First Knight: Thornton Brothers Time Travel (A Thornton Brothers Time Travel Romance Book 3) (19 page)

Light from above filled Jennifer. “Do not say such things. He is not dead. He will live. I forbid him to die.”

The men carried him outside into the setting sun, and she wanted to scream. How dare the sun streak the sky with such beauty when he was dying? It should be gloomy and thundering. Pouring down rain. She turned around and took one final look at the black chamber.

“Please. Let him live. I would give my own life for his.”

Jennifer was glad Edward’s captain took control. She couldn’t seem to make any decision, no matter how small.

Brom barked out orders as the men carried Edward into the great hall, servants scurrying to and fro to carry out his bidding. By the time they carried Edward up to the chamber, the bed had been stripped, and what looked like old sheets had been laid down for when the awful part was done.

His men reverently laid him on a makeshift table, like some pagan offering to the gods. Lying there, he looked even worse than he had in the dark and terrifying black chamber. A few of the women had tears running down their faces as they went about their work. The men either let the tears run freely or quickly wiped them away when no one was looking.

The healer had been seeing to a lad who dropped an axe on his toe. Jennifer looked around the chamber, full to bursting, and scowled. “Leave.” All of the men except Brom and Alistair left the room. No way was she going anywhere.

“I will send word…once we know,” Brom called out as the knights left.

Hot water and clean rags waited. The shaking Jennifer had felt from the moment she stepped into the hall had given way to cold clarity. Time seemed suspended, as if the stars above were holding their breath to see if he would live. The healer grasped her wrist, her grip strong for a woman who looked to be in her seventies.

“Be strong for your man. Brom will aid me in removing his clothes.”

The healer turned away to the makeshift tray she had set up. There were various threads and needles, along with jars waiting to be put to use. The sound of fabric ripping filled the space as Brom cut away Edward’s clothes.

He met her eyes. "’Tis not proper for you to see Edward unclothed.”

The ridiculous comment was exactly what she needed to rein in her emotions. “You tell me when you’re uncovering the good bit and I’ll turn my back.”

A half-smile crossed his face. As she helped cut away his tunic, pieces of it came away shredded and sopping wet.

“I don’t understand. I watched him ride out. He was covered in plate and mail armor. How could this have happened?”

He had so many wounds that it looked like a hundred men had hacked at him with swords. It was a wonder he was still breathing. Alistair had left and returned while they were helping the healer. He blanched seeing Edward’s ravaged body.

“You heard the Scot. If so many came against him, in time he would fall. Then they could take his armor and do…this.” Brom looked stricken.

Alistair looked like he was going to cry. “Another prisoner said Edward came to and fought back without his armor until he no longer had the strength to fight.” He wiped his eyes. “The damned Scots left his armor and sword.”

“I will examine the prisoners after.” Brom nodded. “Guard the door.”
 

Jennifer ran a finger over a piece of cloth. It was silk.

Brom looked ill. “When the arrow goes in, the head will not pierce the silk, and can be pulled out without leaving the head behind.”

She swallowed and blinked but did not cry. There was no time for tears. She had to be strong. For him. Cutting away the last of his tunic, she looked to see Brom had covered Edward’s groin with cloth before he called for Alistair.

“Help me turn him over.”

Edward groaned as they turned him.

“Are you hurting him?”

“Nay. He is senseless,” the healer said. She pointed to a steaming bowl of water and a pile of rags. “Clean off the blood and muck, then I will stitch the wounds.”

Jennifer blew out a breath and did as she was told. In the modern world, unless someone was a nurse or a doctor or worked in some other trauma field, the average person didn’t see wounds like these. Then again, most modern doctors probably didn’t either. They would have seen gunshot or knife wounds, but not so many sword wounds.

She gasped at a particularly nasty wound, swearing she glimpsed bone in his shoulder. Her stomach clenched and threatened to turn over, but she forced it down with an iron will.

Finally she and Brom had cleaned all the blood off, but she’d lost count of the number of wounds Edward had sustained. So many times, she’d stopped, leaned over him, and pressed her face close to his nose to check if he was still breathing. Each time a tiny bit of breath tickled her cheek and she exhaled, sending up thanks he was still alive.

Brom frowned at Edward’s side. There was a wound with a piece of wood flush to the skin. He swore viciously. While she watched, he took a piece of cloth from the water and tied it to the stick.

“Mistress?”

The healer mumbled as she looked at the wound. “Aye, push it all the way through.” Then she turned to Jennifer. “If ye have a weak stomach, best leave now.”

“No, I’m staying.”

“Talk to him, Jennifer.” Brom touched her hand. He nodded to Alistair. “Hold him firm.”

She watched as they pushed the cloth through. Edward screamed and thrashed. Alistair and Brom could not hold him alone. Three more men came in and held him as they finished the grueling task. They were all sweating and pale when it was done.

“That’s the most horrific thing I’ve ever seen.” Jennifer bent over, breathing in and out until she was sure she wouldn’t pass out or throw up.

The healer put a gentle hand on Jennifer’s cheek. “Sit down, child, before you fall over.” The woman nodded to Brom. “Hold him still so he does not thrash while he is senseless.”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Send a girl to fetch more bandages, food, and wine.”

 
Alistair left the room.

With a few moments to wait, Jennifer slid down the wall and rested her elbows on her knees. It was as if the afternoon and evening had caught up to her all at once. Exhaustion weighed down her limbs, her arm so heavy she couldn’t lift it to push the strands of hair out of her face. From where she was sitting, she could watch the healer. Brom looked as tired as she, as she noted the strain around his eyes.

When the healer stitched Edward’s wounds, she had to look away. It was different than when she’d helped his men—this was him. A cup was thrust into her hands.

“Drink, lady.”

Grateful, she drank the wine as she sat there numbly. Her cup was refilled and a platter placed on the floor beside her. Jennifer didn’t know what was on it, she just ate what was put in front of her, staring blankly into space.

At some point someone must have taken the cup and plate. Stiff and chilled, she rubbed her eyes. A hush had fallen over the room, the air holding its breath. Brom was sitting next to her, a cup tilted haphazardly in his hands, an empty plate on the floor beside him.

The healer stretched and packed away her things. “I have done all I can. The rest is up to the fates.”

Before the healer could leave, Jennifer forced her legs to move. For a moment, she wobbled then gained her balance.

“You’ll be back tomorrow?”

The woman’s eyes were wise and sad. “I gave him herbs, poultices, and stitched him up to please you and his captain. But it will not matter. Edward has seen his last sunrise and will be dead by nightfall. His wounds are too grievous. Even the great Lord Somerforth cannot thwart death when he comes a calling.”

“No. He’ll get better like he always does, right?”

The woman took Jennifer’s hand in hers, the skin soft and velvety.

“He has not regained his senses. The fever will come and it will take him. The wounds are only part of the danger. There is nothing more I can do. I have made a brew of herbs. ’Tis simmering over the fire. Pour a bit down his throat every few hours. There is nothing left to us but to hope. The fates have already decided his fate—they will cut his life thread.”

Brom looked like he’d aged ten years. “I will send for a messenger. We must get word to his brothers.”

Jennifer would not let him. It would be like giving in. “No. I refuse to believe he’s going to die. Send for the messenger if you must, but do not send the message,” she pleaded. “Not yet. You said yourself: it’s been too dangerous to travel. Why put his brothers at risk traveling here if he’s going to live?”

“They should be here when he passes.”

“I am here. And I will not let him die.”

Brom was full of sorrow; it radiated out of him and seemed to hover above him, a bluish-gray cloud. “As you wish, Mistress Jennifer. We will discuss it again tomorrow.” He paused in the doorway. “You will not leave?”

“Not until we know.”

“Then I will have a bath prepared and a clean dress sent for you.”

“Thank you.”

The resignation in his voice made hers break. “Don’t give up on him.”

The deepest part of the night passed, and Jennifer managed to get a tiny bit of the healer’s liquid into Edward. She’d always thought of the deep night as the time when death came.

“You can’t have him,” she whispered. Every time she looked at Edward, Jennifer would imagine standing over him, a sword of light in her hands as she fought off death.

He was so pale and lifeless. She wished she could give him some of her strength. The servants entered the chamber, somber, carrying buckets of water, and proceeded to prepare the bath.

She knew what was happening, but it was as if she blinked once when they’d come in the chamber, and when she blinked again, the bath was steaming, waiting.
 

“Lady? Shall we bathe you?”

“What?”

“We will bathe you, lady.”

Normally she bathed herself, but the out-of-body feeling was so strong that she had the feeling she would slip under the water, drown, and not even notice. “I think this time I would like you to bathe me.”

The girls were efficient, undressing her and helping her into the tub. One of them eyed the gown critically. “I do not think we will be able to clean this.”

“I could never wear it again anyway. Make rags out of it.”
 

The girl nodded and put it in a pile with the other bloodied rags. They scrubbed her clean as the water turned crimson. At least this tub was large. It had been made especially for Edward. It wasn’t like the bathing barrel she had used when she’d first arrived. That tub had a padded seat, and your knees almost came up to your chin. In the copper tub, she could stretch out and let the blissfully hot water ease the tension. The heat and stress made her sleepy.

The scent of roses filled the air as they scrubbed her skin and washed her hair. There was a moment Jennifer swore she could smell blood and the awful stench from the black chamber again. It passed, and she drank deeply of the chilled wine they poured for her.

The girls helped her out of the tub and briskly dried her off as she swayed back and forth. They dressed her just as efficiently, though she could have been wearing a sack and wouldn’t have noticed—her eyes never strayed from Edward. Watching his chest slowly move up and down, straining as she looked for any sign he was coming around.

Jennifer sat on the stool while one of the girls combed her hair and the other one tidied up the chamber. She knew they were as worried as she, but none of them spoke of Edward. It was as if by not speaking of what had happened, they could pretend it wasn’t real. That he was simply sleeping and would wake any moment.

“I’ll fetch food to break your fast.”

“Thank you both for all you’ve done.”

She sat next to Edward, dipping cloths into icy water and laying them across his forehead. Tending him through the fear that constantly waited to take hold of her. Alistair forced her to eat, taking over and ordering the servants to fetch more ice from the icehouse.

Brom came in many times to see if Edward had woken. And to beg her to sleep, but she couldn’t. Jennifer tried to explain.