William grunted in response. He was beginning to think the same thing. He was making his men miserable for no purpose. If the Welsh were going to attack again, it would be at night. “We’ll keep going. But I agree with you. These daytime patrols are a waste of time.”
They continued the circuit. William decided that if nothing else, he was becoming more familiar with the lands attached to Higham. Still, he was very relieved when they sighted the castle. Although they’d stopped twice to drink from their waterskins, he was now parched and swimming in his own sweat.
Which gave him an idea. He motioned to Adam that they should turn off the trackway and head for the river. They rode through the willows and rushes to the water’s edge. “Fancy a swim?” William asked as he dismounted.
Adam hesitated. “That means taking off our armor.”
“I don’t think the Welsh would venture this close to the castle.”
Adam shrugged and slid off his horse. They helped each other out of their mail and hung it on the branches of a nearby birch tree. William pulled off his sweat-soaked gambeson. As he was hanging it up, he heard a pinging sound. He turned and the next moment felt a sharp pain in his side. He gasped as he realized he’d been shot by an arrow. “Get down!” he shouted. We’re under attack.”
*
Rhosyn was putting salve on Ned’s burns when Egelina came rushing in. “Lord Fitzhugh has been wounded!”
The jar of salve fell from her nerveless fingers. “How badly?”
“I don’t know. He’s at the castle.”
Rhosyn picked up the salve and handed it to Glyda, then dashed out of the cottage and took off at a run.
“Should you not get your medicines?” Glyda called after her.
Glyda was right. She wasn’t thinking clearly. “Bring my basket. It’s next to Edwin’s pallet.”
Panic tightened her stomach and made it hard for her to breathe. She had to regain control of her emotions. As a healer, she had a responsibility to remain calm. She could do naught for Fitzhugh in this state. How badly was he wounded? What had happened?
Glyda brought her basket and Rhosyn took off at a run. When she reached the castle hill, she slowed. Her side ached and she could barely catch her breath. She pushed herself to keep going. As she neared the gate, she wondered if they would let her in.
She was met inside the open portcullis by a tall, green-eyed knight she recognized as Baldwin. “What happened to Fitzhugh?” she demanded.
“He took an arrow in his side.”
An arrow in his side. It might have pierced his lung. “Where is he? The hall?”
“Nay, they took him to his bedchamber. Follow me.”
She trailed Baldwin across the yard, feeling vaguely sick. Her mother had warned her about this: There is naught worse than treating someone you care about. You must put aside your feelings and reason things through.
The next moment she realized the suffocating dread she was experiencing meant that what she felt for Fitzhugh was more than desire. Far more.
The thought dismayed her. No good could come of having tender feelings for someone like Fitzhugh. Even if he felt some fondness for her, the best he could do would be to make her his leman. She could not allow herself to be controlled by a man that way. Especially one who was her enemy. Although he did not seem like her enemy now, but someone dear and precious.
They climbed the stairs. Rhosyn grew breathless, but she could not tell if it was from exertion or fear. They reached the bedchamber and a part of her mind registered how empty it was. There was no furniture at all, merely a clutter of clothing, weapons, and in the corner, a man kneeling by a pallet on the floor. She hesitated, afraid of what she would find.
The kneeling man stood. It was Adam, another knight she recognized. He gestured, looking frustrated. “He kept telling me to take the arrow out. We broke off both ends, but I think the rest of it should be cut out.”
She approached the pallet. Fitzhugh was lying on his stomach. He turned his head to glance up at her, his face flushed with pain. “How could I be such a dolt? We were going to swim in the river. What a stupid, witless thing to do!” He swore in disgust.
She knelt by the pallet. He wore nothing except for his braies. His nakedness made his body seem even more massive. A broken-off arrow protruded from the lower left side of his back. It was too low to have pierced his lung and high enough that it likely had not hit his entrails. She reached to touch the arrow and was horrified by the way her hand trembled.
“’Tis nothing,” he growled. “A flesh wound. The result of my own stupidity.”
Her examination told her he was right; the arrow had only pierced muscle. She felt weak with relief.
“I could have gotten it out myself, but where it is makes it hard to get a good grip. And Adam refused to help.”
“Adam is right.” She made her voice stern. “You could have damaged the muscle by ripping it out. I will cut it out.”
“Do it. I’m not going to lie here all day like a puling infant. We need to go after the Welsh bastards. Cowards! Lurking in the shadows. Afraid to come out and fight like men!”
She’d never seen him angry like this. He sounded like he wished to kill someone. This side of Fitzhugh made her uneasy. But his fury also helped her be more dispassionate. He was showing himself to be a typical Saesneg lord.
“I need to wash the area first.”
“I hope you’re not going to use vinegar again. That will make it hurt even more than it already does.”
“I’m going to use this tincture made from pine needles. It also helps keep wounds from becoming poisoned. It might sting, but that can’t be helped.”
He gave a growl of assent and glared at her. She reminded herself that he was in pain; that was why he was being so disagreeable.
She opened her basket and started to take out the things she would need. There were sounds of panting on the stairs and the dark-haired knight known as Rollo entered the bedchamber, trailed by Egelina. The smith’s daughter glanced around, her eyes avid, clearly thrilled to be inside the castle. Egelina drew near to the pallet, her eyes on Fitzhugh, drinking in his near nakedness.
“Why are you here, Egelina?” Rhosyn asked sharply.
“Rollo…” She gestured to the dark-haired knight. “We thought you might need our aid.”
“I may need Rollo’s help when we take the arrow out. But there’s nothing you can help with.”
Egelina moved away, but didn’t leave.
Fitzhugh shifted, radiating impatience. “How long will this take? Why can’t you just pull the arrow out?”
Rhosyn touched his arm, trying to soothe him. “I told you why.”
Fitzhugh raised himself up and looked at her. His impatience and irritation seemed to fall away and his blue eyes fixed on her, warm and tender. She lowered her gaze until he turned away. But that wasn’t much better. His naked back fascinated her. The sleek muscles. His powerful neck and shoulders.
There was a sound behind her and she realized Egelina was still there. Rhosyn removed her hand from Fitzhugh’s arm. “Go back to the village, Egelina.”
The girl left. Rhosyn imagined her smirking. Or maybe her face was hard with jealousy. Rhosyn had vowed to be more careful. To suppress her feelings for Fitzhugh. But seeing him like this had undone her. She felt a surge of irritation towards herself and towards him.
She got out the jar of pine needle tincture and a cloth and cleaned the wound as he lay on his stomach. Then she had him turn over, so she could use the tincture on that side where the arrow had also pierced his flesh. Finally, she dipped the knife into the solution and told herself to focus. She must not look at his face. Or his nakedness.
*
William closed his eyes. The tincture she cleaned the wound with had stung, but now she was cutting into his flesh. Gritting his teeth, he told himself it could not hurt more than if he’d ripped the arrow out himself, which had been his first thought to do. And one good thing was that the pain banishe
d any lingering feelings of desire. When Rhosyn had first touched him with her delicate fingers, he’d been on the verge of becoming aroused. How potent this woman’s effect on him was, that even with an arrow sticking out of his side, he still yearned for her.
And she had gazed at him longingly, he felt certain of it. But knowing she felt the same yearning to be near him as he did her, changed nothing. They could not act upon their lust. Not only was he unwilling to expose her to the risk of childbirth, but he had nothing to offer her. He could not wed her and he felt certain she would not be happy as his leman. She was too proud and independent. There could be no future between them.
That gloomy thought seemed to make the pain he was experiencing even worse. But then, thankfully, the ordeal ended as Rhosyn used tongs to pull the arrow out.
She sat back and let out a breath. “You’re very fortunate. The arrow missed your lung and entrails.” Her soft brown eyes met his briefly, then she returned her attention to the wound, pressing on the edges. “But I think it should be stitched to heal properly.”
He sat up and tried to examine the hole in his mid-section. “’Tis not so big. Are you certain you need to stitch it?”
“The wound in the front can be left open to drain. The one in your back where I cut into your flesh needs to be stitched.”
He grimaced. The wound still hurt fiercely. Having her stitch it would not be pleasant.
Adam, who had been standing back, moved closer. “She is right. Stitching it will help it heal better.”
William scowled at Adam. Adam shrugged, as if to say, She is the healer. You have trusted her this far, you should heed her advice now.
It came to him that there was one benefit to her stitching the wound. She would have to remove the stitches later. Which meant they would once again be forced into close proximity.
He should not be thinking such things. Only a few moments before he had decided he must avoid situations where he and Rhosyn were alone. But she and Adam were probably right. The wound would heal better if it was stitched. He looked at her. “Do it then. Stitch it up.”
“I didn’t bring needle and thread.”
“There must be someone in the castle who has those things.” He motioned to Adam. “Fetch some.”
The knight looked doubtful. “I’m not certain any of the serving women of the castle will have sewing materials.
“He’s right,” Rhosyn said. “You may have to go to village to find someone who has what we need. Or I could go.”
Nay! Don’t leave me! The battle inside him continued. One part of him was desperate to have her stay. Another part—the reasonable part—realized having her around only made things more difficult.
“I’ll fetch a needle,” Adam said, and left them.
Chapter Thirteen
Stupid. Stupid. You should have insisted you would fetch the needle. Now she was stuck here with Fitzhugh. And there was little she could do until Adam came back with needle and thread.
She sought to focus on the wound in his back. It was open and raw but had stopped bleeding. And it seemed almost insignificant on a man of his size. She must stop looking at him. It was absurd how much he fascinated her. She’d seen many men without their tunics. There was naught that was special about this man, other than his size.
And his comeliness. There was such beauty in the way he was built. Like a prime stallion or a great stag that rules the forest. A male that all the females are eager to breed with.
That’s all it was. Her body’s response to a man who would make strong, healthy babies. But she did not want a babe. At least not yet. She must establish herself as a healer before she dare to even think about having a child. And he could not be the father. Even if she had a girl, he might take an interest in the child and insist she be raised as a noblewoman in his household. Even men who cared nothing for their daughters still saw them as their property. She would doom no child of hers to that fate. Which meant she must gain control over herself.
She cast one last longing look at him, and stood.
“Don’t leave.”
She looked at him, and knew immediately it was a mistake. His eyes were pleading. Those beautiful cornflower blue eyes.
“I can do naught more until I have the sewing things.”
“You could answer some questions.”
“What questions?”
“You’ve said the miller is dying. That there is naught you can do. But what about his son? Will Ned recover enough to run the mill?”
“I think so. His hands were injured in the fire. They are healing, but they may have some scarring that will make him less dexterous.”
“What about his other wounds? Will he be disfigured?”
“I’m not certain. Why are you asking?”
“He’s a young man. Scars might make him self-conscious and cause his life to be more difficult.”
Fitzhugh seemed genuinely concerned for young Ned. It was very unusual. Most lords only saw their villeins in terms of the wealth and resources their labor could provide.
She was beginning to not only respect Fitzhugh, but actually admire him. And that was dangerous. She wanted to hate him, or at least feel contempt. It was the only thing that might help her deal with her attraction to him. If she couldn’t hate him, she would be powerless over her desire for him. Indeed, she had already acted on that desire. She had kissed him.
The memory of it undid her. She was reminded of how wonderful it had felt. And here he was now, an arm’s length away. He had sat up, and his body was revealed in all its glorious maleness. His magnificent flesh called to her, urging her closer. She raised her gaze to his face and remembered the sensation of his lips on hers. How firm they felt, and yet soft. A mixture of strength and tenderness. That was what was so amazing, that he could appear so big and threatening and yet be so gentle.
She found herself leaning near. Having kissed him once, what was the harm in kissing him again? The wound in his side would prevent things going further. And Adam would return soon.
She leaned closer. He reached up and cupped her chin. Their lips met. Passion rose up between them as they explored each other’s mouths. Wild. Heady. Wet, silken and sweet. The need inside her grew and swelled, becoming almost painful. She heard his moan and knew he felt the same unbearable craving.
He drew back. His expression was tortured, mirroring her own frustration. She glanced down and saw his erection thrusting up against his braies. She reached out.
Before she could touch him, he seized her hand. “Nay, I could not bear it.” Their gazes locked. He pulled her onto his lap and they were kissing again. All their yearning and desire like a blazing fire. She let out a helpless moan and clutched his shoulders.
As they kissed, she imagined where this would lead: Her skirts around her waist and his braies down. Her feminine opening against his hard shaft. His shaft inside her. That was what she yearned for, the only thing that could soothe the terrible ache tormenting her. But Adam could come back at any time, and Fitzhugh was injured.
The thought brought her to her senses and she drew away. She gasped as she realized the wound had started bleeding, blood dripping on the blanket beneath him. Grabbing a strip of cloth from her basket, she made him turn so she could press it against the raw opening in his back. Shame and dismay washed through her. She’d forgotten her responsibilities as a healer and done something that hurt her patient.
He touched her arm. “’Tis all right.”
Miserably, she shook her head. She had a duty to care for him and she’d forgotten it in her own lust.
“I would willingly risk bleeding to death to kiss you like that again.”
She knew exactly what he meant. There could be no doubt she would risk a great deal to experience those delightful feelings. But she was a healer.
She pressed the cloth tight against the wound until the bleeding stopped. She stood. “I’m going to see if Adam has found a needle yet.”
“Don’t leave.”
&nbs
p; Desire and reason warred inside her. She should remain there and tend his wound. But that might lead to more kissing and worse. It was an impossible situation.
Thankfully, Adam came rushing into the room. “I found one.” He held up an iron needle. “One of the serving women, Elspeth, had one.”
“Which one is she?” Fitzhugh asked.
“The older one. You know, gray hair, weathered face. Very quiet.”
Fitzhugh nodded. “I know who you mean.”
“Did Elspeth also have thread?” Rhosyn asked.
“A little.” Adam held it out. “She uses it for mending.”
Rhosyn nodded. “When you take the needle back to her, tell her I will bring her some thread to replace what she has given us.”
*
William felt a stirring of shame. If Rhosyn was not here, he would not have thought to replace the thread Elspeth had provided. As a servant, Elspeth might have limited means of getting more. He wondered where she had come by the needle. Had she once had more responsibilities at the castle? He had assumed there was no one left at Higham who had the skills to run the household. But he had not really talked to any of the female servants to learn their names or exactly what they did.
He distracted himself with that thought as Rhosyn daubed the wound with the tincture and began to stitch it. When the pain grew intense, he focused his thoughts on kissing Rhosyn. How sublime it had been. How very right it felt. As if their bodies were made for each other. He had never felt that way with any other woman, certainly not with Emma.
Emma had been comely, but she left him unmoved. She had seemed so young, so naïve. He never felt able to talk to her about anything of consequence. And for all her eagerness to have him bed her, he did not think it was for the experience itself. She was desperate for children and she knew they must consummate the marriage for that to happen. Then she had gotten her wish and it had killed her. The painful memory jolted him back to awareness of his own discomfort.
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