by Alexa Aston
Marcus watched her silently as she threaded her needle. Jessimond thought about the best angle to be at in order to sew up the diagonal gash. An idea occurred to her.
“I’m going to sit behind you,” she told him. “I’ll place your head in my lap. ’Twill allow me to lean over you better.”
He nodded in consent, the small block of wood held fast between his teeth, and she moved from his side. Lifting his head, she slipped beneath him, resting his head against her lap. This would get her closer to the wound and she could brace herself better than remaining on her knees, hunched over, for an extended period of time.
“Make any noise you need to,” she said softly so that only he could hear. “It won’t bother me, and it might make you endure the pain better.”
Jessimond began. She knew better than to wince or hesitate. The important thing was to get the gaping wound stitched neatly and efficiently—but as quickly as possible. Her left fingers pinched his skin together as her right hand dipped in and out, binding the two sides. She paused only once when the sweat on her brow gathered. Not wanting it to drip on him, she brushed it away with the sleeve of her forearm.
It took longer than she thought but when she reached the end, she was pleased with her work. The stitches were evenly spaced, holding his skin together firmly in place.
Jessimond hadn’t looked at Marcus’ face once during the procedure. He’d groaned a few times but had remained amazingly still. Finally, their gazes met and he relaxed his jaw, allowing her to take the stick from his mouth. She saw the deep teeth marks in it.
He raised his head to view her handiwork.
“You did well,” he praised.
“I still have more to do,” she insisted. “Stay patient.”
Once more, Jessimond poured wine along the new seam that ran across his chest and then dabbed at it. He grimaced but said nothing.
“I will smear honey across it and then apply a poultice. Depending upon how it looks tonight and over the next few days, I will change the poultice once or twice a day.” She glanced at the pile of linen and knew they would need more by tomorrow.
Jessimond eased away from him and stood, her muscles protesting after the strain of the past hour. Glancing around, she saw the entire circle of mummers watching in silence.
Finally, Jopp asked, “Will Marcus live?”
She put an arm around the young boy. “We’ll have to be wary of fever and infection but I’ve done the best I can. Marcus is healthy and strong. He should be back swinging his sword in no time.” Jessimond looked at the crowd. “Thank you for being here. I know Marcus appreciates your support. I think it best if you go back to the stage now. It should be time to put on another play for the faire goers at Wenshaw.”
When protests arose, she waved them away. “There’s nothing you can do for Marcus now. I will sit with him and let everyone know how he fares. I think it would be best if everyone had something productive to do.”
Moss spoke up. “Jess is right. Come along, everyone.”
He sent the troupe on their way, following them. Only Rand, Peter, and Elias remained behind.
“I want him moved to my tent,” she told the three men. “I’ll need to stay with him constantly during the next few days. Since only Agatha and I share the tent, it will be quieter and less disruptive.”
“How should we move him?” Elias asked, his usual bluster gone, replaced by worry.
“Pick him up using the corners of the blanket. You can set it atop my pallet.”
Jessimond hurried to her tent and opened the flap. Going inside, she spied the robe on her pallet that she’d been working on before the play. It seemed like a month ago that she had been mending the wool garment, thinking wicked thoughts of Marcus and all the ways he touched her. She set the robe aside as the men entered.
The space was small, so they had to work to get Marcus inside and ease him to the ground.
“What next?” Peter asked.
“I’ll need hot water for the poultice. Not a lot. Just enough to make a paste with a few herbs.”
“I’ll see to it.” Peter left the tent, Elias accompanying him.
Rand looked at her. “I can also stay with Marcus. Tell me what to do. How to make this poultice. I must make things right.”
Jessimond frowned. “You did nothing wrong, Rand.”
“I sliced my closest friend wide open,” he ground out, misery written across his face.
“It was an accident. I was there, Rand. I’d seen how the mother wasn’t watching her child closely enough. You couldn’t have known the boy would impulsively run out during your match.”
Rand stood there, looking dejected despite her words.
Then Marcus spoke. “Rand, I don’t blame you for anything. I was the one who chose to move in front of your blade.”
The knight looked down at Marcus. “You did so to keep me from killing the boy. I don’t know which would be harder to live with—striking down the child—or you.”
Marcus smiled weakly. “But look at all the care and attention I will receive from Jess in the coming days. She will be my constant companion and fulfill my every whim.”
Rand snorted. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, Marcus, it’s not working.”
“Then go find some lovely young miss that will take your mind off what occurred.”
“He’s right, Rand,” seconded Jessimond. “I need to prepare the poultice and apply it. You can go to the faire for me and purchase several swaths of linen while you’re out and about. I will need it as the week progresses.”
“All right,” Rand agreed reluctantly. “But I will spell you tonight, Jess. That way we each can get a little sleep.” He exited the tent.
Jessimond knelt and placed her palm against Marcus’ brow. “No fever yet.”
“That’s a good sign.”
“If it comes, it usually takes a few hours. I’ll be prepared if it does.”
He took her hand. “Thank you. You have taken good care of me.”
Peter appeared. “I have the hot water and your case.” He brought them to Jessimond. “Do you need anything else?”
“Nay.”
“I will check on you later.”
Jessimond began making the poultice. She would wait to see if fever came. If it did, she would use stalks of angelica to combat it. For now, she mixed three herbs together. The saffron would treat any possible infection. Myrrh would act as an antiseptic on his wound. Clove would do the same and also serve as a slight painkiller.
As she worked, she said, “If you feel feverish or your head begins to ache, let me know. I can boil yarrow in water and add some chamomile.”
“I will.”
She coated the wound with her concoction and covered it with squares of linen then used linen strips to fasten it in place. Once she finished, she realized his pants had blood on them.
“I’m going to slip your pants off.”
Marcus’ eyes were fluttering. She knew he needed sleep, which would be the best medicine for him.
“I don’t think I can stay awake to enjoy this,” he slurred. “You’ll have to do it again when I am better. Promise me.”
“I’ll make no such promise,” Jessimond teased.
His head dropped to the side and his breathing evened out. She removed his boots and set them aside and then pulled his pants down, trying not to stare at what was below his waist. She would wash the pants in the strongest lye soap she could find. Hopefully, the bloodstains would come out. If not, she would make him another pair.
Covering him to his waist with a blanket, Jessimond sighed. Her neck and back ached from bending over for so long. She rubbed her neck, wishing it were Marcus’ strong fingers kneading it instead of her own.
Suddenly, a shadow blocked the sun shining into the tent. Jessimond looked up and saw two figures standing there but their faces were in shadow. Then one stepped inside and she recognized Lady Serafina. Quickly, she rose to her feet and curtseyed.
�
�I heard what happened to poor Marcus,” the noblewoman said, glancing down at the sleeping knight. “I’ve brought Auriol, my healer, to look at him. I also have a litter and men waiting to carry him to the castle. We will care for him until the troupe moves on.”
Disappointment flooded Jessimond. She opened her mouth to protest and realized that if this accident had occurred at Kinwick, her mother would have made the same offer—and not expected anyone to question her.
“Of course, my lady,” she said. “May I share with Auriol what I have done? My mother is a healer and though I’ve chosen a different path, I learned many useful things from her.”
“I’ll leave the two of you to it then,” Lady Serafina said. “The soldiers will be waiting when it’s time to transport him.”
She left and Auriol came into the tent. She had iron gray hair and light blue eyes. Her lined face told Jessimond she was close to three score.
Kneeling, Auriol asked, “Can you tell me about the accident? What the wound looked like and what you’ve done?”
Jessimond joined the healer and explained everything in detail, including how she had cleaned the wound and what she’d included in the poultice.
The woman unwound a bit of the linen and lifted one of the squares in order to see for herself. She nodded in satisfaction and replaced it.
“You cleansed the gash well and used the correct herbs. Your mother would be proud of you. What impresses me most are your stitches. They are evenly spaced and tightly knit. I couldn’t have completed it better myself.”
“I am a seamstress,” Jessimond said modestly.
Auriol waved a hand in the air. “Seamstress or not, sewing flesh together is far different from cloth.”
She rose and Jessimond did the same. “Is it possible for me to visit him as he heals?”
The old woman studied her. “You have feelings for this man.”
“I do,” she admitted.
“Then why don’t you come stay at the keep, my lady? You can help watch over him as he mends.”
She sucked in a quick breath. “Oh, I am no lady, Auriol,” Jessimond said. “I—”
Again, the healer waved a hand, silencing her. “I know nobility when I see it, my dear. You may have fooled Lady Serafina. The mummers. Even this handsome knight. But your bearing is regal. So is your speech.”
She lifted Jessimond’s hands and turned the palms face up. “You have the calluses of one who works. I’ll wager your mother, the healer, has the same. That you come from a noble family who feels bound to give back to their people.”
Auriol dropped Jessimond’s hands. “I won’t share your secret. I make no judgment. But, you realize, at some point, you will need to tell this young man not only how you feel about him but share who you truly are.”
Jessimond looked into the watery, blue eyes that had seen so much. “Aye.”
“Then come with me. You can help to nurse him to good health again.”
“Will Lady Serafina—”
“You leave her to me,” Auriol said swiftly. “Come.”
Jessimond closed her case of herbs and the two women left the tent. Auriol gave instructions to the waiting soldiers. They retrieved the sleeping Marcus and secured him to the litter. Both she and Auriol fell in behind them as they started toward the castle.
She saw Jopp on the way and motioned him over.
“Lady Serafina wishes for her healer to care for Marcus within the castle walls,” she told the boy. “I am going with him. Please let Peter and the Vawdrys know where we are.”
“I will, Jess. Take care.”
They arrived at the castle and went through the gates. Minutes later, they came to the keep. The soldiers brought Marcus up the stairs and inside, climbing another set of stairs and taking him to a small bedchamber. Auriol drew the bedclothes back and the men settled Marcus in the bed, drawing the bedsheets to his waist.
“Stay with him,” Auriol ordered once they’d left. “I will return to my storeroom and grind some herbs for him to ingest.”
“Steeped in water?” Jessimond asked.
“Aye.”
“He might need some hops in case he has trouble sleeping,” she added.
The healer gave her an approving smile. “You do know your herbs.” She left the room and closed the door behind her.
Jessimond pulled a chair next to the bed and took Marcus’ hand. It felt odd to be inside a keep after spending weeks on the road, sleeping in tents. She wondered about adjusting to life back at Kinwick once autumn came and the mummers dispersed until spring. She also knew the time was coming when she needed to do as Auriol suggested—tell Marcus of her feelings for him and reveal that she was not a servant, but the daughter of one of the most powerful houses in England. That news could wait until he recovered, though.
Jessimond only hoped that Marcus might wish to spend the rest of his life with her.
And hoped he might grow to love her.
Chapter 15
Marcus slowly opened his eyes. His head felt heavy and his limbs sluggish. He glanced around and saw he was in a small bedchamber. A woman dressed in pale yellow cut with scarlet sat next to the bed, her face in shadow.
Where was he?
He closed his eyes. Images danced through his mind. A small child in harm’s way. Diving to save the boy. A sword slicing him. Pain. Then Jess ministering to him. Cleaning him. Stitching the wound. A litter. But where did it take him?
Opening his eyes again, he decided he must be inside Lord Margrave’s keep. Why, he didn’t know. He raised his head slightly and looked down to his bare chest. Large squares of linen still covered it. He could smell the assortment of herbs rising from the poultice underneath the cloth. He remembered his body raging like an inferno. Hands comforting him. Washing him. Cool water touching his inflamed skin.
It must have been the Wenshaw healer who’d attended to him. Then who was the noblewoman beside him now?
She stirred, her head turning, the candlelight striking her face.
It was Jess dressed in the fine silk cotehardie. Where on earth had she gotten such a garment?
Slowly, her eyes blinked open. She sat forward, touching his forearm and then placing her hand against his brow.
“You’re awake.”
“Aye.”
“The fever’s gone, thank the Blessed Virgin.” She sat back. “You are lucky. We’ve seen no sign of infection festering.”
“How long did the fever last?” he asked.
“Three days. I’m sure you are hungry and thirsty.”
She started to rise but Marcus caught her wrist.
“Stay with me a moment.”
Jess chuckled and sat again as he took her hand. “I have stayed with you every moment.”
His eyes roamed over her. “You look lovely.”
A blush tinged her cheeks. “Thank you. When Lady Serafina saw that my tunic was covered in your blood, she offered this as a replacement. It belonged to her daughter, who left it here on her last visit. She was with child and it no longer fit her.”
“You were made to wear finery such as this, Jess.”
“Aren’t you full of compliments today?”
“I would see you dressed this way always. In fact, I need to purchase you something to replace what my blood ruined.”
“Nay, Marcus. You already bought that beautiful red wool for me. Even though you are a knight, I know you don’t have much coin to spend.”
Jess stood and leaned over, giving him a soft kiss. She backed away, releasing his hand.
“See, a kiss is something you can freely give me with no cost involved.”
If only she knew the cost to his soul every time they kissed. Marcus felt as if he teetered upon a precipice and might plunge over it any minute.
Tumbling into love. With her.
“I will go to the kitchens and return with bread and broth for you.”
“I am far hungrier than that.” His belly growled loudly, supporting his words.
“We’ll start with something light. I’ll also have the servants bring hot water. Now that your fever’s broken, you’ll need a proper bath.”
She moved to another chair and indicated the clothes lying upon it. “What you wore was ruined. The bloodstains wouldn’t come out. I’ve made you something new to wear in its place while you slept.”
A knock sounded on the door and Jess went to answer it. She admitted an older woman who came to his bedside.
“You look much better than you did when you first arrived, Sir Marcus,” she stated. “I am Auriol, the healer at Wenshaw.”
“Thank you for your care,” he said.
Her blue eyes assessed him. “I needed to do very little. Jess seems to know as much as I do about herbs and how to tend to an injured man.” She glanced to Jess. “No fever?”
“None. I’m off to the kitchens to bring him some food and request hot water for a bath. I know that will make him feel better. Clean bedclothes, too, will help.”
Jess left and Auriol asked if she could check Marcus’ injury. She gently removed the linen and studied him carefully. Marcus could see the line of neat stitches trailing from under his left shoulder, cutting diagonally across his chest. The healer dabbed along the seam, first with a clean cloth and then inspecting it with her fingers.
“I think since your fever’s gone and no infection has arisen, we can dispense with the poultices. You are young and strong and should heal quickly.”
“I will need to thank Lord Margrave and Lady Serafina for sheltering me.”
Auriol stepped back. “That girl never left your side. If anyone deserves your gratitude, it should be Jess.” The healer narrowed her eyes. “And if you have any sense, you’ll make sure she never leaves your side again.”
Turning, the woman left the bedchamber.
*
“You should head to the stage, Jess,” Elias said. “Bartholomew will be waiting.”
Jessimond returned the sewing to her tent and retrieved her lute. A month had passed since Rand accidentally hurt Marcus. The mummers had all watched out for the knight since he’d returned to the troupe, not allowing him to lift or load anything until two days ago. Marcus had declared he was fit to do everything he had before and resumed his usual duties as they packed up and traveled to Lord Burhampton’s estate. Denwell was the next to last stop for the company. After this, they would complete their season at Glenmore. From there, she and Peter would journey to Ancel and Margery’s estate.