Return of the Rose (27 page)

Rubbing an aching temple, she turned away from the window and moved to his side. The cool air felt good against her skin. She stroked her fingers through his hair as she’d done so many times over the last few days. Was it Derek’s lost soul that had summoned her through time, or had the armor itself brought her here? Hadn’t she always felt a bond, a unique closeness to the armor? And hadn’t she felt compelled that night at her mother’s store, driven by an invisible force to see his face beneath the visor?

She thought suddenly of the witch who spoke of her return from the dead; of Amanda who was without her own true love; and then of her mother, whom she missed so very much. She held her head between her palms. She needed answers but always came up with more questions instead.

Her gaze fell back to Derek. She’d never liked arrogant, obstinate, cold-hearted men, and yet, she’d fallen in love with one of the cockiest, most stubborn men she’d ever met.

She crawled beneath the blankets and drew close to his good side. His body felt warm and strong. “You cannot die, Derek Vanguard,” she said firmly. “I won’t let you.”

It was just after dawn when Odelia came into the room. “Amanda, ‘tis morning. Time to wake up.”

Morgan yawned, forgetting for a few fleeting seconds where she was. But seeing the concern on Odelia’s face brought all the horror of the last days flooding back. She jerked upright, looked at Derek and felt his forehead with her palm. “He’s burning up.”

Morgan slid out of bed and quickly dunked fresh linens into a bucket of clean water. She began to clean his wound. Odelia used one of the cloths on Derek’s forehead to bring his fever down. “I had a terrible dream, my lady. You were in a small cottage, drenched with sunlight, and you floated upward like the cottony seeds of a dandelion. And then you disappeared. Gone in an instant.”

“Not now, Odelia,” Morgan said as she checked his fever. “He doesn’t look any better, does he?”

“I am afraid not, my lady.”

“Something is terribly wrong. He should be better by now.”

Matti entered the room as Morgan unwrapped bandages from Derek’s wound.

“You need to eat,” Matti said.

Odelia gasped when she saw Derek’s wound. The deep gash was red and raw, oozing with thick, yellowish fluid.

Ignoring them both, Morgan grabbed the doctor’s utensils from the high table and sorted through them until she found the sharpest blade.

“What are you going to do?” Odelia asked.

“The wound isn’t healing. There’s got to be a piece of the sword’s tip still left inside. I’m going to find out.”

“My lady,” Matti said, “mayhap we should seek the physician’s help.”

“The doctor is a quack. Yesterday he refused to look at the wound, saying once again that he’d done all he could. The only reason he came at all was because the king ordered him to.” Morgan sighed. “I won’t sit here another minute and watch him die…not when there might be something I can do.”

Odelia padded across the room, bringing back with her a large goblet filled with a strong red wine. “I heard Lord Vanguard’s plaints the first time the physician cut into him. Bloody hell if I will listen to him whine again.” She propped Derek’s head up in a hefty arm and poured the liquid down his throat. Wine drizzled over his chin and onto Odelia’s tunic.

Morgan sterilized the knife in the fire before she came back to stand over Derek. She poured alcohol over the wound and blade. She licked at dry lips.

Matti wiped at Derek’s feverish brow. Her hands trembled as she placed a leather strip between Derek’s teeth before she took hold of Derek’s left arm. Odelia held the other. They both looked at Morgan and waited.

Morgan removed the hard-to-find stitches with the tip of the blade. Using wet towels to soften the damaged skin, she managed to open the wound slightly. The process took interminably long, but all three of them were patient. She hardly needed the knife, using her finger instead as a feeler to search the wound, pushing her finger deeper as the wound opened.

Derek moaned. Odelia and Matti held him tight, every muscle tense. He was as weak as a wounded dog and Morgan winced as she added another finger, pushing farther downward. Her eyes widened, surprising even herself when she felt a piece of jagged iron embedded within the wound.

Derek groaned with a great passion of pain as she withdrew the metal. With the piece of iron came a new surge of crimson blood. Odelia used all her strength to hold him down until his head fell back into the pillows like a corpse.

Working quickly, Odelia cleaned the wound with alcohol as Morgan instructed. Matti stanched the flow of blood with a pile of clean linens. Morgan found the doctor’s needle and set about sewing Derek up. Biting her lip, intent on stopping the flow of blood as quickly as possible, Morgan made her first stitch and the second with a steady hand. When she was done, she examined the stitches and frowned. Shayna would definitely scold her for such sloppy work, she thought.

~~~~

Bright rays of morning light came through the window, hitting Derek smack in the eyes and making him grimace. He tried to sit up until the pain in his side tore through every muscle he possessed. He laid still, gritting his teeth in discomfort.

What day was this? he wondered. As he reached upward to wipe at his dry mouth he snarled in agony. His lips felt dry and parched. His insides burned. He looked to his bandaged shoulder and recalled with amazing clarity the reason for his suffering.

DeChaville
. The name caused fury to override any pain he felt, and he clenched his teeth and pushed his legs over the side of the bed, swallowing the excruciating torture that followed. A terrific hunger gnawed at his belly.

He stood, his legs weak beneath him. The bed beckoned him to lie back down, but stubbornness prevailed. A fleeting vision of an angel passed within his mind, and he recalled memories of his wife calling his name and soothing his brow, confessing her undying love for him. But he knew well enough she would never have come to him. He had seen the way she gazed at her lover, afraid for DeChaville’s life. He had sorely wished ‘twas himself she had gazed upon in such a manner. His gut ached to think she would always love another.

An under-the-weather smile crossed his lips as his next vexing thought turned to getting DeChaville’s impertinent neck between his hands so that he could squeeze the very life from him. This deliberation made the wrenching pain a bit more tolerable as he took a few feeble steps toward the door. His muscles relaxed a bit after the first steps and the pain was not nearly so bad, he told himself. He took two more steps, grimacing as he tried to catch his breath.

Hugo entered the room in time to see a wicked snarl on Derek’s face and one arm outstretched in hopes of finding some invisible support. Derek stumbled into the big man’s arms.

“‘Tis good to see you up, my lord; shall we dance?”

Derek grunted, pushing away from Hugo with his good arm. Somehow he managed to get back to the bed where he collapsed.

Hugo smiled brightly. “All will be glad to know that you have finally awakened. I will see that the maids have hot water brought up for your bath and—”

“Wait,” Derek said weakly. “Food, I need food. And water first to quench this eternal thirst. And what day is this?”

“The twelfth, my lord.”

Derek looked doubtful. “You mean to say I have been ill-functioning for five days now? Absurd. I will have DeChaville’s head for this. I was to be back home ere two days ago.” He finished his rambling and swept a hand through the air. “Send for the maids to see to my bath and food. And water, Hell’s teeth get me some water!”

Hugo tried to take his leave, but he was not quick enough.

“And Hugo, have the men get the carriage ready for a quick departure. I expect to see the towers of Braddock before sundown.” He laid his head back on the pillows and closed his eyes.

Hugo bowed low, glad to see that his lordship was back to his old, unpleasant self.

~~~~

Morgan sort of liked the wacky, eccentric character that King Henry was and she added him to the list of people she would miss when she returned to her own time. The King did seem to be overly nervous at times, especially when she asked him what he thought about a woman ruler. His eyes doubled in size and he looked as if he might have a stroke. The seeds of insanity had definitely been planted, she decided sadly. Hastily, she changed the subject, deciding to forgo the tale of Queen Elizabeth and what little she knew about her reign.

The king wheezed with unrestrained laughter at her tales of Robin Hood and her much revised tales of Sir Lancelot. She was laughing, too, after he told her that next to Queen Guinevere she was the fairest lass in all the world.

Yep…she would miss him all right.

After the king’s cortege escorted him off, she rushed back to Derek’s room and noticed right away that his position on the bed was lopsided. He had moved!

She walked briskly to his bedside, excited by the possibility that he might awake soon. She went to the table to fetch some broth, hoping she could get him to eat.

Derek watched her out of the corner of his eye, surprised to see her here. As she turned back toward him, he closed his eyes and feigned sleep.

Morgan set the cup and spoon at the table by the bed and began adjusting the pillows behind his head, positioning him so that she could feed him. Derek groaned, a long, pitiful sound.

Morgan found a damp cloth and began dabbing at his forehead. “There, there, it’ll be okay.”

He smiled inwardly and yet he did not open his eyes. Instead, he gave an exaggerated moan and twisted his head into her soft breasts that were laid before him as she leaned close.

“Derek,” she said, placing her soft hands on both sides of his whiskered face. “It’s time for you to wake up. Please wake up.”

He groaned louder.

Gently, she laid her head in the crook of his good arm. Derek managed another peek as she whispered soothing words, wincing when a searing pain shot up his side.

She jerked back. “Derek, you’re awake!”

He gave her a pitiful look through one squinted eye and said, “Aye, but I feel as if I am dying.” He shut his eyes.

“Tell me where it hurts.” The desperation in her voice surprised him.

He pointed to his neck. She bent lower to take a look and he opened his eyes and smiled.

“You—you faker.” Her smile broadened as she moved closer and kissed him firmly on the lips.

His fingers brushed the soft curls about her neck. He slid his hand upward and unclasped the pin that held her hair, letting the glistening locks fall past her shoulders and graze at his chest. She kissed his forehead, his nose, and his chin. Her hands trembled. “I love you,” she said into his ear.

Weakly, he maneuvered himself so that he could look into her eyes. “Say it again,” he demanded.

“I love you.”

“What about…”

She put a finger to his lips. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. I love
you
.”

He groaned with a combination of passion and pain as she brushed her lips against his again and again.

“Oh dear,” Matti said when she shot through the door and caught them together. “Hugo, I thought you said Lord Vanguard was thirsty. Why did you not tell me his lordship was busy?”

“I was not aware,” Hugo said in his defense, grinning at the sight.

Derek tried to wave them away with a feeble gesture of his big toe.

“Verily he does not look so bad,” Matti said as she followed Hugo back out the door, their hands fully occupied with trays.

The door closed and then opened again; both Derek and Morgan looked over at Hugo as he entered and placed the platter of food and the pitcher of water just inside the door before making a hasty exit.

They chuckled in unison as Hugo hurried off.

“You do need to eat,” Morgan said. She left his bedside and retrieved the tray of food. She filled a cup with cold water and brought it to his lips.

He swallowed, drank some more and said softly, “So what have you been doing while I have been out of commission?”

“I’ve been attending great feasts,” she said with exaggerated glee. “Meeting dukes and lords and so many earls that I can’t recall all of their names.” She laughed at his scowl, adding sincerely, “I’ve been worrying about you, that’s what I’ve been doing.”

He looked thoughtful. “So you love me, you say? ‘Tis because you think I am this Earl of Kensington you speak so fondly of?”

Morgan laughed. “You are the Earl of Kensington. Maybe not officially yet, but you are him—positively, absolutely. If it would make you feel better though, I loved you even when I thought you were just a lowly lord.” She smiled at his continued frowning and her voice softened considerably. “Almost losing you made me see the extent of my love for you.” Her eyes glazed. “When I thought you might not live to hear the words, I couldn’t stand the thought of not being able to tell you. I have learned that anything can happen. Anything at all…at any moment, at any time…I wanted you to know how I feel. No matter what happens you must know that I love you.”

Derek felt something strange happening within. Could it be that his wife, his sorceress, had chipped away at the stone walls so strongly built around his heart? Could his desire for her be something else entirely? Could it be love? The pain in his chest was deep, a persistent ache so unlike the wrenching agony of his shoulder. Aye, he thought, the affection he felt for her was based on benevolence and admiration, not just lust and desire. And yet his throat closed seemingly of its own accord for he could not bring himself to say the words in return. Her talk of being someone else, and now of his being the Earl of Kensington, prevented him from trusting her fully.

Morgan lifted her head from his good shoulder and placed a grape in his mouth. He kissed her fingertips. She slid her fingers over his whiskered jaw and made a feathery path over his temple and to his forehead. This was the face she’d longed to see as a child. The invisible face behind the iron mask. These were the hard planes of his jaw and cheeks. She slid her fingertips across his thick brow.