Jenna Jaxon - Time Enough to Love 03

by Beleaguered

  A miracle. The miracle he had so desperately sought to find. “What is your name, brother?”

  “Tomas, my lord.”

  Thomas. “Did you tend Brother Michel, Brother Tomas?”

  “Aye. I tend to his needs still.”

  “And what did you do for him while the sickness was upon him?”

  But here Brother Sebastian intervened. “Tomas! It is not kind to raise his hopes. Sir Geoffrey, it is true that one brother did survive, for which miracle we all praise God. But we believe it truly was a miracle. For no other that we have seen thus afflicted has lived.”

  Geoffrey glanced from Tomas to Sebastian. Mayhap God would spare a second one for Alyse. “Then I too shall pray for intervention, brothers. I will pray to God, and ask you to help make another miracle occur.” He turned to the young monk and seized his hands. “’Tis my wife, whom I dearly love, who lies ill at Loremo. Any service within my power I will do to see her well again.” He stared into kind brown eyes, so like Thomas’s. “Can you tell me what you did to ease Brother Michel?”

  “Aye, my lord. Would you like to come in out of the sun and sit while we talk?”

  “I thank you, Brother, but nay. I must haste to return to my lady. I will stand here that we may speed my hearing.” The brethren cast long afternoon shadows upon the lawn. Time for him to be on the road again.

  “Then I will tell you quickly all I know. I only wish it was more. But what I did was simple. When he had a fever, I bathed him. When he had chills, I covered him with many blankets. I gave him ground peony mixed with oil of roses for his headache. And I made sure he ate and drank well, even when he did not want it.”

  Geoffrey waited for him to continue, but Brother Tomas had done with his remedies. This was all? ’Twas only what he had already done for Alyse, save the peony mixture. A huge weight settled on him. There would be no miracle. “Thank you, Brother Tomas,” he said wearily. “’You did nothing else?”

  Tomas’s brow furrowed. “Nay, my lord. I gave no other aid to Brother Michel. And he did not seem greatly relieved by my care of him until the great tumors came under his arm and in his…” He paused and whispered, “In his private region.”

  Geoffrey nodded then looked sharply at the young monk. “He was relieved when the tumors came?”

  “Nay, not when they appeared, but when they burst.” Tomas shuddered. “’Twas then he felt relief. The poisons in the tumors drained away, and he began to recover.”

  “Did the tumors burst of their own accord, or did you cut them?”

  “They burst of their own accord. And the sight of them…” He swallowed hard and shifted his weight. “’Tis no wonder Brother Michel felt better after that mess drained from him.”

  Relief shot through Geoffrey with the speed of a jousting horse. At last he had found the treatment he sought. A glimmer of hope in a darkened world. “We both thank you, gentle brothers, for your most blessed knowledge.” Geoffrey bowed and ran for his horse. “I pray this information will help me combat the disease in Lady Longford. I ask that you keep us both in your prayers, as you will be in mine.”

  He swung himself up onto Saracen, suddenly exhilarated. As he turned him in a small circle, he glanced over his shoulder at the group before the monastery walls. “May the Blessed Virgin and St. Jude favor you all, brothers. And especially you, Brother Tomas.” He urged the horse into a canter and was racing away when he heard a faint, “Go with God, my lord.” He smiled and crossed himself. “Amen, Tomas, amen.”

  A little less than an hour later, Geoffrey rode into the stable, threw the saddle and blanket to the ground, and handfuls of hay into the stall then ran for the manor house.

  “Alyse. Alyse.” He barged through the main doorway, calling even though reason told him she could not hear him at this distance. He sprinted across the Great Hall and up the flight of stairs in the gathering gloom, quickly reaching their chamber door.

  There he stopped, a chilled hand clutching his heart. What might he find after so many hours? Taking a deep breath, he quietly opened the door and entered.

  She was much as he had left her, save some of the covers had fallen or been pushed to the floor. Her face had flushed even redder, and her breath came in shallow gasps. She jerked awake then the strain around her eyes eased when she spied him.

  “Geoffrey.” It was all she could manage through fever-cracked lips, but it was enough to tell him she still lived.

  He ran and knelt beside her, his head at her side on the bed, her hot, dry hand clasped firmly in his. “My love!” he mumbled into the sheets. “Oh, Alyse, I thought I would not return in time.”

  She squeezed his hand, a slight pressure, but comforting nonetheless.

  “I feared at first the brothers could not help us, but God be praised, they had treatments that may help.”

  At her silence, he raised his head, and his stomach lurched. She had worsened in the time he had been gone. Her eyes, rimmed with black, had sunk back in her head. When she breathed, ’twas as though she had not the strength to take air deep into her lungs. As he watched, her brows furrowed, and she closed her eyes, wincing.

  “What pains you, love?”

  “My head.”

  Brother Tomas had mentioned headache and the remedy. “Have you any peony and rose oil in your herb chest? The brother who tended the sick said it would help.”

  A slight nod of the head then she stretched out her finger toward the chest at the end of the bed, intricately carved with flowers and stars. He opened it and took a smaller chest from within. He raised the lid and a pungent whiff of mingled herbs assailed his nose. He frowned. The box was fitted with dozens of compartments crowded with dried flowers and herbs. Give him an armory, bid him stand off any enemy, and he could happily oblige. These weapons, however, were beyond his ken.

  “Heat water first.” The words were scratchy, as though they stuck in her throat. “I will tell you how to brew the infusion.”

  Carefully, he set the chest down and did as she bid him. ’Twas good to have a task at hand. After he rekindled the fire and swung the kettle over it, he grabbed the wine bottle left from their evening feast. “Come, love. Drink a little of this while the water boils. ’Twill give you strength.” He poured a cup and set it to her lips. She wrinkled her nose, and tried to push it out of the way.

  “None of that, my lady.” He held the cup steadfast until she took several sips. “And you have eaten naught since I left. We must remedy that as well.”

  She scowled. “The wine will do for now.”

  “You need to eat.” He glanced at the remains of last evening’s repast. What might tempt her? There was little left. Some bread, a bite of cheese, the wine. Setting her cup on the table, his hand brushed the pot of pears. A slow grin spread over his face. “Let me prepare something for you.” He cut a slice of bread then tore it into thumb-sized morsels. He drew up a chair beside her and took the honeyed pears.

  “Here.” He dipped the bread into the pot and held it to her mouth. “You should remember this.” She smiled, and he popped the bit into her mouth. Although she pursed her lips and looked as though she wanted to spit it out, she chewed and swallowed.

  “May I have some more wine?” She lay back on the pillows, her gaze following his every move.

  “Whatever you wish, my sweet.” A good sign, mayhap. He held the cup for her to drink again, and she managed to drain it. “And now another bite of bread and pears.”

  “I am so thirsty.” She clutched at the covers, pulling them up to her chin. “And cold.”

  He felt her cheek and cursed under his breath. Her skin was burning to the touch. She needed to cool down. Perhaps a bath?

  “Eat first. While you do, I shall prepare a bath for you. That should make you more comfortable.” He placed several more pieces of bread with honey in her hand. “Do not mind if ’tis sticky. We can remedy that in the tub.” He rose and looked at the water in the tub then felt it. A bit soapy, but cool indeed. ’Twould serve.

/>   “Have you finished, love?” When she nodded, he pulled the sheet back, revealing her naked body, as beautiful as he had always found it. He scooped her into his arms and lowered her into the bath. “This should help your fever.”

  She groaned at the touch of the cold water to her burning body, but sat willingly with legs crossed, head laid back against the rim of the tub, exhaustion lining her face. “The water should be heated. Can you make the infusion now?”

  “Of course, love.” Damnation. He should not have forgotten the headache remedy. “Tell me what to do.”

  In a few minutes, he had the dried peony and rose oil steeping in the hot water. “How long should we let it sit?” If it sat too long would it work better or worse? He knew nothing of such things.

  “I will let you know.” Alyse rubbed her neck against the edge and closed her eyes.

  “Did you sleep while I was gone, Alyse?”

  “A little. The chill passed, and I was able to sleep awhile. But there were strange dreams. Strange and wonderful dreams.” She looked at him and smiled. He sat down beside the tub, dipped water in a cup then dribbled it over her shoulders and chest. She shivered as the cool water coursed down her hot body. “Both you and Thomas were here with me.”

  Geoffrey gently pushed her torso forward that he might cool her back. “Strange indeed. Both of us? What did we do?”

  “I…we…ahhh…” Color arose in her cheeks, two red splotches that deepened as she sputtered to an end. “I think ’twas the fever that caused the dream. I remember it only in bits and pieces.”

  “’Tis of no consequence.” Best leave the subject, lest it upset her. Mayhap she had dreamed of them fighting over her. She should forget such things. “’Tis the way with fever. Think not on it. You need your rest still. I am here now to soothe you and perchance ease you into better dreams.”

  He rose and checked the peony infusion. It smelled deliciously sweet, though he doubted the taste would match the aroma. “Think you this is ready?”

  She nodded, and he brought it back to the tub and held the cup to her mouth. “Drink, my love, to ease your head.”

  She clenched the lip of the tub, but opened her mouth obediently. At the first sip, she frowned, and it took her a moment or two to swallow the brew.

  “Is it too hot?”

  “Aye, and bitter as gall.” She turned her head away.

  “Nay, madam, you must drink it all lest your headache worsen.”

  “Even now it feels as though I had drunk two full skins of wine.” She leaned her head back and pressed her neck against the rim again.

  Geoffrey chuckled as he blew on the dark liquid. “What know you of such a feat?” Once more he pushed the cup against her tightly clamped lips. “All, my love.”

  The evil stare she sent him might have killed a lesser man. Relentlessly, he urged the lip of the cup to her mouth. Her shoulders slumped, and she took another swallow. And another. All the while glaring into is eyes. Mayhap it eased her to do so. As long as she drank, he cared not how much ill will she sent his way. She got almost all of it down before he let her wave the cup away. Pray God it eased her pain. He set about getting her back into the bed for the rest she sorely needed.

  * * * *

  Geoffrey stood vigil throughout the night, while Alyse dozed. She woke only when chills gripped her or the fever rose, making her throw off the covers. He helped pile blankets on or bathed her with cool cloths, constantly checking to see if the tumors had appeared.

  By dawn, he could barely hold his head up. Sleep would be sweet, but he dare not rest lest the buboes erupt. He stretched, arching his back. Food would help them both. With a glance at the slumbering Alyse, he grabbed a candle and headed out the door, bound for the larder.

  He returned shortly, laden with a variety of victuals he hoped would tempt Alyse’s appetite. The first order of business was to start a broth. He and Thomas had oft shared the task of cooking during their many campaigns with King Edward. The fare he could prepare was not fit for a king’s table, but he prayed ’twas good enough to help strengthen Alyse. When the salt beef was soaking in a pot over the fire, he cut up the rest of the bread and slathered it with the bit of butter he had found in the dairy. There had been another cheese there as well, which he had brought, along with some more wine from the butlery. They would have another feast, if he could only get her to eat it.

  Movement from the restless form on the bed drew his attention, and he pressed his hand to her forehead. Hotter than the steeping broth. Damn. How could he bring the fever down?

  Alyse stirred beneath his hand. “Thirsty.”

  He grabbed the bottle and splashed the rich red wine into her cup. “Drink this, love. And I have prepared food to strengthen you.”

  She gulped the wine greedily, but wrinkled her nose at the mention of food. “I am not hungry, Geoffrey.”

  “But you must eat.” He eased her back onto the pillows and went to check the broth. The water had turned a deep brown color, the top dotted with oily pools. A salty, beefy scent wafted up. His stomach growled. He dipped some into a cup and set it onto the table to cool. Then he put the bread and butter on a plate and sat beside her once more.

  “Here, love. We will start with this.” He held the piece of buttered bread before her mouth, but she turned her head.

  “My throat hurts so, only the wine feels good going down.” Her big blue eyes pleaded with him, and he relented.

  “Then try some broth, for my sake.” He got the cup, and she managed to drink almost half. “Good girl.” His own stomach growled. Best keep up his strength as well. The discarded bread and butter beckoned, so he soaked it in the remaining broth and slipped it into his mouth. It slid effortlessly down his throat.

  He grabbed another piece, dipped it in the broth, and held it to Alyse’s lips. “Try this, my lady. I promise ’twill not pain your throat.”

  She sighed and opened her mouth for the morsel. After chewing but slightly, she swallowed, and glanced to him. “May I have another piece?”

  Relief poured through him. He scooped up more broth. The room had filled with the light of early morning while they finished the bread and butter. Alyse stretched and pulled the covers close to her chin. “I am so tired, my love. Will you lie beside me, Geoffrey? You need rest too.”

  Too weary to argue, he doffed his clothes and crawled into bed beside her.

  “I will, but it must be a brief rest only. I must keep a watch for the tumors.” He laid his head on the soft pillow, closed his eyes, and knew no more.

  Chapter 14

  He stood in the field of lavender near the house at Longford, watching a long line of people shuffling past. Peasants, soldiers, clergy, nobles, men, women, children, in rich garb and poor, all shambling past him into the west as the sun went down in a blood red sky. As they passed, he could see and recognize some of the people: Roland, his father, Sir Robert Bouchier, Sir John , Sir Patrick, many of the other courtiers who had traveled with him to Bordeaux.

  At the end of the line, three very distinct figures walked toward him—Thomas, Princess Joanna, and, last in line, Alyse. He raised his face to hers, however her eyes were not the wonderful crystal blue he so loved to see, but black orbs that reflected the blood of the sky. She raised her hand and beckoned him to join her. Filled with dread and longing, he took a step toward her when….

  Geoffrey bolted up in the bed, a cry on his lips. He choked it off and sat up. The nightmare had been so vivid. He passed a trembling hand down his face. His breathing slowed, and he shook his head to dispel the dream’s evil images.

  A hand gripped his arm, and he jumped, scrambling away from the hot touch of the phantom that still threatened. He could not see, could not remember where he was.

  “Geoffrey, ’tis Alyse.” Even though raspy with the fever, the beloved voice acted as an anchor that tethered him to the world of the living. Her hand dropped away, but the ragged breathing continued to sound in his ears.

  With a soft curse, h
e left the bed, fumbling in the full dark as he made for the bedside table. He had slept the day away, God curse him. He finally managed to light a candle, and from it lit the candelabra. Bringing it back to the bed, he drew back Alyse’s covers, and raised the light high to assess his patient.

  Her eyes were closed, her cheeks two scarlet spots of color in a white face. He laid his hand to her forehead, but the fever burned so bright it could not linger there. God’s death, would this cursed fever never go away.

  “Geoffrey?” She sighed deeply.

  “Yes, love, I am here.” He grasped her hand and squeezed.

  “You cried out. Are you ill?” Her voice broke.

  “Nay, Alyse. Look at me.” She opened her eyes a slit, as though the light hurt them. “I am well, beloved. ’Twas a nightmare, is all. You allowed me to sleep o’er long. Will you eat something?”

  Alyse shook her head and shifted in the bed. She winced when she moved her right arm.

  “What is wrong, my love?” He took her hand. Something was not right. “What…?”

  She turned her face from him, but not before he caught sight of her downturned mouth, the hopelessness in her eyes.

  He grabbed her chin and pulled it toward him. “Tell me!”

  Jerking her face away, she raised her arm. The dark shadow there measured nearly as big as an egg. A buboe. God help him.

  He hissed in a breath then swept the covers from Alyse’s body, searching for others. “Damn.” Another one protruded from the right side of her groin. He shook his head and drew his knife from his belt. The blade had crumbs from the loaf of bread clinging to it. “I need to put an edge on this.”

  “Why?” Her quiet question crackled in the silent room.

  “’Twill hurt less, love.”