She started cleansing his arms and hands first. Then rinsing the cloth, she gently rubbed the blood from his stomach, and lower, where it had congealed in the hair on his groin.
Kat bit her lip as images of Alex flashed before her—Alex fearlessly jumping into the pit, drawing the bear’s deadly wrath onto him. Without a thought for his own life, he had come to her and Matthew’s rescue, giving them time to escape. And not once, but twice, it nearly cost him his life. She had felt so helpless as she watched Alex battle the bear, unable to aid him, knowing not what to do.
She dropped the cloth into the bloody water and stared at Alex. Reaching out, she gently laid her hand on his chest. His heartbeat was slow and steady, his chest barely rising and falling. But he lived.
Her hand trailed down his stomach next, feeling every indention, his sleek skin, so soft and resilient. A sob escaped and Kat pressed her fist to her mouth. If only it were truly so. That Alex was resilient enough to stave off contagion and recover completely.
Covering his chest with the sheet again, she rose and closed the shutters, tossed a few coals into the brazier, and pulled up a stool to the side of the bed. When she sat down, she reached for his hand and held it tight. And began to pray that Alex would be all right. That he would soon wake so she could tell him how deeply she still cared for him.
Rose was exhausted and sat down in the hall’s darkened alcove to catch her breath. The moon high, she had just relieved Kat for a spell and was returning to her pallet in the queen’s apartments. Two whole days had passed since Alex was attacked. Kat had assumed most of the burden of Alex’s care, refusing to leave his side. But Rose had had very little sleep, either. She was worried about her brother. His wound was healing nicely, but fever had set in.
Deep in thought, she nearly missed the quiet, furtive steps of the man who passed where she sat. But something about his sneaky behavior caught her attention. She held very still, unwilling to alert him to her presence, when suddenly, moonlight from a high round window shone on his blond hair. She recognized him immediately.
She waited until he started up the spiral stairs before she got up and followed him. ’Twas the same wing as Kat and Alex’s chambers, although on the opposite end. She did not trust the man, knew he was up to some mischief and she intended to discover what it was. She lifted her skirts and strode quietly up the steps in his wake.
He continued up the third flight, surprising her. She stopped on the landing below and waited, unsure what she should do next. Then a scratching sound echoed down the stairwell. Soon a door opened from above and a woman purred a warm throaty welcome. Revulsion roiled through Rose, for she recognized the woman’s voice and tone all too well.
“Are we alone?” Sir Stephen asked Lady Lydia.
Rose strained to hear the whispered response. “Aye, darling. I bribed my bed mates to find other accommodations for the night.” Then the door shut and Rose slumped against the central post.
Memories she had spent the last three years trying to put behind her came hurling back to haunt her. Sickened to her stomach, cold sweat dripped down her forehead as she fought them off. She told herself she had naught more to fear. But she knew she lied. Rose stood up and wiped her eyes. She had a beautiful son she loved, who needed her protection from his greedy, grasping cousin. And secrets from her past that if discovered, could destroy everything.
Lydia, after her initial passionate embrace, moved to the bedside table and poured Stephen some wine. The fool. Stephen always let his passion overrule his ambition. He had no idea she despised his touch; he thought her offering of wine a gracious gesture. Lydia smiled in satisfaction.
Of course, Sir Stephen believed her smile was for him. After taking a drink, he set his wine down and pulled her into his arms. She kissed him and let him fondle her breasts for a brief interval, then shoved him down on the bed. Capturing his hungry gaze, she pulled her sheer chemise slowly up her thighs and hips, hesitating before she revealed her golden delta.
“Drink up, darling. The wine will strengthen your blood. You shall need the extra fortitude for what I have in mind this night.”
Stephen gulped in anticipation, grabbed his wine chalice from the bedside table and drank till his cup was empty. Rewarding him, she slipped the chemise off. She stood boldly before him, naked except for her slippers and hose, the glow from the brazier gilding her body. His eyes glazed over and he reached out, groping for her breasts, but she shoved him back again.
“Christ, Lydia. I must have you now. ’Tis been too long since we last met like this.”
“You know the rules. Do not touch me unless I tell you to.” Her lips curled up in a seductive smile. “The anticipation will heighten our pleasure and you shall be thankful in the end.”
Stephen groaned and leaned back on his elbows, waiting.
She raised her left foot, exposing her pink petals, and pressed it against his chest. “Remove my hose.”
His eyes trained between her legs, his fingers fumbled when he removed her slipper, then garter.
Lydia purred, “Now, I would hear what you have learned of Alex’s condition.”
Occupied peeling her hose down, he answered by rote. “Sir Alex was wounded on the chest by the bear, but the wound appears to be healing. ’Tis the high fever he has contracted that may do him in.”
Lydia frowned, annoyed at the thought that he might die. She wanted Alex to suffer for his betrayal, but a quick death was not what she had planned. The fool had fallen in love with his pathetic wife, and she wanted him to feel the pain of that love being ripped away. Either at the hands of his wife’s death or…she had another plan that might achieve the goal of tearing the lovers apart.
“Your plan was too risky the other day. It depended too deeply on circumstances and luck. We must be very careful now to avoid suspicion.”
Stephen became surly. “I was very careful. You can be sure there are no witnesses to attest to my involvement.”
“What of the bear ward?”
Stephen smiled, his close-set brown eyes empty. “I have taken care of him.”
“Good.” She raised her right leg and he removed the other slipper and hose. Next, she stood back and cupped her breasts, drawing his eyes to their large dusky crowns. “Remove your clothes,” she commanded. She lifted her breasts up and squeezed them together. With her thumb and forefinger she squeezed and plucked her nipples to stinging hard points.
Stephen’s eyes never left her as he stripped off his tunic and undergarments in haste.
She propped her foot on the bed, giving him a view of the moist, tender flesh. “You may have a taste now.”
He groaned, grabbed her hips and buried his face between her legs. His manhood rose up hardened and erect.
“Are you sure Sir Luc has no idea of my involvement in your schemes?”
Sir Stephen drew back, blinking, his eyes unfocused. The drug she slipped into his wine was working; she had to hurry if she were to accomplish all she wanted this night. She crawled on top of the bed and straddled him, rubbing her dampened delta over his semi-erect member.
“Stephen?”
He stirred again. “Aye, Sir Luc has no idea of our plans, or my relationship with you. He is a convenient pawn. His obsession with the woman blinds him to all else.”
Lydia smiled a secret smile. “Good. He must never know or he could ruin everything.”
His patience at a limit, he growled, “Now, Lydia. I cannot wait a mom’ mo’,” his last words were garbled, but he grabbed her hips and she rose on her knees. Wanting the disgusting experience to end quickly, she took him inside her and plunged down. His hips heaved up several times and in a matter of moments, he spilled his seed with a guttural groan. He collapsed on the bed, his eyelids fluttering closed.
The belladonna finally took effect and he fell asleep. She rolled off of him and left the bed to the sound of his snores, then washed the sticky filth from her body. If she had her way, she would not copulate with him at all. But she did no
t want him to wake up with no memory of bedding her and become suspicious.
Feeling extremely unsatisfied, she knew she would have to give relief to the flesh she aroused earlier if she were to get any rest this night. First, however, she had to come up with a foolproof plan to achieve her revenge should Alex recover. Sir Stephen was right about one thing. Sir Luc was a convenient pawn. So now, she needed to decide how best to use him to her advantage without his knowledge of her involvement.
Hot, Kat had stripped down to her chemise. Alex’s fever had not abated. Indeed, it had worsened early this morning. Or yesterday morning, rather; now it was after matins.
Rose had returned from speaking with the queen three nights ago and prepared an infusion of henbane to help Alex sleep through the pain when he awakened. Since his fever set in, though, Kat had given him infusions of feverfew and yarrow, when he would cooperate. In and out of consciousness, there were times he thrashed about, rambling unintelligibly.
Now that he was restful for the moment, Kat bathed Alex in an attempt to cool his body and bring down his fever. She had performed the task numerous times, but ’twas not an onerous one. Try as she might to remain indifferent, she could not help but admire his masculine physique. He had a splendid body, his arm and leg muscles superbly built, a masterpiece of muscle, skin, and bone.
After rinsing the cloth in cool water again, she bathed around his manhood and drew the cloth down both his legs. The only sounds in the room were the rasp of the cloth and Alex’s uneven breathing.
Kat repeated the process over his whole body once more and then prepared a poultice for his wound. Using a pestle and mortar, she ground the dried comfrey leaves Jenny had brought from the kitchen into a fine paste. Doing the same with the yarrow, Kat added honey to the mixture and spread the cool poultice onto his wound to help heal it and soothe the pain.
It was a struggle to lift him and wrap the bandages around his chest, but she did. Panting lightly, she drew back to examine her work and arched her lower back, stretching her aching muscles. A hair came loose from her braid and she tucked it back in.
Idle for the nonce, Kat had time to think, to allow fear to invade her against her will.
So she began to tidy up the room as best she could; she tossed the dirty bandages into the antechamber for Jenny to retrieve, threw out the dirty water, cleaned the mortar and pestle, and poured fresh water into the basin. Then she made sure the shutters were secure before she climbed into bed beside Alex, although she knew she would be unable to sleep.
She laid her head on the pillow next to Alex, her worried gaze intent on his flushed face, but moments later her eyelids began to droop.
Kat jerked, realizing she had fallen asleep and that something or someone woke her. Lying as still as possible, she listened for any sign of an intruder as she groped under her pillow for her dagger. Of course, it could be Jenny or Rose or Rand, but ever since the bear attacked Alex, she had been uneasy for some reason.
She heard it again, a loud bang. Kat sighed—it was simply a shutter blown open by a brisk breeze. Going to the window, she looked out at the sky as dawn gleamed. Dark clouds were brewing on the horizon and another gust whipped her loosened hair back off her face.
It felt wonderful, but she closed the shutter and returned to check on Alex. She pressed her palm against his forehead. He was burning up. His fever had spiked while she was sleeping, and she noticed now he had tossed off his covers.
Without warning, Alex grabbed her hand and flung it away violently, snarling, “Don’t touch me or I will kill you.” His eyes were pitch black and he looked not at her, but through her. Her heart thundered.
It was the first time any of his ranting made sense. He dropped his head back to the pillow and began to mumble incoherently once more, the pain of his nightmares etched in the creases of his forehead and around his mouth.
His burst of anger frightened her, and she hesitated over what to do next. But when she caught a few of his words, she drew closer. He was demanding his sword. “Give me my sword. I need my sword. Protect her. Must protect her.”
Kat gasped. “Who, Alex? Who must you protect?”
His head shifted back and forth as if he searched the room, but his eyes were unfocused. “Where is my sword?” he bellowed, too weak to rise.
“You shall have your sword. When you tell me who you must protect.”
He mumbled some more then said quite clearly, “Kat. Danger. Must save her.”
Kat sighed with relief, afraid for a brief moment that it was Lydia for whom he was concerned. She stroked his fevered forehead and whispered, “Rest, Alex. I’m safe now. You saved me. Do you hear me? I am safe. And you are going to recover. I swear it.”
Chapter 23
It had been five and a half days since Alex contracted his fever. Kat was exhausted; sweat dripped down her back, her eyes burned and her back ached. But she was determined to see Alex defeat his fever. So, when Jenny brought her a midday repast, although not hungry, at her maid’s gentle scolding she had eaten a few bites to keep up her strength.
Now, a flash of lightning illuminated the chamber through the partially closed shutters.
Alex’s wound was healing, the red puckered skin knitting nicely together, and she continued to change his dressing three times a day. His high fever was a different matter. It seemed as though she had been trying to rid him of it forever. Preparing infusions to reduce the fever, forcing him to drink whenever he woke disoriented from his delirium, cooling him down with cool clothes. It was a continuous cycle that kept her mind too busy to think, or despair.
Alex stared at her now, his eyes blurry with fever, barely cognizant. Supporting him under his shoulders, she held a cup to his mouth. “I need you to drink, Alex.”
Instead, he nuzzled his face between the swells of her breasts and groaned. He was incorrigible. Even delirious, he was bent on seduction. Shifting him away, she placed the cup to his lips. “Drink. And then you can play all you want,” she lied.
She did not know if he comprehended her, but he drank the infusion of pennyroyal when she tipped the cup again. Since the dangerously high fever had not abated, this morning Rose decided to treat him with the herb to induce sweating. The situation was dire. If his fever did not break soon it could kill him. The next hours were critical.
“Enough.” He shoved her away with his injured arm. The cup flew out of her hand, the remaining contents spattering her shift. “Jesu’, my arm,” he cried out. Metal clanging, the cup hit the wooden floor.
Kat jumped up and pulled the wet bodice from her chest. Alex grabbed her arm, squeezing it painfully, and tugged her to him. “What did you do to my shoulder?” He snarled in her face.
Careful not to hurt him, knowing he was not in his right mind, Kat pressed Alex down on the bed gently and wrenched free.
His energy spent, the air whooshed out of his chest. Shaking his head from side to side, Alex struggled against an imaginary foe. “You cannot kill me. I am going to kill you first,” he swore.
Kat sat back on the cushioned window seat, shaken and bewildered. As the afternoon progressed, when not exhausted senseless, Alex continued to rant and rave against his captors as his fever raged higher. His ramblings were mostly indistinct, until he hollered for someone called Sir Richard.
There was a restless pause then Alex roared, an agonized wail of grief that pierced Kat’s heart. “You killed him. You killed Sir Richard. I shall see you in hell!” Gasping for breath, Alex’s head fell back to the pillow and rolled to the side.
Kat jumped up, shaking with fear. She leaned over Alex and pressed her ear to his chest. She detected a weak, but steady heartbeat. A sigh of relief escaped her.
Kneeling down beside the bed, Kat dropped her forehead on the mattress, haunted by Alex’s grief. She breathed in and out deeply, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart. Who was Sir Richard? How had Alex known him? Had the man been incarcerated with Alex in the Saracen fortress?
She pounded the bed
with her fist. “You will not die, Alex! You will not die!” she swore into the bed linens, her shout muffled. She remained there until her knees began to ache, then she got up and crawled into bed beside him.
When he calmed much later that evening, she tried to dose him again as the abbey bells rang the hour of compline. After lifting Alex behind his shoulders, Kat forced several drinks down his throat, but the rest dribbled down his chin.
Frustrated, she shoved his dull, matted black hair off his forehead, and then eased his shoulders back down on the bed. She turned to the bedside table, rinsed a cloth in the basin and ran it over his face. The motion was automatic now.
Alex grabbed her hand suddenly and Kat gasped.
Bleary and streaked red, his eyes held hers wonderingly. “Kat?”
Kat sighed in pure relief. “Aye. ’Tis me, Alex.”
“I am not dreaming? I escaped prison and have returned home to you?”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “Aye, Alex. You are home at last.”
With a sigh, his eyes closed.
But Kat could not rejoice yet. For just as suddenly as he had roused clear and aware for a few moments, virulent chills set in and Alex began to shake violently.
Alex was in hell. His body blazed like a bonfire in the hot Eastern sun as he labored. Bending down near the precipice of the fifty-foot deep, rock-cut ditch, Alex grunted as he and Richard hoisted another heavy stone block and carted it over rocky terrain. His back ached with the strain, the pace from dawn to dusk relentless. When they approached the tower under construction, they put down their burden where the master mason indicated. Sweat dripped into Alex’s eyes, stinging them. Unable to see, he stopped a moment to rub his eyes. A mistake. The guard’s whip snapped; it licked a burning path across his shoulder and chest. Alex gritted his teeth in excruciating pain, tamping down his fury and hate. Otherwise he would grab the master mason’s chisel and drive it through the guard’s skull. His will to survive was stronger than his rage.
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