Captive Rose (47 page)

***

Dozing fitfully on the bed next to Guy's, Leila woke
abruptly when she suddenly heard a noise, half sigh,
half
whisper. She propped herself up on one elbow and looked around the dimly lit
room.

Guy was still flat on his back, his features masked by
shadows. His breathing was slow and regular, just as it had been when she had
finally lain down to get a little rest.

She glanced at Henry, who was lying on a bed pushed in
front of the door, his drawn sword held crosswise upon his chest. Had he
perhaps said something in his sleep?

After a long moment Leila lay back down and laced her
fingers behind her head. She stared at the raftered ceiling, wondering if she
had only dreamed the sound.

"Leila . . ."

She sat up, her gaze flying instinctively to Guy. Sweet
Jesu
, she hadn't dreamed it! She knew that voice.

She was at his bedside in an instant. She had never
known such joy as when she saw his eyes flutter open. Her breath seemed to be
stuck in her throat when he turned his head and looked at her. To her
amazement, he smiled weakly.

"I knew . . . I knew you were here, my love. Your
perfume . . . so sweet. Damask rose."

Hot tears stung her eyes. "Yes. I'm here."

Guy's smile faded to a grimace as he shifted on the mattress.
"God, the pain," he murmured hoarsely.

"You must lie still," she admonished him,
wiping away the tears on her face. "The pain is bad now, but it will pass.
I promise you. Just lie still."

He found her damp hand and clutched it tightly. "Stay
with me, Leila."

She could not speak. She still did not know if she
should go or stay. Dying inside, she forced a faint smile and nodded.

Chapter 25

"You have a fine hospital, my love, but those
straw-filled mattresses leave much to be desired," Guy said with some
effort, wincing as Leila continued her light prodding. "If I must remain
abed for the rest of the week, as you say, I'd rather be in here, in our
bedchamber."

Leila did not readily reply
,
her concentration focused on his wound.

Considering that it had been less than two days since
Guy had been injured, his leg was healing remarkably well. The swelling and
redness were nearly gone, and already the flesh appeared to be mending. As for
the rest of him, his healthy pallor had finally returned along with his
appetite, both very good signs that the poison in his body had been defeated.
His stubborn insistence that he be moved out of the hospital was also evidence
of his rapid recovery.

"Yes, I'm sure you'll be more comfortable now,"
Leila agreed softly. Her heartache was painfully acute as she busied herself
spreading ointment around the wound and applying fresh bandages.

She still had come no closer to deciding if she should
leave him or stay. Every time that it was on the tip of her tongue to tell Guy
how much she loved him, she had only to think of Roger's treachery, and the
impulse was stilled. What use was there in revealing her true feelings to Guy
if she might be gone on the morrow?

"Damn!"

She glanced anxiously at Guy. "Did I hurt you?
Have I wound the bandages too tightly?"

"No, no, I was just thinking of Philip."

Reserving comment, Leila quietly resumed her task. She
imagined he was recalling the unpleasant scene in the hospital yesterday
morning.

Despite her plea to let the matter wait until he was feeling
better, Guy had summoned Philip to his bedside and angrily relieved his half
brother of all his duties at the castle. Then he had banished him to his
private chambers in the chapel until he decided further what was to be done
with him.

Surprisingly, Philip had said little. When he had
looked at her just before leaving, his expression had been almost contrite. She
could not forget how shocked he had appeared when he first walked into the
hospital to find Guy sitting up in bed. Perhaps he thought he had been summoned
to administer last rites.

"I've decided he must leave
Warenne
Castle," Guy said as she finished tying the last bandage. "I will not
have him disrupting your work here any longer." He leaned his head against
the brace of pillows propped behind him and sighed with exasperation. "I
would forgive him everything if he admitted how wrong he was about you and your
medical skills. Surely he can see that you saved my life. That's twice now,
Leila."

As Guy reached out and clasped her hand, Leila met his
eyes reluctantly, her heart thundering in her breast. Struck by the love she
saw reflected in his unswerving gaze, it was all she could do not to throw
herself in his arms.

"You should get some rest," she murmured,
easing her hand from his grasp. "There will be many more well-wishers who
will want to see you this evening."

Knowing he was watching her, and doing her best to
ignore it, Leila moved quickly to each window and closed the wooden shutters
against the early afternoon sunshine to darken the room. The only light came
from the low-burning fire in the fireplace.

She poked at the logs to revive the flames, and froze when
she heard him say, "Perhaps I don't wish to rest, my love. We are
blessedly alone. No visitors. Nicholas is at his nap. I would have the reunion
promised by your kiss the other day. Did you think I had forgotten?"

Swept by intense longing, Leila felt her hand tremble
as she set down the iron poker.

She wanted him. Oh, how she wanted him. She would give
anything to feel his kiss upon her lips and his stirring touch. But she knew
that if she went to him now, when she was feeling so weak, she would surely lay
bare her heart. Lost in her passionate quandary, she was saved from making a
reply by a loud knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Guy called out sharply, his
irritation at being interrupted evident in his voice.

"Robert
Burnell
, my
lord. I have a reply for you from Roger
Gervais
."

A reply from Roger? Leila wondered
,
her desirous thoughts receding as Guy bade him enter. About what?

She had heard several discussions in the hospital among
Guy and his knights about the surprise attack—she still was in shock at the
news of Baldwin
D'Eyvill's
unsettling connection with
events in the Holy Land—but she did not recall hearing
Burnell
being charged to visit her brother. Perhaps Guy had done so during one of the
few times she was not there. It was possible.

As Robert walked into the
firelit
room, he seemed nonplussed by the closed shutters. Glancing at her in some
embarrassment, as if expecting to find her barely clothed, he mumbled a
greeting and hastened to the bed. She followed, anxious to hear their exchange.

"So, how does Lord
Gervais
answer my charge of attempted murder?" Guy asked his knight tersely.

"He has denied it, just as you expected. He claimed
Baldwin
D'Eyvill
acted only for himself, convincing
other
Gervais
knights to participate in his plan for
vengeance both here and in Acre.
Gervais
said those
men have been punished."

"Lies. And has he agreed to meet me in a trial by
combat?"

"Aye, my lord. To quote him exactly, 'Tell de
Warenne
I look forward to that day with the greatest
impatience. When I prove the victor, justice will have been served, and my
innocence proclaimed.'"

"Innocence," Guy scoffed. "He will soon
feel the sting of his guilt. Did the bastard sign the agreement?"

"
Aye,
and it has been
dispatched by messenger to the king. The matter now awaits his decision."

"Good. I have no doubt Edward will approve it. He
will recognize that this time Roger has gone too far. We should receive the
king's answer within two weeks. By then, I will be ready to fight."

As they continued to converse in low tones, Leila
gripped the bedpost, horrified.

A trial by combat.

She had never seen one, but she knew from the stories
she had heard in the great hall after supper that these trials were a grisly
business which often led to death. The lance and sword were used to determine
guilt or innocence, the barbarous practice fueled by the supposition that God
granted victory to the righteous. Yet how could Guy expect to prevail so soon
after his injury? He could be struck down. Killed. And all because of her.

Suddenly it became very clear to Leila what she must
do.

There was only one way to stop this madness. A devil's
bargain must be struck with Roger, who for her had come to embody evil. She
would rather lose Guy forever than see him fight her brother to the death.

When Guy learned what she had done, he would hate her
for it—and that was exactly what she wanted. He would make no attempt to come
after her because he would no longer care . . .

"My thanks for seeing to such an unsavory task,
Robert," Guy said, drawing Leila back from her numbing reverie. "Give
the same to the men-at-arms who accompanied you. I can imagine
Gervais
was hardly hospitable to your visit."

The burly knight snorted, shaking his head. "He
didn't trust us to find our way off his bloody land. We had a fully armed
escort to the de
Warenne
border."

Guy gave a dry laugh. "Go and refresh yourself, my
friend. You look like you could use a good draft of ale."

"So I could, my lord." Robert turned to
Leila. "Forgive the intrusion, Lady de
Warenne
."
Then with a nod to Guy, he quit the room.

Leila watched the door close behind the knight,
desperately wanting to leave as well. Now that she had made her decision, it
was simply too painful to linger. What could she possibly say to Guy
—

"Leila, did you hear me?"

She faced the bed with a start. "What? I-I'm
sorry."

"I said, if it had been anyone else but
Burnell
, I would have made him wait," Guy repeated, noting
the heightened color on her cheeks which made her appear all the more
beautiful. "I've been anxious to hear what
Rog
—"

"If you don't mind, my lord, I'd rather not talk
about my brother right now," she said sharply. "You really should
rest, and there are a few things I must attend to in the hospital."

"Very well. We can discuss the matter later,"
Guy answered slowly, perplexed by her tone.

It was clear she was upset by this news, but why? He
had already explained to her weeks ago that she need have no fear that Roger
would become her guardian again if he himself was ever struck down in battle.
King Edward himself had promised him as much the morning they had left for
Wales.

"Is there anything I can get for you before I go?"
she asked, her eyes bright in the soft firelight. "Another pillow? A
goblet of water?"

"It is not rest my body craves, Leila," Guy
said, his gaze falling to the tempting rise and fall of her breasts beneath her
snugly fitting lilac tunic. Imagining their pink-crested fullness bared to his
touch, he felt a flash of blistering heat race across his loins. "I
thirst, but not for water."

His need to possess her was overwhelming.
All-consuming. He had demanded to be moved into the privacy of their bedchamber
for that very reason. After so narrowly thwarting death, he burned to hold her
in his arms again and feel her panting breaths like life's sweet affirmation
upon his lips.

Guy held out his hand to her. "Come, my love.
Surely your tasks at the hospital can wait."

To his consternation, Leila took several steps backward
and darted a glance at the door.

Whatever was the matter with her?
he
wondered, his hand falling to the mattress. He had never seen her so
distracted. He didn't want to think that she was withdrawing from him again,
but it seemed that might be the case. Now that he thought about it, her
behavior had puzzled him from the moment he had been lucid enough to notice.
She had seemed preoccupied and subdued, as if something was troubling her.

Damn Philip anyway! He could only imagine what his half
brother must have said to her before Henry had thankfully intervened. Leila had
refused to discuss the incident, and he had not pressed her. Now it seemed he
should have insisted she tell him about it.

Guy was gripped by a familiar sense of frustration.
When, when would Leila ever give him her heart? At times he could swear she had
already done so—when he kissed her, when they made love. But when she acted
like this he doubted his own instincts.

Enough!
he
berated himself. If
he had to start over with her again, so be it. She meant everything to him. She
was worth his every effort to capture her love. Let it begin anew with a kiss.

"Very well. If you will not come to me," he
said, flinging aside the fur coverlet, "I will simply come to you."

"No!" Leila cried, rushing back to the foot
of the bed. "You mustn't stand on that leg. Not yet."

Guy held out his hand, his startling blue eyes
searing
into hers. "Then what will it be, my love?"

Desire flooded her body, and Leila knew she had already
succumbed to his challenge. There would be no hasty exit. Her heartrending plan
would have to wait awhile longer. She only prayed that she would have the
strength to leave him after . . .

She took his hand almost before she knew what she was doing,
her knees growing weak at the warm pressure of his palm against hers. He drew
her slowly toward him,
then
his other hand was
caressing her face as he looked deeply into her eyes.

"Ah, Leila. I feared I would never touch you like
this again. Never hold you—" He seemed to choke, his eyes misting. "God,
woman, how I love you. Love you . . ."