by Julia Latham
But it was the fever. His strength continued to ebb, and Florrie seemed almost far away at his side. He found himself squinting at her in confusion.
She put her arm around his waist. “Adam, how do you fare?” she whispered. “’Tis not much farther. Christina will have a chamber for us.”
He only shook his head, for words seemed too difficult.
After that, events slid together. He knew by the sudden coolness that they’d entered the great hall of the keep. Florrie murmured something about finding the garderobe as if she had to relieve herself, and his befuddled brain remembered that that had been part of the plan for them, as two strangers, to leave the great hall. Down a corridor, he saw a woman waiting for them. She gaped up at him, and he wondered if this was Christina, and if she already regretted her agreement.
But she beckoned them onward, and he wanted to groan. He did not think he could walk much farther, and already Florrie labored beneath his weight. But at last they were inside a bedchamber with a bed. He staggered toward it, and it rushed up to meet him.
Florrie gave a soft cry as Adam fell forward. Even though he landed on the bed, she feared for him. “Christina, help me roll him onto his back.”
Her sister nervously came forward. “He is so much…bigger than I imagined.”
“He is a knight,” Florrie said distractedly. She felt absurdly proud of him.
Between the two of them, they helped him onto his back. Adam murmured something unintelligible, and Florrie prayed that he would not reveal anything important. She wanted to brush the hair from his face, see if his fever had worsened—but her sister was here, watching her too closely now, and Florrie knew she had to pretend only friendship and concern, not betray the absolute fear and worry that consumed her. Adam was unconscious now, his chest rising and falling too swiftly.
“’Tis difficult to imagine you alone with him,” Christina said.
Florrie wanted to demand the herbs and the peace with which to work, but she could not risk offending her sister. “Is that because you seldom saw men pursue me?”
Christina blinked at her in surprise. “I…had not thought of it that way, but I imagine you are correct.”
“Well, Sir Edmund is a knight,” she said, using Adam’s false name. “He was hired for this assignment. But he is a good man, and to see him like this…” Her voice failed her, and it took every bit of her restraint to keep from crying over his condition.
“Then we must make him well,” Christina said firmly. “You need him to take you to London, so you can see all the wonders therein. I brought you my supply of herbs.”
Florrie gave her a grateful smile. Over the next hour, the sisters worked side by side. Florrie stripped Adam of his tunic and shirt, and though she caught her sister’s surprised glance, Christina said nothing. How could Christina be surprised at her efficiency with the sick? Florrie had often been the one they came to for help, but perhaps Christina simply hadn’t noticed.
She was noticing more than that now, and Florrie couldn’t blame her. Adam’s chest was wide and firm with muscle, his body well suited for combat.
But the sight of his stained bandage made Florrie forget everything else. While Christina was steeping willow bark in hot water for his fever, Florrie crushed the herbs yarrow and comfrey to make a poultice. After struggling to prop Adam on his side, she laid the paste over the long wound, then covered it with strips of cloth dipped in hot water. She repeated this over many hours, hoping to draw away the infection. Christina came and went, bringing food for Florrie and broth for Adam, which Florrie spooned to his mouth occasionally.
Once, he opened his eyes and seemed to really see her. He searched her face, his expression confused and even yearning. He lifted a trembling hand and touched her cheek. She wanted to cup it against her, hold him close. But his hand dropped back to the bed as he fell asleep again. She found herself wiping away tears of confusion and pain.
As the hours dragged by, Florrie lost focus of everything but Adam, and as she touched his cheek too tenderly, murmuring, “Get well, Adam, please,” she forgot that her sister had come back into the bedchamber.
“Adam?” Christina echoed in surprise. “I thought you said his name is Edmund.”
Florrie kept her gaze on Adam, knowing her sister would read the truth in her eyes. “Forgive me. I am so tired I do not know what I say.”
“Nay, you knew what you said,” Christina replied, taking her arm and pulling her to the far side of the chamber.
Florrie found herself trembling more than when she’d been physically attacked. Adam was defenseless, and she only had her own wits to see them through.
“I cannot talk about this, Christina,” she said forcefully. “Father gave him specific instructions for our journey to London that have nothing to do with me. He has a special mission to fulfill.”
“But he has two names.”
Florrie only shrugged.
“And I saw the way he looked at you.”
Florrie narrowed her eyes. “I cannot help what he does in this state. But I can only take your meaning as one thing. A man shouldn’t look at me at all. Do even you think I belong in the convent?” She held her breath, praying that she was handling this the right way.
Christina’s face crumpled into concern, and she gripped Florrie’s upper arms. “Nay, do not think that! I am hoping this journey to London leads to a better life for you. Though I’ve spent my life feeling the pressure of father’s expectations, I think in many ways it was so much worse for you, because he had no expectations at all.”
All the stiffness went out of Florrie in a rush of amazement.
“And yet…I always envied your ability to let nothing bother you,” Christina admitted, looking guilty. “And sometimes I was angry at you for that.”
Could it really be true that Florrie had never understood her sisters at all? Or at least Christina. Or was it maturity that made them both look at their childhood in a different way?
She hugged her sister hard. “Trust me, my dear,” she whispered into Christina’s ear. “I cannot tell you everything, but I promise to someday.”
“Then I will accept that,” Christina said as they separated.
They looked at each other, smiling, and then Florrie heard Adam groan.
“Tend to him,” Christina said. “I will see you on the morrow.”
When Adam awoke, dawn had already passed, by the light piercing through the window shutters. Though he felt exhausted, for the first time in a while his mind seemed to be functioning. With his head propped on a cushion, he was able to see the small chamber—and Florrie, standing in the center of the room, wearing only a cloth wrapped around her. He froze, not quite certain what was going on. She looked more exhausted than he felt, with smudged shadows beneath her eyes. Taking care of him had put them there. He told himself that she would take care of any ill person, but that did not stop the feeling of tenderness that tightened his chest.
But now she was taking care of herself. There was a basin of water on the table, and he realized that she was standing on a towel. She rinsed a facecloth in water, dabbed it in a crock of soap, then began to wash first one arm, and then the other. She did not look at him, so he was able to stare at her from beneath lowered eyelids.
He knew he should speak, should alert her, but words were stuck in his parched throat. Instead, he watched her lift her arm, slide the wet cloth down it, then across her shoulder and neck, and to the other side. Water glistened on her skin, ran in tiny rivulets to be captured in the cloth covering her.
Arching her head back, she washed her neck and face, then braced one leg on a chair and began to torture him with smooth strokes along the length of her calf and thigh. Adam’s breath was tight in his lungs, his body reacting powerfully to the eroticism of watching her bathe. When she switched legs, the cloth gaped at her hips, and he saw the shadowed recesses of the depths of her body. His eyes could see little, but his mind could imagine.
He should say somet
hing, he knew, but then she turned away from him, dropped the facecloth into the basin—and lowered the concealing cloth and fastened it at her hips. The long, slender lines of her back enticed him with a show of feminine strength. As she lifted her arm to wash along her ribs, the round swell of her breast seemed to peek at him, still mostly hidden by the turn of her body, and the shadows in the chamber.
Now he was truly wishing he’d spoken sooner, for this was torture more severe than he’d imagined being able to tolerate. Though he couldn’t see the front of her body, he knew she was washing her breasts, her hands sliding along what he ached to touch.
Would she soon stand totally nude before him? he wondered desperately.
Instead, when she finished with her upper body, she maneuvered the cloth back to its original position, then reached beneath to finish the more private recesses. He gave a choked sound, and she froze, dropping her facecloth to the floor.
“Adam?”
Her voice cracked on the word, as if fear had haunted her through the night. Guilt slithered through him like a serpent.
“I am well, thanks to you,” he murmured hoarsely.
Her smile was tremulous, and she turned her head away for a moment. Composing herself? Had she feared so much for him? Had anyone, but his brothers, ever cared like this?
“How long have I been asleep?” he asked.
She came to him, removing the poultice to look at his wound. It did not appear nearly as inflamed as it had yesterday, and he knew that she was relieved. Her ministrations had helped him. She put another cushion behind him, so that at least he was not lying as prone as an invalid. She understood him too well already.
But during all her concerned care, she wore only the cloth, fastened roughly at her breasts. He could not take his gaze away from the smooth line of her cleavage. She most certainly noticed his pointed stare, because she gave a beguiling blush and didn’t meet his gaze.
“I brought you here yesterday afternoon,” she said, then glanced at the shutters. “It looks to be morn.”
“I remember arriving, but little else. All is well?”
She nodded. “My sister helped me with your care. I am sure she will return soon with a meal to break your fast.”
“Good. I am hungry.”
With a grin, she said, “That is a sign of returning health. But although you may feel much improved, you need rest to fully recover. As I told your men, we will contact them tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” he repeated, frowning. “In several hours, I will be able to—”
“Nay, do not argue,” she said firmly. “You are returning to health, but you are not there yet. Eat and sleep more. Let the medicine heal you. London—and my father—will still be there.”
He said nothing as their gazes held.
At last he sighed. “I need a moment’s privacy.” And then he thought of the night, and imagined her caring for him in such a way.
She smiled. “You actually demanded your privacy last night. You managed well enough alone.”
He exhaled in relief.
“Close your eyes so that I can don my gown.”
He heaved a loud sigh, causing her to giggle, but he did as she requested. His breathing was far too rapid as he listened to the rustling of her garments.
“I will be outside in the corridor if you need me. The chamber pot is beneath the bed.”
He did not have to call for her, but he was surprised at how weak and light-headed he felt just standing up. She was right; he needed rest. He just hated to admit it.
When she returned, she was not alone. The other woman with her was dressed in silks, obviously the countess of the household. She carried a tray covered with a piece of cloth.
Though he was sitting propped in bed, Adam inclined his head toward her. “Lady Christina, thank you for your generosity.”
She looked a bit like Florrie, especially through the green eyes, but with none of Florrie’s open joy at life. Lady Christina watched him with wariness, her hands clasped together after she set down the tray. He kept his movements gentle for fear of startling her.
“Sir Edmund, you look well this morn,” she said, glancing at her sister almost nervously.
Then Florrie looked guilty. Why the emphasis on his false name? Unless her ladyship knew it was false.
“I feel much better, although my nurse insists I’m not,” he said dryly.
“You had quite the fever,” Lady Christina said. “’Tis well that you rest.”
“Yet we do not wish to cause you problems.”
She shook her head. “My husband is not in residence, sir. I can easily offer you our hospitality. And you have been taking care of my sister on her journey to London, which I appreciate.”
She seemed to be accepting the story for what it was, making Adam relax.
Florrie took the tray from her sister. “I do not wish to keep you, Christina. If you could bring me some sewing to pass the time, I would appreciate it.”
“And how will I pass the time?” Adam asked.
Florrie raised an eyebrow. “Sleeping.”
After Christina had left, Florrie brought the tray over and sat on a chair at his side. With the tray resting on her knees, she slid away the cloth to reveal a large bowl of pottage, two spoons and knives, a tankard of something, a loaf of bread, and a crock of butter.
She nodded. “You will not be able to eat much, so we can share this.”
“I beg to differ, Florrie, but—”
She lifted a spoon to his mouth, and with his outrage, she was able to put it between his lips. When she pulled the spoon away, he took it from her hand.
After swallowing, he said, “I can feed myself.”
She put the tray in his lap, smiling enigmatically. A short while later, he had to admit she was right. Though the food filled the hollow in his belly, he wasn’t able to eat much of it.
At last she stood above him, hands on her hips. “’Tis time for you to wash, but I fear you are still too weak. I will have to do it.”
He was about to protest his fitness, then realized his foolishness. Meekly, he said, “Whatever you think best.”
She rolled her eyes and gave a little snort that made him smile. After leaving the chamber briefly, she came back with a clean basin of water and fresh linen. All brisk competence, she folded his blanket down to his waist, laid a drying cloth to protect the bed, and began to work, beginning with his face. He must be feeling better, for all he could think about was her fingers touching him and her concerned face so close to his. She kept glancing up at him from beneath her lashes, and he didn’t look away, which seemed to fluster her.
As she moved on to his neck and shoulders, he realized that she was trembling.
“We should talk about something,” she finally said, then bit her lip.
“We should?” he answered softly. As she wiped farther down his chest, brushing a nipple, he gave a jerk. “I think if I open my mouth too much, I’ll moan.”
“Oh.” She hesitated, holding the dripping cloth just above his stomach. “Should I stop?”
“And allow me to repulse you with my uncleanness?”
She narrowed her eyes. “You want me to continue.”
“I am a man, Florrie. How could I not? But I will try not to respond in any way.”
He closed his eyes and steeled himself against responding, knowing he’d frighten her away. It took every bit of his control not to shudder when her cloth moved along his side. When she had him roll to his side so that she could reach his back, he felt a little more distant and calm. But then she folded the blanket back from his legs and began to work on his lower body, starting at his feet and moving up. Try as he might, all he could imagine was doing the same to her. If she removed the blanket completely, she’d see how the ministrations were affecting him.
At last, when there was nothing left to do that was not far too intimate for a virgin to contemplate, Florrie hesitated. He waited, wondering how bold she would be.
When
she touched the blanket at his waist, he caught her arm and pulled her down so that she pressed against his damp chest.
“I will finish,” he said huskily. And then he kissed her, a hot, passionate kiss meant to show her how she affected him, how much he wished they could continue. Every moment they were alone together made it harder and harder for him to resist her.
At last she lifted her head, her mouth wet, her breath coming in shallow pants. “I should…apply a fresh bandage.”
He grinned and closed his eyes, surprised by how tired he suddenly felt. “You do that.”
Yet he barely remembered her ministrations. He slept on and off through the morning, reluctantly admitting to himself that he still needed time to recover. Later, he saw her sewing by the window, and he didn’t even remember hearing someone arrive to bring her the cloth and supplies.
By the midday meal, he decided it was time to test himself, so he ate with her at the table after donning a clean shirt and breeches that had been left for him. Standing up was easier than he’d thought it would be, and she smiled her encouragement.
Florrie studied him as they sat facing each other, and she looked thoughtful.
“Ask your questions,” he said at last. “But I cannot promise long answers. I feel ravenous—another good sign?”
She grinned and nodded. “Tell me, after London, what do you do next? Do you continue your work with the League?”
“If they will have me.” He ate a bite of roast lamb. “But the League does not demand year-round service. They only ask for a man’s service once a year, for perhaps a few weeks at most. They want us to have a normal life. And other people are less likely to be suspicious.”
“And you will live at this home you have not seen in almost twenty years.”
He nodded as he buttered a piece of bread.
“Will you miss the place you grew up in?” she asked hesitantly.
He shrugged, chewing his bread before speaking. “Of course I will miss the friendships formed there, but there were not many of us there all the time. After several months of initial training, most Bladesmen never came there again.”