Jenna Jaxon - Time Enough to Love 03

by Beleaguered

  His sharpening stone was in his chamber, but Thomas’s should have been here. He went to the chest pushed against a wall, one he had known well for ten years, and began to rummage inside. The stone was where it had always been kept, in the right corner. The familiar feel of the rough gray surface brought Thomas’s face to mind.

  So you will have a hand in saving her too, my friend.

  He palmed the stone and shut the chest.

  After swishing the knife in the soapy tub water, he sat at the table and raised the blade to the proper angle. With practiced strokes, he swept the blade sideways against the stone, sharpening the edge evenly. When he turned the knife over, he glanced at Alyse. Her face had gone the pallid shade of a marble statue.

  “What mean you to do, Geoffrey?” Her gaze never left his hands as they worked the blade.

  “I will make it as quick as I can, love.” He tested the blade against the pad of his thumb. A bright red drop welled. No pain. Good.

  Two tears welled in her eyes. “Think you this best? Rather than wait for the end? It cannot be long now.” Her voice was a whisper.

  “The end will be too late.” He started toward her then grabbed several napkins from the table. “There is likely to be a mess.”

  “Oh, Geoffrey.” Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, yet she still stared at him. “I do not want to die.”

  “This is the only way, my love. Brother Tomas said ’twas the one thing that helped Brother Michel.” He set the knife and napkins on the coverlet and raised her arm again. The mass was soft to the touch.

  She tried to wrest her arm from him, but the effort was feeble. “Brother Tomas? Ouch. ’Tis tender. Who is Brother Tomas that he would bid you kill me?”

  “Kill you?” Geoffrey jerked his head up to meet her tearstained face. “Think you I would kill you, madam?” The fever had turned her mind.

  “You have a…a sharp knife to hand and…and speak of… making it painless.” She choked back sobs.

  “God’s teeth, Alyse. I would as soon slit my own throat as I would yours. How could you think such a thing?” I cannot be angry at her. She knows not what she says. Still, it tore at his heart that she would believe him capable of such an act.

  “You told me nothing of Brother Tomas or your journey to the monastery. So I thought you might wish to spare me pain.” She reached out and clasped his hand.

  He opened his mouth then stopped and ran a hand through his hair. He had come back and immediately begun to care for her. Not a word of the brothers and their remedies had he told her. He drew their hands toward him and kissed hers. “I crave your pardon, love. I meant not to alarm you. Neither do I mean you harm. You must trust me. This is the information I sought at Montclair.”

  She squeezed his hand and lay back against the pillows.

  “At the monastery I saw Brother Tomas, who had nursed Brother Michel. When Brother Michel’s tumors grew too big, they burst.” Geoffrey winced. “After that, Brother Tomas said Brother Michel recovered.”

  He stopped, prepared for an exclamation of joy. However, she remained silent. “He recovered, Alyse. The only person I have heard of who has survived this cursed pestilence. And I believe ’tis because the sickness in these tumors was expelled. It did not remain to poison him, so he recovered.” He chaffed her hand. “Can you not trust me, my love?”

  She gripped his hand as though it were a lifeline. “Can we not simply wait for them to burst? Like Brother Michel? Why must you cut them open?”

  He pressed his face into their clasped hands. “I would open them as soon as possible so the sickness they contain can be removed swiftly from your body. The longer the pestilence remains within, the sicker you will become. ’Tis no worse than lancing a boil to release the pressure and remove the infected matter.”

  Alyse met his eyes. “And you have skill in such things?”

  Speak the truth and shame the devil. “Nay, I have never done this before, nor have I ever seen it done. But I will do it if there is a chance it will save your life.” His voice became a plea. “Please let me help you, my love.”

  She released a breath and nodded.

  Her consent gave him relief, yet made him cringe. As he had said, he had never attempted such an operation before. What if he did something wrong? What if he could not stop the bleeding? What if instead of curing her, he killed her?

  Geoffrey shook his head. In battle a man had to act boldly, without hesitation. He must do this thing, else Alyse would almost surely die. There was no one else to do it. She met his eyes as she stretched her arm up, allowing him access to the tumor. Like a steady beacon, her trust shone forth.

  He placed one of the linen napkins beneath the lump and lifted the knife blade. Alyse squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away.

  Blessed Virgin, steady my hand and turn Your grace toward us.

  Geoffrey made the sign of the cross and laid the sharp blade next to the smooth skin covering the lump. Calmness settled over him, the clarity he always found when facing a foe rising to his aid. Quickly, he punctured the lump and slid the blade cleanly across the mass.

  A half-strangled shriek rent the stillness, and Alyse slumped against the pillows. Good. ’Twould make the next one easier if she remained in a swoon. He busily collected the black ichor that rushed from the wound as soon as it ruptured, gathering it up in a napkin. The stench of it defied description. As though a rotting corpse had been mixed with sickly sweet flowers. He held his breath, glad Alyse lay beyond the reek.

  He grabbed another napkin to lay beneath the streaming wound and disposed of the other one, along with its disgusting contents, out the chamber window. He gasped in a lungful of clean air then returned to the bedside.

  Gently, he pushed on the shrunken mass, producing a moan from Alyse and expelling more of the odorous fluid into the second napkin. He noticed with disgust the flecks of green mixed in with the darkened blood and pus. God alone knew what that matter was.

  He discarded this napkin also and brought cloths, basin, soap, and water to the bed. As tenderly as possible, he cleansed the site of the wound, noting with thanks that it seemed to bleed but little. There was, however, no true way to bind it. He settled, in the end, for placing several thicknesses of cloth over it then slowly brought Alyse’s arm down by her side, effectively putting pressure on the site and sealing it off. This done, he washed his hands, afraid some of the fluid had touched him, and returned to sit beside her.

  Geoffrey stroked her hand softly, noting as he did that the fever seemed to be rising again. He had hoped that with the lancing of the tumor it would finally recede, but that seemed not to be the case. Of course, there was still the matter of the other lump to be dealt with. And as painful as the lump under her arm had seemed, the next one, situated in such a very tender part of her body, would likely prove even more agonizing. Best take care of it now, before she regained her senses.

  He moved her legs apart to better expose the mass, and lifted the knife. One deep breath then with a swift, almost practiced movement, he slit the lump near its base. There was a strangled cry from Alyse, but nothing else. The stench assailed his nose, and he coughed, disgusted by the reek of rotting flesh. He tended this one as before, and finally closed her legs to keep the padding tightly against the wound.

  When he finished, he dabbed his sleeve at the sweat that drenched his brow. He would rather face King Phillip’s entire army rather than go through that ordeal again. Alyse lay with eyes closed, head turned into the pillow.

  “Alyse?” She did not respond. “Alyse?” He shook her. Still no movement. “No!” He laid his head on her chest, straining to hear a heartbeat. “Oh, thank Christ.” The steady thump, thump met his ear, and he slumped onto her.

  He raised his head almost immediately for her chest fairly scorched his face. Weary, as though he had just fought a battle, he slowly cleared away the traces of his operation. He washed his hands and face, enjoying the coolness of the water, then took the basin to Alyse’s side and
began another an attempt to bring the fever under control. ’Twas in God’s hands.

  Time meant nothing now. The night wore on, hurtling toward a day he could not name. How much time had passed since he had broken into their chamber? No matter. His whole world now consisted of cool water, wet cloths, and smooth hot skin. He kept glancing at Alyse’s face, praying to see the dear eyes open and beckoning, but they remained closed, their lids pale.

  As the first streaks of dawn began to show through the window, Geoffrey rose from the chair and put the basin aside. The long, maddening hours of bathing her had sapped his strength. A weariness filled his heart. She had not responded once to his touch or voice. ’Twas as if God had finally spoken.

  He stripped once more, letting his clothes fall to the floor where he stood. His display brought no response, unlike the first night they had shared this chamber. So brief a time to have been happy.

  A deep ache had settled in his bones, and the softness of the bed next to his beloved called its siren song. He crawled beside her and lay down, not touching her lest he disturb her wounds, but as close as he dared. One stroke of his hand to her blazing cheek, and he slept.

  * * * *

  The sun was well up in the sky when Geoffrey opened his eyes. He stretched lazily at first, enjoying the feel of the soft bed beneath him. Then the events of the night past crashed into his mind, and he twisted around to gaze at Alyse.

  She seemed not to have moved as she slept, except that the frown lines about her brows had smoothed out. Her beautiful face, pale and serene in the late morning light, had lost its pained expression. He placed a tentative hand on her bare shoulder.

  Cold.

  “Oh, Alyse, no.” His body clenched, as if to ward off a blow. But it had already landed. Numb, he lay back in the bed.

  She is gone. Dear God, you have taken my life. Pain ripped through him, a white hot sword that laid his heart open. Then you must take me as well.

  This had always been his plan if Alyse did not survive, though he had tried to hide it from her as best he could. He would end it now, here, beside his beloved wife. Where he belonged.

  He rose from the bed. Where had he put the damned knife? Ah, there, beneath a napkin. The blade scraped the table as he snatched it up. Without thought, he raised it to his breast, resting the point on his chest, just above where he believed his heart to be. A drop of blood welled where the blade pricked. ’Twas good ’twas sharp. ’Twould be quick. His heart lay shattered. What more hurt could it sustain?

  He glanced at the still figure on the bed. He crossed to it and leaned over the beautiful face, smoothing back a dark lock that had fallen against her forehead.

  “I am coming with you, sweetheart,” he whispered. He pressed his warm lips to the cool softness of her mouth for the last time. Then he broke the kiss and stood up. When the knife rested again on his chest, he squeezed his eyes shut and pushed the blade until it pricked the skin. “For you, beloved.”

  “Geoffrey?”

  The knife clattered to the floor. He opened his eyes to find Alyse staring at him, wide-eyed. “Alyse. Oh, Christ.” He fell to his knees, embracing her despite the covers that cocooned her. “Oh, Alyse. My love, you were so cold, I thought you were dead.”

  “My fever must have broken during the night.” She smiled, and the world turned bright. “And I am cold. Would you happen to have a remedy to hand for such a dilemma?”

  He needed no other invitation. He vaulted over her into the bed, scrambled beneath the covers, and pulled her body against his.

  “Ouch.” She shrugged her arm, and he released her shoulder. “I doubt I shall ever trust you with a knife again.” She kissed his bare shoulder. “You never intended to ride out if I died, did you?”

  “What would have been the use of living without you, Alyse?” He shifted carefully until he could see her eyes. “You are my life. My heart beats only for you. An you were dead, ’twould be the cruelest of punishments to make me live on.”

  She sighed and nestled closer. “Aye, I do ken that, Geoffrey. Neither could I bear the thought of living on an you were to die. Promise me we will be together always.”

  “Not even death will part us, my love. You have my oath on that.” Pray God ’twould be a lifetime from now.

  Chapter 15

  “I fear we must make our camp here tonight, Alyse,” Geoffrey called as he rode into a clearing to the right of the road. “We will not make Laval before the sun sets, and there will be no moon tonight.”

  Alyse glanced around the exposed area. Not her first choice for their encampment. They had been extremely fortunate thus far in their travels, for they had either found accommodations in villages or made camp in abandoned stables for the past nine nights. The thought of sleeping out in the open did not appeal to her in the least.

  “We will be very exposed, Geoffrey. Are you sure we will be safe?”

  Three weeks after her fever had broken, Alyse had recovered enough strength to sit a horse more than an hour or two a day. Geoffrey had insisted they wait to leave until she could ride rather than take a carriage that would move too slowly and elicit too much interest from those they passed on the road.

  Lawlessness gripped the countryside, as Geoffrey had discovered while bargaining for goods in Loremo. A gang of ragtag peasants had set upon him as he returned to the manor house. He managed to fend them off with little harm to himself, although two of the ruffians lay dead in the road as the others scattered. The encounter had sobered him, and he insisted she be completely well before they struck out for Beaulieu, a journey of almost three weeks, in an effort to contact her family.

  The thought of them facing her father together, however, terrified Alyse as much as the vagabonds . According to Church law, the ceremony they had performed in the princess’s chapel bound them in holy matrimony as surely as if they had spoken their vows before Pope Clement himself. Unhappily, without witnesses or a priest’s blessing, they had only their word that the ceremony had taken place.

  They had ridden to the monastery at Montclair the day before they left Loremo, hoping the brothers would marry them. But they had found no sign of the monks and assumed they had been called away to other duties for their order. That left the problem of their marriage unresolved, for Geoffrey refused to venture near large towns lest either the plague or lawlessness overtake them. He kept reassuring her that as soon as they found a town that seemed safe, they would enter it and be wed properly.

  As a result, they were now almost halfway through their journey, for they had made good time in the crisp October air. Today they had ridden through thickly wooded countryside where leaves of riotous color surrounded them, often swirling around the horses’ feet or catching on their cloaks in startling patches of gold, orange, and red. The lowering sun glinted through the trees to the west when Geoffrey had reigned in Saracen.

  “’Twill be fine, my love. There is a stream yonder, and the trees on the far side of the clearing will provide some shelter for us. We will be fine.” Geoffrey dismounted and gathered the reins to lead Saracen and Falcon to the water.

  Alyse slid to the ground, grabbed the packs from Mirabelle’s back, and relinquished her to him as well. She had insisted on bringing Falcon with them as assurance against a mishap on the road. Also because she could not bear the thought of Thomas’s horse being sold or bartered, as they had done with the horses that had remained at the manor. And, she had argued, three horses could be the beginnings of a stable when they returned to England, for God only knew what they would find when they arrived at Longford Manor.

  As Geoffrey saw to the horses’ needs, Alyse laid out the bedroll and blankets, made the fire, and spread their meager dinner on the pallet. When Geoffrey brought a skin of fresh water, they sat together, as had become their custom, to watch the sun go down and eat their meal of cheese, bread, and salt beef.

  “Stop leering at me, my lord.” Alyse grinned at him then took a piece of bread and tore it into small bits. She nibbled the c
rust of one and drank some ale.

  “You are too fetching in that outfit for me to do anything else, love.” Geoffrey’s gaze strayed from her breasts to her legs. She had insisted on wearing Thomas’s altered suit of clothes for comfort during the long days of riding, and for the protection it afforded her as a disguise. Even though it hid all her womanly curves, it had proven to be a great distraction for her husband.

  “You are not eating, Alyse.” Not enough of a distraction. “What is amiss, my love?” Geoffrey finished his cheese and nodded toward the pile of food still before her.

  “’Tis nothing. I am just overtired tonight.” She packed the food away quickly so he would not see how much she had actually eaten.

  “But you ate nothing this morning either, sweetheart.”

  “I ate a goodly bit at noon though.”

  Geoffrey frowned. “You ate some bread and cheese. And not much of that.” He peered sharply at her. “Mayhap we are pressing too hard. The long days in the saddle are too tiring for you after your illness.” He drew her into his arms. “You must keep up your strength, love. You must eat more than bread and cheese. When we come to Laval tomorrow, we will stop and find a hot meal for us. Chicken, and fresh bread, and a nice thick pudding perhaps.”

  Alyse swallowed hard at the thought of such food, praying her stomach would settle. “That sounds wonderful, Geoffrey. After a long sleep, I am sure I will be hungry. I am just so very tired now.” She removed her shoes and lay back on the pallet as Geoffrey stoked the fire.

  He turned toward her and smiled—a slow smile that made her heart melt. He spread their cloaks over them then lay down beside her. A thousand stars had suddenly appeared in the inky night sky as the sun retreated around the rim of the Earth. The rustling leaves, the subtle rush of the stream, the soft stamping of the horses as they moved about cropping grass soothed her. She closed her eyes, the aches and weariness seeping from her.

  Geoffrey took her hand and placed a soft kiss on the palm. “I wonder what it would be like to love you under the stars?” he whispered, nuzzling her neck.