“No, but if they manage to catch the wily scoundrels, mayhap by midafternoon. If not …” Enid shrugged, her plain face becoming almost pretty as she smiled reassuringly. “Don’t trouble yourself about it, my lady. Your lord will come home soon enough. And until he does, Father D’Arcy asked me to tell you that he’d be honored to show you the castle in your husband’s stead.”
Leila frowned. The idea of spending a good portion of the day in Philip’s austere company did not sound exactly pleasant, especially after his strained greeting, but it might be better than sitting in this bedchamber with nothing to do. And it certainly wouldn’t hurt to learn the layout of Warenne Castle.
“Very well,” she murmured, throwing back the covers and climbing from the bed with ten times more energy than she had when she sank into it yesterday afternoon.
While Leila dressed, Enid chatted about the feast; the delicious dishes that had been served, the speeches, the toasts, the spirited entertainment, the drunken brawl among some men-at-arms. Though irksome, the diverting patter freed Leila from dwelling overmuch upon Guy. Yet whenever he was not with her, he was always in the back of her mind, a troubling fact to which she had reluctantly grown accustomed in the long weeks she had known him.
Would it be the same when she left him? Leila wondered, as Enid expertly braided her long tresses. Foolish thought! She knew she would never forget him. How could she?
Oh, enough! She didn’t want to think about it anymore and was glad when Enid finally finished her hair. After donning a veil and fillet, she practically flew out the door and down the spiral stairs as if she meant to escape her feelings.
“My lady, Father D’Arcy has a small office on the first floor of the keep,” Enid called out after her. “If he’s not there, you’ll find him in the chapel.”
Leila was breathless when she reached the last step, her head spinning from going round and round so quickly. Steadying herself, she knocked on the nearest door, but there was no answer. She tried two more times before a male voice called out for her to enter.
Suddenly a bit nervous, though she didn’t understand why, Leila opened the creaking door. It took an instant for her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. While her bedchamber had several glazed windows, this room had only a very small one placed high up near the ceiling; the interior was lit with candles and oil lamps.
“Good morning, Lady Leila,” Philip said, rising from a stool set before a slanted desk. His smile was restrained, and his eyes held little welcome. “I take it you slept well?”
She closed the door behind her and faced him again. “Yes, thank you. I’m sorry I missed the feast.”
“No matter. Everyone understood how tired you were after your long journey. Have you eaten yet?”
“No, but I’m not really hungry.”
“Nonsense,” Philip objected. “Guy was telling me last night that you were too pale, and I agree. A robust diet is essential to good health.” He gestured to a table laden with several trays of food. “Please. Sit down.”
Remembering the flash of resentment she had seen in his eyes yesterday, Leila bit her tongue, deciding not to correct his highly inaccurate view of nutrition. What was the sense in it anyway? She wanted no trouble with this man. She had seen plenty of ugly rivalries between Arab physicians and knew what a sensitive issue medicine could be between those who held different beliefs.
From Philip’s simple statement about diet, she already discerned that their approaches to healing were worlds apart. Her father had claimed many times that western physicians were like blindfolded men stumbling around in the dark, often no better than butchers. Philip would no doubt only scoff at anything she had to say. It was better to humor him.
Leila pulled out a bench and sat down, then waited silently while Philip filled her trencher with what looked like leftovers from the feast. He picked up an earthenware pitcher.
“Wine?”
She nodded, wondering why he hadn’t fixed himself some food.
“Go ahead. I’ve already eaten,” he urged, as if sensing her thoughts. After handing her a filled goblet, he went back to his desk. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I have to finish this last entry in the household accounts.”
Leila picked at the food, opting for a chunk of fresh baked bread and some crumbly cheese over the distasteful morass of meat and gravy set before her. She could not help wondering how Philip managed to stay so lean yet advocate such a diet. Perhaps he kept so busy managing Guy’s estate that he had little time to put his belief into practice, she surmised, listening to the scratch of the quill on paper as she sipped her wine.
Unable to eat any more, she twisted on the bench, her gaze moving around the room. She spied with great interest a row of carefully dusted books on a low cupboard. They were the first ones she had seen since Damascus; she had almost begun to believe manuscripts didn’t exist in these western lands.
“May I look at your books?” she asked, trying to hold her eagerness in check.
“Only a few of them are mine, some medical texts approved by the Church. The rest of the collection belongs to Guy. I doubt he would mind if you looked at it. I’ve kept his books in here while he was away, but I’m sure he’ll soon be moving them back to his private solar.”
So Guy truly was a scholar, Leila thought as Philip went to the cupboard and selected a thick volume.
“My brother has always had a great fondness for heroic epics. Chretien de Troyes’s romance of knighthood, highlighting the adventures of Lancelot and Percival.” He pointed from book to book. “The Song of Roland, the poems of Bertrand de Born, various chronicles of history…” He paused, glancing at Leila as he added stiffly, “I heard much from Guy last night about how learned you are. Do you read French?”
“No, I don’t.”
“A pity. Most of these texts are written in either that language or in English. Do you—?”
“My mother taught me only to speak English, not to read or write it,” Leila interrupted him quietly. “There had been no need …” She went no further, swallowing uncomfortably.
“Well, I’m sure Guy would be more than happy to teach you,” Philip said, returning the book to its place on the cupboard. “As mistress of Warenne Castle, you will need a good command of our language to perform your many duties. I’m sure he will ask you to take over some of the household accounts.”
What an intriguing notion, Leila thought—Guy teaching her to read and write. Then she felt a sudden rush of regret. Of course it would never happen. She would probably be gone long before the first lesson could ever begin.
“What of your medical texts?” she queried, hoping a change of topic would ease her darkening mood. “Are they also in English?”
She was surprised to see Philip visibly tense. “They’re in Latin.”
Leila brightened. “I’ve studied Latin. Could I look at them—”
“For what purpose, my lady?” Philip cut her off sharply. “You will certainly not need the knowledge contained in those books. I am the healer here at Warenne Castle, not you. I suggest you content yourself with your wifely duties from now on.” His severe black robes fluttered as he walked in agitation to the door. “Come. I think it is time that we began our tour of the castle. Guy asked me to cover as much ground as possible so you might feel more at home in your new surroundings. Shall we go?”
Stunned by his vehement outburst, Leila rose from the bench and followed him from the room.
So that was why Philip had been so cold toward her, she thought incredulously, waiting in the dim hallway as he locked the door and pocketed the key. He felt threatened by her knowledge of medicine! Why else would he have scrutinized her so strangely when they first met, as if he had already decided he disliked her?
“I’ll show you the great hall first,” he said tersely, leading the way as they left the keep. “This vast courtyard is what we call the bailey …”
Leila scarcely heard him, her thoughts reeling.
It was very clea
r to her now that Philip was escorting her around the castle only because Guy had asked him to. She also suspected that any civility he had displayed to her yesterday had been wholly for Guy’s benefit. She had seen that the two men were close. Philip probably did not want to give his brother the impression that anything was amiss.
Sweet Jesu, how she wished she could tell him outright that he had nothing to fear from her! One day soon she hoped to be gone from this place.
But she kept silent. Otherwise, Philip would surely tell Guy, and then where would that leave her?
***
A few hours later Leila longed to return to the solitude of her bedchamber. She would never have imagined her tour could prove so taxing; she doubted she would ever remember all the minute details Philip had told her about daily life in a castle.
She had seen countless rooms and buildings; the timbered great hall with its cellars, pantries, buttery, and musician’s gallery; the vaulted chapel; the kitchens; the scullery; the servants’ quarters; a barracks for mercenary knights; a smithy; a laundry; stables; barns; a brewery; on and on. The only respite had come when they visited the walled garden just outside the kitchen.
She had lingered there among the barren fruit trees and last herbs of the season, feeling bittersweet delight and longing when she spied rose bushes in one corner from which still hung a few fragrant blooms. She had recognized the bright pink flowers at once.
Damask roses. Just like the ones growing in the courtyard she had shared with her mother. Wondering how her favorite flower had ever come to be planted in this faraway garden, Leila was almost glad when Philip urged her to move on with him to the last site on their tour, the row of storehouses at the far end of the bailey.
Now she leaned with gratitude against some sacks of grain just inside the open door, listening with half an ear as Philip droned on about the contents of the building.
“Our foodstuffs are stored in here, staples such as peas and beans, onions, salted meat and fish—”
“There you are. The castle guard said I would find you in one of these storehouses.”
Both she and Philip turned in surprise to find Guy silhouetted in the low door frame, his shoulders hunched and his head down to accommodate him.
As he stepped inside and straightened to his full height, Leila was overwhelmed by the sight of him. He was so massive, his slightest movement revealed such power. She never ceased to be amazed by how he could fill a room with his commanding presence. As his gaze raked her, she felt a dizzying warmth sluice through her veins, which increased tenfold when he took her hand in his large one. It frightened her to realize how much she had missed him.
Philip broke the charged silence. “You’re back early, Guy. Did you catch any of the culprits?”
“Unfortunately, no. We searched the woods surrounding the village and found many hoofprints in the mud, but the tracks disappeared when we came to the river,” he replied grimly. “We’ll find them, though, and they’ll pay. I’ll not suffer these raids upon my land.”
“And the village?”
“Four houses were torched, but no one was killed. The bastards tied up the peasants and got away with horses and livestock. Not much else. It couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen men, perhaps a renegade band that broke off from the bulk of the rebels harassing the Marcher lords to the north.” Guy’s voice became tinged with impatience, and he gently squeezed Leila’s hand. “We can discuss this later, Philip. Has my wife seen the last storehouse yet?”
“No.” Philip looked confused. “I hadn’t planned to show her that one. There’s nothing in it, remember? Before you left this morning you ordered that it be emptied and swept clean, and so it has been done. Have you decided upon its use?”
“A week ago, on my wedding day,” Guy said mysteriously. He glanced at Leila, a sly twinkle in his eye. “I have a surprise for you, my love. Come.” Looping his arm around her waist, he called out to his half brother as he guided her through the door, “I’d like you to accompany us, Philip. As steward of my estate, you need to know what I have planned. There will be some expenditures involved.”
Wondering crazily what Guy was up to, Leila blinked at the bright sunshine, for the interior of the storehouse had been very dark. She practically had to run as he hurried her past four similar buildings, only slowing when they reached a smaller storehouse set off by itself. She saw over her shoulder that Philip was not far behind them, his expression grave.
“We kept saddles and harnesses in here until this morning,” Guy explained as he pushed open the door, “so it will probably smell like leather and horses for a while.” Once inside, he released Leila and hastily pushed open the wooden shutters on both sides of the room, flooding the empty interior with fresh air and sunlight.
“What is all this about?” Philip asked doubtfully, standing on the threshold.
Guy took Leila’s hands and drew her into the middle of the room. “A gift for my beautiful, beloved wife,” he answered, gazing into her eyes. “It doesn’t look like much now, but it will soon. Leila, what do you think of your new hospital?”
She was dumbstruck, her heart thumping wildly. Had she heard him right or was he merely toying with her? No, she could tell from his expression that he meant exactly what he had said.
“Hospital?” she finally managed, tears dimming her vision. They began to spill down her cheeks when Guy nodded firmly.
“Most married women of rank are content to oversee their husband’s household as they’ve been taught to do since childhood, but I know that would never make you happy. And I want you to be happy, Leila,” he said fervently, his touch gentle as he cradled her face and wiped away her tears. “I want you to see that your dream can be fulfilled here at Warenne Castle. With me.”
Incredibly moved, Leila lowered her wet lashes, afraid of what he would see in her eyes.
She had never known a moment of such weakness. She was so ready to surrender to him, to admit the love she held imprisoned in her heart … but something would not let her. Fear, obstinacy? Some lingering resentment against him for altering her life so drastically? She could not say.
Perhaps she had told herself so many times since the day of the tournament that their love could never be that she had actually come to believe it. They were from two different worlds. How could they possibly find happiness together? Kismet should never, never have thrown them into each other’s arms!
“The afternoon we married,” Guy was saying, “I sent some of my men to scour the markets in London for rare herbs and spices, even cautery irons and other surgical tools. If need be, I’ll send them back for whatever else you might require,” he continued, unaware of the furious turmoil raging inside her. “And if there are any special medicines you want, I plan to send messengers twice a year to Marseilles to meet the trading ships from the Holy Land. Tomorrow you’ll find twenty beds in this room, and I’ve already picked three able servants to help you. I don’t want you working yourself too hard, my love. And Philip will be there to help you, too” —he glanced up at his half brother— “won’t you?”
“Never!”
Guy stiffened and his hands slid from her face. As he moved slightly away from her, she did not turn around. She did not need to see Philip to know how incensed he was. She had heard it in his voice.
“Tell me I misunderstood you, my brother.”
“No. You heard me well. I cannot and will not condone this … this hospital” —Philip spat— “either as a healer or as a priest. It is blasphemy!”
Guy’s reply was slow in coming, as if he could not believe what his brother had just said. Finally he replied, “I have always valued and trusted your counsel, but in this matter you have overstepped yourself. Explain your charge, and quickly.”
“So I will, for I can no longer remain silent!” Philip blurted. “Christian or no, this wife you have brought among us is a heretic! Her beliefs are not ours! She grew up among infidels, and from everything I have been told about her, she
has clearly been influenced by their evil ways. Yet I might have been able to forgive all of this if she renounced her heathen past and her profession, and became a proper mistress to this household. The preposterous idea you now propose has made that impossible!”
“Why?” Guy shouted.
“You already know the answer, but your love for this woman has blinded you to it,” Philip accused him, clearly undaunted by his brother’s explosive outburst. “To allow your wife to practice her questionable skills is a direct challenge to the Church. If your tenants or knights become injured or ill, they come to me or go to the monastery infirmary in Abergavenny where care is advocated, not a cure. Sickness is from God, to be healed by divine intervention, not by medicines and surgery—”
“It was not divine intervention that saved my life in Damascus,” Guy cut him off harshly. “It was Leila and her adopted father. If not for their knowledge and medicines, as well as Leila’s skill with the hot irons with which she sealed my wound, I would not be alive today!”
Leila started when Guy touched her arm, saying with a quietness that belied the boiling anger in his eyes, “Leave us. I will not have you hear any more of this ranting. But do not fear, my love. You shall have your hospital.”
Her throat was so painfully constricted she did not attempt a reply. Rushing past Philip without so much as a glance, she fled the storehouse. She ignored the puzzled looks of servants, knights, and men-at-arms alike as she hurried toward the keep, scalding tears tumbling down her face.
Why had her mother done this to her? Why? Leila raged, desperately needing someone to blame for the terrible pain that was ripping her apart.
Renounce her past? Renounce her profession? How could she? It would be the same as tearing out her soul. Surely Eve knew she would never live peaceably in this world. How had her mother ever believed she would find happiness here?
Entering the keep and running up the stone steps, her footfalls echoing in her ears, Leila cursed Eve.
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