Warriors Of Legend (36 page)

“It will hasten his death.”

“Now, Baroness, I understand you are fatigued and distressed. You are overwrought and not thinking clearly. This decision is best left to wiser men.”

John took a step back. Kate’s face turned bright red. Since meeting her, he had never seen her so infuriated. The veins on her forehead stood out and the delicate cords in her neck tightened.

“Get out,” she said, her voice deadly with its softness.

“My lady—”

“Leave now.”

Father James sighed. “You condemn your husband to death. At least allow me to give him absolution so he may meet God without the stain of unconfessed sins.”

“Get out! I will have no one considering death in this room. Micah will not die nor must he be allowed to think he will.”

“Excellency—”

John stepped forward. Kate had too much to deal with. Glory, he admired her for standing up to the priest but even she needed help. “Father,” he said sternly. “My baroness has made her wishes known.”

Father James looked at him, shocked that John would support a woman over him.

John shook his head. “I will abide by her wishes.”

Father James stomped from the room, muttering prayers for Kate and Micah’s souls.

Kate’s body unclenched and she sank back into her chair, shaking.

John closed the door and moved to her side, gripping her shoulder encouragingly. “You did the right thing.”

“Did he bleed the others?”

“I’m afraid so. Marjorie and I do not have the power to sway him.”

Kate covered her face with her hands. “What if I’m wrong, John? What if I not only condemned Micah to death but to Hell as well?”

His hand tightened on her shoulder. “Nay, Kate, you have not. You and Marjorie know more about healing than any priest I have ever met.” He paused. “Besides, I know Micah well. He is a warrior and no warrior would willingly spill his blood.”

She looked up at him. “Nor would he willingly bare himself to a blade.”

“Aye,” John said firmly.

Kate thought for a moment. “I cannot leave Micah. Keep an eye on the priest, John. If he tries to bleed anyone again, stop him. Tell him I have forbidden it. The abbey owes allegiance to the barony and we in turn tithe. The abbot will not be pleased if we stopped our tithe.”

“Aye, Kate,” John replied, smiling slightly. “I will make sure Father James understands.”

***

The next day, Hubert fell in step with John as he walked to Micah’s room.

“One of the men the priest bled died during the night,” Hubert said.

John sighed. He did not wish to tell Kate the news. Yet it might help her feel more confident about her decisions. John had to admit the Hemlock lessened the severity and frequency of Micah’s fits. Kate’s choices had proved beneficial thus far.

John paused at the door. He did not knock. Kate had received precious little sleep and he feared his rap would bring her bolting to her feet if she dozed off in the chair. Silently, he opened the door, peeking through. The sight threatened to break his heart. Kate kneeled next to Micah’s bed, her hands entwined with one of his and she pressed his fingers to her lips. She squeezed her eyes closed and tears streamed down her face. Micah’s skin was a pallid gray, his once strong body obviously suffering. John heard his breathing, a hoarse weak rasp. His chest barely rose and fell, with a terrible pause before rising again, as he fought for each breath.

Kate whispered words of fervent prayer. She begged God to spare Micah’s life, offering to trade her own. John pushed the door open. A tiny creak of the hinges caused Kate’s eyes to fly open. His belly coiled when her gaze locked on him.

“He’s dying, John,” she said hoarsely. “I can do nothing more.”

He glanced at Hubert as they entered the room. John knelt beside Kate. Gently his hands covered hers and Micah’s. Hubert stepped around them with an unusual show of familiarity, and pressed his hand against Micah’s forehead. He closed his eyes and murmured a prayer. John remained silent, certain Hubert said goodbye to his liege lord.

Hubert faced him. “I will be at the door.”

John nodded. He waited for Hubert to leave then closed his eyes, and joined Kate in her vigil.

***

Kate stopped praying only because exhaustion wouldn’t let her think straight. She opened her eyes and looked at Micah. His face seemed to have a bit more color. Kate blinked, thinking her imagination played tricks on her eyes. Then she realized Micah did not fight to breathe. She no longer heard the terrible rattle in his chest. Scarcely daring to hope, Kate touched his face. The fever had broken and he slept peacefully.

Her heart almost burst with joy, and tears clouded her vision. Was this a true recovery or did she somehow misread the signs? Her fingers trailed down Micah’s throat and felt his pulse beating steadily. She looked at John, who sat dozing with his head on the table.

“John,” Kate whispered urgently.

He opened his eyes groggily then bolted upright. “Is he…?”

“Look at him,” she said, her voice tinged with desperation. “Tell me I am not imagining this.”

John blinked in confusion. He crossed the room and felt Micah’s forehead. “His fever is gone,” he said in amazement. As dumbfounded as Kate, he stared at his best friend. Slowly his face melted into a grin. “You did it, Kate.” With startling speed, John scooped her into his arms and spun her around. “You did it!”

Kate laughed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Micah did it.”

John set her on her feet and shook his head. “Nay, Kate, you did it.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “All right, I helped.” Kate turned back to Micah and took his hand in hers. “Praise be.”

The door opened. Hubert looked at Kate in confusion. He stared at Micah for a moment, a slow smile lifting his lips. “Do you need anything, my lady?”

“Nay, Hubert, but thank you. Get some rest.”

“Aye.”

***

Micah caught snatches of visions. The bright light of pain blinded him most of the time and he fought with all his might.

He heard Kate’s voice. “Micah, you must rest, love.” He faded in and out of consciousness, Kate’s touch soothing his torment.

Micah awoke in his bed. Kate lay next to him, her arms around him protectively. Micah blinked the grit from his eyes. This was a strange feeling, to have someone holding him, comforting him while pain ravaged him.

How different would it have been to have her arms around me when I battled for my life two years ago?

Micah blinked again. Why was Kate in bed fully clothed?

Micah did not wish to move but his throat burned with thirst. He stirred slightly, hoping he could sit up without arousing Kate.

No such luck. Her eyes flew open and she nearly vaulted from the bed. “Micah?”

He tried to speak but choked instead.

Kate immediately grabbed a cup from the table. She braced his head against her and held it to his lips. In gradual sips, Micah quenched his thirst with wonderfully cool watered ale.

He closed his eyes, marveling at his exhaustion from the simple action. Micah remembered something about poison and terrible pain. Yet Kate had remained with him the whole time. He looked up at her again.

She was a mess. Her hair tangled about her face. Lines of fatigue marred her skin and Kate’s gray eyes betrayed an agony he had never seen before.

“What happened?” His voice grated in his throat.

“You fell ill, Micah,” she said and touched his cheek with a shaking hand. “You’re going to be all right now.”

Micah stared at her, trying to piece together his fragmented visions but nothing made sense. The door opened and John entered.

“Welcome back, my friend.”

Micah sat up and wavered unsteadily as the air in the room vibrated. “What happened?” He asked again.

“Someone poisoned you, Micah,” John said. “Worry not. Kate tended you well and we have caught the assassin.”

He frowned, his head throbbing and his stomach aching. “Assassin?”

“Six men died, Micah. You alone survived thanks to Kate.”

“Micah,” she said. “You need to rest.”

He nodded mutely. He could figure it out when the room stopped spinning.

Chapter Thirteen

Two weeks later, Micah descended the stairs to the great hall, leaning heavily on the banister. His recovery had been infernally slow and he still felt as weak as a kitten. Another winter storm raged outside so most of Micah’s men gathered in the great hall drinking and throwing dice. His gaze fell on Kate sitting in her chair before the hearth. She worked intently on some embroidery, her needle flashing as it moved through dark blue fabric.

Micah’s spirits lifted as he watched her. Not too long ago Kate had been terrified of the great hall. Now she worked without concern, her hands steady.

Because of Kate, he survived the poison. For a moment, Micah closed his eyes, vibrantly aware of his heart beating within his chest and his lungs rhythmically breathing. He traced his fingers over the smooth wood of the banister and listened intently to the laughter and revelry. Micah smelled a wonderful scent of roast venison wafting from the kitchens as Mary prepared the food for this evening’s meal. Warmth radiated from the large fire in the hearth and caressed his skin. He again focused on Kate.

He experienced these things only because of her.

Micah straightened his shoulders and walked across the hall to Kate. She looked up, startled, and he smiled.

“Micah,” she said and shoved her embroidery down into her chair. “I thought you were sleeping.” She took his hand and guided him to his chair where he sat heavily.

“I awoke and found myself bored.”

Kate’s fingers traced over his cheek. His skin tingled, and he savored the intense sensation.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better but still unsteady.”

“Would you like some watered ale?”

He nodded. Micah’s stomach still protested heartier drink and food but it gradually improved.

Kate summoned a servant then returned to her own chair, still holding Micah’s hand. “Mary has taken control of the kitchens with added vigilance,” Kate said. “No one prepares any food or drink without her knowledge or observation.”

Micah arched an eyebrow. “I hope Mary knows I do not blame her for what Sarah did.”

Kate nodded. “I think she does. Still, Mary feels responsible since the kitchens are her domain.”

The servant returned with Micah’s ale. Micah took it and his gaze slid across his men, stopping on William. “How goes the little love triangle?”

Kate’s eyes sparked. “John and Hubert have been hard pressed to keep William out of the dungeon.”

Micah scowled. “I thought after—”

Kate held up her hand. “They have been hard pressed to keep William from killing Sarah. Once he found out what happened, his opinion of Sarah changed dramatically. But Tobin still visits her.”

Micah nodded, feeling better that William had come to his senses. “Has she said who have her the gold?”

“Nay,” Kate replied tightly. “John says Sarah may go to a convent if she gives us a name but until then she stays in the dungeons. I dislike having her in my home even if she is locked away.”

Micah squeezed Kate’s hand reassuringly. “You still have not told me all that happened during my illness.”

Kate’s gray eyes abruptly filled with tears and she looked away. “That is because I can only remember how close I came to losing you.”

A peaceful warmth gripped him. Micah had never experienced such a sensation before and his joy of being alive caused him to savor it. He tugged Kate’s hand to his lips, and lightly kissed her soft skin. “I am sorry, Kate, but I must know.”

She sighed. “You suffered a few fits but I was able to control them with Hemlock.”

Micah’s jaw went slack.

“The worst of it was when the priest tried to bleed you.”

“Bleed me?” he asked in shock.

“Aye, I’ve never heard of such a thing,” she said, her eyes sparking angrily. “It seems the monks have been doing this in their cloisters for a long time as part of their penance. Now they believe it promotes healing.” She paused and shook her head. “No doubt it is just a religious zeal which will pass quickly…I hope. I refused to allow the priest to touch you with that dagger.”

Micah’s heart swelled. Kate had indeed saved his life, even risking the condemnation of the church. The fetters around his soul loosened. Micah leaned closer. “Thank you, my sweet,” he whispered.

Kate blinked at him in surprise.

He smiled at her shocked expression. “I owe you my life, Kate.”

She blushed and ducked her head. “‘Twas Providence, Micah, nothing I did. You are too stubborn to die.”

Micah laughed and let the matter go. Kate was too self–conscious to accept his praise, but he knew the truth. The truth warmed his heart in a way he had never known. He stood and tugged Kate to her feet. “Come.”

“Where are we going?”

“We need to continue our discussion privately.”

“Continue?”

Micah smiled and tugged again on her hand. “Come.” He paused, spotting the keys on her belt. “I thought John said you lost those?”

Kate blushed furiously. “I did. We looked all over the place. A couple of days later I found them on the desk in the study. I don’t remember going in there. Of course, I had much more important things to worry about.”

Micah nodded. “At least I won’t have to summon the locksmith now.” Again he tugged on her hand.

Kate followed him up the stairs. Micah found his weakness fading in the wake of the emotions rioting within him. A part of him wanted to automatically recoil, to hide from the unfamiliar sensations. But something else had changed in him. Was it just his joy of being alive or because Kate had done so much to save him? Perhaps it was both. They entered the solar and Micah bolted the door behind him.

He gazed down at Kate who watched him uncertainly, her gray eyes wide and liquid. Her auburn hair glistened with amber and golden fire. Micah caressed her soft skin, admiring her beautiful face.

A strange voice inside Micah screamed at him.
Is it possible? Does she truly care about me?

Micah closed his eyes. He could not, dared not, think of that. Even as he tried to force the idea away, his arms pulled Kate tightly to him, his lips brushed the top of her head, and he savored the feel of her body against his.