Guy cut him off. "
Gervais's
knights, sent to kill me." He gestured to
the dead man lying on the ground, the eyes staring sightlessly at the darkening
sky. "Baldwin
D'Eyvill
." He leaned upon the
pommel, gritting his teeth against the pain. "Get me to
Warenne
Castle, Henry. Fast. I took an arrow in the leg.
Just before he died,
D'Eyvill
said it was tipped with
poison."

"Can you ride?" Henry asked
,
his face etched with shock and worry.

"I don't know . . ." In the next instant, the
knight was taking the reins from Guy's trembling fingers and jumping up into the
saddle in front of him.

"For God's sake, my lord, hold on to me,"
Henry pleaded, wrapping Guy's arms around his waist and securing them with his
free hand. He turned to the other two
knights
. "Find
Montgomery and
Burnell
and tell them what's happened.
We'll meet you at the castle." Then, kicking the war-horse, he shouted, "On
with you, Griffin, like the wind. Go!"

As they crashed through the woods to the road, Guy rested
his forehead against Henry's shoulder. The pain in his leg was becoming
excruciating, unbearable.

"Leila. I must see her . . ."

"You will, my lord. We haven't far to go."

It was the last thing Guy heard.

Chapter 24

"Oh, my lady, come quick! Something terrible has
happened!" Enid cried, rushing into the bedchamber.

Leila whirled from the window, where she had been
admiring the tranquil view of the river, and was astonished to see tears
streaming down the serving woman's face. Her heart leaped into her throat, her
mind racing. "Nicholas?" He had gone to play in the garden after they
closed up the hospital for the day

"No, no, the boy is fine.
'
Tis
your husband."

"Guy?" Now it seemed her heart had stopped,
everything growing eerily still around her.

"They've taken him to your hospital, my lady. I
was near the gatehouse when Sir Henry rode in with him, and he sent me to fetch
you. Your husband was wounded in the leg. A poison arrow." Enid wrung her
hands miserably. "They said it was a surprise attack. Some of Lord
Gervais's
men."

Her brother? Horrified, Leila did not wait to hear
more. She dashed past the serving woman and down the spiral stairs, one word
boring into her brain.

Poison.

She knew from experience that time was of the essence.
Perhaps it might already be too late. In all the cases of poisoning she had
seen at the Hospital of
Nureddine
, whether from
snakebites, scorpion stings, or a deliberate act of treachery, few sufferers
survived unless they were brought in very quickly for treatment.

No, don't even think it! Leila told herself fiercely,
tearing outside the keep. She lifted her skirts and raced across the bailey as
fast as she could.

It seemed the entire castle was in an uproar, servants
huddled here and there in nervous groups, extra guards manning the castle
walls—perhaps fearing another attack by her brother?—and agitated knights
pacing in front of the hospital. Yet the men cleared a path for her to the
door. Leila entered in a rush, stopping short just beyond the threshold at the
sight that greeted her.

She could have sworn she had been transported back in
time to the night she first saw Guy in the governor's prison.

The room was brightly lit by a dozen or more oil lamps
and braziers aglow with fresh coals. Guy was sprawled on two beds that had been
drawn together to accommodate his size, and he was surrounded by several knights,
Henry Langton among them, who worked feverishly to remove the last of his armor
and under clothing. Philip was standing with his back to her at the side of the
bed, directing the men.

Seeing the priest, Leila was filled with anger, but she
knew she must keep her emotions in check. She did not have time to think or
feel. She could only react. Guy's life depended upon it.

"Sir Henry, how long ago did this happen?"
she asked in a tone laced with authority, hurrying toward the cupboard where
she kept all of her supplies. She quickly piled a thin, sharp knife, linen
bandages, and a vessel of olive oil in an earthenware bowl.

Henry glanced up, clearly relieved to see her. "A
quarter hour, maybe a little more—"

"There is no need to trouble yourself, Lady Leila,"
Philip interjected. "I've already prepared
a
herb
poultice to soothe my brother's pain, and St.
Rochus
,
the patron saint of limbs, has been invoked against the vile poison."

Leila gave him little notice as she moved briskly to
the bed, her eyes on Henry. "Sir Henry, it is my understanding that when a
lord is indisposed or away at court, the wife takes temporary charge of the
estate. So I recall being told by the good priest here during my tour of this
castle. Am I correct?"

"Yes."

She skipped her gaze to Philip. "Then kindly
remove Father D'Arcy from my husband's bedside so I may treat his injury.
Unless of course, Father D'Arcy chooses to leave willingly. I believe in
prayer, but his particular remedy of invoking the saints to heal my lord's
wound will not be needed."

Without waiting for a reply from either of them, she
sat down on the bed and arranged her supplies in front of her. She noticed her
hands were shaking and tried to keep calm despite her unease at the ashen
pallor of Guy's face. Please, please may I not be too late . . .

That was the last such thought she indulged herself.
Ignoring Philip's loud protests as he was escorted to a far side of the room,
she tied a linen tourniquet just above the small, jagged hole in Guy's lower
thigh.

"Hold him down," she directed the two knights
who remained at the bedside as she began to feel gently around the wound.
Recalling how Guy had struggled against the scorching irons, she added, "You
might want to call a few others to help. The pain of this treatment may be
enough to overcome his unconsciousness."

As three more knights hastened forward from the hushed
group standing just inside the door, Leila realized grimly that the arrowhead
was still inside the wound, something Philip had obviously missed. She went to
the cupboard and fetched wine vinegar to use as an antiseptic and some surgical
tools. They weren't as finely made as the ones she had used in Damascus, but
they would have to do.

She knelt by the bed this time, daubed around the
swollen area with wine, and set to work. To her relief Guy did not even
stir,
a good thing because the procedure was delicate. In
minutes she had removed the iron head, silently cursing whoever had shot the
offending arrow, and tossed it with disgust into the bowl.

"Keep holding him," Leila ordered, smearing
her lips and the inside of her mouth with olive oil to disinfect them. She
heard gasps as she began to lance the wound with the razor-sharp knife and
vigorously suck out the blood and poison. Probably no one present had ever seen
this procedure done before. She immediately spat into the bowl, repeating the
process until she judged she had cleansed the wound. Wiping her mouth, she
decided to allow the bleeding to continue for a moment to flush the now
slightly larger hole. Meanwhile, she would prepare the plaster needed to draw
out any remaining poison.