by Beleaguered
“Alyse? What the devil are you doing here?”
“Thank God, Geoffrey. Let me in.” Relief rushed through her as she pushed past him into the dim chamber.
Muttering a curse, he grabbed for his braies. He stood looking at her in amazement, still befuddled with sleep, trying to cover himself. “Alyse, what are you doing here?”
She opened her mouth to tell him, but the sight of his huge naked body stopped her breath. A sudden painful awareness of her surroundings robbed her of speech. Geoffrey.
He seized her shoulders. “What has happened? Has something happened to Mary?”
The question landed like a fatal blow. His voice held a depth of concern that, in the darkest recesses of her heart, she always believed had been reserved for her alone. She shrugged away from his hands and stood back, her chin going up.
“Nay, Geoffrey, there is naught wrong with your wife that a little sense would not cure.” She should not be so uncharitable toward Mary. The woman could not help being a fool. He scowled, but before he could speak in Mary’s defense, she continued. “She found Margaret dead in her chamber this morning and instead of coming immediately to tell you, she stopped to weep awhile in the princess’s lap.”
“Margaret dead?” The horror in his voice belied his calm exterior. He seemed to struggle to speak. “How did she die?”
“I do not know. I could get nothing from Mary and very little from either Anne or the princess. She was found early, before prime, but how long she has been dead, I have no idea.”
With another muttered curse, Geoffrey began to pull on the rest of his clothes, oblivious to Alyse’s presence.
His movements brought Alyse’s attention back to his all but naked body, an exquisite sight she remembered with startling clarity. She swallowed hard and spun around, turning her back on the glorious physique that was no longer hers to appreciate.
He snorted. “Come now, Alyse, you have seen me without clothing before.”
“Aye, Geoffrey, I have.”
Lord, do not tempt me so at this moment.
Between her fear and despair, she wanted nothing more than to go into his strong arms, feel their comforting embrace, and lose herself in the passion they had enjoyed but briefly. Heat flooded her face. She should not have these wicked thoughts as she teetered on the brink of disaster.
“But ’twas a lifetime ago.” The bitterness in her voice surprised her.
It must have startled him as well, for he turned her gently toward him. He was fully clothed, but somehow she could not stop seeing the smooth skin and etched muscles of his chest. She dragged her gaze up to his face, and her stomach knotted when she beheld the too-familiar hunger in his eyes. He raised a hand to cup her cheek—the sweetest touch she had ever known—then sighed deeply and stepped away from her. He grabbed his sword and buckled it in place with hands that were none too steady.
“Can you take me to Margaret’s room?” He rammed his dagger into its sheath and strode to the door, all business again.
She nodded, willing her mind back to the present emergency, though the ache of his touch would haunt her for some time to come.
Together, they left his apartment, and she led him downstairs to a corner room, far removed from the princess’s chamber. Apparently Margaret’s death had not gone unnoticed. Dozens of people milled around the corridor, some even venturing inside. Geoffrey shouldered his way forward, growling warnings to the people to leave the hallway immediately. His towering presence and authoritative voice scattered the onlookers quickly, allowing him access to the room.
Geoffrey entered first, motioning for her to stay outside. Alyse did as she was bid. She shuddered at the thought of looking at Margaret’s lifeless body. When he emerged several minutes later, his stern look was unreadable. He closed the door and strode away, Alyse running at his heels. When he reached the end of the hallway, he motioned to a captain of the guard who was passing by.
“Captain, find two men and go down to the end of this corridor, the last door on the right. Princess Joanna’s nurse, Margaret, has died and must be removed and buried at once. Do not touch the body. Fold the covers over it and take it out on the mattress. After she is buried, burn everything else. When you are done, report to me.”
“Aye, Sir Geoffrey.” The man looked ill at ease, but nodded and left to find his detail.
Geoffrey strode off without a backward glance at her.
Infuriating man. Could he not make her privy to his plans? “Where to now, Geoffrey?” she called, trying to keep pace with his long strides. “What must we do?”
Chapter 7
“We are going to go fetch your husband and between the three of us try to figure out a plan of action.”
“Is it the pestilence then?”
He slowed his pace, and she drew up beside him. “I do not know. Margaret had no marks upon her, none of the buboes that were the warning sign in Bordeaux. She may have died from any number of things. There is no way to tell. But ’tis best to assume the worst and be wrong than to ignore the possibility and place us all in peril.”
Alyse studied the problem in silence as they headed to her chamber door. How could they keep the princess safe? Where could they go and how? Moving with the retinue took so long. But what if…
“Geoffrey.” She grabbed his arm, excitement bubbling up inside her.
He turned to her, his hand on the door handle.
“Could not you and Thomas and I take the princess and ride out into the countryside and away from the pestilence? We could make for Spain or turn north and ride to England. As long as we avoid people, would she not be safe?”
His eyes widened, hope kindling there. Then he frowned, casting a shadow over his face. “What about Mary?”
Good Lord. In her enthusiasm, his wife had completely slipped her mind.
“Oh.” Chagrined to have forgotten the woman, especially after having disparaged her earlier, Alyse reconsidered the options. “Can she ride?”
Geoffrey opened his mouth then pressed his lips into a straight line. “Aye, though not well. Mayhap we could take a carriage and you three women could ride in comfort and not on horseback. I doubt Princess Joanna could ride day after day in a saddle either.”
“It would serve, I suppose.” Inwardly, she sighed, for the beauty and freedom of the original plan held more appeal.
Geoffrey eyes shone at her, and she caught her breath. “Beautiful and intelligent. I said as much the night we met.”
Would that we were there again.
She gave him a brief smile then motioned for him to open the door. “Come, let us tell my husband of the plan. When can we be ready to leave?”
“With any luck, by midday.” Geoffrey stalked into the dim room, calling, “Thomas! Get up, man. We are on the move again!”
Right on his heels, Alyse almost plowed into Geoffrey’s back when he halted halfway into the room. His words died on his lips. She stopped as well, turning naturally toward the bed where she had left Thomas a scarce two hours before.
Breath rushed out of her body, as though someone had punched her in the stomach. Dread slithered through her body, robbing her of speech, thought, and strength.
Thomas lay upon his back, his body stretched out in the bed. Only now, instead of the lazy, smiling face, she beheld a soul in silent torment. His brows had pulled into a furrowed frown, his eyes squinted closed against the light, his frame shaking as though with an ague.
“Thomas!” Alyse finally gasped in enough air to call his name. Of their own accord, her feet started toward the bed. She must help him. She could nurse him. He must survive.
Geoffrey grabbed her gown, jerking her back.
“Let me go, Geoffrey! Thomas needs my help. He is ill.” She whirled around, trying to snatch her skirts from his hands.
“Alyse!” Though whispered, Geoffrey’s voice still carried authority. “He has it. He has the pestilence. There is nothing you can do for him now.” Pity and pain stared out of the brilliant blu
e eyes.
“Nay, I can nurse him, Geoffrey. He can recover. Let me go!” Alyse tore at the garment still held in his steely grip.
“No, Alyse.”
Her head came up at the barely croaked words. Thomas’s eyes were open, black and glistening with pain, but they gleamed faintly as they rested on her. He swallowed, wincing as he did so, and tried to speak again. “Listen to Geoffrey, my love.” The gravelly voice sounded painful. “You cannot help me now.” He was wracked by another spasm of uncontrollable shivering. He slid his hand down the coverlet to draw it closer, but fell short.
Her heart gave a painful leap to see him so in need. With a snarl, she yanked her skirts from Geoffrey’s grasp and started toward the bed, intent on tending her husband as best she could.
Geoffrey grabbed her around the waist, lifted her off the floor, and crushed her to his chest. “Alyse! Do you want to catch it too? If you touch him— Ooof!”
Alyse sank her elbow with all her might into Geoffrey’s stomach. He dropped her and doubled over with a groan. She whirled around and snatched the dagger he wore on his belt, holding the weapon before her as though it were a sword. “Before God, Geoffrey Longford, you will let me go to my husband!”
He watched her warily. “Beware, Alyse. The dagger is sharp.”
So much the better. Mayhap he would listen to her now. “You will let me help him or…”
He stepped closer, his gaze on the weapon, appearing to judge his distance. He would seek to disarm her, of course. She had no skill with a blade. What she did have, however, thanks to her many games of chess, was a thorough grounding in strategy. When the intended target became untenable, one changed the target.
Without thought, she lifted the dagger to her own throat, stopping Geoffrey in his tracks and drawing an agonized cry of “Alyse!” from the writhing figure on the bed.
“I will see to my husband’s comfort, Sir Geoffrey. With or without your permission.” She eyed him warily as she walked backward to a chest on the far side of the bed. Dagger still poised at her neck, she carefully opened the lid, withdrew a blanket, and closed it. Halfway there.
She shuffled to the bed and spread the blanket over Thomas, who still shivered in the grip of the chill.
He clutched the cover, and the shaking seemed to ease, but he shook his head at her. “Alyse, this is madness.” He paused and drew a deep breath, as though marshalling his strength, before he could speak again. “You cannot save me, my love. And I will not be the cause of your death. Do as we had planned and ride out. I would know that you are safe ere I die.” He lifted his hand as if to touch her then snatched it back. It fell with a heavy plop on the cover.
She shook her head so violently her hair pins flew onto the floor and her hair began to straggle around her shoulders. “I will not abandon you, my love, no more than you would me were I shivering in this bed now.” She tried to smile. “I know you too well to believe you would leave me to save yourself. Yet you ask this dishonorable thing of me? Fie, my lord.” Tears started in her eyes. “You do me wrong to expect it of me.”
With a great hitching sob, Alyse’s bravado crested and began to ebb. The stark reality of Thomas’s plight seeped into her mind at last, though she could not admit that he doubtless spoke the truth. She had heard of no one who had survived the disease. At best, she could hope to comfort him and ease his pain during his ordeal, though in her heart she had to acknowledge the outlook was grim.
Her chest tightened as the truth settled on her heart, and she wailed her grief. She cast the dagger to the floor and leaned against the poster at the foot of the bed then slid to the floor, tears pouring down her cheeks. Once more she must lose a man she loved.
* * * *
Thank Christ.
Geoffrey bent to retrieve the dagger, not taking his gaze off Alyse until the blade sat safely in his belt. His mind at ease again, he glanced at Thomas, whose chill seemed to have lessened with the addition of the counterpane then back to the figure weeping against the bedpost.
The suggestion he intended to propose to them horrified him, but Alyse would not rest, would not eat, would not have the will to survive unless allowed to attend her husband in his final hours. ’Twould have to do, and mayhap ’twas all God’s will in the end.
“Thomas,” he whispered, and the haggard form on the bed turned his gaze inch by inch toward him. “I will set a chair for Alyse at the foot of the bed where she can see you and talk to you. If you have need of something—drink, food, anything—she can bring it to you as long as she does not touch you.”
“No, Geoffrey.” Thomas tried to raise himself from the mattress, but fell back almost immediately. “Take her…from here…before she contracts…this pestilence.” His labored breathing grew more tortured. “May…be…too late. Want to know…” He paused to draw a breath. “She is safe.” Thomas lay back on the pillows, exhaustion written in the gaunt lines on his face.
Geoffrey shook his head. “My friend, you should know her better than I do.” He snorted. “Do you truly think there is anything I can do to make her go? And the reality is that no one is safe.” He so wanted to avoid Thomas’s eyes, but he must deal straight with his friend to the end. “She could ride out and be dead in two days.”
Thomas winced at this, but Geoffrey continued mercilessly, determined to make him see that few options remained. “Let her ease you as best she can. Pray to God that she is spared. Beyond that, we are all in God’s hands.”
Thomas nodded and settled deeper into the bed. “Thank you, Geoffrey, for your good company these many years. You have been my friend as no other has. I could not have loved a brother more.”
Geoffrey swallowed hard. He deemed Thomas dearer to him than his own brother.
“But most of all, I thank you for Alyse.”
Jealousy warred with love briefly and lost. Geoffrey stared at his friend, who tried to smile.
“Had things gone differently in June, I would never have known one of the sweetest delights of my life. I was the fool who could not see the rarest gem under my very nose. Your misfortune proved the opportunity of my life, and I have no regrets, even now. And should God spare you both, I wish you joy of her.”
Geoffrey froze. Dear Christ! What is he saying? He opened his mouth to protest, but Thomas waved a leaden hand at him.
“She loves you still. I have tried to deny it, but no more. I claimed some small part of her heart, and with that I have been content. But you are hers as she is yours. Even those without sight could see it.” He sighed. “If the time comes, tell her I gave you my blessing.”
Geoffrey’s head whirled with this admission. His friend was a better man than he. How could this good man be dying? How could he bear the loss?
Thomas closed his eyes. “Would you fetch that chair, Geoffrey?” His voice brought Geoffrey back to the grim present. “I would very much like to speak to my wife.”
He nodded and placed an ornately carved chair at the end of the bed then gathered up Alyse, who still wept softly in a heap on the floor.
“My dear,” he said, raising her, “you may sit here and talk to Thomas. You may bring him anything he wants, but you may not touch him lest you catch the disease yourself. I will go to the princess now and inform her of these events.” He settled her into the chair. “I will tell her you will not attend her for some time to come. She will understand.”
Alyse’s woebegone face struck like a knife to his heart. “Thank you, Geoffrey. I cannot thank you enough for this.” She took his hand and pressed a kiss to it.
He glanced at Thomas, who watched the exchange and smiled at them.
God, how can he bear it?
Geoffrey disengaged his hand and strode to the door. God grant them as much time together as He would. “I will return later. In case you need anything, I will send a servant to wait by the door. Send to me by him when….” He could not say the words.
He took one last look at his boon companion, lying there weak and drawn. In all their ten
years together, he had never expected his friend’s end to come thusly. In battle, aye. ’Twas a knight’s best death to die for his king and country. Death through sickness held none of the glory Thomas deserved. Though as attendant to the princess, he could be said to have died in the service of His Majesty.
The pain in his heart sharpened, and he choked out, “God be with you, Thomas.”
Before he disgraced himself with tears, he whirled about and quit the chamber.
May they have one last bit of joy.
Chapter 8
As soon as the door closed, Alyse shot her hand out to grasp Thomas’s, but he withdrew it, tucking it beneath the covers he still clutched. “Nay, my girl. You must play by the rules or you will leave me. ’Tis enough danger for you to sit there.”
“But, Thomas—”
“Nay, love. You must obey me in this. With all my heart, I wish you to live on.”
“But—”
“Alyse.” Thomas spoke quietly, frowning as though it hurt to talk.
She nodded. ’Twould be cruel to worry him more, and him already in pain. “Then what may I do for you, love? How may I ease this suffering?”
He smiled tiredly. “Speak to me, my sweet. Let me hear your voice a while.”
“First let me tend to you, make you comfortable ere we talk. Are you yet chilled?” She rose from the chair, ready to do whatever he bid. His time might be short, but she would have him as comfortable as could be.
At her movement, he shrank back into the pillow.
She raised her hand to reassure him and shook her head. “Nay, love. I will not come near. Just tell me.”
He eased back against the pillows. “Aye, it comes and goes, but I long to feel more warmth.”
Good. She could remedy that. “Then I will have the servant fetch logs, and we will build the blaze until you are warm enough. I will send for broth as well, to strengthen you.”
When she had the logs crackling, she filled an iron kettle with water from the basin and swung it out into the flames. From her personal chest, she removed a bag of medicinal herbs given her by her mother for emergencies. She glanced at Thomas, whose gaze had not left her once, and smiled as she took small bags of hyssop, licorice root, and thyme out of the larger sack.