Eleanor ceased to worry about Isobel as Alain began to fail.
She didn't understand what was ailing him. He tired easily; he had since their marriage. But he had never suffered so wretchedly as he seemed to do now. His stomach emptied on him time and again; there were days when he could barely get out of bed.
They talked frequently in those days; he told her that yes, he had sent men to Liverpool, but he had discovered nothing. She told him what Isobel had said, yet held back the information that she was indeed carrying a child. Brendan's child. It seemed too soon. She would tell him in time. And she prayed that he would believe that she had never betrayed him after the marriage, as she had vowed that she would not.
Then, the days when he was well enough to talk began to come few and far between.
She spent hours with him, soothing his brow with cool water, just sitting by his side. She sent for the village doctor, who bled him and leeched him—and seemed to make him worse. On a day when the doctor had come and Alain had cried out throughout the treatments, she threw the doctor out angrily, swearing that he would kill her husband, rather than cure him.
He seemed to rally; then, three days later, he was sicker. Isobel came to the room, asking after him, sweetly, solicitously.
When she left, Alain said dryly, "She's looking to see if I'm dead yet."
"Alain! Please ..."
"Perhaps she doesn't realize you can re-marry."
She shook her head. "I will never re-marry."
"Then you'll allow her to produce a two-headed monster to steal your father's heritage."
Eleanor bowed her head, trembling. She knelt by the side of the bed, holding his hands. She shook her head. "Alain, it's time that I tell. She frightens me, because what she says is true. Her offspring—two-headed or other—will not have Clarin. I'm expecting a child." Tears stung her eyes. 'I am quite certain now, but I swear to you, once our marriage vows were spoken, I did not betray you. It was before—"
His hand shook, but he touched her head.' 'Eleanor, I know."
"I did not see him again—"
"Eleanor, I know, my dear. He was at the church. I saw him there. I saw him walk away."
"What?" she said, startled.
"Aye, Brendan came to the service. He did not wait for it to end, but left the church, and the Scots rode to Calais that day."
She laid her head against his shoulder, shaking. "I would never have hurt you in any way—"
"Eleanor, a child is a blessing."
"But the world is so dangerous! And I must ask you ... if you'll allow me ..." she whispered.
"Eleanor—"
"With your permission only, I'll let the world believe—"
"I will be proud if you let the world believe the child is mine. Does anyone know?"
Eleanor nodded. "Bridie, but no one else. I wanted to wait. Until I could be certain that... that I was expecting, and that I... could carry the child."
"You won't be able to keep it a secret much longer."
"Alain, Bridie is ..."
"Ah, yes, of course, she fell in love with one of the fellows as well."
"She does love him. I have tried to think of a way—"
"The fellow must know. And if she wishes to go to Scotland, he'll be a groom."
"Alain—"
"I will see to it."
She smiled. He meant it. He would do it.
"As for me, Alain, I will tell no one else—yet. Isobel may talk all that she wants. I want you to get well, first."
"Aye, my lady, I would like nothing better than to announce this together." He was quiet a moment. "You can never let Brendan know that the child is his. He would move the earth— and lose his fool head—to claim it."
"Why? He may have ..."
"Scattered dozens of children in a dozen places?" Alain asked, and she blushed. "Nay, lady, I think not. He is fiercely proud, and comes from a race that takes great store in a family name, and in their heritage. I feared, indeed, that he would come for you in the midst of the wedding."
"But he did not."
"You had told him you wanted it."
"And I did."
Alain smoothed her hair. "You wanted to do what was right I hope it was right my dear."
"I hope that it was right as well. I hope that I have not hurt you. England has made you ill, and you're suffering so."
"I have never suffered to be near you. And you have made me very proud, pretending always that I remain a robust and virile knight, a husband in truth."
"Alain."
"Aye, Eleanor."
"You are a husband in every important way."
"You are too kind."
"Nay, my lord, you are too kind. And I do love you."
She heard his soft sigh. "As you loved your father."
"Alain—"
"It is enough."
"And don't worry. I will see to the fate of your maid."
But he could not do so.
Three days later, he had a violent setback.
In the middle of the night he awoke. She heard him choking and came rushing into the room. To her honor, he had staggered up. He clutched the headboard; blood trailed from his lips.
"Alain!" she shrieked, and came running to him. She helped him back to the bed, caught a cloth and water, and wiped his face. He was stark white; he heaved. He tried to speak.
"I'll call the doctor!" she assured him.
The doctor! For all the good that he had done! But she was helpless now herself, and she burst out into the hall, shouting for help.
Alfred burst from his chamber, obviously from a deep sleep.
Corbin and Isobel emerged as well.
It was equally obvious they had not been sleeping.
"Alfred, please, someone must go for the doctor; it's Alain, he's taken a terrible turn ..."
Alfred steadied her. "Go back to him. I'll get the doctor."
She rushed back into the room. Alain was up again, doubled over, biting into his lip to keep from crying out with the pain.
She held him, staying close, trying to stop his ragged shaking as the attacks seemed to seize him over and over again; it was as if he would be sick to his stomach—yet the insides of his stomach already seemed to be out. She tried cool cloths, and a sip of water, but the water came back, and he groaned with the pain seizing him.
The doctor arrived. He recommended cures that made no sense to Eleanor; there was nothing in him, but the doctor meant to purge him.
As they spoke, Alain began to toss on the bed.
He cried out suddenly.
"It is as if I'm poisoned, poisoned!"
They both stared at him. Isobel, in the corner of the room, leaped to her feet. "Oh, my God! Oh, my God!"
"He is not poisoned!" Eleanor said contemptuously. "Doctor, please—"
"Eleanor, Eleanor, where's Eleanor?" Alain called out.
She rushed to him. "I'm here, I'm here!" she said, holding him, the dear white head to her breast.
"Eleanor, the pain ..."
"Oh, Alain
"Poison!" he said, and started to toss and turn. "As if I'm poisoned ..."
"Alain, Alain, my poor Alain!" she whispered. She stared at the doctor. "You can do nothing to cause him more pain! You must help him!"
But even as she spoke, Alain began to thrash with such a violence that she was thrown from him. He screamed, winding into a tight fetal position on the bed.
And then, he went still.
She rushed back to him, taking him into her arms. He rolled slightly, staring up at her, his mouth working.
"Eleanor ..." he whispered.
And then he died.
She felt it as the life went out of him, felt the change as his spirit left him, as death claimed him. In her arms, his hand still upon her own, a trickle of blood on his chin once again, his wise brown eyes still open on hers.
A sob escaped her, and she bit into her lip. Tears slipped silently from beneath her lashes.
She brought her fi
ngers to his eyelids, closing them.
"Rest well, dear friend!" she whispered.
She cradled his form to her, holding him close, needing the warmth that would too quickly escape from his body.
"Eleanor—" Alfred began. "He is gone."
"I know."
"Come away," Corbin said, walking to stand behind her, placing a gentle hand upon her shoulder.
"Please ... I need a few moments with him alone."
They were all silent. No one had moved. She didn't even realize it at first, she was so lost in the pain of seeing him suffer so ... and losing him.
But then the silence wore on, and she looked up, and even Alfred was staring at her strangely.
The doctor was the one who spoke, walking forward suddenly.
"Poison!" he said. "We shall see."
Chapter 14
"How dare you!" she cried out with such fury in her voice that they all backed away. She was shaking; hands clenched into fists at her side. "How dare you even think ... get out! Get out, all of you!"
She started forward with such a fury that the doctor disappeared with an astonishing speed. The others followed him.
Isobel the last.
She closed the door behind her as she left.
The silence in the room settled over Eleanor. She stood still for several long minutes, then the anger drained from her, and all she felt again was the pain, the deep anguish, that such a fine and noble man should die in such excruciating pain.
She went back to the bed, where he lay. The warmth was fading from him; his body began to stiffen. She held him to her again for a long time, her tears fading upon him. She rocked him, just holding him.
Then slowly, she began to wonder if he had been poisoned. He had suffered such violent spasms. She had seen rats die so, when they had set out poisons in the barn ...
"My God, how I have wronged you, how I have wronged you!" she whispered.
She didn't know how much time passed then; she felt numb. At last, she stretched him out on the bed. She cleaned his face, and knelt by the side of the bed, and she tried to pray, but her mind seemed as cold and numb as the body of the man before her.
And still, she stayed there.
Sometime in the night, she fell asleep upon her knees. She awoke at the touch of gentle hands on her shoulders.
"My lady, you must come away. He must be prepared for burial."
She looked up. Bridie, slim and grave and looking old beyond her years, stood behind her.
"No one will touch him, Bridie. No one but you, and his own manservant."
"No one, my lady. Come. You must have some rest."
She allowed Bridie to help her to her feet.' 'Bridie, the doctor said that he was poisoned. And even Alain cried out the word."
"He was old, my lady. He was ill. Everyone knew it."
"I wronged him so."
"My lady, you did not poison him."
"My God, I would never have done so!"
"Shush, shush. It's all right. He adored you."
"I hurt him."
"You gave him his last happiness."
"I love him ... but never loved him."
"You gave him what he needed. Believe me, Eleanor, you gave him pride, and a tremendous joy."
"He died because he came here."
"My lady, you must get some rest. You will injure the child."
That sobering thought gave Eleanor pause at last. Bridie pulled her away, toward the adjoining room, and her own bed. Eleanor stopped once, going back, tenderly kissing his cold forehead, smoothing back the white hair, touching the fine structure of his face.
"Come now."
Eleanor obeyed. Bridie led her to her own room, and gave her a goblet.
"What—?"
"Mulled wine. It will help you sleep."
She drank the wine. She lay back, and lay awake. Bridie sat at her side.
"You're skin and bones, you know," she told her maid.
Bridie smiled. "I'm afraid so."
"The babe will show soon."
"Aye."
"Alain meant to help you; to get you to Scotland. I had not forgotten you."
"My poor dear, I know that you would never. Eleanor, you mustn't be distraught. Allow the wine to work, your soul to rest."
She closed her eyes. The numbness was still with her. Bridie pulled the warm wool blankets around her.
"We ... I will still find a way for you."
"You must find a way for yourself, my lady," Bridie said. She kept talking, soothingly. Eleanor drifted. Exhaustion, and the strong heated wine took their toll.
She drifted into sleep with Bridie at her side.
For the next two days, she gave little heed to anyone. She chose clothing for Alain, and sent for Richard Egans, the finest carpenter in the village. He set to making a splendid coffin for the count.
Alain was laid out in the great hall.
The villagers came in deep sorrow, all to pay their respects. They prayed. They left new spring flowers at his side.
He would be buried from the small village church. Father Gillean, the rotund little priest who had led the souls of Clarin for nearly fifty years, spoke with Eleanor, allowing her to choose certain passages to be read for the funeral. The fourth morning after his death, Count Alain de Lacville and Clarin was borne upon the shoulders of six young men of Clarin, and carried to the altar of the ancient stone church. The service was read. Eleanor stood with her family, Alfred at one side, Corbin at the other.
Isobel at Corbin's side, crying daintily.
Yet when the service had been read, and the body would have been carried to the grave site, someone from the far rear of the church cleared his throat
Eleanor heard the footsteps as they moved down the aisle, but she remained oblivious until she saw the man in the colors of the Duke of York standing before her.
He was not a man she knew, but obviously a man of some importance. His family emblem was emblazoned on his tunic as well.
She had not expected him, but apparently Alfred had. He looked at her gravely as the man approached. "Eleanor, Countess of Clarin and de Lacville?"
"Of course," she murmured.
"My lady, you will return to the castle with me."
She stared at Alfred.
He looked miserably to the floor, then into her eyes.
"Word of the count's manner of death has created a stir, Eleanor. This is Sir Miles Fitzgerald. He has been sent by the Duke of York to look into the ... circumstances." he stared again at the man who had come.
"My husband is not yet even in the ground—"
"My lady, he will not be set into the ground until my physicians have conferred with your doctor, and the body is examined."
"Why didn't you tell me about this?" she asked Alfred.
"You were so upset. I didn't want you to be further disturbed."
The numbness which had seemed to surround her for days departed then, cleanly, clearly.' 'I am being accused of murder, and you didn't want to upset me?"
"My lady, at the moment, we are merely seeing to the count. Your husband was a very important man. With the rumor about, the French will be demanding answers. Alain was a personal friend of King Philip, you are aware."
"Of course, I am aware," she said. "Well, Sir Miles, you wish to speak with me? Then indeed, let's return to the castle."
She left the church in the lead, aware that Fitzgerald followed her closely. Outside the church, she saw that he had been attended on his ride here by a number of knights. They had not gone so far as to clad themselves in armor, but they were well armed, and appeared a stalwart group.
Ready to use force to take one lone woman?
Or to use force, if necessary, if anyone should protest their decision?
They sat in the great hall. Corbin brought her wine; she refused it.
Fitzgerald sat at the head of her table. The place where Alain had taken his meals, when they had first arrived.
' 'There is talk of poison. Yo
ur husband cried the word before he died," Fitzgerald said gravely, watching her. Neither Corbin nor Alfred sat They stood behind her, as if they would leap to her defense.
She was glad of them.
She was not glad of Isobel, seated away from the table, near the fire.
Watching. Avidly.
"My husband had been ill since he came to England," Eleanor said. She leaned forward. "He died in agony."
"There are those who believe you killed him."
"Why? Why would I have killed him?"
"You are a young and beautiful woman. Married to a much older man."
"I chose to marry him!"
Seize The Dawn Page 21