First Knight: Thornton Brothers Time Travel (A Thornton Brothers Time Travel Romance Book 3) (11 page)

“Not a chance.” Jennifer shook her head and winced as the movement made her groan in pain.

Edward’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t say a word. He swept her up again, supporting her weight, holding her as gently as a small child. His hand went to her waist and the belt and pouch hit the floor with a thud. Next came the dress.

Being so close to him, she could feel the tension radiating through him. He paused. “I will make haste. Close your eyes and lift your arms. I will not let you fall.”

Before she could think about it, Jennifer did as he said. He jerked the under-tunic over her head so fast that she didn’t even sway before his arms were encircling her again. But the act of putting her arms up over her head made her stomach revolt and her eyes flew open.

“Bucket,” she gritted between her teeth before he bent her over the bucket. The smell of sick permeated the air. Completely disgusted with herself, she could only imagine what he thought. How could she look him in the eye again after this?

When she thought she was empty, she motioned with a hand, and somehow he knew what she meant. He pushed the bucket to the side with his foot and lifted her up, fully supporting her in his arms.

“You will sleep in your chemise.”

She didn’t have the strength to shake her head. “I can’t. It has vomit on the front.” A tear ran down her cheek.

While she probably should’ve been embarrassed, she felt too horrible to care. To give him credit, he didn’t bellow at her. Instead he sat her down on the stool.

“Hold on to me.” He put her hands around his waist. Then he pulled his tunic over his head and stood there bare-chested. With a look she couldn’t interpret, he blew out a breath, the muscles in his neck standing out. Too bad she felt too rotten to ogle him. He should have been carved from marble. Sculptors would weep over his body. The lines were perfect.

“I will do my best not to look upon your form.”

She nodded, and he helped her to her feet again as he muttered to himself in Norman French. The French
merde
she recognized, but couldn’t find the energy to smile. He was so tense that she was afraid to make any sudden movements.

“Hold my tunic.”

She took the shirt, still warm from his body, and held it. With one fluid motion, he pulled the chemise over her head, and somehow she managed to hold on to his tunic.

In a strangled voice he said, “Tunic.”

She dropped it into his hand and he roughly pulled it over her head. It came down almost to her knees and smelled of him. Concerned green eyes met hers. “I’m going to carry you to bed. If I needs stop, pound me on the back.”

She didn’t dare shake her head, so she simply blinked at him. More gently than she thought possible, Edward lifted her up in his arms, his bare chest warm against her thighs. For a moment, she wished she could stay there forever, safe and cocooned within his strength.
 

He carried her as if she weighed no more than a book or a bag of groceries. And while she was thin, she was by no means some petite thing. It was a novel sensation. So different from the last guy in college she’d dated. The delirium made the memory seem vivid. Real.

The guy had one of those obnoxious muscle cars and the passenger door wouldn’t open. Instead of having her climb across the seats, in case she messed up his upholstery, he rolled down the window on the passenger side, hefted her with a grunt, and slid her through the window into the passenger seat.
 

He was in great shape and loved to spend hours working out at the campus gym, so she would’ve thought he could’ve easily lifted her, but apparently not. When he sat in the driver’s seat he was all sweaty. Looking her over with a critical eye, he told her she was a hell of a lot heavier than she looked. Jerk. Needless to say, it was the last time she went out with him. So it was a delightful change to feel like she was as light as a feather when Edward didn’t change his breathing or grunt.

One of the servants had made the bed from when she’d slept in it the night before. He flung the covers back and carefully laid her down. Edward had started to draw the curtains around the bed when she stopped him.

“Please, leave them open. I don’t like to feel closed in.”

“I will fetch you drink to rinse out your mouth.” He placed the bucket next to the bed on the floor. “In case you have need of it. Lean over and let loose.” The corner of his mouth twitched just barely, so slightly that if she had been staring at his face that she would’ve missed it. When he left, softly shutting the door behind him, mortification swept through her again.

It was bad enough to be sick in front of someone you knew or loved, but to be sick in front of a stranger that you were attracted to even though you didn’t want to be? Jennifer wondered if she’d been thrust into the second circle of hell.

As she lay there, the combs from her hairdo poked into her scalp. With an immense amount of effort, she managed to tear the beautiful objects from her hair, scattering them on the floor. Panting, she lay back against the pillows.

Another bout of nausea took hold of her, and, afraid she would miss the bucket from so high up, Jennifer slid off the bed, landing on the floor with a thud. The cool stone felt delicious against her fevered body. She gripped the bucket with both hands and threw up again, wondering how it was possible there was anything left to come up.

She hadn’t heard the door open, but there he was. Strong hands held her hair as she heaved out her guts.

When she finished, he put his arms around her to lift her off the floor. A hand on his arm stopped him.

“Leave me.”

“You needs be abed.”

“I’m afraid I’ll be sick again and ruin the sheets.”

He scoffed. “You are sick and should be abed. Do not trouble yourself. I will care for you.”

And she believed him. There was no reason she should, having only met him a couple of days ago, and yet deep within her soul, Jennifer knew he would take care of her. And in her delirium, she decided that with him by her side, she would live through the night.

The man scooped her up and deposited her in the bed, then pulled the covers up to her chin.

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“You are pale as snow. Rinse your mouth out.” He handed her a cup of water, but when she sniffed, she found it was cider. She rinsed out her mouth and spat into the bucket. He had replaced the bucket, and there was another sitting by the hearth. Jennifer didn’t even want to ask what he had done with the other one.

He stood up to leave, and she made a sound in the back of her throat. Instantly he was by her side. Another tear slipped down her face. “Please. Don’t leave me. I’m afraid I’m dying, and if you go, I won’t see the sunrise.”

He kissed her on the forehead. She heard him speaking to the guard at the door, then he was back, dragging the chair across the floor to the bed.
 

As her eyes drifted closed, Jennifer felt the warmth of his hand as he stroked her palm. Too spent to speak, she surrendered to the nothingness.

“Is the lady unwell?” Maude thrust her bosom at Alistair, the guard posted outside the faerie’s chamber.

His face was grave. “Aye.” He looked down the corridor then whispered, “She may die.”

“I will pray for her soul.” She was filled with joy. Holding up her basket so he could see inside, she pressed against the man. “I have brought cherries in honey, the lady’s most favored dish.”

“Nay, she cannot eat.” He looked pale in the dim light. “She cannot even drink broth without purging.”

“Then I will come back on the morrow.” She smiled as she left the castle. The odd woman would no longer watch her.
 

As she passed through the gates, one of the guards called out, “Where you off to, Maude?”

She waved at the man. “Off to fetch herbs from the water’s edge. I won’t be long.”

“Do not tarry. The gates will close for the night soon.”
 

Once the guard was no longer watching, she ran to the woods. Deep in the wood was a meadow, where she would meet her love.

No one followed her. Maude looked around before calling out, “Are you there, then?”

Hamish Armstrong stepped out from behind a tree, and she ran to him as he gathered her in his arms, kissing her, hands fumbling under her dress. He was older than she by a score, and so handsome, even with the ugly scar the wicked English gave him in battle. Hamish had promised to care for her. He had told her how terrible Lord Somerforth was. Raping and killing the weak. Eating children when none were watching. Maude crossed herself. Aye, Hamish was a good man.

Their lovemaking was over too soon. He smoothed her skirts down and leaned against a tree. “Do they know I was in the castle? Did the wench with black hair tell that bastard Somerforth?”

Maude shook her head. “Nay. She did not. At supper, I made sure she would not tell his lordship what she had seen.”

“What have you done?”

“Poison. She is dying. On the morrow she should be dead.” She frowned. “I don’t know if the poison will work. She should be dead by now, yet she lingers.”
 

He pulled her to him, stroking her hair. “Why not?”

“She’s a faerie,” Maude whispered.

Hamish looked thoughtful. “The Armstrong could use a powerful faerie. He could take Somerforth with ease if he had a faerie under his power. I will send word and find out what we must do.” He idly stroked the scar on his neck. “We will need iron to bind her.”

Hamish reached in her dress, fondling her. She pressed against him. “When will we marry?”

He stepped back. “When Lord Somerforth is dead by the Armstrong’s blade, I will be free to marry you. Stay in the castle and keep spying. We need you. I need you, love.”

He kissed her again, setting her on fire, then melted away into the trees as she looked after him longingly. She would watch the faerie. Aye, she would do anything for the man she loved.

“I want a bath.”

Edward did not grin. His lady was in a foul humor, and he did not want another boot thrown at his head. She had been recovering from her illness for a sen’night, and her irascible moods were to be feared.

“Then on this day, you will be pleased.” He stood back, and servants entered carrying a wooden tub. ’Twas not as large as the one in his chamber, but ’twas improper for her to bathe in his chamber until she was his lady.

“Really?” She clasped her hands together. “Oh, thank you, Edward.”

As the water heated, he pulled the stool to her bedside. “Shall I read to you?”

“Don’t sit too close. I stink.”

He sniffed. “Perhaps a bit.”

She feigned outrage. “You’re supposed to say, no, lady, you are a delicate flower and would never have an odor about your fetching person.”

“Your accent is awful. I do not speak thusly.”

“Aye, you do.”
 

“Harrumph.” He opened the book, some tale to cause womanly weeping about a knight and his lady. Jennifer watched him. Did she find him pleasing? Every day he came to her chamber to pass the hours. They had talked of family and of her world. So many wonders. His brothers’ wives had given up the marvels of the future. Might Jennifer stay too? He knew she was opposed to marriage. Her own sire and dam were with others. In her time, men and women grew tired of marriage and simply found another. The church no longer held the power it did now. The men of her time were not men of honor.

The first days, he was filled with dread she would die. The healer said ’twas the meal, but no others were ill. Edward believed there was trouble afoot. A person wishing his lady ill will. Brom agreed and thought ’twas poison. As of yet, his captain had not found the one responsible.

“My lord?” One of the servants stood before him. “Your lady’s bath is ready.”

“Finally.” Jennifer sat up, swayed, and turned the color of the stars.

“Easy, love.”

He lifted her from the bed. She wore another of his tunics, had refused to wear her clothes until he let her up from the damn bed as she bellowed at him.

“Shall I have them stay and aid you?”

“Please.”

Edward eased her into the bath and nodded to the two women. “I shall be in the lists. When you are finished, dress and I will carry you out to the garden.”