"He’s
in a bad way, Riss," Mossy said gravely. "Hotspur cut him through the
groin and he has a terrible infection, not to mention that he’s lost a good
deal of blood."
Arissa
heard him but she could not respond. As she continued to gaze at Richmond, she
realized that the most meaningful thing in her life was stretched before her
eyes, dying from a wound sustained in battle. Dying as a result of his love for
her, of his duty to his king. Dying for his torn loyalties.
She
couldn't cry. As she watched his shallow breathing and ashen complexion, her
pain went beyond simple tears. Nay, tears were not strong enough. Not cleansing
enough, not forceful enough. Nothing was strong enough to ease her anguish. Nothing
but her love for him.
A
white hand reached out to touch his clammy forehead; he was burning with fever.
"How long has he been like this?" she whispered.
"Four
days," William was standing next to the wagon, his sunken gaze moving
between his daughter and the knight. His voice was weak, tight. "You were
right, Riss. He was loyal to Henry to the end. He turned against Hotspur and
killed him, making it possible for the English to emerge victorious. When
Hotspur was killed, the Welsh panicked and ran. If it hadn't been for Richmond,
England would not have been victorious. He won our battle single-handedly."
Her
hand still on his head, she raised her eyes to the group collected about the
rig. Her gaze was unnaturally bright. "I told you, but you did not believe
me. Richmond was never a traitor; he did what he had to do in order to save me.
He’s still Henry's greatest knight."
The
earl nodded briefly, making the sign of the cross over Richmond before turning
away. He had done all he could do; bringing Richmond back to Lambourn to die
had been his final act of devotion, an apology to his friend for ever doubting
his loyalties in spite of the overwhelming circumstances. Whatever happened now
was in the hands of God. He could do no more.
Arissa
noticed that Lady Ellyn was kneeling by the edge of the wagon, her head bowed
in prayer as Mossy rummaged about in his great black bag for something that
would ease Richmond's fever. A small brown mouse leapt from his bag and
scurried off the edge of the wagon, but the old man let the creature go without
a comment or a word. He was too consumed with saving Richmond's life to lend
remark to a common enough occurrence.
Arissa
turned back to Richmond, ignoring the mouse and all else transpiring about her.
She continued to gaze at him, stroking his sticky brown hair, touching his
perspiring face. No tears, no screaming, no fits; only the tenderness and love
she had always felt for him. She was so very proud of the man. After a moment,
she bent over to kiss his lips with incredible gentleness.
"Richmond?"
she whispered against his lips. "Can you hear me? I am here, my love, I am
here. Awaken and look at me."
He
did not move. Arissa kissed him again, her dazed state beginning to wear thin
as her torrential emotions began to grow. Her hands began to quake with the
struggle to keep them at bay. She refused to lose control, not now. Not when
she had so many things yet to tell him.
"Richmond,"
she murmured, kissing him yet again. "Awaken, my love. Awaken and see the
fruits of our love. You will not die before you have seen the results of our
adoration. Do you hear me?"
Suddenly,
his leg twitched and Penelope shrieked with surprise; standing by the rear of
the wagon enveloped in her husband's arms, she had been sobbing softly at the
heart-wrenching scene. But Arissa ignored the cry; Richmond could hear her, she
was positive, and hope surged to thunderous proportions within her soul.
"Richmond!"
she hissed pleadingly. "Open your eyes and look at me. Open, I say!"
His
leg twitched again and his head abruptly lolled to the side. Arissa bit her lip
raw with anticipation as he moved his mouth, licking his dry lips. Putting her
hands to his clammy cheeks, she smiled. When he opened his eyes, she wanted him
to see her smile.
"Open
your eyes, Richmond, or I shall do it for you," she commanded softly.
"You will not disobey me."
He
licked his lips again and his eyelids moved, his eyes crusty and sore.
"God's Teeth," he slurred with the greatest of effort. "Riss,
you... you are a tyrant."
Daniel
laughed loudly, joyfully. The earl managed a tremulous smile to his wife and
younger daughter, expressing his relief and happiness that Richmond was
reacting to any stimulation at all. He'd been unconscious for four days and
they were beginning to doubt that he would ever recover from his stupor. A
lethargic sign, as feeble as it was, was still an invitation for hope.
Only
Gavan was not smiling. As far as he was concerned, there was no hope; he'd
never seen anyone recover from a wound of this magnitude and he suspected
Richmond would not be an exception, whether or not he had managed to emerge
from the depths of unconsciousness.
Struggling
with consuming regret, he stared at the man on the wagon bed, wondering how he
could have ever doubted his loyalties. Thinking back, he never truly believed;
he knew Richmond better than anyone and the man did not possessed a rebellious
bone in his body. He was loyal to the core, devoted to the end. And, as he had
proven while a host of astonished English knights witness, willing to sacrifice
his life for his beliefs.
He
wished he could tell Arissa all of it, but now was at the time. Even as Gavan
continued to doubt Richmond's chances of survival, Arissa refused to believe
that he was going to die in her arms. She
could
not believe. Struggling
against her fears, she smiled broadly and kissed him again, sweetly. This time,
he responded.
"Welcome
home, my love," she murmured, her silky hair tumbling over the both of
them. He could feel it caressing his chest and shoulders.
"H...
home?" he rasped, trying desperately to open his eyes. "Where i...is
home?"
"Lambourn,
of course," she said softly, collecting one of his massive hands. "You
are going to be fine. Mossy will heal you, as he has healed me so often in the
past. You will survive, Richmond, do you understand?"
He
licked his lips again. "Lamb... I do not...."
She
would not allow him to continue. Pressing his huge hand against her rounded
belly, she rubbed the appendage across her swollen midsection so that he would
feel her state. In the muddled throes of agony and fever, Richmond did indeed
feel her condition and his head lolled to the side again as he struggled more
fiercely than before to focus on her.
She
smiled as she saw his increased agitation. "Do you feel the result of our
love? We are expecting our son in September."
His
swollen eyes were open, staring at his hand as it touched her blossoming
stomach. She watched his dazed expression as he swallowed, hard.
"My
God, Riss...,” he rasped. “Do you... feel all right?"
To
hear words of his concern for her health nearly broke the threads of her
slimly-held control and she couldn't help the tears that welled in her eyes.
The man was on his death bed; still he was only concerned for her well-being.
One tear broke free, pelting his pallid cheek.
"I
am fine, my love, never better," she assured him, her voice tight with
emotion. "Now, you must recover in time for the birth of your son."
Richmond's
hand moved weakly against her tight stomach as the news of her condition sank
deep. In spite of his own agony, he couldn't help the despair that swept him at
the sight of her protruding abdomen; his greatest fears were evident beneath
his touch and his already-shaking hand quivered more violently as his terror
took hold.
"But...
Mossy said that...."
"She’s
as healthy as a horse, a far sight better than ye I might add," Mossy
hovered over Arissa’s shoulder, a glass vial in his hand. "It is up to me
to heal ye so yer son will know his father. Ye've got to drink this."
As
Mossy thrust the vial forward, aided by Arissa, Richmond's crusty eyes widened.
"Nay," he whispered, fending them both off. "There.... is something
I must do first," he rolled his head away from Mossy and Arissa, looking
for familiar features he knew would be lurking about. His gaze fell on William.
"Seek Father Ralph from the village, William. I... I have a need for his
services."
The
earl did not hesitate. He sent several men on their way instantaneously and
Richmond closed his eyes, too weary to thank the man. He could hold out until
the priest arrived to join them in matrimony, mayhap giving him last rites at
the same time. After all, it was his privilege to marry the fair maiden. He'd
won her fairly enough.
He'd
killed Hotspur as he had promised, quashing the Welsh rebellion in one powerful
blow. Even if he had been branded a traitor, rumors had probably already
reached London spouting tales of his valor and bravery, of turning against his
friend in battle and taking the man's life. Henry, he was sure, had been the
first to hear the tales from the border, knowing his greatest knight was still
his mightiest supporter. Knowing that Richmond le Bec, in fact, had not
betrayed his king.
Richmond
had kept his part of the bargain. And he was positive Henry would keep his.
It
was amazing how the months of separation from Arissa had shaped him, bringing
about a strength of character he never knew he had. He had learned of her blood
ties to Owen, and that Sister Repentia or, more correctly, Lady Ellyn was
Owen's cousin. He'd come to know David Glendower and had actually come to like
the man, making it hard to kill him in one of the many smaller skirmishes along
the border. Richmond had made it to look as if an enemy dagger had done away
with him, a necessary action leading to the systematic weakening of the Welsh
resistance.
An
internal weakening that had taken a strange turn when Charles de Worth had
managed to make his way back into Owen's camp, demanding monetary compensation
for more information on Arissa's whereabouts. Richmond had taken great pleasure
in doing away with the treacherous bastard, his former captain, even before he
learned that Charles de Worth had been responsible for Owen's initial knowledge
of Arissa's existence.
As
from the beginning, Richmond found himself protecting Arissa against those who
would seek to do her harm, especially her mother's vengeful husband
He
had been unaware of his dozing state, reliving vivid memories of the past
several months until Arissa gently touched his cheek, kissing his parched lips
and bringing him back to the world at hand.
"Richmond?
Can you hear me still?"
He
grunted feebly. "I am with you, kitten."
"Why
did you send for the priest? I told you that I forbid you to die."
His
eyes cracked open, a faint smile coming to his dry lips. "And I have no
intention of dying at the moment. The priest will marry us, you silly wench,
unless you have decided against my proposal during our months of
separation."
Her
tears came then, freely. Tears of joy, of sadness, of the longing that had been
her constant companion during their time apart. She could scarcely believe what
she was hearing from his pale lips.
"Today?
We will be married today?"
"I
refuse to wait any longer."
"But
what of Henry? Mustn't you speak to him first?"
His
smile faded and she could see fire within the depths of the bright blue eyes.
"I have done my duty for God and Country, and Henry can rot in hell if he
has a notion to dispute our union. You are mine, Riss. I have earned you."
She
did not question him any longer. All that mattered was that they were to be wed
this day, and the delight of her impending marriage was almost enough to offset
the sorrow of Richmond's injury. He was terribly frail; even as Mossy struggled
to dispense the healing liquid from the vial into his dry mouth, Arissa and Gavan
had to help him lift his head. When the contents of the glass were consumed,
Richmond laid his head to the slats with a grunt of exhaustion.
A
hush settled over the collection of people gathered around the wagon bearing
Richmond. Arissa continued to hold his hand tightly, clutching it over her
rounded stomach as they wait for the priest to return. Yet in the midst of her
grief, she also felt a certain amount of hope.
She
simply couldn't believe he had survived five days with a vicious belly wound
only to die at some later time. The injury should have killed him immediately,
but it did not. The life flowing within his body was a direct testimony to his
fortitude and power, and of his love for her. He was going to survive. He
had
to.
"Riss?"
his voice was faint.
She
turned to him, noting his eyes were wide open, staring at the hot blue sky
above. She smiled and touched his cheek.
"What
is it, my love?"
"You
will promise me something."
"Anything."
He
looked at her, then. "If you promise to survive the birth of my son, I
will promise to survive my bout with Hotspur's sword."