It all came tumbling upon her. She remembered Tate from the night before and her heart began to pound at the mere thought. She remembered everything, from the moment he had first touched her until she had fallen asleep in his powerful embrace. Warm delirium swept her as she thought on the power, the passion, and the excitement. She thought it might have been a dream until she lifted her hand and smelled Tate on her flesh. She lay there a moment, inhaling deeply, feeling her body tremble at his scent. She should have been shocked at her behavior, ashamed at the very least, but she found that she was neither. She felt a fulfillment in her soul that she’d never had before. But her warm thoughts faded as she looked around, noticing that she was quite alone in the bed and in the room.
She sat up, still holding the coverlet to her chest. The kitten suddenly leapt onto the bed and she petted the little beast absently. Her thoughts drifted to the night before onceagain and she thought of Tate’s magical touch, the heat of his mouth, the gentle power of his body when he took her. She hadn’t been prepared for that intimate action but had very quickly succumbed to his passion. It had been the most powerful physical and emotional event of her life, propelling her onto a plane that she had never known to exist. But now that she found herself alone in the bedchamber, embarrassment was beginning to join her puzzlement.
Perhaps Tate had left because he had been embarrassed, too. He had left without a word. Perhaps he left because he realized it had all been a horrible mistake. From the deeply personal memories of the night before to a creeping humiliation, she wrapped herself in the coverlet and went in search of her clothes. As she made her way to her neatly stacked trunks, she passed next to the hearth and made a startling discovery.
Someone had drawn a smiling face into the ashes. Toby stood there a moment, staring down at the two eyes and big smiling mouth. That had not been there the previous night. It occurred to her that Tate must have drawn the face when he had left that morning, not wanting to wake her but wanting to leave some mention of his passing. One corner of her mouth twitched and then the other; soon, she was laughing softly, laughing harder when the kitten walked through the face and left little paw prints all over it.
As she finally reached her trunks, she also noticed a basin of clean water on the nearby table. That hadn’t been there last night, either; nor had the small wooden platter of cheese and bread. She felt awful that she had thought poorly of Tate, that he had abandoned her after their night of passion. Obviously, the man had put a good deal of thought into greeting her with a pleasant morning and she adored him for it. Her heart was swelling so with happiness that she was sure it would burst.With a huge smile, Toby dropped the coverlet and grabbed her cake of lavender and lemon rind soap.
When she finished washing with the soap and tepid water, she dried off with a linen sheet they had brought from Forestburn and proceeded to dress in pantalets, a linen shift and brown surcoat that emphasized her slender waist. She brushed her hair furiously and pulled it away from her face with a strip of cloth that wrapped all the way around her head, tying a bow just behind her right ear. It was a very flattering style for the heart-shape of her face.
As she pulled on her shoes, she threw bits of cheese to the kitten. When all of the bread and cheese were gone, and she and the kitten were fed, she collected the cat and quit the chamber with the intention of taking the kitten outside to relieve itself. But more importantly, she wanted to find Tate. The kitten was just a convenient excuse.
The keep was dark as she made her way down the deadly stairs. She hardly heard a sound. But as she neared the great hall, she could hear the men inside, mostly wounded, and she ventured into the cavernous room. It was dim and smelling of smoke from the fire in the hearth. The very first thing she saw was Stephen directly to her left, tending to one of his patients. He looked up and their eyes met. Startled to see him, Toby did the only thing she could do; she smiled timidly.
“Good morn to you, Sir Stephen,” she said. “I fear I must have been more exhausted than I thought. I seem to have slept long into the morning.”
Stephen’s gaze lingered on her. “No harm done. You obviously needed the rest.”
She shrugged faintly, looking around the room and petting the cat in her arms. “May I help you this morning?”
Stephen finished securing the bandage of the man he was working on and stood up. “There is not much to do,” he followedher gaze around the room. “Most of the men seem to be healing steadily. The only thing you could possibly do is lift their spirits with a kind word.”
“Perhaps they would like to pet my cat.”
He looked at the animal and cracked a smile. “I fear that grown men aren’t as attached to felines as women and children are.”
She grinned, noticing that he did not seem tense or angry with her this morning. Perhaps Tate had taken her advice and spoken to him. She could only hope.
“I am going to find my young friend with the chest wound,” she said pointedly. “I will wager that he would like to pet my cat.”
Stephen’s smiled faded. “He is not here.”
“Oh? Where is he?”
He hesitated. “He passed away last night.”
Her face fell. “Oh,” she whispered, looking pained. “I had hoped… you said that you thought he would….”
Stephen moved towards her, wiping his hands off on a rag. “I said that he would survive provided that poison did not set in. Unfortunately, it did. It took him very quickly.”
Toby nodded, realizing that she was blinking tears away. But she couldn’t stop them. “He was so young,” she wept softly. “He was only sixteen years old. He was just a boy.”
Stephen stood next to her, wanting to comfort her but knowing that he should leave that to Tate. It had been made clear to him that Toby was the property of his liege. Still, she was upset and he put his big hand on her back in a comforting gesture.
“Do not weep for him,” he said quietly. “He is no longer in agony. He is with God.”
“But he was so young.”
“I know,” he patted her back and took his hand away. “But that is the way of war. It does not take young or old into consideration.”
Toby wiped at her eyes and turned away, heading for the keep entry. Stephen watched her go, his cornflower eyes lingering on her slender beauty. He found himself once again regretting that he had not been successful in his wooing attempt. But he could not linger on regrets; if his discussion with Tate earlier that day was any indication, the man was in love with a woman he once thought dreadful. Stephen was glad that, at least, she was in good hands. Tate didn’t view her as a contest won. With a final glance at her shapely backside, he turned back to his patients.
The weak morning sun was bright and Toby dried the last of her tears, shielding her eyes from the glare. The new keep stairs were braced up against the stone edifice and Toby took the stairs gingerly; they seemed to sway a bit, which made her nervous. When she reached the bottom, she looked back up the stairs to see just how precarious the stairs really were. Shaking her head at the rickety steps, she turned around and almost ran headlong into Wallace.
His hair was wild and he smelled like manure. Toby took a step back from the man just so she wouldn’t be so close to him.
“Good day, my lady,” he greeted. “I see that you are looking well this morn.”
