Carolyne Cathey (13 page)

His chest moved
with another sigh.  "The world isn't always fair, lass.  Times have been
difficult for you, haven't they?"

His voice drifted
to her ears from a distance.  Fine wool brushed her cheek as she nodded. 
"Aye."  Why did her voice sound as a newborn kitten, weak and tiny? 
"I have felt many new emotions.  Jealousy.  Desire.  Betrayal.  Desire. 
Most likely 'tis the desire that has caused my punishment."  Her chest
gripped her lungs when she took a deep breath, and she coughed.  "But I've
lost, too.  I've almost lost both my hand and my virginity.  My savior rescued
me from one and threatens to take the other."

She let her head
drop back against the cradle of his arm and peered through the wet drops to his
dark face.  "You are my savior, you know, although you don't often behave
as one."  She closed her eyes against the cold rain that pelted her hot
face.  Aye, hot.  Then why did she shiver as if buried in snow?  And, what had
she meant to say? 

She nodded in
remembrance, then groaned from the dizziness that spiraled down from her head
and stirred her stomach.  She swallowed to quiet the unease.  "I lost a
game I had won. And I lost something I never even knew I had; I cannot name the
loss, only that I am different inside and will never feel and think as I did
before."  A cough tormented her body.  Her head felt as though strapped
too tightly by iron bands.  And the pain of her joints, her spine . . .

Lord Kyle's words
melted into a mumble.  She knew not what he said.  He shook her, but a great
weariness washed over her like the rain.  A roar echoed in her ears.  She
wondered what he would do to her now and struggled to form the question.  But
the black hole threatened to swallow her painful body.

"Not the
pit!"  She tightened her grip on Lord Kyle, for surely the hole couldn't
swallow them both; the blackness hungered for her alone, to punish her for
telling her master about the dream . . . and for her lust.  The evil opened its
mouth to take her into its bowels where she would be lost forever and no one
would find her, not even her arrogant knight.

Hold tight. 

Her fingers slipped. 

Nay!  Hold
tight! 

But her fingers
refused to obey and she fell into the black mouth . . . down . . . down . . .
down . . . swallowed by the pit where her knight couldn't save her.  But in
case he did catch her as she fell, she had to know.  She must call the words
from deep under the earth so she would know.

"Do you plan
to ravish me, my lord?"

"
P
eter.  Fetch Nurse Kincaid to
my chamber.  Tell her Eleanor burns with a fever and has fainted."

"Aye,
milord." 

As Kyle strode
across the great hall he saw John sink back into a shadow.  "John, come
here, lad."  He shifted Eleanor's inert form in his arms and stepped up on
the dais. 

The figure in the
shadow didn't move. 

"John.  I
said, come here."

John made a tremulous
appearance.  "Do you wish me to answer your summons, milord?"

"What a
ridiculous question.  Of course I do, or I wouldn't have called you."

"You don't
wish me to ignore you, Sire?"

Kyle tilted his
head at the boy.  "What ails you, lad?  Has Eleanor's rebellious behavior
influenced you?"

John twisted the
brown fabric of his tunic in his hands.  "You threatened to flail my hide
from my back and feed it to the dogs if I answered your call again.  So I'm not
certain what you want me to do, milord."

"Nonsense. 
I would never give such an order."  Kyle shook his head.  "Listen,
lad, this is important.  Hasten a pail of warm water to my chamber."

"Aye,
milord."

Kyle waited to
make certain the boy would do as commanded, then he rounded the screen and
hurried through the fire-lit solar.  On a pallet against one wall, he saw
Jerrod occupied in a lusty ride on a writhing form crowned with reddish
tresses.  Their moans and groans echoed in his ears as he climbed the steps to
his chamber. 

Eleanor's last
whispered question, "Do you plan to ravish me, my lord?" still rang
in his heart.  His gut wrenched with the helplessness that had quavered in her
tone.  And then he had thought her only drunk . . . until he had touched her
face to pull her beneath his cloak again.  Such terrible heat.

Kyle ran the last
few steps and bolted through his doorway, then paused, uncertain what to do. 

"May I be of
help, milord?"

Peter moved into
Kyle's vision.

"Bless you,
Peter.  Place a clean linen upon one side of the mattress."

"Aye,
milord." 

The indentation
of his and Eleanor's bodies remained in the bed.  How magnificent she had felt
beneath him.  How tender her kisses, the timid exploration of her tongue, the
flutter of her fingers against his skin.  How sweet her look of wonder when he
had touched her, kissed her.  How heady her hint of unreleased passion.  She
thought him handsome.  She thought he gave most wondrous kisses.  She also
thought him an arrogant knave and a knight without honor.  Kyle winced.  Aye. 
He pled guilty to both accusations. 

Kyle nuzzled his
face on the top of her wet head.  "Ah, Eleanor.  What have you done to my
heart?"

As soon as Peter
stepped back, Kyle stretched Eleanor's limp form on the white linen. 
"'Twill be all right, lass.  'Twill be all right.  I won't let you die.  I
. . . promise."  He choked on his vow.

Kyle grabbed his
knife from beside his bed and cut at the drenched silk gown now the color of
tarnished gold.  "Peter, see if Nurse Kincaid needs your help.  And make
certain John is headed this way with warm water; the lad behaves most
strange."

"Aye,
milord."

The soiled fabric
fell away with the slash of his blade to reveal her soft, curved form, her
moist flesh glimmering in the flickering light.  Satan's curse.  A beauty.  A
vision to heat his manhood to readiness.  He examined the profile of her
flushed face splotched with mud, surrounded by hair the color of brown velvet,
her rounded breasts that shimmered amber in the firelight, exposed, in wait for
his hands, his mouth.  The taper of her waist, the flare of her hips.  Her nest
of dark curls.  The shaped curves of her legs that led to her mud-covered feet. 
Kyle groaned.

He heard a second
groan.  And not his.  Kyle spun away from Eleanor and spied John, motionless, a
bucket in one hand, his startled gaze locked on Eleanor's nudity.

"How dare
you stare at my . . . uh . . . servant."

At John's jerk,
water sloshed from his bucket onto his shoes and then puddled at his feet.

"How rude
for you to take visual advantage of a female in distress.  'Tisn't acceptable. 
If you were a knight and a gentleman, you would know such things.  Set the
bucket down and leave.  I don't want to see you again."

John drained of
color.  The boy plunked down the pail, then spun and bolted from the room. 
"Oh, my lord.  Oh, my lord," drifted behind him in his wake.  What an
odd lad.

Kyle turned to
Eleanor again, shocked at his own thoughts of carnal lust.  He was naught but
an animal.  For shame.  As soon as he removed her gown from her arms, Kyle
grabbed a linen sheet from a box at the foot of the bed and drew the fabric
over her nakedness.  He set the bucket beside the bed and washed away the mud.

Guilt stabbed his
conscience.  Fear gashed his stomach.  She dare not die.  He would not let
her. 

And yet, Cathryn
had lain in that same bed in agonized pain, and despite his best efforts she
had succumbed.  How impotent he had felt.  Kyle studied Eleanor's flushed
face.  Not another death.  Oh, dear God.  Not another.  ‘Twould be all his
fault, like Cathryn's.  Yet how can a man not give his wife his seed?  He
couldn't have known she would be too small.

But with Eleanor,
he had driven her into the storm with his rash threats and broken vows.  Her
image blurred.  He would not let her die. 
Dear, God. Please, help him
.

"I'll pull
back the covers, milord."

Kyle wiped his
eyes and turned to his servant.  "Thank you, Peter."  Lifting her
again into his arms, he placed her onto the linen sheet, then covered her
again.

Nurse Kincaid
shuffled to the side of the bed.  "I'll tend and bandage her feet, milord,
then you can help me persuade her to swallow drops of elixir from steeped
herbs."

"Aye, nurse. 
I'll do whatever you say.  But we need a cloth for her wet hair."

Peter nodded. 
"I'll fetch one, milord."

Kyle brushed
Eleanor's wet strands from her face, then stroked her forehead, her cheeks, her
lips.  "She burns, nurse.  She's like fire."

"Aye.  She's
in a bad way, she is."

"She won't
die.  We won't let her.  I won't allow her to leave me."

"We'll do
our best, milord.  We'll do our best."

"We must do
more than our best.  Do you hear me?  Do you understand?"

"Hold her
foot, milord, so that I can treat her sores and burns again." 

Kyle watched the
old woman study the soles of Eleanor's feet. 

"Her flesh
isn't proud.  'Tis a good sign."

As soon as her
feet were bandaged and back under the covers, Kyle sat on the bed and lifted
Eleanor to lean against his chest.  "What do you give her, nurse?"

"A brew of
marjoram and fennel.  The marjoram is for her cold and to purify her blood. 
Fennel is for her fever.  Now, hold her mouth so I can get a little down her
throat."

"The
medicine only runs down her neck, nurse.  Here, let me try.  'Twill do no good
on the outside."  Kyle shifted her against one shoulder and took the cup. 
"Come on, lass.  Drink this.  Eleanor, wake up.  Take a sip.  Come
on."  He nudged her lips with the rim.  "Satan's curse, woman.  Must
I beat you?"

"Milord!"

Kyle glanced up
at his nurse's shocked expression.  "'Twas only a jest, nurse."

"Me doesn't
think 'twill encourage her to rouse, Sire."

He released a
breath.  "Eleanor.  If you take a sip, I'll reward you with a kiss."

Eleanor moaned
and moved her head.

Something warm
burst inside of Kyle.  He smiled at Nurse Kincaid and saw her look of
surprise.  "Did you see?  She thinks me not such a beast after all." 
Kyle placed the cup against her lips.  "Now, open your mouth, love.  Ah.  That's
right.   Take a sip.  Excellent, Eleanor.  Another.  Well done, love.  Well
done."  Her image blurred again and he sniffed.

"She sips
the brew for you, milord."

"Aye.  That
she does."  He cleared the husky clog from his throat.

Nurse turned
toward the door.  "Here's Jane with a broth made from spelt with a touch
of anise.  'Twill be good for her chest, lungs, and cough, and the anise will
protect her stomach.  Just set the bowl on the table, Jane."

The young maid
bobbed a curtsy, concern on her face.  "Is there aught else ye need, Nurse
Kincaid?"

"Nay, Jane. 
Get ye to bed now."

Kyle heard the
door shut again.  "You're a marvel, Nurse.  You know your craft.  Your
concoctions will heal her.  I know they will."  He nudged Eleanor's lips
with the cup again.  "Another sip, love, for me."  He grimaced. 
"Eleanor."

"You didn't
give her the kiss ye promised.  Perhaps she doesn't believe ye now."

Kyle winced at
the reminder of another broken promise.  He brushed his lips across her
forehead.  "Come on, lass.  As soon as you're well, I'll give you a proper
kiss.  Well, perhaps not so proper, but a most wondrous kiss.  Take a sip,
love."

Eleanor stirred
in his arms.  She opened her mouth.  Like a young bird she looked, her eyes
closed, her mouth in wait for sustenance, all limp against his chest.

"A sip. 
Good lass.  Aye.  Now another.  Ah, love, you do well.  You make me
proud."  The burst of warmth inside him spread throughout his body, a
different warmth than desire, but as potent.  She belonged to him.  He would
protect her with his life.

Peter appeared
with a cloth and placed the folded linen on the table beside the broth.

"Thank you,
Peter.  Go rest.  I'll summon you if I need you again."

The old man
nodded then left the chamber.

"Lord
Kyle?"

Kyle glanced up at
Nurse Kincaid's wrinkled face.  Her look of distress churned his stomach.

"I failed ye
afore, milord.  Ye should have tossed me out, but
ye
left, instead.  I
never had a chance to 'pologize and tell ye how sorely I hated that I let ye
and the lady down.  'Twas all me own fault.  If I'd known what to do---"

"Hush,
Nurse.  I won't hear such nonsense.  Wipe away that tear now.  If 'twas
anyone's fault, 'twas mine.  I'm the one who---"

"Nay,
milord.  Ye must not say such things.  A woman couldn't ever hope for such a
thoughtful husband as yerself.  Ye were good to Lady Cathryn."

"I did try,
nurse."

"She were a
fortunate one, she were.  We all have to die, and we never know when, but she
had yer love while she lived.  She had more than most women, milord.  Aye.  Yer
a good man."

Something
lightened inside Kyle's chest, perhaps only one guilt gone from among many, but
somehow, the burden seemed less. 

Kyle glanced down
at the lass's face.  She appeared so fragile.  He knew otherwise; his sore
finger attested to her strong spirit.  But at that moment she needed his
protection.  He leaned down to kiss one closed eyelid, then the other.  Her
lashes fluttered like butterfly wings against his lips.  Her mouth opened, in
wait for a sip.

A chuckle rumbled
in Kyle's chest.  His warmth increased tenfold and pounded at his heart. 
"Ah, love.  Another sip.  Aye.  'Tis good, lass."

"Yer in a
predicament, aren't ye, milord?"

Kyle glanced at
the wise face, confused.  How much did she know?  "Predicament?"

"Aye.  Ye've
given two promises, and they fight each other."

"You're
aware?"  How could she know about the king?  In search of the truth, Kyle
studied the face of the woman who seemed as a mother to him.

"Secrets
don't have a chance in a place as busy as this.  Your and Brigham's angry
shouts spread the news throughout the manor like smoke on a windy day."

"Ah. 
Well."  Kyle sighed.  She spoke only of the wager.

"Ye be in a
difficult position.  Ye promised yer father to take care of Brigham.  And now
ye've promised the lass she'd be yer lady if she won at chess."  She
cocked a sly eye his direction.  "Did she win, milord?"

Kyle pursed his
mouth.  "I'd rather not say."

"Well, from
the look on Brigham's face when he stormed through the great hall, I'd say she
did.  And those two mix about as well as two kings on the same throne.  I know
ye are a man of honor, milord, thus ye are in a terrible predicament."

Another reminder
about Edward.  And the predicament entangled him more than she knew.  "You
realize 'tisn't acceptable.  She's naught but a peasant."

"Aye.  Which
ye knew afore ye made the wager."

Kyle closed his
eyes against the truth.

Eleanor shivered
in his arms.  "Sister . . . cold."

"Ah,
lass."

"Stones . .
. ice."  She shivered again.  "Cold."

Her whispered
nightmares revealed past horrors, and a depth to her life enveloped him.  Kyle
longed to lie beside her, to share his warmth, but Nurse watched.  Instead, he
scooted from the bed and lay Eleanor on the mattress, then covered her with the
fur spread.  He placed the towel under her head and fanned her hair out over
the pillow.

She looked so
pale as she tossed her head from side to side, yet her cheeks glowed a purplish
flush over the white.

"I remember
a certain time when ye were a lad, milord."

Nurse Kincaid's
soft-spoken words gentled him somewhat, but he concentrated his gaze on
Eleanor.

"Ye almost
killed yerself tryin' to stand atop yer mare while she jumped the rivulet that
runs through the meadow.  Do ye remember?  Yer father laughed.  Yer mother
scolded ye for takin' such risks."

Kyle stroked
Eleanor's cheek.  Her face simmered with heat.

"Do ye
remember what ye said, milord?"  He heard the old woman chuckle.  "Ye
said ye didn't much like doin' things the way others did.  Ye felt challenged
to twist the common into somethin’ special.  I’ll never ferget the day yer mare
went over that stream, with you standin’ atop her as proud as a babe who’d
taken his first step.  Then ye had to do it while ye shot an arrow at a
target."  She sighed as if with satisfaction.  "Ye ruined many a
clothes that year and I treated many a scrape."