Once Upon a Romance 03 - With True Love's Kiss (9 page)

Bianca had
enjoyed her morning out in the forest, but as they made their way back to the
cave a somberness came over her. She dreaded the task at hand, and wished there
were some magic she could use, to cure Isabelle without—

She whirled
on Robin. “Can you heal Isabelle?”

He looked
startled. “What?”

“Can you
cast some spell and heal her?” She spoke urgently.

He sighed,
and shook his head. “Bianca, no. In the first place, I told you, I have no
skill for healing. I was not only referring to herbs and roots. In the second
place, even if I were skilled enough to heal Isabelle through an enchantment,
it is strictly forbidden.”

“Forbidden
for you to heal us?”

“No, we may
assist you in any endeavor we deem worthy, so long as we use mortal means to do
so. To do otherwise would break the Accords.”

“I don’t
understand. You climbed the tree, and harvested the honey, and it wasn’t the
way a mortal would.”

“That is
different. A mortal could have done those things.” He shook his head, and then
gave her a considering glance. “It is difficult to explain. I will tell you
what I may, but it should wait. For the moment, all you need to know is that I
am not capable of healing Isabelle. And you must turn your thoughts to the task
at hand.”

She sighed.
Robin was right. She had only been trying to find a way, any way—even a way she
only half believed in—to avoid what was coming next. So she straightened her
shoulders, set her jaw, and picked up the pace. Delaying would make nothing
easier.

No matter
how much she wanted to.

They hadn’t
strayed far from the cave, and it took little time to return. Bianca held
carefully to Robin’s hand as she worked her way along the narrow ledge that ran
behind the waterfall. Getting wet would be bad enough, but she didn’t want to
lose the honey pot in the pool. Once they were safely past the slippery ground
at the opening of the cave, she turned from Robin, shutting him out of her
thoughts. Her focus narrowed, until all she saw was the patient before her.

Isabelle was
unconscious, still caught in the feverish haze that was part sleep, part
delirium. When Bianca uncovered her back there was little change from the day
before; the suppurating wound lay open, weeping blood along with white streams
of infection. The smell was rank, with the stench of death and decay coming
from a live, breathing body. Bianca closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep
breath—despite the smell—and said a short prayer to any of the gods that were
listening. Then she began to work.

First the
water. She stoked the fire, and set their largest camp pot full of water down
in the hottest part of the flames. While it rose to a boil, she gathered her
tools. Her knife she wordlessly handed to Robin, along with a whetstone. The
sound of the blade scraping along the stone filled the cave, providing a
grating rhythm to her work. She pulled the pot of mash close to the fire, where
it could warm, and set the crock of honey in front of her. She broke up the
chunks of comb, squeezing each one, letting the honey seep out over her fingers.
When there was nothing in the pot but pure golden fluid she pushed that over to
the fire as well.

When water
in the large pot was steaming she threw in the birch bark. She let it boil a
few moments, and then filled all their tin mugs with the pure birch tea, before
using the rest of the infusion to wash all the bandages, and her hands.
Finally, she took the sharpened knife from Robin, and held it in the fire a few
moments.

There was
nothing left to prepare.

She motioned
to Robin to take up his place by Isabelle’s shoulders. This was going to hurt,
and even in her current state, Bianca expected Isabelle to thrash around. She
lowered herself once more to sit on Isabelle’s hips, firmly pinning the lower
half of her body. Once Robin had his weight centered squarely over Isabelle’s
shoulder blades, Bianca took one more deep breath, and began to cut.

She kept her
movements smooth and steady. Rushing would have it over faster, but it could
cause her to make a dangerous mistake. Using only the tip of the blade, she bore
down into the swollen flesh around the wound. It took very little pressure for
the keen edge to pierce the taut skin, and immediately infected matter began
flowing from the rupture. She drew the knife a few inches before retracting the
blade, leaving the cut to continue disgorging its contents.

Beneath her,
Isabelle tensed and twitched, but she couldn’t move with their combined weights
holding her.

Bianca began
another cut, a handspan from the first. She had considered this carefully, and
was planning on making six cuts; three above and three below the wound. She
hoped that would provide enough drainage for the infection, without causing too
much further damage to Isabelle’s back. The second and third cut went as
smoothly as the first, but while she was making the fourth cut, Isabelle woke
up.

She did it
with a cry and a violent jerk of her shoulders, that almost dislodged Robin.
Bianca hastily withdrew the knife, fearing her friend’s movements would drive
it too deep in her flesh, but Isabelle kept up with her wild thrashing.

Robin leaned
down near her ear, and attempted to calm her. “Isabelle, you must hold still.
Bianca is trying to help you.”

“No, no!”
The queen bucked, hard, but she was weak from the fever and illness. “You leave
her alone! She’s just a child, a child!”

Robin looked
up, and Bianca knew he saw the tears in her eyes.

“Brannon
beat her once before, when she found out he was whipping me, and tried to stop
him. It was what finally made him stop summoning me, the fear that others would
find out, but that final time he made both our backs bloody.”

“Bianca…”
It was a plaintive cry, from the woman beneath her.

“I am here,
Isabelle.” Bianca leaned over, careful to keep her body from touching the
wound, but coming as close as she could to her friend. “I am fine. I know this
hurts, but I need you to hold still.”

There was no
response, but the older woman’s shoulders stilled. Swiftly, Bianca made the
final two cuts. Isabelle jerked and cried out, but made no further attempt to
escape them. When Bianca cast the knife aside, Robin sat back a bit, not
releasing Isabelle, but taking some of the pressure off her shoulders.

Bianca took
a moment to examine the cuts she had made. The swollen area had already
deflated a great deal, but Bianca knew she had to remove as much of the
infection as possible. So, while Isabelle shivered and shook beneath her, she
steeled herself, and began to clean the knife cuts, as well as the original
wound.

She used the
birch infusion from the pot. Irrigation was one of the simplest and most
effective methods of cleansing, so she held the cuts open with one hand, while
pouring the infused water in with the other. Isabelle cried out, and Bianca
felt tears rolling down her own cheeks, but she continued, washing away all
trace of the infection. When, at last, Isabelle’s back was as clean as she
could make it, Bianca began packing all the cuts with her mash. Finally, she
coated the entire expanse of Isabelle’s back with honey, sealing it from
further infection, and pressed the clean bandages down on top of the honey, to
keep the dirt from coating the sticky surface.

When she was
done, Isabelle spoke in a weak voice.

“That hurt.”

Bianca felt
the tears, which had begun to abate, return. “I know.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re
welcome.” She leaned over and kissed Isabelle on the temple, then drew up the
blanket. The queen drifted off into a deep sleep, while Bianca dissolved into
sobs.

Robin didn’t
try to comfort her. He just picked her up, and wrapped her in the blanket
Isabelle had used as a pillow. Then he lay her down close to her friend, and
wiped her cheeks dry.

“You are
exhausted. Sleep. I will wake you if there is a change.”

It was
barely midday, but Bianca was too tired, too emotionally wrung out to argue.
She felt nothing but a wave of gratitude.

“Thank you.”

He leaned
over and brushed a gentle caress across her temple.

“You are
welcome.”

***

Bianca awoke
to a murmuring voice. The cave was awash with a green glow—the late afternoon
sun filtered through the fall of water. She focused, and realized the voice was
Robin’s, telling the tale of their morning out of the cave. He began describing
the look on her face, when he sprang up into the birch trees, and Bianca heard
the thin sound of weak laughter coming from behind her.

Bianca
turned her head slowly, hardly daring to hope. There, her cheek propped on her
hands so she could face Robin, lay Isabelle. Her face was wan and tired, but
there was no sign of the fever’s flush anywhere. In front of her was one of the
reserved mugs of birch tea, and when Isabelle reached a hand out to grasp it,
her hand was sure, if not entirely steady. The queen was obviously still very
weak.

But she was
better.

Crying
again, this time out of sheer relief and joy, Bianca crawled forward and threw
her arms—gingerly—around Isabelle’s neck. Robin fell silent and the two of them
clung to each other. Bianca would have stayed that way a long, long time, but,
after a moment, Isabelle gently patted her back, and pulled away.

“Bianca, I
am more grateful to you than I can say. And I know you’ve been busy, keeping me
from imminent death. But, dear,” the queen gave a delicate pause, and then
wrinkled her nose. “Have you bathed recently?”

Bianca
stared at her friend in shock, then began giggling. Behind her, Robin chuckled,
and before long Isabelle was laughing weakly along. The cave echoed the sound
back at them, as though the rock walls shared their mirth.

Isabelle was
better.

Bianca was
taking Isabelle’s comment to heart. When their laughter had trailed off, she
kissed the queen once more on the cheek, and then skipped out of the cave to go
wash in the pool. Robin deemed it safe enough to let her go unattended, and he
busied himself making Isabelle more comfortable. The older woman needed the
sleeping rolls shaken out, and she wanted a chance to rinse her face and hands.
Once she was comfortably settled back on her stomach she closed her eyes and
drifted off. Even that small amount of activity had worn out her meager store
of energy.

Robin
gathered up the sweat-stained blanket Isabelle had discarded, and some of the
used bandages, and left them next to the fire. Then he took the largest pot and
headed out past the waterfall. A few feet away, well outside the range of the
spray, Bianca had dropped the saddlebag that held her fresh clothing. Next to
that, in a heap, lay the bright red fabric of her riding habit, along with the
unbleached linen of her chemise. He crouched down, careful not to splash her
belongings, and dipped the pot full of cold, clear water.

He didn’t
look up until he heard her startled shriek.

At the
piercing sound his eyes snapped forward, searching the banks of the pond for
any threat or danger. Finding none he moved his gaze to the water around
Bianca. Had a snake startled her? A fish nibbled her toe? He could spot no
disturbances, and Bianca seemed in no hurry to clamber out. In fact, she was
sinking ever lower in the chilly water, arms crossed protectively over her
chest, glaring at him with accusatory eyes.

Ah. Of
course.

“Robin!”

“Yes,
Bianca?” His voice was full of resignation. It was silly, but he supposed the
conversation would play out to the end. He placed the pot on the rock ledge,
and crossed his arms over his chest, prepared to wait out the inevitable.

“I’m
bathing!”

“So?”

“So—turn
around!”

“You
mortals, always so concerned with your bodies. Every other worldly creature
goes clad only in that with which nature graced it. Why are humans so intent on
hiding themselves in swaths of fabric?”

Bianca
paused, and looked thoughtful, but then shook her head, dismissing his point. “It’s
a matter of propriety.”

“I
understand the convention, Bianca, I simply do not understand why you made it a
convention in the first place.”

“Easy for
you to say, when I’m the one naked and you’re standing there fully dressed.”

“Oh, is that
your problem?” Robin raised one eyebrow at her, and then, in one swift motion,
uncrossed his arms and drew his shirt off over his head. He tossed it aside,
and planted his hands on his hips. “That is rectified easily enough.”

Blood rushed
to her snowy cheeks, and she swallowed before responding in what was almost a
whisper. “What are you doing?”

“Returning
us to an equal state of dress.” He pulled off his boots, set them back from the
edge, and began unlacing his breeches. “I confess, like most of the Fae, I am
more comfortable without all these layers. They keep me from feeling the air on
my skin.”

He got his
breeches down to his hips before Bianca broke from her stunned shock and
whirled around to face the other direction. She was blushing so hard the backs
of her ears were bright red. He almost laughed, but then her movement in the
water caused her shoulders to rise up out of the pond, and the laughter died in
his throat. It was one thing to be told the story of how Brannon had punished
her.

It was
another thing entirely to see the evidence right before his eyes.

“Bianca.”
His whisper was almost inaudible. He slipped into the pool, making hardly a
ripple, and eased towards her. As he came nearer the mass of scars took on
distinct lines and edges, until he could see where individual lash marks had
cut across her back.

“Don’t come
any closer.” Her voice was nervous.

He’d almost
forgotten his teasing, in the shock of seeing her scars. He took a moment to
calm her embarrassment. “I am sorry, Bianca, I am not mocking you, now. I…
have never seen your back before.”

“Oh.” Her
shoulders relaxed just a bit. “I always wear high-necked gowns to hide them.
Not many people have seen them. Really just my bathing maid, and Isabelle. And
now you.”

“Why do you
take such pains to conceal them?” He hovered behind her in the water, taking
care not to touch her, but tracing the awful lines of the scars with his
fingers, ghosting them through the air a few inches above her skin.

“At first I
kept them covered because they were tender. It was just for comfort. Once they
healed, though…” She trailed off. Her chin dipped down toward the water, and
Robin could see the tiny rings forming where a few teardrops had fallen to the
surface of the pool. When she continued speaking, her voice was so low he had
to step even closer, to catch her words. “There is something shameful in being
so completely helpless, so completely in the power of another.” Her shoulders
began shaking. “I had run from him, but never defied him. I could do nothing
but beg when he killed Thomas. And I never moved to stop him, when he whipped
me, over and over. How could I show the entire court the visible proof of my
cowardice?”

Robin felt a
hole open inside his chest: a yawing, aching chasm. Once, perhaps, he would
have agreed with this girl. But he had watched, and listened, and he now knew
better. Bianca was tender-hearted, but she was no coward. She had a rare kind
of bravery, something born of determination and courage under fire. He wanted
to gather her in his arms and comfort her—had even moved to do so—when he
remembered that, in their current state, she would hardly find that comforting.
A sob escaped her, and he ground his teeth silently. Compassion was an
unfamiliar sensation for him, and being thwarted in his desire to express it
was frustrating. He needed to ease her heartache.

Moving ever
so slowly, he reached forward and used one hand to draw her hair back from her
face. She had twisted the sooty black mass into a knot, to keep it free of the
water no doubt, but tendrils had escaped to hang damp and loose. One by one he
gathered them back up and tucked them into the knot on the back of her head,
stroking her hair lightly with his fingertips, offering her the gentle comfort
of the touch of another living creature.

When her
sobs eased he spoke.

“I see no
cause for shame, here.”

“Do you not?”
It came out like a sigh. “I am so weak.”

“It matters
not how strong a man is, if he is locked in an iron cage. You were not weak.
You were trapped.”

“It’s hard
to see it that way.” His hand had not ceased its gentle movement, and she
reached up to catch it in one of her own. “But thank you, anyway.” She pressed
her cheek against his hand, then turned her face into the caress so that her
lips rested in the center of his palm. It was an innocent gesture, full of
trust, and, perhaps, affection, but Robin’s response was anything but innocent.
The silken touch of her lips changed the ache in his chest to something much
more warm, and primal. He was shocked, thrown completely off his guard. He took
a deep breath while he fought to suppress the clamoring of his body.

Even if he
were nothing but a human man, to take advantage of this moment would prove him
to be some sort of vile predator. It would be unthinkable, and wrong. Added to
that was the pure and simple truth. He was not human. Which made the idea of a
liaison between them more than wrong. Even if he wished, he could not join her
in her life.

And she
could not join his.

He let the
icy logic cool his heated blood, and, taking one last deep breath, gently
extricated his hand from Bianca’s grasp. With a few quick strokes he pulled
himself to the edge of the pool, and drew himself out, feeling the water roll
down his body to puddle on the ledge. A few quick swipes with his shirt, and he
was dry enough to draw on his breeches. Then he retrieved the pot of clear
water, and turned to bid Bianca happy swimming.

Her blue
eyes were already on him, locked on his half-naked form. He had no idea when
she had turned, or how long she had been watching him, but her eyes held a hint
of that same heat that had possessed him only moments before. He thought he had
beaten it down, but the glow in those midnight blue depths brought the embers
springing back to life. It was like a fire racing along his skin, scorching his
nerve endings, making him burn to reach out to her, just once.

There they
stayed, locked in the moment, staring across the expanse of cool, calm water.

The sun was
falling behind the mountains, and in the forest a lynx screamed at its mate.
The sound startled them both, and Robin’s sensibility returned in a rush.
Fortunately, his humor returned with it, so he was laughing at himself as
called down to the beguiling chit in the pool.

“I imagine
that air will chill rapidly, once night falls. You might wish to get out.
Whether you dress or not is, of course, entirely up to you.”

***

Bianca
watched as Robin made his way back behind the waterfall. She felt dazed,
stunned, and altogether confused. When he had pulled his hand away, she had
turned to face him, only to see him swim off and pull himself from the pool. He
was all lean whipcord and smooth skin, and the muscles from shoulder to heel
moved with an easy, sinewy grace that fascinated her. Her heart had pounded,
and she felt almost exactly as she had felt so many years before, watching
Thomas rise from the river.

It scared
her, but beneath the fear she felt a heat so intense she was surprised her
chest didn’t glow from within.

When he’d
turned, and caught her looking, she hadn’t blushed. Instead she felt in
control, powerful.

Even
desirable.

Then the
hunting cat screamed, and the moment was gone. But she half-stood,
half-floated, and basked in it. Basked in a feeling she’d thought dead and
gone. Of course, Robin was the wrong man to indulge that feeling. He wasn’t
even technically a man. But she didn’t care. Not right now. Right now she felt
exhilarated. She felt alive. She felt—

Cold.
Definitely cold. He had been right, the night was cooling much too fast for
comfort.

Bianca
pulled herself, shivering, from the pool, and hastily rifled through the
saddlebag. At first she was confused, and then she remembered. She hadn’t
packed this. Robin must have done it for her.

A few
minutes later she stood at the mouth of the cave, fully dressed, arms crossed,
toe tapping. Isabelle, who had opened her eyes and was speaking quietly with
Robin, looked up and gasped.

“Bianca!”
Her eyes twinkled merrily. “You look like a child’s painting pallet!”

Bianca
couldn’t deny it. Robin had thrown a spare chemise, a skirt of a soft, natural
fawn, and a bright blue riding vest into her bag. That was all. She had no
choice but to wear the belt that was part of her riding habit—a bright, vivid
red—and as a consequence she looked like someone had painted her in primary
colors. When the author of this wardrobe disaster caught sight of her, his
mouth quirked.

“I believe
Isabelle has spoken truly.”

“You couldn’t
have taken the jacket that matched this skirt? Or the skirt that matched this
vest? You had to consign me to riding into Albion looking like I don’t know how
to dress myself?”

“You are the
one who walked away and left me in your room. If you cared, you should have
packed yourself.” He sounded insufferably smug.

Bianca’s jaw
dropped. “You did this on purpose?!”

“I admit, I
am given to small mischiefs.” He grinned at her with insolent cheerfulness.

She narrowed
her eyes. “Just you wait, Master Goodfellow. It’s a long way to Albion. I’ll
have my revenge.” His smile never faded as he took a long drink of water.

“That
sounded almost sassy.” Isabelle spoke from her pallet.

Bianca bestowed
a sunny smile on her friend. “It did, didn’t it?”

“Mmmm…”
The sound was pensive. “Are you feeling well, dear?”

“I think it
was my bath, Isabelle.” Bianca kept her tone carefully casual. “The pool’s
water is quite bracing. It left me tingling all over.”

She couldn’t
deny the satisfaction she felt when Robin choked on his water.