Endearing (Knight Everlasting Book 1)

by Cassidy Cayman

  “Because I’m outraged.” She collapsed against the pillows, completely spent.

  “Calm yourself. Do not worry yourself over Lord Drayton’s comings and goings. I’m sure it has nothing to do with you. And you should take it as a compliment that he didn’t want to hurry a wedding along.”

  “Why?” Fay asked, suddenly alarmed.

  She’d forgotten the world was run by the men in this time. Her father was indulgent and took her happiness into account, but she supposed if an offer came up that was too good to refuse, she might end up stuck with a man she didn’t love. How could she ever break the curse then? Maybe it was for the best he was leaving so soon.

  “Because if he only wanted to assure an alliance with father, he wouldn’t care if he’d be a widower soon. Perhaps he really has feelings for you and is too fearful to face losing you.”

  Fay gaped as Anne’s cheeks grew red. “Why would you spew such twaddle?” she asked, then laughed. “Oh, no, I can’t laugh. It hurts too much.”

  “Sleep again,” Anne said, patting at her blushing cheeks, but not admitting she’d been lying to make Lord Drayton seem better than he was.

  Fay knew Anne didn’t care for Lord Drayton, but she didn’t think it was personal. It was only as Anne had said. She didn’t want Fay to marry and move away. Fay didn’t especially want that, either. So far, she’d only focused on falling in love. If she could honestly do it, it would be wonderful, not only because the curse would supposedly be broken, but because then she’d be in love. That was everyone’s fairytale wish, to find true love. But having to leave the safety and comfort of this castle she’d grown to think of as home? Leave Anne and Batty and Catherine, Sir Walter who’d been so kind to her and who she’d begun to view as a real father? She’d miss the multitudes of servants who stopped whatever they were doing and always asked her if they could help her in some way. She’d even miss grumpy Marjorie.

  What kind of life would be waiting for her if she dared to think that far ahead? Would the love last through the hardships of this time? What if she wasn’t allowed to make a single decision or have any freedom at all? Up until that moment, she’d only thought of completing the task that had been thrust before her, not a thing about what would come after.

  She was grateful then that her body was so weak and worn out, forcing her harried mind to stop panicking at such thoughts. She smiled at Anne and closed her eyes, finally drifting off into that twitchy, fevered haze that passed for sleep in her sickened state.

  There was a far off knocking sound and then she heard Anne arguing quietly. She would have laughed if she could, wondering why, even in her dreams, Anne was taking charge of something.

  “If she lives, she won’t thank you for seeing her like this,” she said forcefully.

  “And if she doesn’t, I won’t thank you for not allowing me to see her,” a man’s voice said. Sir Tristan’s voice.

  Oh, good, she was dreaming of Tristan. That was a nice change of pace from the repetitive dreams she always woke up more exhausted from than when she’d fallen asleep. She couldn’t wait until he appeared before her and she struggled to open her eyes.

  He stood beside her bed and smiled down at her. As in most dreams, she moved in slow motion, reaching out to him as if she were underwater. He sat in the chair Anne had vacated and she noticed Anne still hovering in the background. She wished her dream didn’t have to be so properly chaperoned, but she’d take what she could get.

  “You came back,” she said, garbled and slow. “I heard of your success.”

  His smile disappeared, replaced with what looked close to anguish. “But a half-success,” he said, glancing back at Anne, then reaching for her hand. It felt warm and strong as he gently squeezed her fingers. “I think there might be more to come, that there is someone—I won’t burden you. It’s my clumsy way of trying to explain why I didn’t return sooner. I fear you must think I didn’t keep my promise.”

  This last he said in a low whisper, leaning closer to her. If she’d been awake, she was sure she would have been horrified, wondering what kind of greasy, stinky mess he saw before him. But in her dream, she was happy to take in the blue of his eyes that she’d missed so much. Was missing the color of someone’s eyes love?

  Don’t you dare worry about the damned curse in your dream, she told herself, going back to admiring him. She saw the apprehension in his eyes and took in why he’d been delayed in coming back.

  “If you’re concerned about your land, you shouldn’t be here,” she said, grateful to see his eyes cloud over. Could that mean he cared about her more than his land?

  “Do not trouble yourself with that,” he said. “I am where I need to be.” With another glance back at Anne, he smoothed her hair off her brow. “No fever. That’s good.”

  He slid his hand so it rested lightly on her shoulder and she closed her eyes, so happy he was in her dream at least.

  *

  “Is she asleep?” Tristan asked, leaning closer to make sure she hadn’t slipped away from him for good.

  She didn’t look at all well. Thin and pasty, with her hair in limp strands. When he’d first entered the room, he was shocked at the difference from the vibrant girl he’d last seen. Sir Walter’s eyes had been sunken with fear and lack of sleep. But the man seemed glad to see him, welcoming him with apologies that it was so crowded. Fortunately, he hadn’t had to lay eyes on Lord Drayton yet, and perhaps he wouldn’t have to at all. The man had come to try and steal Lady Fay away from him, but it seemed he was fleeing in cowardice at a little illness.

  He saw now that it was as serious as Brom had made out. She looked in frighteningly poor condition, as if she were already a ghost. The thought made him shiver, so he took her hand again, the elder sister be damned.

  “No, no, I’m still here if you’re still here,” Fay said out of the blue, opening her eyes with an obvious struggle.

  “Perhaps I should go,” he said, pressing her hand and feeling all the bones. “I mustn’t tire you.”

  “I slept all day,” she said stubbornly. He felt a bit of a return squeeze from that frail hand. “I want to be with you.” Her translucent pale cheeks were shaded with a hint of pink at that admission and he smiled.

  “Then I will stay, but not for long.” He saw that caused her distress and hurried to clarify. “I will stay until you’re well again. I believe I promised to teach you to shoot an arrow. And I have to admit, I don’t mind being a guest of Grancourt Castle again. I can see why Sir Andrew loved visiting here in the winter. It’s the warmest castle I’ve ever been in.”

  She nodded weakly, barely a tip of her chin. “I love it, too,” she agreed, her chapped lips forming a smile. “I hate the cold, so I was worried about that when I first got here. But it’s such a mild winter in this time and there are fires everywhere. It’s as cozy as my flat in London.”

  He blinked, not sure he’d heard her correctly, and swiveled around to see if Lady Anne had heard. She stepped forward with a cup in her hand. “She’s thirsty,” she said, pouring a few drops into Fay’s mouth.

  “What did I say?” Fay asked with a grimace after she swallowed the drink. “I must have—well, never mind, since it’s a dream.”

  He placed his palm against her forehead again, not feeling a bit of fever. And she’d told him she’d slept all day so she couldn’t be rambling from exhaustion. He wondered with a stab of worry if the illness had exacerbated her mental disintegration.

  “Have you been reading?” he asked.

  She sighed. “Anne says she’s been reading aloud to me, but I can’t recall a word of it.”

  “That’s good,” he said. “Perhaps you should leave off the reading,” he told Anne.

  She gave him a raised eyebrow of disagreement and he wished he had any kind of power over Fay’s treatment. He’d meant to travel to the monastery as soon as he was able and ask more questions about what Brom had told him, and he prayed it wouldn’t be too late to save her.

  Anne h
uffed and moved to the window, throwing aside the hangings to look outside. He took the opportunity to lean down and place a chaste kiss on Fay’s cheek, straightening up before Anne turned back around. He noticed the medallion he’d left for her on her bedside table and smiled.

  “Holy God, you’re really here,” Fay said, touching her cheek. Her eyes were wide and her mouth formed a near perfect circle.

  “Yes,” he said, patting her hand. His heart would certainly break if he had to see her like this much longer, but he couldn’t make himself go.

  “How long have you been here?” she asked. “When did you arrive?” She closed her eyes for a long moment, then they fluttered open again. “I thought I was—I must look awful.” She glared at her sister.

  “He all but broke down the door, Fay,” she said, absorbing and doubling up Fay’s glare and directing it at him. “I told him you wouldn’t want to see him.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, pressing a hand against her chest. “I do want to see you,” she told him. “I didn’t want you to see me.”

  He frowned, never able to understand the way women carried on about their looks. If their hair was one way or another, it made no difference to him, and one gown was as good as the next.

  “You look ill,” he said. “You’ve lost weight and I think you’d be healthier to gain it back. But I think you look as beautiful as I first thought.” Both ladies gasped. He didn’t turn to see Anne’s face, but a smile spread across Fay’s. “Do you believe me?” he asked. “I won’t have you think I give insincere compliments.”

  “That was a compliment?” Anne asked incredulously.

  He continued to ignore her, only having eyes for Fay. She nodded slightly. “I believe you,” she whispered, then closed her eyes.

  He waited a moment, still holding her hand. Her slight grip grew slack and he eased away from the bed so as not to wake her. “I think she’s really asleep this time,” he said, concentrating on the rise and fall of her chest to assure himself she was still alive.

  He would have stayed there all night, but Anne shooed him away, brandishing a slipper in an alarming manner.

  Chapter 15

  “I find it extremely suspicious that Lord Drayton’s pressing news from home changed precisely as you got better,” Batty said, pouring lukewarm water over Fay’s head.

  She huddled in the tub, glad to be getting the last of her sickness off of her, but the water could have been hotter. She’d been a real diva about it, calling for two tubs, and now that she’d been thoroughly soaped and rinsed, she got out and hurried into the one that had clean water in it.

  “Well, this isn’t as luxurious as I’d hoped,” she said. The water in that one had cooled off as well and she splashed the clean water over herself a few times then got out. “Experiment failed.”

  Batty ignored her rambling. “What do you think of Lord Drayton staying?” she asked.

  “I’m not as offended by it as you are, clearly,” Fay said.

  She let Batty wrap her in a huge drying sheet, then collapsed onto her bed, cocooned in warmth at last. She was feeling loads better, but not yet at full strength, and her bath had worn her out. Two days after Sir Tristan had arrived—thanks to Batty, who’d sent a secret message to Brom—she’d turned a corner.

  No one would let her out of bed until that morning, but no one seemed to think she was on the brink of death anymore. She was more grateful than she’d ever been that she’d made it through, and made a vow to take everything in her new time with due seriousness. No more gulping water of unknown origins. Boiled well water or mead for her from here on out.

  Thinking how precarious life was made her think of Catherine and she felt fresh fear over her friend’s upcoming birth. As soon as she could walk more than ten steps without having to lean over and catch her breath, she’d visit with her friend and catch up on all the castle and village gossip.

  Batty threw a blanket over her and made to leave, but Fay was sick of sleeping. “Don’t go, Batty, please. Stay and tell my why you don’t like Lord Drayton.”

  Batty immediately pulled up a chair. “Do you like him?” she asked instead of answering.

  Fay shrugged. “I don’t know. I barely got to speak three words to him before I got sick. But I think it’s nice he extended his stay in hopes to get to know me better.”

  Batty made a gagging noise. “Don’t you mean, he decided to stay the amount of time he originally planned, but only when he realized you weren’t going to die?”

  “People die,” Fay said, earning a scowl. “Some people aren’t strong when faced with illnesses.”

  She knew that was the truth from when her aunt had been diagnosed and was in and out of hospital for her chemo treatments. She frequently went whenever Uncle Randolph couldn’t and her Aunt Terrie had pointed out another woman who was there all alone, getting the same treatment. It turned out her son sometimes came, but her husband never did. Aunt Terrie thought it was shameful, but the woman had defended him, saying he’d never been good when anyone in the family was sick. He was too tenderhearted and sensitive, she’d argued.

  “Sir Tristan didn’t have a problem with it,” Batty said.

  Fay shriveled slightly in her blanket nest, thinking about how wretched she must have looked during that visit. She’d spent half of it rambling about things she couldn’t remember because she’d thought she was dreaming. But he’d said she was beautiful, and she was positive it wasn’t a lie because he’d been so matter-of-fact about it. Now she was too warm and kicked away the extra blanket that covered her.

  “That’s true, he didn’t,” she said dreamily. “Has Brom made any advances?” she asked, turning the tables on Batty.

  Batty turned red and scurried to the window, suddenly intensely interested in the weather. “Look, Lady Fay, the first leaves of spring are here at last. It seems like they popped up overnight. I do love the first tender, green shoots. Such a short winter we had.” She turned back to Fay with a slight frown. “Did it snow only once? That one time around Martinmas that led us to believe it would be the fiercest winter we’d ever seen, and then not much else.”

  Here was one of those moments where Fay hadn’t a clue and would either come across as a dingbat or someone with a faulty memory if she tried to answer, so she only shrugged noncommittally.

  Batty was deadly serious in wanting her to look at the leaves, so Fay pulled herself out of bed, slowly making her way to the window. How she longed to be completely well again. She looked out through the slightly wavy glass window, something that she’d found out from Catherine was a luxury of the highest order, and one of the reasons her and Anne’s rooms were so cozy and bright. Most of the other windows had either some sort of wax-treated cloth stretched over them or nothing at all. Batty wouldn’t let her open it, sharing everyone’s fear of fresh air in this time.

  Fay tried to remind herself the plague hadn’t been all that long ago and she wasn’t sure when the actual cause of it had been discovered. For all she knew, they still thought it came from some mysterious floating humors. She’d caught their healer, Great-uncle Edgar, talking about humors more than once, and she pictured them to look like angry ladybugs wielding devil pitchforks.

  Indeed, as she peered down at the front courtyard, small patches of green were starting to spring up around the edges of the outer wall, and a spindly rogue tree that grew within its perimeter did have a few delicate shoots budding from its branches. The sky was Tristan-eyes blue, without a cloud as far as she could see.

  “It is beautiful out there today,” she said. “I wish I could go out.”

  “Not today, but perhaps tomorrow,” Batty told her, rivalling Anne in her prim authority. “I do hope you can because they’ll be having a jousting demonstration. It’s been so long since I’ve seen it, and I wager Brom is very capable.” She gusted out a longing sigh. “It’s been so long since we’ve had a proper tournament nearby.”

  Fay wanted to see Sir Tristan show off his jousting skills in a
way she’d never wanted something before. It was stronger than Christmases when she was a little girl and couldn’t wait to see if she’d gotten what she’d put at the top of her list. She would go so far as to allow the indignity of being hauled out by Gunther if she had to. They could put her in a barrow and wheel her to the grounds if that’s what it took. Imagining Tristan leaning over the neck of the horse, those powerful thighs of his gripping its sides, the lance—oh, goodness. The lance. She had a flashback to the bath, remembering his thighs first hand and everything else about him.

  “I’ll be well enough,” she said breathlessly. It wasn’t because of her illness, but she let Batty believe it was and allowed her help to get back into bed. “Don’t you worry, Batty. We’ll see the jousting. I wouldn’t miss that for all the world.”

  *

  Her heart was a lot more chipper than her body the next day and Gunther had to carry her down the stairs. Anne walked beside her, with a look on her face that clearly said “Not so fun, is it?” It wasn’t. But she’d take the embarrassment of being carried down the long, winding stairs and out through the courtyard if it meant she’d get to see the ultimate in medieval knight fighting action. She was beginning to think she had a problem. But when Tristan was there, the training was so lively and everyone worked so much harder than when it was old Sir Knobby (who she’d found out was a cousin from her late mother’s side) instructing them.

  “Are we leaving the castle grounds?” she squealed, when everyone paused at the gates, making sure they had everything they needed for the excursion.

  It was much like going on a modern day road trip and Fay found herself grinning with anticipation. She hadn’t been outside the castle walls since she’d driven up to the ruins in her own time. Batty and Marjorie had everything they’d been allotted to carry, extra blankets and a basket with snacks. The other servants carried what looked to be the makings of a portable tent, complete with wooden poles and great swathes of fabric, chairs, more baskets of food and jugs of ale and wine. It was enough to go on a weeklong excursion, but it turned out they didn’t have to go too far past the gates.