by Julianne Lee
As the excitement died down, exhaustion swept over the Scottish army of Edward Bruce, and the party didn’t last long. Soon the talk petered out, and the knights each found beds and bunks to claim. Alex went looking for a spot, with Lindsay tagging behind, but without the keep and its bedchambers for their use, the warm areas of the castle seemed full up with Scots claiming corners. Snoring bodies lay scattered across the Great Hall like logs on a river. Everywhere, it seemed, there was already a Scottish knight or his squire occupying.
“Maybe we should return to the pack train and pitch the tent in the woods?” Lindsay was pale and looked as if she might collapse any second from her adrenaline letdown, and Alex felt close behind.
“No. It’s too far and too dark, and I’m too tired. There’s got to be a corner here somewhere.” Looking to where the fires were, he found the kitchen by the smell of burnt bread. The complex of rooms, in which stood heavy tables laden with iron utensils and food scraps, was filled with dancing shadows from the dwindling fires. Stacks of meal sacks and crates stood in haphazard array, some having been moved to make room for the sleeping bodies. Alex took Lindsay’s hand and stepped over men and around stacked bags of grain and onions, and ducked beneath smoked meat and game carcasses hung on racks. Then he spotted a corner not far from the fire, beneath a worktable where it was dark and warm. “Here. Come.” He drew her there.
They settled in under the table, chain mail and leather-and-horn armor clinking and scraping against stone. He hauled in a sack of oats, which they used for a pillow, and wished there were enough such bags to make a mattress. Hard as the floor was, though, the kitchen was far warmer than the tent would have been. They stretched out side by side in their cubby and closed their eyes.
But, exhausted as he was, Alex was unable to sleep. Lindsay still had his hand, and was holding it tightly in hers, their fingers interlaced even as she slept. Her palm pressed his, and she gripped as if afraid to let go. It made his blood sing, and his head turned so his mouth would be nearer her face. Not a kiss, but as close to it as he dared. Something inside him far more insistent than his loins was stirring, and he had no idea what it was. All he knew was he’d rather stay awake than sleep through this time with her. It wasn’t until the smallest, coldest hours came that he finally dropped off from exhaustion.
No wonder he felt like crap the next day, surly and irritable as he and his fellow knights supervised the plundering of the English and the burial of dead. It was all very businesslike but competitive, the way the personal belongings and property in the castle were collected, tallied, and doled out to the Scottish victors by those in command. Arguments arose. In the bailey, Alex witnessed another altercation between Roger Kirkpatrick and his cousin John.
This time Alex didn’t care what the issue was. He was in a mood to fight, was sick of Sir Roger’s attitude, and had been waiting for an opportunity to retaliate. He was almost gladdened to hear the raised voices. As soon as Roger began slapping his cousin around, Alex strode over to intervene.
“Leave him alone.”
The Lowland knight gaped at him for a moment. “Cheeky of you.”
Alex hauled off and clobbered him. The spikes on his gauntlet cut two deep gashes in Kirkpatrick’s face. Stunned, Roger staggered back but quickly regained himself and drew his dagger. Alex drew his as well, and they circled.
“I was wondering when you would take your revenge.” Blood trickled down his cheek and dripped from his jaw.
“You need to learn some manners, Kirkpatrick.” A cluster of onlookers began to gather.
Roger laughed. “The Hungarian by-blow is going to teach me manners!”
“Yup.” Alex took a swipe and Kirkpatrick dodged. His voice took on a tone of patient instruction, like a kindergarten teacher. “You’re going to leave your cousin alone, and you’re going to pay for the scars on my belly.”
Kirkpatrick touched the swelling gashes on his face and his countenance darkened. “I’m going to kill you.”
“You going to lay blame on the king like you did with Comyn?”
With a roar, Kirkpatrick came at Alex. His rage made him clumsy, and Alex easily sidestepped to help him along and into a stone wall. Kirkpatrick collapsed and dropped his dagger, which Alex kicked to the side. Then he knelt beside his surprised opponent and held his own dagger to the man’s throat. “You’ll leave John alone, or next time I’ll kill you.” He grinned. “And I’ll let King Robert take the credit.”
Then he let Kirkpatrick go and picked up the dropped dagger for a prize.
The excitement over, the crowd dispersed and returned to the business of the day. Burials were quick and efficient, nobody eager to dwell on deaths that could just as easily have been their own. Only one of Alex’s own knights and three squires were missing after the battle the night before, and Alex and Lindsay walked past the row of corpses lying by the graves being dug, to verify who had not made it. Lindsay gasped when she saw, and laid a hand over her mouth. “Oh, God. Brian.”
Alex leaned over to see, and sure enough it was one of Cullan’s squires. “Brian. That’s the guy who beat the snot out of you a few weeks ago.”
“Oh, God.” Lindsay knelt by the body. “No.” Both hands pressed to her mouth, and she began to sob.
Alex went to a knee beside her and murmured, “Hey, take it easy.”
“He was a friend.”
“Friend? He nearly killed you.”
She stood and turned away, as if looking for a place to hide or a hole to crawl into. He followed her.
“Lindsay, don’t he so upset.”
“He was my friend. After we fought, he began to talk to me like he respected me.”
The question arose for Alex as to how good a friend Brian had become, but he refrained from asking, and tried to counsel Lindsay in this. “Well, I told you that might happen. So now you’ve lost a buddy. Mourn in private. Making a big deal out of this is a bad idea.” The several friends Alex had lost during his years in the Navy rose to mind, and he shoved them all back into their compartments for now was not the time.
She threw him an evil look, bleary with tears. “He was my friend.”
“Wipe your eyes, soldier,” his voice was soft but his words were firm, “and carry on.” He stood. “I guarantee he isn’t the only friend you’ll lose before this is over.”
With angry swipes to her face she obeyed, and stepped behind him where he couldn’t see her. “I hate this.” Alex ignored the comment and continued his examination of dead faces to take note of who was gone from his unit.
Though tears were not forthcoming, the loss of four men darkened the edges of his soul and hatred of the enemy churned in his gut. He went quiet and spoke very little, even to Lindsay, for saying anything at all would reveal parts of what he was feeling. It was a vulnerability that appalled him.
The following night tents were pitched in and around the castle, and normal sleeping arrangements resumed as the English commander went through the process of realizing relief was not on its way.
* * *
For the next three weeks life settled into a tedium of patrols. Though Alex hated to, he made certain Lindsay rode as often as any of the other squires. He saw how the constant anticipation of fighting now wore on her, and how she despised carrying her weapon anymore. The wan paleness of her cheeks and the dark, haunted look in her eyes told him she was only sticking it out by virtue of her stiff upper lip—he had to give her credit for never complaining—and it was only by his understanding that she would refuse to comply that he refrained from ordering her to stand down from patrol.
Of course, she quit holding his hand when she slept, and probably didn’t remember having held it in the first place. How he wished she would take it again.
Finally the garrison commander surrendered the keep, and he and his fellow holdouts joined the rest of the prisoners in the gatehouse to await ransom.
* * *
One morning Alex found Lindsay eating alone, at the far end of the bo
ard in the Great Hall when everyone else had finished their breakfast and gone. She wore only her now very threadbare flight suit, and no armor. At the front of her suit he could see her black T-shirt was full of holes, now almost more like lace hanging from the neck than like anything meant for warmth. His was a little worse, and he thought it might he time to go looking for indigenous clothing. They could afford it. He sauntered over to straddle the stool opposite her, and she smiled. “Isn’t there a rule against fraternizing with the lesser folk?”
There was, and in the military there always would be. He hated that she was one of those lesser folk, but he couldn’t say it out loud. “You’re eating late.”
“I woke up feeling ill this morning. I don’t really want breakfast, but around here you eat when you can and hold it down as long as possible.” She picked at a cold joint of mutton that was already mostly clean.
“You’re sick?” Alex reached out to feel her forehead and found it hot and clammy. She leaned back to avoid his touch, but she was too slow to keep him from knowing. “You’ve got a fever.” Now it was his turn to go clammy, for illness was serious stuff here and one never knew what bug might happen along to kill one.
“I don’t have a fever. It’s just warm in here.”
“It’s freezing in here. You’re the one with a high temperature.”
“No. Not a fever.” Her voice was sounding panicky, and she glanced around as if for someone to agree with her she wasn’t sick. “I can’t have a fever, not here.”
“Maybe it’s just a cold.”
“It’s nothing. I’ll ride today. No problem.”
“Problem. You’re not riding.”
“I must.”
“Bring that with you.” He gestured to her plate. “We’re going to the tent, and you’re going to rest.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Right. And it’s going to stay nothing. Come.” He rose from the table and headed for the kitchen. The workers there were surprised at his intrusion and stopped work to watch him come down the steps into the hot, smoky, and thickly scented room, but said nothing as he rummaged around among the smaller utensils near the center fire and came up with a small pot. Then he picked up a bag with a few onions left in the bottom and slung it over his shoulder. “You got a chicken here somewhere?”
A kitchen maid’s gaze went to a stack of wooden cages against the wall, all thickly coated with poultry dung. Alex reached into one for a nice, plump hen who squawked and fought until he could grab her by the neck and break it. The bird went limp. “Okay, now, how about a cabbage?”
That brought looks of surprise, but he said, “Cabbage. Now.” The girl went to a bin and pulled out a sad-looking leafy thing that obviously needed to be eaten soon or go to waste. Alex took it gladly.
“Thanks. Have a nice day, y’all.”
“Is your squire ill, sir?” The young kitchen maid’s eyes were wide with concern, and her pretty face troubled as she regarded Lindsay with soft, dark eyes. “He doesnae look well at all.” She tucked a stray bit of her hair behind her ear and bit her lip to moisten it and redden it as she stared at Lindsay.
Alex glanced at his squire, who avoided the gazes of everyone in the room. “Aye. He’s sick. You’ll want to stay away or you might catch it yourself.” He waved to Lindsay. “Come along, boy.”
Lindsay’s head ducked, and her cheeks were red with more than just fever as she hurried away from that girl. She followed Alex to where their tent was pitched, just outside the castle gatehouse. Their small fire was barely alive, having been neglected that morning, so Alex set down his burden and bent to tend the flame.
Lindsay asked, “What are you doing?”
“Chicken soup.” He straightened and looked at her. “Get in bed.”
“Alex—”
“I said, get in bed. Stop arguing with me, or I’ll send your ass back to your father in disgrace and you’ll never become a knight.”
A grin spread across her face, and she shook her head as she went into the tent.
With his dagger, Alex cleaned the chicken, cut the meat from the carcass and browned it in the pan they kept, then threw it all in a pot of boiling water, along with chopped onions and cabbage. A dash of salt and a little costly pepper finished it, and he let it cook. Then he donned his armor and weapons and saw to the evening’s patrol assignments. Once his men were deployed, he returned to the tent and found Lindsay asleep. When he felt her forehead she was still warm, but no worse than before. He took that as a good sign, and hoped he wasn’t as clueless as he felt. She stirred when he touched her, but didn’t awaken, so he dumped his armor onto the tent floor and for the next half hour divided his attention between her and the pot on the fire.
It was sunset when she awoke, and her temperature was still up. “Here, take this.” Alex put a shallow cup to her mouth and she drank some soup.
“It’s too hot in here. You’ve got the fire too high.”
“The fire’s outside.”
She had no reply for that, thought for a moment, then took some more soup. Alex was able to get her to empty the cup, then she lay back down to sleep again.
The pretty, young kitchen maid who had been so concerned earlier came with a cup, and curtsied at the entrance of the tent. “Pardon me, sir, but perhaps it would be good for him to drink this here tea.”
Alex took the cup and looked into it. The liquid was a yellowish color, and smelled like wet wood. “What is it?”
“Willow tea, sir. ‘Twill ease his fever.” She brushed a wisp of hair from her forehead and looked over at Lindsay with the unmistakable eyes of hopeless infatuation. Alex struggled to hide a smirk.
“What does it do?”
A tiny frown creased the girl’s brow. “Do? As I said, it will make him well. Ease his pain.”
Alex looked into the cup again, then at the girl. “Okay. I mean, very well. Thank you.”
She curtsied again, then left with a lingering look in the direction of her heart’s desire.
Once she was out of earshot, Alex murmured, “That girl’s hot for you.”
Lindsay grunted. “She’s going to be terribly disappointed, then, because—trust me—size does matter.”
A laugh snorted through Alex’s nose and he looked into the cup. “I don’t know if you should drink this.”
“I keep drinking things, I’ll have to pee. I hate having to pee in this damned suit. I wish it had a trap door.”
“All right, never mind.” He started to toss the liquid, but Lindsay stopped him.
“Give it to me anyway.”
“You sure?”
“Willow bark tea. Everyone knows willow bark tea is the next best thing to aspirin. Same stuff.”
Alex looked into the cup. “Really?”
“Really. Give it over.” He complied and she drank, made a face at the taste, then returned the cup to Alex and lay back on her parachute. He felt her forehead, and her temperature seemed neither worse nor better than before. He sat on his own pallet and watched her for a while. It quite surprised him when she spoke, and she sounded half asleep. Her words were slurred.
“Seriously disappointed.”
That was certainly out of the blue. Not sure what he should say, he said only, “Okay.” He wondered if she was having a dream.
There was more silence, then she said, “Alex, are you married?”
Not a dream. Puzzled now, he said, “You mean, will I be married in about seven centuries?”
A pause, then, “Right. That.” She sounded sleepy, drifting in that netherworld just before unconsciousness.
“No. Not married. But you knew that, because you interviewed me.”
There was a pause, then she said, “Oh. Right.” After some more silence, she asked, “Girlfriend?”
“No girlfriend.”
There was a deep sigh, as if she were annoyed by his reply. Her voice was almost petulant, comical, when she spoke again. “Why ever not? No, don’t tell me. You’re married to the Navy.”
He had to smile. “No, I just haven’t had an opportunity to become serious with anyone. Been too busy, first with school, then training, then deployment.”
One limp, wobbly hand waved in the air. “Do you mean to say, girls haven’t been flinging themselves at your uniform like bugs on a windscreen?”
He chuckled. “They did, but none of them stuck.”
There was a weak laugh from under the parachute, muttering and very drowsy now. “The Teflon Lieutenant.”
That amused him even more, but not so much that he didn’t fear she was slipping into delirium. He reached over to feel her forehead again, and found it cold and damp. She captured his hand in hers and held his palm against her face.
“Fever’s broken,” she muttered.
Relief washed over him.
Then she said, “Why didn’t any of them stick?” Her hand still held his.
This was way too personal, and he debated for a moment evading the question, but went ahead and answered it honestly. “I haven’t met anyone who could handle being a military wife the way my mother did.”
“How Freudian of you. Derek would laugh himself sick.”
He didn’t reply to that, and she was wrong, this Derek person notwithstanding. The truth was, he’d wanted someone as dedicated to him as his mother was to his father. Almost nobody existed for her but Dad, and he wanted that. It was so hard to find, he was beginning to think Mom was the last one and there would be no others like her.
Lindsay didn’t speak for a long time, and Alex thought she must be asleep, until she uttered yet another non sequitur. “Anyone ever tell you you’ve got the most incredible green eyes in the entire gene pool of humanity?”
He chuckled and closed those eyes for a moment, then admitted, “Yeah. I’ve been told.” His crystalline green eyes had once been described by a former girlfriend as “spooky.”
“Piercing.” A long pause, then, “They zap me right behind my navel.”
Alex couldn’t help laughing to himself, and at the same time he peered at her, wishing she weren’t delirious. Or whatever the hell was going on with her. Aspirin couldn’t have been the only thing in that cup. He waited for her to go on, but she didn’t. After a while, her breathing settled into genuine sleep and he retrieved his hand. Then he sat back on his own pallet and watched her face until it was too dark to see.