The More I See You

by Lynn Kurland

  “And if a war comes, they come inside my gates and I protect them. Then the harshness becomes mine. I cannot apologize for my birth. My life hasn’t been soft and easy either.”

  “I know—”

  “Nay, you do not.” And he wasn’t about to tell her the extent of the pitiless treatment he had endured. Not a single soul knew how deep his hurt ran and he had no intention of amending that.

  He turned his mind from those memories and concentrated on proving his point. “We live frugally here,” he said, hoping to draw her attention to something else. “You would see as much should we travel elsewhere. At one feast at court I counted a score of oxen, twice as much venison, a hundred fowl, and more fishes than I could number. We don’t eat in half a year what the king wastes in one night. I do for my people what I can, but I cannot do everything. We each have our lot in life and we must live it as best we can.”

  “It just doesn’t seem fair,” she murmured.

  “Life isn’t fair. Haven’t you learned that yet?”

  “I don’t think it’s something I want to learn.”

  Ah, for such naïveté! “You’ll certainly not learn the fullness of it from me,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’ve no mind to teach it to you.”

  “I think I’m beginning to figure it out.” She took a deep breath. “Then I think I owe you an apology as well. I don’t understand all the ins and outs of your world.”

  Richard grunted. The woman could not begin to understand the truth of what she’d just said.

  “I accept,” he said, feeling very gracious. She had apologized. He was quite certain ’twas the first time in memory anyone had done the like. It was a feeling he thought he might accustom himself to very well.

  Jessica yawned—apparently the effort of admitting her fault was exhausting—and Richard took the opportunity to wave magnanimously toward the bed.

  “Off with you,” he said. “Sleep will heal your wounds.”

  She paused. “Does this mean we’re going to be amicable now?”

  “Call it a temporary truce. Now go to bed.”

  “Is that a command?”

  He had the feeling the correct response was “nay.” That was not the answer he cared to give, however, so he merely pointed toward the bed and glared at her.

  “You know, I could help you with your man/woman relationship skills,” she said. “You could stand to become familiar with a woman’s perspective.”

  “Spew none of your womanly nonsense at me, lady, nor,” he said, sitting up and frowning, “nor any of that future foolishness, for I believe it not.”

  She sighed and put herself to bed. Richard resigned himself to another miserable night on the floor with only his noble ideals to keep him warm. A woman’s perspective? What rot was that? As if he had any interest in what a woman thought!

  He made his bed eventually on the floor. Unfortunately his mind was full enough of Jessica’s words that sleep did not come easily to him. Finally, when he could bear it no more, he stated forcefully: “Of course the world isn’t flat,” he said. “Everyone knows ’tis curved and then it falls away into nothingness.”

  And then he pulled his blanket over his head to block out whatever she might have said.

  It seemed the wisest thing to do.

  12

  Hugh de Galtres pulled his cloak more closely around him and shuffled farther back into the shadows. He didn’t like the forest, for he knew what sorts of creatures lurked within it, but he had no choice but to seek out and use its concealing powers. It had been what had saved his life but a day or two earlier. He said a charm under his breath, then took a great pull from the wineskin he’d filched from the ruffians he’d robbed. He leaned over and with great care spat it out between his legs. That should appease whatever beastie might be lurking nearby with evil designs upon his person.

  Hugh recapped the wineskin, took a firmer grip on the goods he’d lifted from the unconscious men, then turned and started off in what he hoped was the proper direction. He was doing the right thing.

  He was doing the only thing he could.

  As he stumbled along, clutching his possessions to his chest, he gave thought to the omens and portents of his current journey. Of course, the journey would have been swifter had he not misplaced his horse. Bloody thing had likely wandered off while he was asleep. Hugh just wasn’t sure when he’d lost his mount; the beginning of his journey was shrouded in something of a haze. He’d started from Merceham with nothing to sustain him and his head had begun to pain him fiercely after just a short time. He’d had no money to buy refreshment, so he’d been forced to travel on with naught but the fond memory of the keep’s last bottle of claret as company.

  It had not been a favorable beginning.

  It seemed as if he had walked endlessly. Days and nights had passed and all he could think about was reaching his brother’s keep. He didn’t want to ask his brother for anything, but he was desperate. The coffers in his keep were empty, his larder bare, and his peasants surly. He had feared for his life. He’d fled the keep without a backward glance, slipping away in the middle of the day when the unruly masses were greatest and most unruly.

  After so many endless days of traveling, though, he’d begun to wonder if he’d made a mistake.

  And then he’d seen her. The faery. Richard’s faery.

  Or was she a witch?

  Hugh had watched from the shadows of the forest as she had come down the road. Paralyzed by indecision about her true identity, he could only watch as she had been set upon by the ruffians.

  And then a miracle had occurred, a miracle that had convinced Hugh beyond doubt that he had chosen the right course.

  His brother had come swooping down upon the brigands with the fierceness of an avenging angel and dispatched them with a few choicely dealt blows. The woman had been rendered senseless by one of the men before Richard had knocked him senseless as well.

  Hugh had considered that for quite a while. Had the faery/witch received her due recompense by having her head half bashed in, or by being rescued by Richard?

  It was a bit of a puzzle.

  Hugh pushed aside thoughts of the woman he could not comprehend and concentrated on the timely arrival of his brother. It had to be a sign. Hugh suspected it meant that Richard could indeed rescue whom he chose. And if that were the case, Hugh was certainly heading toward the right place.

  Assuming, of course, he could convince his brother that he was worthy of being rescued.

  He hadn’t meant to allow Merceham to fall into such a state. Indeed, he couldn’t quite remember when it had begun its decline. His sister’s husband had seen to things for so long. Hugh had been sent along as part of his sister’s dowry—though he still wasn’t certain why that had happened. His father couldn’t have wished to send him away simply to be rid of him.

  Could he?

  No matter. The simple truth of it was, his sister’s husband had always seen to the running of Merceham, and once he’d died, Hugh’s father had taken on the task. Of Hugh there had been nothing more required than to stay as drunk as possible.

  He suspected he was more pleasant that way.

  Unfortunately, on one of his rare ventures out of his cups, he had noticed that his supply of claret was dangerously low.

  As was everything else edible.

  That had led to an investigation of the coffers and that had convinced him that perhaps he had best leave the keep while there was something left of him to travel with. Burwyck-on-the-Sea had been his goal. Richard could help him. He would beg, grovel, plead. Hopefully he would have ingested enough of whatever there was available so that the begging, groveling, and pleading wouldn’t be so painful.

  Though it was likely a far sight less painful than having his head stuck on a pike by his villagers.

  Hugh took another reinforcing swallow from his wineskin, then continued doggedly on his way.

  He couldn’t do anything else.

  13

 
Jessica woke to the sound of soft moans. Her first thought was that perhaps Richard had invited company over for a slumber party. She almost put her head under the pillow, then she realized that those weren’t moans of pleasure.

  Her next thought was that perhaps he was suffering the aftereffects of his apology. She had spent a good deal of the night thinking about his words and wondering just what it was that had really thrown him into such a tizzy, his excuses aside. There was a great deal more to the story of what he’d seen. She reminded herself that it was really none of her business, she was not an armchair psychologist, and medieval men did not have the benefit of hours of Oprah watching to aid them in expressing their feelings. She had the feeling grunts and dismissive waves just might be all she would get on his background.

  The longer she lay there, the clearer came the realization that those were not comfortable moans she was hearing at present. She kept on the linen underdress she’d worn to bed, pulled her medieval gown off the little table she’d appropriated for a nightstand, and dressed before she felt her way to the window to open the shutters. Then she turned to survey the damage.

  The fire had burned out. Richard was lying on the floor in front of the cold hearth, unmoving. In fact, he’d even ceased to moan. She crossed the room and quickly knelt down by him. She put a hand to his forehead and almost jerked it back. He was on fire.

  Great. He was sick and there was no telephone near the bed for her to use to call a doctor. It wasn’t as if she had a nursing degree either. Why hadn’t she thought to stick some antibiotics in her pocket before she’d walked out into Henry’s garden? Heaven only knew what sorts of home remedies these people used. All she knew was that they’d better be using them fast.

  She ran to the door and threw it open.

  “Help!” she shouted. “Warren, somebody! Hurry!”

  She turned back to Richard and knelt at his side. It had to be his arm. She pulled the material away and winced at the angry red puckering that greeted her eyes. Maybe she should have given him that lecture on germs. That, and she should have offered to sew up his wound.

  “Don’t touch him!” a voice bellowed from behind her.

  She jerked around in time to see one of Richard’s guardsmen pointing at her. He didn’t look very happy.

  “Take her. Keep her away from my lord.”

  “Wait a minute,” she began.

  Two men took her by the arms and dragged her away from the hearth.

  “Hey, stop that,” she exclaimed. “I was trying to help him!”

  “You likely poisoned him,” the first man snapped.

  “I didn’t! Warren, help me!”

  Warren burst into the room and skidded to a halt next to the bed. “Captain John, I’m sure she didn’t—”

  “Silence, whelp,” John said, pushing Warren back. “Make yourself useful by fetching the leech.”

  “Leeches? You’re crazy,” Jessica said, trying to pull away from her captors. She’d seen enough period movies to know what they were up to and what would be the result. “You’ll bleed him dry!”

  “Take her away,” John said, gesturing impatiently toward the door. “Do it now, before she disturbs him further—”

  “Let her go,” Richard roared suddenly. He lurched up into a sitting position, weaving drunkenly. He pushed away his blankets, leaving nothing to the imagination. “Now!”

  Jessica found herself freed immediately. She gave John a wide berth and knelt down next to Richard. She encouraged him to lie back with a hand firmly on his chest. It was obvious that no one here had any clue what to do, so she would just have to manage the best she could. If nothing else, she would get the wound clean and hope Richard’s immune system would take care of the rest. She sincerely hoped the medicine she’d learned from late-night television dramas would suffice her. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if it didn’t.

  She took a deep breath and unwrapped the cloth around Richard’s arm. Well, it might have started out as a little scratch, but someone had sewn it up in a very haphazard fashion—probably with a dirty needle and heaven only knew what for thread. All Jessica knew was that the wound was a fiery red and the redness was spreading upward.

  This was not good.

  “Get me clean water,” she ordered no one in particular, “soft cloths, and a needle and thread.”

  No one moved.

  “Do it!” she shouted. “Do you want him to die?”

  John continued to stare down at Richard as if he’d never seen him before.

  Jessica covered Richard up, then pointed at the guardsmen who had held her a few moments before. “You, there, go get me clean water and a clean kettle to boil it in. You, go get me clean linen. Warren, go find me a needle and thread. And find out who the idiot was who let him walk off without cleaning his arm first!”

  “’Twas I,” John said hoarsely.

  “Great. I’ll blame you when he dies. Now get out of my way. I think you’ve done enough for now.” She looked over her shoulder. “I don’t see anyone moving.” She stood and pulled Richard’s knife off the table, then turned and waved it at the guardsmen. “Don’t make me use this!”

  They turned and bolted from the room. At least someone had some sense. She handed the knife back to John.

  “Go put this in the fire and burn all the germs off the end. I imagine cauterizing the wound would probably be better than trying to sew it up anyway.”

  “Germs?”

  Apparently, John knew even less about being a doctor than she did.

  “Germs,” she repeated. “You can’t see them, but trust me, they’re there. They’re causing his fever. We just have to get rid of them, then he’ll be fine.”

  She tried to sound flippant, but in reality, she was scared to death. It was one thing to watch terrible things happen to an actor. It was quite another to watch someone you knew be that sick. There was only one thing she knew: if she didn’t do something to lower Richard’s fever, he’d be nothing but a vegetable. If he lived at all.

  “John, get me a wooden tub and enough water to fill it. Make it lukewarm and find some clean, cold water. We have to get his fever down.”

  She looked over her shoulder in time to see John shove his knife into a freshly built fire. He was doing what she’d told him to do and seemed to have given up on the idea of hanging her, at least temporarily.

  Richard moaned.

  Jessica took a deep breath. “Relax,” she said confidently. “I know what I’m doing.”

  Richard, fortunately, seemed to have no strength to contradict her.

  “We’ll get you in a nice cool bath, then you’ll feel better,” she continued. She looked at John. “Get moving on that tub. We haven’t got all day.”

  “Aye, lady,” John said, sounding very strained. His footsteps receded quickly from the chamber.

  Richard kicked off his blanket and groaned again, but his voice was weaker. Jessica didn’t bother trying to cover him up again. She found his tunic, then began drying his face with it. Apparently that didn’t feel very good.

  “Cease,” he muttered crossly, pushing her hand away.

  “Lady Jessica, the tub is coming,” Warren said breathlessly, sliding to a stop next to her. He looked down at his brother and his blue eyes were wide with fear. “Will he die?”

  “Of course not,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “He’s strong and we’re going to take very good care of him. I hope you got a good night’s rest last night because I’m going to need your help. Richard’s going to need you,” she amended. “Now go see that the tub is half filled with lukewarm water. Do you know what lukewarm is?”

  “Of course,” Warren said, all injured pride.

  “Then you’re in charge of the bath. We’re going to cool the water slowly and Richard’s body will cool right along with it. Slowly,” she stressed. “Too fast and you’ll kill him.” She wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but it was certainly making an impression on Warren. “Got t
hat?”

  “Aye.” Warren nodded.

  It took four men to move Richard into the tub. He cried out the moment his body hit the tepid water and Jessica winced at the looks she received from Richard’s men.

  “It will work,” she said to them defensively. “Give it time. And somebody come help me hold his arm. This wound needs to be taken care of. John, perhaps you’d like to help,” she said, casting Richard’s captain a pointed look.

  John accepted the helping of guilt without complaint. He held Richard’s arm still while Jessica cleaned the deep gash. Richard slurred out hearty curses, but she ignored him. He’d thank her later.

  She made John close the wound. She couldn’t sew a straight seam and she had no intention of improving her skill on Richard’s flesh. When the sewing was finished, she had Warren add a bucket of cooler water. Richard’s teeth started to chatter. Jessica put her hand to his head, then frowned. Still burning.

  “Another,” she ordered Warren.

  He obeyed and Richard shivered harder. He struggled to get out of the tub.

  And then he began to scream.

  And the things he screamed were not things she suspected he would want anyone to hear.

  She turned to tell everyone to leave only to find John apparently had the same idea. He shoved everyone out of the room except her. His face was ashen, but he said nothing. He came back across the room and, without being asked, helped Jessica hold Richard in the tub.

  Richard apparently did not want to be there any more than he had when there were four of them to hold him down.

  Jessica managed to avoid his fist in her nose. He caught her eye, though, and she knew she would have one hell of a shiner as a result. John wasn’t so fortunate. He took Richard’s knuckles directly in the nose, then another time in the eye. His head snapped back twice with cracks loud enough to make Jessica wonder if Richard hadn’t unwittingly broken his captain’s neck.

  Apparently not, though, because John was quickly back across the tub from her, holding Richard down. Jessica didn’t look at him.