Love Above All (31 page)

“It worked out well this time,” Braedon went
on, taking a seat next to Cadwallon on Janet’s cot. “But the next
time, I expect you to obey my orders.”

“If Fionna is wise,” Janet told him, “she
will never again obey any man’s orders.”

“Thank you for helping my sister during the
battle,” Fionna said to Braedon, thinking she ought to thank him,
since Janet obviously wasn’t going to, “and for taking good care of
Quentin.”

“I owe Quentin a great deal,” Braedon said.
“He trusts me, and he never treats me like the lowly squire I
am.”

“I have noticed.” Fionna’s gaze held his for
a moment, while it dawned on her that over the last few weeks he
and Cadwallon had become the brothers of her heart, easily
replacing Murdoch and Gillemore, who had never bothered to show her
any affection, not even in the days before they decided she’d be
more use to them if she were dead. But Braedon and Cadwallon made
clear their fondness for her, and she saw how Cadwallon’s bluff
humor tended to soften Janet’s sharpness.

Fionna was still weak and tears rose quickly
to her eyes. She blinked them away and smiled at the two men,
though she was aware of how her lips trembled with the emotion she
felt toward them.

She thought Cadwallon had noticed for, with a
wink at her that she knew Janet had missed seeing, he rose to his
feet, pulling Braedon up by an elbow.

“Braedon and I,” Cadwallon announced, “will
now escort Janet on a nice, long walk. She’s looking pale. I think
she needs a bit of sunshine and fresh air.”

“Absolutely not!” Janet declared. “I cannot
leave Fionna.”

“Please, Janet,” Fionna begged. “Go with
them. Let me rest.”

“Well!” said Janet. “If you don’t appreciate
my efforts in your behalf—”

“I do,” Fionna assured her. “I just want to
be quiet for a little while.”

“If these two thoughtless men would only
leave, you could be quiet.”

“Then take them out and stay with them to be
sure they leave me alone,” Fionna said sharply. When Cadwallon
looked at her in surprise she, too, managed a wink that Janet did
not see.

Cadwallon grinned at Fionna, then seized
Janet’s arm. A moment later Fionna sighed in relief at being left
alone. Although, she thought wistfully, there was company she would
enjoy entertaining.

Unwilling to endure any more of Janet’s
continual fretting over her condition, Fionna decided to dress
herself while her sister was gone. Without Janet present she could
take her time while she adjusted to the inconvenience of a bandaged
arm and an aching ribcage.

She quickly discovered she was weaker than
she’d realized. Her left arm was stiff and when she tried to raise
it she winced at the sudden pain in both the arm and her side.
After a couple of failed attempts to don her shift, she decided
she’d just have to slide it over the sore arm first, and then try
to pull it over her head and her right arm.

Doing it that way wasn’t as easy as she had
expected. She was weak and clumsy, so her head quickly became
entangled in folds of linen. Weeping with frustration and
discomfort, unaware that she was no longer alone, she struggled to
locate the wide neckline of the shift while using only one
hand.

“Let me do it.” A pair of familiar male hands
straightened the linen, lifting it over her head and helping her to
slip her right arm into the armhole.

“That’s better.” Quentin adjusted the
neckline of the shift.

“Thank you.” She fought against the betraying
tears that sprang to her eyes. When she spoke again she sounded as
irritable as Janet. “Why are you here?”

“My dearest, why aren’t you resting?” Quentin
asked. “When I saw Janet with Braedon and Cadwallon I thought I’d
find you asleep. That’s why I entered without calling to you
first.”

“I wanted to dress while Janet is gone,”
Fionna explained. “I know she loves me, and she does mean well, but
she fusses constantly and she never stops talking, and she makes
the most unkind remarks about men.” Thinking she had complained
enough, Fionna broke off to blink back still more unwanted
tears.

“I understand what you are feeling,” Quentin
said, “but if you try to dress unaided you may pull out some of the
stitches where Janet sewed up the gash in your arm. Can you imagine
what she’ll say then? If you like, I will serve as your maid. I
promise not to chatter or say unkind things about men – or about
women, either,” he added with a tender smile.

“I would appreciate your help,” Fionna
admitted. “It’s not as if you haven’t seen me unclothed before.
Several times, in fact.” Then she was blushing furiously at her own
impulsive words and Quentin was looking away, as if he couldn’t
face her.

“Janet told me she washed my everyday dress.”
Striving for the appearance of calmness, Fionna spoke into the
awkward silence between them. “I doubt if it’s dry yet, and she
hasn’t had time to repair the side seam or the tear in the sleeve.
I’ll have to wear the green silk gown, instead.”

“It should be easier to put on than the wool
dress.” Quentin sounded as if he, too, was trying to maintain the
pretense that it was perfectly natural for him to be assisting her.
“The sleeves are wider, so they’ll accommodate the bandage.”

He found her saddlebag beneath the cot and
pulled the green dress out of it. Within a few moments and with
very little discomfort to Fionna’s arm, she was wearing the gown
and Quentin was tightening the laces at either side of her
waist.

“You make a fine lady’s maid,” she said,
teasing a little to hide the warmth flooding through her at the
light touch of his fingers against her side.

“To be honest,” Quentin said, finishing with
the laces and reaching for her stockings, “I would far rather be
undressing you than dressing you.”

“For shame, sir.” She was still valliantly
teasing him while at the same time telling herself her heart was
beating so fast only because of her injuries.

Quentin flashed a quick and knowing smile at
her before he went to his knees to draw on her stockings. Fionna
bit her lip, determined not to reveal to him her overheated
reaction to the way his hands grazed her ankles or her thighs. She
sat on the side of the cot, gazing down at his bent head and
wishing she dared put her uninjured arm around his shoulders. Only
the memory of their conversation in his tent, when he had made it
clear that they must stay apart from each other, stopped her.

She must not let him know how much she longed
to feel his arms around her. He was helping her because he was
grateful to her for distracting Murdoch on the battlefield. He was
repaying that debt, nothing more. But she couldn’t keep her fingers
from a quick, stroking gesture across his smooth hair. Quentin
paused in tying her garters to look up at her. He was smiling as if
he expected her to continue her teasing remarks.

“You are so good to me,” she said, unable to
tease any longer.

“I haven’t been good to you at all.” Every
bit of humor and warmth drained from his face, leaving his chiseled
features stark and his eyes hard and empty.

“I should never have made love to you,” he
said in a harsh whisper. “I used you badly, my dear, and I deeply
regret it.”

“You regret what we did?” She was so shocked
and hurt that she could barely force the words off her tongue.

“Remorse would be a better word,” Quentin
said. “Fionna, I know I can never restore what I so heedlessly
stole from you. But, on what little is left of my honor after
taking your maidenhood, I do swear I’ll find a way to make it up to
you.”

“Will you, my lord?” Righteous anger filled
her heart, making it impossible for her to tell him the truth of
the matter as she saw it – that the only honorable thing for him to
do was to keep her by his side and love her, and only her, for the
rest of their lives.

“I swear it,” Quentin said again.

His manner was so intense that Fionna’s heart
lurched, then started beating even faster. She could tell there was
something more Quentin intended to say. She held her breath and
waited, hoping, praying....

“Take your hands off my sister!” Janet flew
into the tent like an angry eagle, swatting Quentin’s hands away
from Fionna’s knee, tugging hard at the shoulders of his tunic to
make him stand up. “How dare you come in here without my
permission? Was this another of your clever tricks, to have
Cadwallon and Braedon lure me away and leave Fionna alone? I am
sure you’ve just done her more harm than good.”

“Lady Janet,” Quentin said coldly, “I am
fully aware of the harm I have done to Fionna.

“My dear lady,” he said to Fionna in a
gentler voice, “I will keep my promise.” Abruptly, he left the
tent.

“What promise?” Janet demanded. “What was he
talking about? And why are you dressed?”

“I am dressed because I am taking the midday
meal with Royce and his friends,” Fionna said. Setting her jaw, she
stood up slowly. She discovered it wasn’t as difficult as she had
feared. Perhaps her lingering anger at Quentin was providing her
with some extra strength.

“That man,” Janet began.

“Do not speak to me of Lord Quentin,” Fionna
warned. “Janet, you must stop talking so much and trying to arrange
my life. I made my own decisions while you were at Abercorn, and I
will continue to do so now.”

“Huh!” said Janet, undaunted by the
criticism. “Was it your decision to allow our brothers to attempt
to murder you? Did you decide on your own to ride to England in the
company of Normans?”

“When I want your comments, or your
opinions,” Fionna said, “I will ask for them.”

Leaving Janet gaping at her, Fionna stalked
away from her sister and headed for the dining tent. In her
weakened state it seemed to her a very long walk, but she trusted
to anger and pride to keep her upright and to prevent her from
stumbling or fainting.

“I am delighted to have you here,” Royce
said, “though somewhat surprised to see you out of bed so soon.”
Taking Fionna’s hand he led her into the dining tent, to a folding
stool next to his own chair at the table.

Fionna was very glad to sit down. Her back
and sides felt clammy and her head was reeling after the mild
exertion of walking across the camp. In hope of averting a fainting
spell she took a couple of deep breaths before she addressed
Royce’s concern over her health. She tried not to look at Quentin,
who had entered with Cadwallon immediately after Royce.

“Janet protects me as if she’s a mother hen,”
she told Royce. “I am not as seriously hurt as my sister would have
you believe. In fact, I am able to ride whenever you decide that
your injured men can travel.”

“That can’t be true,” Quentin objected. “You
need several days of rest.”

“For once you are right, Quentin.” Janet had
followed the men into the tent. “Fionna is still weak, and anyone
who observes her for a short time will notice the pain she is
suffering.”

“Not pain,” Fionna insisted to Royce. “It’s
merely discomfort, and I am sure it will ease as I move. Lying in
bed will only make me stiffer. Royce, I think you are eager to
return to Wortham, and I am sure Lord Quentin and Sir Cadwallon
want to make their reports to King Henry as quickly as possible.”
She pretended not to see Quentin’s frown at her formality in using
his title.

“If you can ride as far as Clitheroe Castle,”
Royce said, “I will arrange for you to stay there until you are
completely recovered.”

“How long a ride is that?” Fionna asked.

“One very long day,” Royce said.

“And how far to Wortham Castle?”

“Three days,” Royce answered.

“In that case, my lord, I accept the
invitation you once offered to my sister and me, to stay at Wortham
until we find a permanent home. I prefer to go directly there,
rather than stopping along the way.”

“You will be welcome at Wortham,” Royce told
her. “I suspect you still fear your brothers’ long reach – or,
possibly, the reach of their friends who remain free.”

“Can you blame me?” Fionna asked.

“Not a bit.” Royce’s smile was warm. “I can
promise that you and Janet will be perfectly safe at Wortham.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Fionna didn’t mention
what she was sure Royce’s sharp eyes and quick wits had detected,
that she’d be glad to have Quentin ride away from Wortham to
Windsor, where King Henry was said to be staying. With Quentin gone
from her life, perhaps forever, Fionna would be free to make plans
for her future. She told herself the sooner she and Quentin parted,
the better. He would quickly forget all about her once he was
married to his Lady Eleanor. As for Fionna, she intended to busy
herself with Janet’s welfare though, at the moment, she was too
weak in body and too sick at heart to think any further than
that.

“Fionna, you have taken leave of your
senses,” Janet declared.

“Why, because I want to get as far from
Scotland as I can, and as quickly as I can?” Fionna asked.

“I cannot blame you for that, but I fear you
are not strong enough to undertake so long a ride,” Janet said.
“Cadwallon, talk to her. You are her friend; perhaps she’ll listen
to you.”

“I want her to listen to only one bit of
advice from me,” Cadwallon said. “Fionna, if you feel ill or weak
during the journey, you are to tell me at once. Do not allow pride
or concern for others to influence you. Will you agree to my
stipulation?”

“Yes,” Fionna replied promptly. She met
Cadwallon’s gaze, understanding that he knew perfectly well she’d
have to be half dead before she’d admit she couldn’t continue the
journey. She was sure Cadwallon was trying to make it easier for
Janet to agree to the plan.

Clearly, Quentin wasn’t convinced. Fionna
sensed he was staring hard at her. She refused to look at him. Her
heart lay broken in her bosom and she wasn’t going to give him a
chance to hurt her further by voicing a concern for her that she
knew was generated purely by guilt. She reminded herself that she
had willingly joined in their lovemaking. Therefore, the
consequences, and the pain of parting, were hers to bear.