by Bale, Leigh
“Fine,” she told him. “Go and bleed to death. You have my blessing. And after you have died and King William weds me to some lecherous old man, I will tell him what a fool you were as he takes me to his bed and makes me and Sutcliffe his own.”
Nicholas stilled, his surprised gaze clashing with Ysabelle’s somber one.
Alex stared, his mouth hanging open.
“Woman, who has taught you such foul talk? It’s shameful.” Nicholas grit his teeth against the pain.
She held out a hand. “You see? It hurts, doesn’t it? I will not feel shameful for speaking the truth. Now, relax and let me see what can be done for you.”
She was grateful when he resigned himself to her care. He lay back, allowing her and Alex to carefully lift his torn shirt over his head. So much blood! He had fought savagely to keep her safe, offering his own life to protect hers. Surely he had not done it simply to keep Sutcliffe. He already controlled the castle. She dared hope he cared for her just a little bit. Perhaps he might even love her a teensy bit. Her heart thumped madly when she considered the possibility.
“Lady Ysabelle?” A hesitant voice came from the doorway.
Ysabelle jerked around to see Sara standing there in a nightshirt that reached her ankles, her bare toes curled against the cold stone floor.
“What are you doing out of bed?” Ysabelle asked gently, trying to shield Nicholas’s bloody wound from the child’s tender gaze.
“I heard Lord Nicholas was hurt. Will he die?” Her small chin quivered and her eyes crinkled.
Ysabelle’s mind whirled. Nicholas dead? No, she would not allow it, but tension coiled in her abdomen.
Alex went to the girl and lifted her in his arms. He patted her back and hurried with her to her own room.
“Do not fear,” Alex told her on his way out. “It’ll take more than an English blade to kill the fierce Scots Ram.”
Ysabelle took solace in his words. But if Nicholas were to sicken and die, how would Alex explained to the child?
There was little time to consider the matter. With cloths soaked in boiled Lovage roots, Ysabelle washed the blood away. Lovage was a favorite cleansing herb she’d learned about just last summer, when the tinker had come to sell his wares. So far, Ysabelle had been pleased with the results.
Alex returned moments later, peering over her shoulder as she worked. She packed Nicholas’s wound to stop the bleeding, pressing it tight.
“Is it bad?” Alex asked, grimacing at the sight of so much blood.
“The cut is deep, but it struck his collar bone and missed doing more damage. If we can keep it from festering, I believe he should heal well enough. Did you put Sara back in bed?”
He nodded. “Yes, and Ada is with her now. How did you learn to do this? Nicholas is lucky you are a skilled healer.”
Ysabelle heard the note of admiration in his tone and the heat of a blush stole up her neck. “Ada taught me a great deal and I learned more by practicing on simple wounds my father and his men sustained. Soon, Ada claimed I was a better healer than her. But I dare not ask her to help tend Nicholas. She doesn’t like him very much.”
Alex chuckled and nodded his head. “Few people like him, but most respect him.”
Nicholas glared. “You know, I can hear everything you are saying. And the feeling is mutual. Keep Ada away from me. I don’t like that old crone, nor do I want her here.”
“I must stitch the wound closed,” Ysabelle said, ignoring Nicholas’s comments about Ada. She hated the thought that the two people she loved the most disliked each other so intensely.
“Do it quickly. I have business to tend to,” Nicholas ordered.
Without pausing in her work, nor appearing flustered in any way, Ysabelle bade Alex to build up the fire in the brazier. “You won’t be going anywhere for the rest of the night and tomorrow also.”
Nicholas’s dark gaze rested on the stubborn set of her shoulders.
“Do not glower at me,” she told him in an irritated tone.
“Do you think you can stop me from leaving?” he slurred.
“Yes,” she responded tartly as she filled a small cauldron with water and set it to boil.
“And I will assist,” Alex warned as he stood in front of the door.
“I have faced worse adversaries,” he told them with a scowl.
“I haven’t faced worse-behaved children,” she returned.
“I have faced worse wounds,” Nicholas rejoined. “Pack it and leave it alone. It will heal well enough.”
Ysabelle frowned. “From the looks of your other scars, they were not properly tended either. You take better care of your horse than you do yourself. I won’t have the wound poison you from lack of care. Now, lie still or I will have Alex call for help and we will tie you to the bed.”
“You would not dare,” Nicholas spoke between clenched teeth.
Looking at him, her eyes narrowed on his face. Lifting her hands, she placed them on her hips. “Just try me.”
He did not reply but his look was furious as he stared at her. Using a clean needle and a hair from a horse’s tail, she began to stitch the wound. His jaw hardened but he didn’t make a sound, his gaze steady upon her face.
“When I am well again, and we are alone, I will remind you of our Viking joke,” he whispered for her ears alone.
Her brows raised but she didn’t pause in her labors. “You are in no condition to ravage and plunder anything right now, so quiet your threats.”
He flashed a lopsided grin. “Be grateful Alex is here. If we were alone, I would show you just how strong my condition is.”
“Oh?” She kept her face void of expression. “You are showing off and I am not impressed.”
“You are a heartless wench today.” He coughed, then flinched at the obvious pain it caused him. Seeming piqued by her rebuttal, he lay still beneath her ministering, but his heated gaze never wavered from her face.
“Drink this,” she ordered, holding a cup of steaming liquid to his lips.
His brows rose as Alex helped him sit up enough to take the drink. “What is it?”
“A very small amount of Nightshade mixed with water. It will ease the pain and help you rest, but I fear the taste is terrible.”
Nicholas opened his mouth to argue but she simply poured it in and he had the choice of swallowing or gagging.
He swallowed.
When he eased his head back to the pillow, Ysabelle looked at Alex, unable to contain a note of amusement. Where she was concerned, Nicholas was just like her father. All bluster and severe glowers. But she no longer feared his dour glares. She knew in her heart that he would never hurt her.
“I think I can handle him, now,” she told Alex.
He tilted his head. “Are you sure?”
“If he gives me more trouble, I know of a purging drought that makes a man puke up his guts and lose his virility for a sennight.”
Nicholas’s eyes widened. “Woman, what abuse have you suffered at my hand to make you so vindictive?”
Alex guffawed. “I think you are fine without me. I will check back with you later on. Right now, I’ll go see what the fierce English army is up to. I have no doubt they are upset over failing to capture Ysabelle and I’m sure Lord Nicholas will want a report from me every five minutes.”
Ysabelle hid a smile. With a nod of his head, Alex left the room.
Tearing bandages from strips of linen, Ysabelle wrapped Nicholas’s shoulder. She jerked when he reached up and cupped her jaw. His gaze rested on the bump she had received when she had fallen in the stable and struck her head against the post.
“Wee lass, you are injured. Did they hurt you anywhere else?” His fingers lingered against her cheek.
His gentle touch sent tremors of delight over her. “No, there was no serious harm done.”
She withdrew, unable to meet his gaze. She feared he might see the love she felt for him shining in her eyes.
Busying herself elsewhere, she cleaned up the
bloody washbasin. Her mind whirled. He had killed five men to keep her safe and she couldn’t deny her relief. After all that had happened, she could not imagine being with any man but Nicholas.
Glancing at him, she saw the medicine she had given him was taking effect. His eyes drooped and he relaxed.
“Where are you going?” he asked when she carried the tray of bloodied bandages to the door.
“Never fear. I will be back as soon as I have disposed of this.”
Nodding his head, he closed his eyes and Ysabelle fled. In the hallway, she leaned against the stone wall and closed her eyes. For several moments, she stood there, breathing deeply, trying to ignore the affect he had on her. She was lightheaded and queasy, her face hot.
“Will your husband live?” Ada asked as she walked past, carrying a bucket of fresh water.
Opening her eyes, Ysabelle looked at the woman. “Yes, he will live.”
Ada sighed. “It is best, I suppose. The damage is done, now. He is your husband and seems to treat you well. I regret I ever believed he might hurt you.”
The woman’s confession brought Ysabelle much relief. “Thank you, Ada.”
“If you are with child, it would be better for him to live to see the babe raised to adulthood.”
Ysabelle froze. And then she realized the truth. It hit her all at once. Her head buzzed with the certainty that she was expecting.
Nicholas’s child.
“Oh,” she moaned and closed her eyes.
Ada’s eyes crinkled. “Are you all right, my lady?”
“I am fine. I just feel a little dizzy.”
Ysabelle opened her eyes and she inhaled sharply. When she had become aware that Nicholas was seriously wounded, a torrent of fear had swept over her so powerful she could hardly breathe. The hold her Scottish husband had over her was more than she could comprehend. But a child! How could she be expecting a babe so soon?
“Nicholas will live. I would not contemplate anything less,” Ysabelle answered as she hurried down the hall.
*
The next morning, Ysabelle was not so certain Nicholas would live. He was flushed and delirious with fever. In the heat of the day, she bathed his body with cool rags, listening to his ramblings as he relived all the horrors of his life and the men he had killed in battle.
In graphic detail, he recounted the wars he had fought. He spoke of the tortures he had suffered at the hands of Lord McDonald. Ysabelle’s ears burned with revulsion. Tears glazed her eyes as she listened to the ghastly things he said.
“Forgive me. Forgive me my sins,” he pleaded as if in confession.
Tears slid down Ysabelle’s cheeks when she realized the torment his soul had undergone. Throughout the night, his ravings continued. He kicked off the linen she laid over his loins for modesty’s sake. As he relived combat and death, his fierce shouts brought Alex running to see if all was well.
“Your brother is haunted by bad dreams,” Ysabelle told the man when she admitted him to the room.
“I’m sorry you had to be exposed to his nightmares.”
Alex felt of Nicholas’s forehead, his expression somber. “I used to fear my own brother. He allowed no man, or woman, to get close to him. He refused help, refused any attachment. Then, he was wounded on the battlefield while fighting to help me hold my own lands. I stayed by his side, tending him. I heard his nightmares and learned the truth about many things. He was harsh not because of the kind of man he was, but because of the lack of love in his life. I believed I could help him. Since that time, I have stayed by his side, praying for the day when his soul might finally be freed.”
“Only death can free a soul,” she said.
“Yes, but I believe there is one other thing that can bring him peace.”
“And what is that?” she asked.
“Love.”
She contemplated Nicholas. “Sometimes I wonder if he is capable of love. One moment, he is so fierce that I fear him. The next moment, he is gentle and kind. I don’t know what to make of him.”
“He needs someone to love him, regardless of what he can offer in return,” Alex spoke simply.
“It must have been difficult to stay with him all this time,” she observed.
“No, he is my brother. I know he would do the same for me.”
“You love him,” she said.
Alex did not respond, but she saw the answer gleaming in his eyes. She supposed it was not manly to speak of love for one’s brother, but it was obvious the two men cared greatly for each other.
“When I first met him, I feared him more than I can say,” Ysabelle confided.
“And now?”
She looked away, busying her hands with the inconsequential chore of folding linens. She remembered the passion she had shared with her husband and could not deny her heart. “I no longer fear he will harm me, but I am still uncertain of him and what the future holds for us. There is so much fury in him.”
Alex shrugged. “He has always fought for my cause. I owe Nicholas much and would repay the debt. He needs you, Lady Ysabelle. Without you, he is doomed.”
“How can you say such a thing?” she exclaimed. “Do not lay such responsibility at my feet.”
Alex bowed his head with remorse. “My most humble apologies, my lady, but some men mate only once in life. They have only one love. I have had many women, but Nicholas has wed you and he is loyal to the death. Never will his heart wander. I fear he belongs only to you.”
Ysabelle stared at him. “Surely you don’t think Nicholas loves me.”
“Of course he does,” he spoke fiercely. “He loves you more than words can say. Yet, I think even he does not realize it. And I envy him that love. With all the women I have been with, never once have I felt such longing for one of them. You and Nicholas share a special bond and I hope you never take it for granted.”
Alex’s confession stunned her. Sighing with amazement, Ysabelle turned away from her brother-in-law and gazed at the fierce Scots Ram as he murmured in his sleep. After a time, Alex left her alone and Ysabelle wet towels to lay upon Nicholas’s heated brow. Her husband was tortured by deeds from his past. Deeds he had not wanted to commit.
He spoke of having children of his own. Of teaching them to ride, and teaching them to swim. No doubt he would be delighted when she told him she had conceived his babe.
When he called for his father, her heart wrenched painfully and softened toward him. Nicholas’s eyes opened and he looked directly at her. When he spoke, his words seemed most odd until she realized his eyes were glazed and he believed she was someone else.
“Father!” he cried. “Why didn’t you send for me sooner? Why did you forsake me?”
Ysabelle’s heart clenched.
“I have been so alone. Don’t leave me. Please, I beg you,” he cried.
She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.
“I was forced to kill him,” Nicholas continued, his voice an aching whisper. “He would not relent. I begged him, but he would not let me go, and I could not stay. He tried to kill me and I was forced to fight him. Forgive me. Please, forgive me.”
Tears washed his cheeks, and in the dark, Ysabelle wept with him.
*
Upon the morrow, Nicholas seemed better. His skin was cooler and he rested easy, no longer wracked by horrid nightmares.
Casting a cautious glance at Nicholas, Ada brought Ysabelle a bowl of pottage. Ysabelle ate little. Her stomach was still queasy, her body exhausted from her labors.
“You should eat more,” Ada encouraged. “You don’t want to become ill.”
“I’m not hungry.” She turned away from the food.
“Are you not well, my lady?” Ada asked.
“I am only tired,” Ysabelle confessed.
“Good morning,” Alex called as he poked his head through the doorway. “How is our ailing lord today?”
Returning his smile, Ysabelle waved Alex in. He immediately forgot about the apple he’d been eating as
he went to the bed and gazed down at Nicholas with a mixture of concern and hope.
“He looks much better,” Alex observed. “Thank you for all you have done.”
“You’re welcome,” she said. “He will be up soon, happily walking along the battlements, shouting orders to his men and glowering at anyone who dares defy him.”
Alex bit into the apple, chewing vigorously as he grinned at her. “His bellowing is harmless. It’s when he picks up his sword that one must take him seriously.”
Ysabelle shivered with the vision of Nicholas brandishing a sword. “Who is Nicholas’s father?”
Alex promptly began to cough and Ysabelle was forced to pound him on the back. Ada stood by the washbasin, her eyes wide. No doubt Ada feared Alex might choke to death.
“Are you all right?” Ysabelle asked.
“Yes,” he assured her with a gasp.
“I’ll get some fresh water,” Ada offered and quickly left the room.
Alex also walked toward the door. “The English are restless. They have flown another white flag, seeking to speak with Nicholas. I am hard pressed to put them off, for I don’t wish them to know he has been ill.”
“What will you do?”
“I will pray Nicholas is returned to health soon.”
“Is there any word from Father Edward?” she asked hopefully.
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
“What errand did Nicholas send him on?”
Alex shook his head, but smiled kindly. “I am sorry, my lady, but Nicholas will have to tell you that. I’ll return to the gatehouse and advise you as soon as I hear any news.”
“Wait,” she called when he turned to leave.
He paused, his gaze expectant.
“Who is Nicholas’s father?”
Alex sighed deeply, as if resigned to addressing her question. Opening his mouth several times, Ysabelle knew he wished to speak, but apparently couldn’t find the right words. She didn’t understand his reticence.
“Don’t you know?” she asked, determined to receive an answer.
He shrugged and did not meet her gaze. “I cannot say.”
She frowned. “Cannot or will not?”
“I think that is also something you should ask Nicholas. It isn’t something he would want me to discuss with you.”