Dreamspell (34 page)

The physician applied a pungent salve to his handiwork, carefully wrapped Mac’s thigh in clean linen, and unstoppered a jar. He took a pinch of its powdered contents and slipped it between Mac’s teeth. “For the pain and fever.” He handed the jar to her. “Thrice a day.”

“Anything else?”

“Does he awaken, keep him still.”

“You’ll be back?”

“This eve.”

“Thank you.”

He left the tower room and the guard locked the door behind him. However, not five minutes passed before the door swung inward.

As with the physician’s earlier entrance, Kennedy’s heart rushed, but it wasn’t Fulke who entered. It was Marion, followed by two women servants whose arms were ladened.

Kennedy jumped up. “The physician just left.”

“We passed on the stairwell.” Marion looked to Mac, then to the servants. “The pallets and blankets there”—she pointed to the back wall as she stepped toward Mac—“the basin there, and—”

“Thank you for speaking to Fulke,” Kennedy said.

Marion halted. “I was pleased to do so, though it proved too late.”

What did she mean?

Marion swept past. “And the victuals and drink on the stool,” she directed the servants.

“You mean—?”

“Nay, Josie,” Marion reproved the youngest of the women, “spread the pallets against the walls.”

Why had Fulke done it? Though Marion hadn’t had a chance to approach him on the matter, was it for his sister he had sent the physician?

“Now come,” Marion summoned the women. “We must all lift together.”

As the servants bent near Mac’s feet, Marion met Kennedy’s gaze. “You take his left shoulder, I will take his right.”

Surprisingly, the transition from the cold stone floor to the pallet exacted little effort with all of them lifting. Once Mac was down, Marion sent the servants away. “The physician told me you would not allow Arthur’s leg to be removed,” she said as she draped a light blanket over Mac, “though he believes ‘tis what is needed to save him.”

“I made the decision, but if you knew Mac—Arthur—you would know it was the only one available to me.”

“I do know him, as I know you did what he would demand himself.” Marion bit her lower lip. “Has he spoken at all?”

“Not since before our arrival.”

Marion poured her gaze into Kennedy’s. “Think you he will live?”

Kennedy reached to her, hesitated, then closed her cold fingers around Marion’s. “He’s a fighter.” Cliché though it sounded.

Tears welled in the other woman’s eyes. “I love him.”

As Kennedy stared at her, she considered what Fulke had told her.
Was
Marion crazy?

“He told you I am mad,” Marion said as if she had stepped into Kennedy’s thoughts.

“He said you were. . .fragile.”

She shrugged. “’Twas the only way I would not be made to wed a man for whom I felt naught.”

Why didn’t that come as a surprise? “You pretended to be mad.”

“Only when necessary. And three times it was.”

“Couldn’t you have just said ‘no’?”

“No more than you, as Lady Lark, could have refused my brother—had you wished to.” She lifted her eyebrows. “But, of course, you are not Lady Lark. Rather amusing, is it not, that we both pretend to be who we are not? Poor Fulke is in such a quandary. First he learns the woman he loves is not the woman he ought to love”—

Had she heard right?

—“then his sister finally admits to deceiving him all these years. Not that he didn’t know. He simply preferred to ignore the truth.”

“What was that about the woman he loves?”

Marion smiled gently. “Hate himself thought he does for it, he loves you.”

Kennedy looked to her hands. “I have a difficult time believing he told you that.”

“He did not need to. There he sits brooding in his chair before the hearth thinking only of you.”

“More likely thinking of how to dispose of me.”

“Not the man who told me the physician was already sent.” Marion looked pointedly at her. “He did it for you.”

“I wish that were true.”

“Heed me well, Nedy Plain. When my brother left Brynwood Spire, ‘twas to put an end to Arthur. Yet Arthur returns to me alive. You asked it of Fulke and he did it. For you.”

“He told you I asked him to spare Arthur’s life?”

“Nay, ‘twas Sir Malcolm who told me all.”

Kennedy looked around the room. “Yet I am imprisoned.”

“He will come.”

When? No. She wouldn’t get her hopes up. “Do you know what has become of Sir Leonel?” She had worried over the knight since this morning when she saw he was stripped of his sword.

“He is being held within the keep until Lady Jaspar arrives.”

“Why is she coming?”

“’Twas at Castle Cirque that Lady Lark was imprisoned until she escaped to Farfallow. Thus, Fulke believes Lady Jaspar may have ordered the attack on Lady Lark.”

It followed, as Kennedy had already entertained, but was Jaspar capable of such? “As he also believes Ma—Arthur and I were a part of it.”

Marion made a sound of disgust. “I know that neither you nor Arthur had anything to do with it, just as Fulke knows it if he will only let himself believe.”

Kennedy prayed he would. “Do you think Lady Jaspar could have done it?”

“She is a viper, but this? I suppose ‘tis possible.”

“Meaning Fulke believes Sir Leonel may also be behind it.”

“Aye, though he seems so mild.” Marion sat back on her heels. “It is more likely Lady Jaspar who did it, but perhaps both.”

What of the incriminating medallion that didn’t belong to Sir Leonel? “Lady Marion, would you carry a message to your brother for me?”

“I will, though I cannot promise he will listen.”

“There is something I didn’t tell him that I should have. When I came upon the massacre of Lady Lark’s escort, there was a knight still alive, though barely. He told me that one of the attackers wore a medallion bearing the device of a two-headed wyvern. It’s not much, but perhaps it will help Fulke discover the truth.”

“A two-headed wyvern. . . I know of none, but he may.” Marion leveled her gaze on Kennedy. “That is the message you would have me deliver? Naught else?”

“Naught else.”

“You are sure?”

Kennedy stood. “You’re living in a romance novel, Marion.”

“A what?”

“Never mind. Just tell him what I’ve told you.”

Marion bent over Mac, touched her mouth to his cheek, and whispered something. “Does he awaken,” she said, straightening, “you will tell him I was here and send word to me?”

“I will.”

Marion crossed the room and paused at the door. “How is it you know Arthur?”

“We go way back.” Or was it forward? No need to confuse Marion with specifics she wouldn’t believe.

“You will tell me one day how way back you go?”

“I will, but Arthur and I are only friends.”

The woman’s shoulders eased. “I will come again. Is there anything you require?”

Only one, but he wasn’t talking to her. Kennedy considered the room and mused at how basic a person’s needs really were. “We have all we need. Thank you for your kindness.”

Marion smiled. “We are friends, are we not?”

“Yes, friends.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A
two-headed wyvern. A lie, he told himself as he had done when Marion delivered the message. Yet here he was, past middle night, traversing the inner bailey beneath a full platter moon.

Inside the tower, he waved the guard back to his stool, snatched the keys from their hook, and took the stairs two at a time. Each landing was lit by a single torch, making it a precarious ascent, but his footing was sure. At the uppermost landing, he retrieved the torch from its sconce and strode to the iron-banded door.

Though he did not know which of the keys fit, the second turned the lock. He pushed the door inward and sent the torch ahead of him, revealing the two against the back wall whose pallets were laid end to end.

Fulke halted. Pallets, blankets, the remains of food and drink he had not ordered sent. It had to be of Marion’s doing, but though he wanted to be angry, he was twinged with gratitude that she had seen to their needs.

He raised the torch higher and looked from the still form of Crosley on the left to Nedy Plain on the right. She was on her side, her back to him, a blanket up around her shoulders.

He fixed on her dark hair and remembered the feel and sweet smell of it. His chest tightened as other memories crept beneath the doors he had closed. Her skin had been like silk, her mouth like the sweetest flower. Lady Lark turned Nedy Plain was a memory without end, and in that moment he knew she would never let go of him.

“By the saints!” he rasped. If she would not let go of him, he would wrest her hold from him. He thrust the torch into the sconce beside the door and strode forward.

She stirred when he stood over her, then rolled onto her back and opened her eyes. After a long moment, a tentative smile rose to her lips. “You came.”

She was pleased to see him, her anger over Crosley’s injury having subsided. Why? Because he had sent the physician as she had pleaded for him to do? Aye, and she believed he had done it for her.

Fulke hardened himself against the woman whose hopeful eyes threatened his resolve. “What of the wyvern?”

“The. . .? Oh, that.” She tossed the blanket off and rose from the pallet. “I should have told you, but in the beginning I didn’t know who I could tru—”

“Tell me,” he interrupted, the nearness of her far too disturbing.

She clasped her hands at her waist and glanced at Crosley. “He hasn’t awakened.”

“Mayhap he will not. Now tell me of the wyvern that I might return to my rest.”

She swept her wide-eyed gaze back to him, and he saw her hope was gone. “Just who do you think you are?”

Vexation, kindled by puzzlement, shot though him. “I am Baron Wynland, keeper of Sinwell, and you are Nedy Plain, a pretender who has taken me from my bed with yet more of your lies. I am done with you.”

As he turned away, she caught his arm. When he looked around, there was fire in her eyes.

“I refuse to believe you are so cruel, Fulke Wynland, not when I have known you otherwise. Play the devil if it makes you feel better, but it won’t make me hate you, nor will it make you forget what we shared.”

He knew he ought to leave, but he also knew she was right. He could not forget her. The wyvern had been little more than an excuse to see her again.

“Please, Fulke, let me tell you what I know of the attack. It won’t take long and it’s the truth.”

He lifted her hand from him and folded his arms over his chest. “Speak.”

“There was a soldier, the one who had my veil and circlet. He was alive when I. . .” It was no use trying to convince him it was a dream, especially when she was no longer certain herself. “. . .when I happened on the scene. He told me he had seen a medallion worn by one of the attackers.”

“Continue.”

“He said it bore a two-headed wyvern above a shield and something. . .” What was it? “. . .something evil. . .sinister.”

“Bend sinister?”

“That’s it.”

“’Tis of royalty.”

“Then the attacker could be related to the king?”

He turned and stalked opposite. “Mayhap, though more likely it is one who attends royalty and was awarded the medallion for service.” He pivoted. “
If
what you speak is true.”

“It is.”

He returned to her. “’Tis for this you looked so closely at my medallion.” New anger edged his voice. “You thought to see a wyvern.”

“I did, though I didn’t want to. As for Sir Leonel, neither does his medallion depict a wyvern.”

His gaze turned accusing. “I did not know he wore one. How know you?”

Jealousy? She hoped so. “He showed it to me last night. It depicted a hand holding wheat, or something like that.”

“Then you do not believe he is responsible for the attack on Lady Lark?”

“Perhaps he is, but I don’t see it.”

“What
do
you see?”

“That neither Sir Arthur nor I had anything to do with it. You must believe me. My only crime is in accepting Lady Lark’s identity when you called me by her name, as Sir Arthur’s only crime is in wrongly believing you meant to harm John and Harold.”

He actually seemed to consider her defense, but then turned away. “Good eve.”

“That’s it?” Kennedy hurried after him. “What about Mac?”

He looked around. “You speak of Sir Arthur?” Fulke looked to where he lay. “’Tis strange that you call him Mac and, on the night past, he called you Ken.”

Ignoring his taunt, Kennedy said, “He needs more. This place is cold and unsanitary.”