Captive Rose (46 page)

Knowing all eyes were upon her, she worked quickly at
the cupboard preparing a paste of
sulphur
, salt, and
citron, the seed of which was known for its extraordinary power against all
kinds of poison. After crushing and mixing the ingredients with vinegar and
oil, she hurried back to the bed. She cleansed away the blood, then packed the
wound with the plaster and covered it with bandages.

Still she was not finished. Guy must take some medicine
internally. She prepared another concoction, this time crushing only the inner
kernels of citrus seed. Stirring two drams of the powder in a cup of wine, she
approached the two knights holding Guy's arms.

"Lift his shoulders and head. He must drink this
medicine."

"It is blasphemy, I tell you!" Philip cried,
able to remain silent no longer. "She'll only make him worse."

When the knights hesitated, regarding her doubtfully,
Leila began to quake inside. Surely Philip would not sway them! She fought to
keep her voice steady as she said with as much sternness as she could muster, "The
plaster I applied to his wound will not save him if some of the poison has
already spread into his body. Only with this medication will he have a chance."

"
Dammit
, you're wasting
time, you
fools
!" Henry shouted, rushing to the
bed and pushing the closest knight out of the way. "I'll help you, my
lady." He lifted Guy from behind, but his head hung limply. "Hold up
his head or you'll lose yours, I swear it!" he commanded the other knight,
who hastily obliged.

Casting Henry a grateful glance, Leila concentrated on
opening Guy's slack mouth and pouring in small amounts of the liquid. To her
surprise he groaned, choking slightly, his eyes flickering open and then
closing again. He was still far from conscious, but this slight change in his
condition helped her give him the rest of the medication.

At last the cup was empty and she began to breathe a
bit easier. Yes, now he had a chance.

"Lay him down, Sir Henry . . . gently." Leila
rested the back of her hand upon Guy's cheek. He had a fever, but that was to
be expected. His body was doing battle with the poison that had invaded him.
Covering his nakedness with a blanket, she turned and faced the roomful of
observers.

"I've done what I can for now," she said
truthfully, looking from one concerned face to the next but avoiding Philip's
eyes. "Only time will tell if any further treatment will be needed. I
suggest you all retire to the hall, where I'm sure supper is waiting. There's
nothing you can do here. I'll let you know at once if his condition improves"
—she felt a catch in her throat— "or worsens."

"I have a better suggestion," Philip said,
glaring at her. "I will be holding a vigil in the chapel for those of you
who wish to join me. We shall pray that the lady's cure"— he spat
caustically— "proves more than the eastern devilry I believe it to be. If
it does not,
she
and her accursed brother will both
share in the blame for my brother's death!"

As the knights filed from the hospital after Philip,
talking furtively among
themselves
, Leila sat heavily
on the bench Henry had placed for her near the bed. Her stoic facade was
crumbling fast, and it took all her remaining self-restraint not to burst into
tears at her helplessness. There was nothing else she could do now but wait.

"Is there anything I can get you, my lady?"
Henry asked, lightly touching her shoulder.

She offered him a small smile, but shook her head. "I'll
stay here with you if you'd like."

"No, no, I'd like to be alone with him," she
murmured. "There is something you can do, though."

"Name it."

"See to Nicholas. He's probably frightened and
confused about all the commotion. Explain to him what has happened and tell him"
—she had to swallow hard against the lump in her throat— "tell him I'm
taking very good care of his papa. He'll believe that, even if no one else
does."

"I believe it, my lady," Henry said
fervently. "You saved Lord de
Warenne's
life
once. Philip and his herb poultices
be
damned. I
believe that if anyone can save his life now, it is you."

Touched by his faith in her, Leila turned back to Guy
as the knight left the room.

She stared through her blinding tears at the rise and
fall of his chest, so shallow it almost appeared that he was not breathing. But
he was, and she clung to that knowledge, hoping his superb physical condition
would help him again as it had in Damascus. If only it hadn't been a poison
arrow . . .

No, she didn't want to think about Roger's treachery
right now, Leila decided numbly, reaching out and clasping Guy's too warm hand.

She wanted only to think of this man lying so still
before her. How she could help him. How she could make him more comfortable.

How much she loved him.

***

A few hours later, Leila was laying a damp cloth on Guy's
feverish forehead when the hospital door creaked open. She glanced over her
shoulder and stiffened when she saw Philip.

Now she wished she had not sent Henry away. She was in
no frame of mind for another unpleasant encounter with the priest, and from his
stony expression, she guessed that was exactly what he intended. She faced him
as he approached the sickbed.

"How is my brother?" Philip demanded,
glancing beyond her to Guy.

"He is breathing more easily, but otherwise he is
much the same," she said honestly, though she hated to admit that her
treatment was not acting as well or as quickly as she had hoped. "I've
changed the plaster twice and just given him another dose of medicine, but I
fear it will take a while longer to know—"

"By then he will be dead," Philip interrupted
harshly, his narrowed eyes a volatile gray as he riveted them upon her. "I
have no doubt the drugs you use are poisoning his body as much as that arrow,
if not more so."

Leila turned away, offering no comment to such a
preposterous statement, and missed his sudden movement. She was stunned when
Philip rushed right up to the bed. Before she could stop him, he had flung back
the blanket and ripped off the bandages covering the plastered wound. He
pointed accusingly at the ugly red swelling radiating from Guy's knee to his
upper thigh.

"You see! It grows worse. You're killing him!"

Leila tried to re-cover the area, but Philip caught her
arm and pulled her back. She winced at his grip, which was astonishingly strong
for a man so spare.

"The swelling is normal and would be the same for
any such wound, regardless of the poison," she countered calmly, though
she was deeply frightened. "Let me go, Philip."

He did not. Instead he twisted her arm until she was
forced to sit down on the bench.

"I've had enough of your views, my lady. Now you
will hear mine. It is because of you that my brother is lying here near death,
and not just from your supposed cure. At the welcoming feast, I heard much from
Guy about the events at King Edward's coronation—the fight in the abbey, the
tournament. I sensed then that Lord
Gervais
might
seek revenge for your marriage, and so he has. Your brother sent out a band of
his men disguised as Welsh rebels to accomplish the foul deed."

Philip's angry words struck home, reinforcing Leila's
own sense of blame. She already knew she lay at the heart of this calamity, but
what could she do?

"While I still had Guy's confidence," Philip
rushed on, his fingers biting cruelly into her flesh, "which has since
been denied to me because of you, he also said that you refused his offer of
marriage in Canterbury, believing Lord
Gervais
would
allow you to return to Damascus. Is this not true?"

"Yes," Leila answered, trying to pull her arm
away. It was no use. Philip held her fast.

"And it was only when you discovered your brother's
true plans for you that you finally agreed to the marriage?"

Wondering where these strange questions were leading,
she cried, "Yes, yes! Now let go of me. You're hurting my arm!"

Philip only tightened his grip. "Guy admitted to
me that he feared you might still nurture that same vain hope, but he wanted
with all his heart to believe you had forsaken it." He lowered his face
close to hers. "Tell me, Lady Leila. Is it possible you still harbor a
desire to see Damascus again?"

Taken completely by surprise, she could only stammer, "
Wh
-why do you ask me such a question?"

"Because I would like nothing more than to be rid
of you! You've been a curse to Guy since the day he married you and a plague
upon this household since the moment you arrived here. You have caused great
dissension where there was none before, and now you have brought this terrible
misfortune down upon us."

Philip glanced at Guy as if checking to see that his
brother was still unconscious,
then
he met her eyes
again. "Leave
Warenne
Castle. Tonight, this very
hour. Lord
Gervais's
attacks will cease only when you
are gone from here. I'll give you as much money as you need to return to Syria,
and I will arrange an escort to see you safely as far as Marseilles. I know you
came to this land and this marriage unwillingly, and I am offering you a chance
to leave it all behind you. What do you say, my lady?"

Leila's thoughts spun wildly. Dear God, if Philip's
offer had come earlier that day she would surely have accepted it. Now the goal
that had consumed her heart and mind for so long meant nothing to her. Nothing
at all.

She didn't want to leave Guy! She had thought of little
else since she had been left alone with him. She loved him. He was the father
of her child. She wanted to stay with him. She wanted to try and make things
work no matter what obstacles they faced. Even if it meant giving up her
hospital. For Guy, she would do anything.

Leila was jolted by that sudden realization. Was that
why another part of her was urging her to scream out yes, she would go back to
Damascus? If there was the slightest chance that her leaving would protect Guy
from any more of Roger's vengeful attacks, she would gladly go.

Yet she wasn't convinced that was the case. Maybe Roger
would be so incensed to learn that she had gotten away from him that he would
continue his bloodthirsty quest for revenge. And even if she was sure, she
couldn't leave Guy tonight. His life was still in danger. He might die if left
in Philip's care.

"No! You are mistaken," she said vehemently,
this last terrible thought fueling her reply. "I have no wish to return to
Damascus. Not now. My husband needs me. I have no intention of leaving him."

Yet even as she spoke the words, Leila knew she had not
fully made up her mind. She could not bear the thought that Guy might suffer
another attack because of her. Sick at heart, she glanced from Philip's face,
mottled with rage, to Guy's. She was so lost in her private agony she did not
see Philip raise his hand against her. Nor did she hear the door opening or
Henry's incredulous cry just as she was struck hard across the face.

"Good God, man, have you lost your senses?"

Pressing the back of her hand to her stinging cheek,
Leila watched wide-eyed as Henry rushed across the room with his sword drawn.
Outraged, the blond knight pointed the blade at the startled priest's throat.

"Move away from the lady, Father D'Arcy. Now!"

Philip did so, bumping into beds as he inched his way
backward to the door. "How dare you raise a weapon against me, Langton,"
he muttered. "I am the steward of this castle—"

"I daresay not for long," Henry interrupted
him, his face reddened with anger. "Not when Lord de
Warenne
learns of what you have just done. He already knows how you've turned his tenants
against Lady Leila with your ridiculous warnings. He was going to confront you
when he returned . . ." He swallowed hard, unable to finish. Instead, he
glanced at Leila. "Are you all right, my lady?"

"Yes," she murmured, though her ears still
rang from the blow.

Henry shifted his gaze back to Philip. "Get out,"
he ordered. "If I see you near this hospital again, I'll have you thrown
in the castle dungeon. Is that clear?"

Philip said nothing as he stormed from the room, his
black robes fading quickly into the night.

Slamming the door behind him, Henry shook his head as
he walked back to the bench. "I should never have left you alone in here,"
he berated himself as he sat down next to Leila. "I should have known he
would try to harass you further."

Leila heaved a ragged sigh, compassion for the
misguided priest welling inside her. She knew there
was
pain, frustration, and worry behind his anger.

"Philip was only trying to protect his brother
from what he doesn't understand," she said quietly. "A brother he
loves."

Henry looked bewildered. "You defend him after
what he just did to you?"

"I would probably react much the same if I
believed someone I loved was being threatened. I, too, would try to stop it."

Pondering the words that had come from some deep part
of
herself
, Leila rose and gently placed the bandages
back over Guy's plastered wound. As she covered him with the blanket, she noted
that his color was somewhat better, and she pressed her fingers to the base of
his throat to check his pulse. It was much stronger.

Relief swept through her. That last dose of medicine
must have helped.

"How is he, my lady?"

Leila's hand was shaking as she swept the hair back
from Guy's forehead. Her reply was hardly more than a whisper. "Improving."

"Thank God."

Yes, she thought, murmuring a fervent prayer. Thank
God.