by Ling, Maria
Under that, she'd be entirely naked. And he ought not to think about that, even for an instant.
Pretty, though. Even if he was a little hazy on the details.
He spent a bit more time adding them in, from what he'd guessed and overheard and seen in tapestries and caught the occasional glimpse of in the flesh. That kept him pleasurably occupied for long enough that he eventually sought his habitual release, quietly so as not to wake the page who snuffled not an arm's length away. One more cloth to drop discreetly down the privy next time the opportunity offered. But at least he could sleep now, untroubled by illicit fantasies of the lady Aline naked and willing underneath him.
Though he didn't sleep. He lay awake, stared at the darkness and felt it stare back at him. Pondered each stage of the journey, made allowance in his mind for bad weather and lame horses and broken wheels. Couldn't see fault in the arrangements he'd made, hasty though they were. He'd get the lady safe to his master. Unless God set His face against it, and even then Eustace was determined to give Him a run for his money.
In the end he must have slept, because he dreamed that the lady Aline stepped lightly from his side into another man's arms. That she was smiling, and that he wished her joy -- from the heart, as he thought, until he glanced down to see his surcoat drenched with blood that seeped from the open gash in his chest.
***
CHAPTER 3
Aline stirred. She felt warm and cosy, she didn't want to stick finger or toe from under the thick coverlet filled with down. But she must, because she wanted to wash and dress with particular care. She'd neglected herself of late, relied on Matilda to do all things for her. That was well enough when she was ill, and later in the first hideous grip of grief. But now, really, she needed to start taking command of herself.
Her crotch and bottom and thighs were sore, she'd never spent so long in the saddle. At home, her rides had seldom extended beyond the hour she was permitted to be out of sight of the house. Eustace had offered the cart, more than once. He'd never be so indelicate as to refer to her physical discomfort, but she guessed his thoughts from a reluctant murmur about tender ladies. At which she laughed in his face, and told him she could ride faster and further than him. That brought the glint of challenge to his eyes, he said he'd love to prove her wrong but the earl his master would not thank him for it.
Oh, she liked him -- liked him a lot. This ride had proved infinitely more pleasant than she'd feared. And it wasn't over yet, they had days still to go. Many days. She intended to make the most of them.
For a moment she wished they need not end at all. But it had to be so, of course it did, she was foolish to imagine otherwise -- no matter how briefly.
She turned over to wake Matilda, laid one hand on that familiar shoulder. Pulled it back, abruptly, as the heat singed her skin.
Fever, she thought. Oh God.
She was out in the icy air within a moment, swept a robe crosswise around her for modesty, threw open the door. Men on guard outside, earl's men all, but no Eustace.
"Send for a physician," she said. "At once. Tell Eustace we cannot travel today. Matilda is sick."
He came to her quickly, left the door wide open and leaned over the bed with a worried expression, touched Matilda's forehead with the back of his hand. Shook his head, turned serious eyes on Aline herself. "She's burning hot. Has she not woken at all?"
"No." Aline castigated herself yet again, for being so oblivious. If she'd realised sooner, she might have been able to help Matilda in some way, might at least have sent for the physician before it got too bad. Whereas now...
"You are quite right," Eustace said. "She cannot be moved -- or so I guess, at least. But you can. I will take you to the earl, and come back for her later. She can stay here at the inn, I'll see the owner well paid and with the promise of more to come, he'll make sure she's well looked after."
"Absolutely not." Aline stared at him, horrified that he could suggest such a thing. "Should I abandon her, when she stayed with me night and day through my own illness, nursed me at her own hand, brought me safe back to health? No. I am staying with her, for as long as she has need of me." Let that be long, she prayed inwardly, dear God do not take Matilda also.
"The earl's orders are that you be brought to him swiftly and without delay." Eustace could look stubborn when he wanted to. The smile and good cheer had vanished entirely. He looked hard now, a man at arms and not her friend. "Your servant I will provide for, as she is dear to you. But your own person I will escort to my master's house. Forcibly, if necessary."
Aline straightened slowly. "It didn't take you long to get to that point," she observed, and the bitterness in her voice was audible even to her.
"Forgive me." That stern expression wavered. Sympathy glimmered in his eyes, and then was gone. "But I will not cross my master. I doubt he really would kill me, but...he may."
"Has he ever done such a thing to his own man before?" Aline taunted.
"Once," Eustace said. "For a far worse crime, or so it was whispered among the squires. But, yes. Once. I saw the man hang. Afterwards, they cut him down and...yes. Head on a spike. You will come with me."
"To the earl's house?" She felt utterly cold, as if she'd been left out overnight and now lay covered in frost. "To be the ward of a man like that, and in his care?"
"I don't take back anything I've said of him," Eustace reasoned. "He's a fair man, or at least I've always found him so. Harsh, granted. But not unjust."
"What's fair about forcing me away from the woman who's cared for me my whole life, as kindly as if I were her own child?"
"He said you are to be brought at once," Eustace said. "No detours and no delays. Those were his words, and I must respect them."
Matilda stirred and muttered, then fell silent again. Aline leaned down and kissed her cheek, then moved away to speak without disturbing her. Eustace followed with slow deliberate steps.
"You told me before," Aline said in a quiet but intense voice, "that you were at my disposal. That I could take as long as I liked over getting ready to leave."
"Courtesy," Eustace said. "I would have carried you away within three days."
"That leaves two to spare."
Eustace gave her a mulish look. "There is a difference between allowing you to stay in your own home for a little while longer, and dawdling on the road."
"Caring for a sick woman is not dawdling," Aline snapped back.
A bustle at the door interrupted them. The physician, a thin and wary-looking man, edged into the room. He gave them a brief bow each, listened to Aline's description of the symptoms and how they matched those of her family -- her voice broke there, she had to stop and compose herself several times. Then he examined Matilda briefly, muttered something about hot humours, and stood for a moment deep in thought.
"I would suggest," he said, "that you get her out of here as soon as possible. Stay away from settled areas -- towns and such. Do not go where crowds of people gather, if you can help it. She has drawn a curse upon herself, the same as has afflicted your family, madam -- " he bowed to Aline -- "and such curses have been known to travel along with those who bear them, and afflict others in turn whom they touch. I charge you, sir, with making sure that this does not happen."
"You're not too worried about my men catching the curse," Eustace observed drily.
"It may already have happened," the physician replied. "In which case, prayer and fasting are considered the best cures, with perhaps some attention paid to theological error. That would be the province of a priest, and not myself. I speak only of the effects of witchcraft, not its causes."
"Witchcraft?" Aline quavered.
"Certainly," the physician replied. "Nothing else is so persistent. You'd best find your way to the confessional, madam. That will be a shilling, sir."
"How bloody much?" Eustace demanded.
"I am greatly sought after," the physician said equably. "Of course, if I must write to the earl myself and tell him th
at you would not -- oh, thank you, sir. Thank you very much indeed. Good day."
They watched him step light-footed out of the room and shut the door carefully behind them. Eustace wound his purse-strings tight.
"Witchcraft," Eustace said, with a long thoughtful look at her.
"I don't believe it," Aline said resolutely. "Why would anyone want to curse us? This is some fire that spreads by itself -- " she broke off, had to, she could hear how absurd she must sound.
"You said you loved her dearly," Eustace observed, turning to watch the unconscious woman on the bed.
"I do," Aline said. Tears started to her eyes, overflowed, began to slither down her cheeks. "She's all I have now."
"Yes." He swung back, fixed her with a stare so sharp that her tears dried up abruptly. "If you could do anything -- anything at all -- to save her from harm or worse, then you would. Wouldn't you?"
"Of course," Aline whispered.
Eustace nodded. "We're staying here," he decided. "Witchcraft or not, sleeping out in the frost is no cure for a fever. But if she dies..."
"She won't," Aline said. Strength grew in her as she spoke. And if God failed her now, she would never pray to him again in her life. "I'll make sure of it."
***
Eustace watched the maid carry yet another steaming bowl into the room, past some half-hearted gropes from the men on guard. He cleared his throat, fixed the men with a glare like the earl's own as they turned questioning eyes on him, suppressed a smirk as they resumed their proper attentive postures without so much as a further glance at the girl.
So far, the lady Aline's magic -- if magic it was -- had consisted mainly of cloth and hot water. Apparently she thought like drove out like, so the proper treatment for fever was heat. The air of the room was stifling with damp warmth, he couldn't bear to go in there. But the servant, Matilda, did seem to breathe easier because of it.
None of it made any sense, though. If Aline wanted her dead, why treat her? And if she didn't, why curse her?
No. It couldn't be magic. Or if it was, Aline wasn't the witch.
Someone else, then. Maybe even someone who wasn't here, if the physician's claims about travelling curses were to be believed.
Which he wasn't sure about either, truth be told.
The steward, perhaps...but the grief in his voice and eyes had been real, Eustace swore it. As for the rest of the household, he didn't know them well enough to judge.
It could simply be a visitation. Something to turn the mind from worldly matters, and towards the certainty of salvation. Eustace had gone in for theology a bit as a boy, he'd thought on first arrival at the earl's court that he'd never make a decent knight. But he learned, eventually, and left studying behind. What he'd been taught so far stayed with him, surfaced again in odd moments such as this.
Hard on the lady Aline, that each member of her family must be tested so. But if it was God's will, neither she nor any other mortal had anything to set against.
It might be her next.
That thought filled him with fear. It couldn't be, he reassured himself, the fever-guided angel of death had passed her by and left her still alive here on earth. Though it had passed Matilda by, also, until now -- he'd gathered that much from the despair in Aline's tone. She'd thought herself safe, out of danger, having lost all she was going to lose. And now this...
It grieved him. Deeply. She wasn't meant for sorrow, that lovely face of hers was made to carry a smile. And she'd lost so much already, it wasn't right that she should lose still more.
"Sir." The physician stood before him, quivering with indignation. "I gave the most specific recommendation that this woman was to be moved. Away from any place where crowds gathered, I said."
"I heard you the first time," Eustace replied. "And I've followed your recommendation exactly. There are no crowds at this inn."
"There will be people," the physician said, "downstairs -- "
"There won't," Eustace interrupted. "No one but those belonging to my own party are to be admitted."
"If you think, sir, that an innkeeper who relies on the sale of beer to make his living will keep everyone away -- "
"I have promised payment sufficient to make up for lost trade." Eustace kept his face and voice impassive. He'd done exactly that, and it would cost his skin when the earl learned of it. But it would be worth it, to serve the lady Aline. He never could face her again, if that beloved servant of hers died through his mishandling.
Also, if the curse did come upon his men, he'd rather have them warm and dry here than stuck out in the frost somewhere, or forcing their way into lodgings by threat of blade. He'd already sent for a priest, to do what might be done. Beyond that, they had only to wait.
Which got on everyone's nerves. Better to move, maybe. They would do that, once Matilda was out of danger.
"Why are you here?" Eustace said belatedly, and fixed the physician with a glare.
The man held out a pouch. "This, steeped by the pinch in boiling water and drunk when cool, may help ease the fever. May, mark you. I am not a priest. That will be four pence."
Eustace paid over the money and glared after the thin figure that retreated down the stairs. Then he braved the steamy atmosphere of the sick-room, sweet with incense from the priest's ministrations.
"Thank you." Aline, flushed and lovely, with gratitude brimming from her gorgeous dark eyes, caught his instructions with ready intelligence. "Thank you so much. Let me repay you -- and for the inn as well -- "
"We can settle up later," Eustace said. "The earl wishes you to have all possible care. I choose to interpret that as extending to your servant also."
"Will he see it that way?" She pulled an errant strand of hair aside, a gentle movement of fingers over skin. He could imagine a caress from those fingers, he could --
"I don't know." His voice wavered, he cleared his throat briskly. "Probably. If he's in a reasonable mood. Which he might be, if the infection's cleared." Eustace pulled himself together. She wasn't to be troubled over such things, she had enough to deal with. "Don't worry. He's charged me to represent him in this matter, and I will do that as well as I can. If he finds fault with my handling of it, that is between him and me. There is no need for you to concern yourself."
"I thank you regardless. And if you do need my assistance, when the time comes, please do tell me. Do not fight it out alone." A smile now, faint and serious, but drawing light to those beautiful features. Slim supple lips moving, he could imagine those too --
"By now," Eustace said, "I'm well able to do so. Look to your woman. The best service you can do me, if it please you, is to get her well enough to travel onwards."
***
Aline watched Matilda's face. It seemed more restful now, less flushed and tense. The medicine Eustace had obtained was doing its work, made her more comfortable at least, damped the fire. The sheets were drenched with sweat, but perhaps that was for the good. Water killed fire, on hearths and in braziers, perhaps it worked in humans too.
Matilda's eyes opened. She lay staring for a while, seemed almost puzzled. Then closed them again.
"You're safe." Aline leaned close enough to whisper and be heard, stroked Matilda's hair, prayed soundlessly that she might recover. "I'm here."
Behind her, a spark popped from the brazier. It was enough. Matilda's eyes opened again, and now they held steady. Turned, slightly, and squinted at Aline. A dry croak issued from her mouth. Aline reached at once for the waiting cup of water.
Eustace handed it to her -- and that made her start, because she hadn't even known he was in the room. He checked in on her a few times each day, saw to it that her food was brought and that she'd eaten it, studied Matilda with concern in his eyes. He didn't say much, she wouldn't expect him to, but she was comforted by his presence and sad when he left. Which he did, as soon as the maid cleared away the dishes, he never remained in the room with her alone. Until now.
"She looks better," he said. "Sounds better, too."<
br />
Matilda gave a harsh cough.
"Worse," Aline protested.
"No. She's breathing easier."
He was right. The same observation had comforted Aline, too.
"We might leave tomorrow," he said. "If she's well enough by then. I'll send out scouts to clear the way, check on the condition of the road and so on."
"She can't possibly travel," Aline objected. "Not yet."
He allowed her a faint smile. "I said tomorrow, not today. Let's hope for the best, shall we? Wrapped in furs and laid on cushions, she won't suffer too badly from cold or ruts. And you'll be in the cart with her, there's ample room for both."
It was true. There was. Though she wanted to be on horseback again, she hadn't thought to miss it before -- all her thoughts had been taken up with Matilda, and with those already lost, and with prayer. But now, suddenly, Aline longed to be out of doors again, to breathe crisp air and feel her palfrey dance underneath her.
"She'll be bursting," Aline said. "My horse. Would you ask one of the men to walk her for me?"
"She's been walked twice daily," Eustace said. "Take no thought for her. And with all due allowance for exhaustion and grief, you've asked me that six times each day and my answer has never wavered. Would you do me the honour of believing I can handle a horse or two?"
Aline blushed. He didn't sound angry, or even piqued, just a little tired. As he well might be.
"Forgive me," she said. "You are quite right. I should have done you the courtesy of assuming it. I didn't realise I'd been asking so insistently."
"You've been forgetful," Eustace said. "Which is why I've taken the liberty of at least ensuring that you eat."
Matilda stirred, and sighed. Aline's attention settled on her at once. "Can I get you anything? Are you in pain?"
"No." Matilda struggled to sit up. Aline helped her, almost overturned with the weight, felt Eustace place a quick strong arm against her waist and hold her safe. Between them they got Matilda seated, and he released her at once. Which Aline didn't relish, she thought he could have held her a moment longer.