“We engaged the Welsh army at Shrewsbury on a bright morning, the twenty-first of July,” he said. “The battle was intense, as fierce as I have ever seen any battle, and above the smoke and death and carnage I could see Richmond poised on a rise, watching the scene below him. He just sat there, unmoving. It was odd, Riss; I have never known him to be inactive in any fighting.”
“Gavan…,” Arissa pleaded. She did not want to hear his story. She only wanted to know what had become of Richmond.
But Gavan was not ready to disclose the fate of his friend. Hisbestfriend. There was still a good deal more to tell.
“The day progressed and Richmond remained on the hill, and I was sorely tempted to engage him myself,” he continued. “But as I made my way toward him, Richmond abruptly spurred his charger headlong into the massacre below. As I watched, he approached Hotspur with his broadsword drawn and, suddenly, the two of them were battling like Lucifer and Gabriel.”
Gavan paused as his eyes located the wagon which he sought. Instinctively, he pulled Arissa closer as he advanced on the rig. “He…. he was magnificent, Riss,” he continued in a scratchy whisper. “He and Hotspur fought for hours and hours, ignoring the rest of the battle waging around them. As if it were just the two of them, determined to resolve the outcome of the entire battle between them. I have never seen anything like it and I pray to God I never will.”
Arissa could barely function. Her breathing had all but stopped, her legs barely able to support her weight as she gazed up at Gavan’s weary, stubbled face. She could scarcely ask what she knew she must.
“What…. what happened?”
Gavan reached the rig; Arissa was so caught up in his story that she failed to notice Mossy kneeling in the wagon, huddled over a prostrate form. Gavan noticed, however; he couldn’t help the tears that stung his eyes.
“Hotspur gored him as I watched,” he murmured. “But as Richmond fell back, I was witness to the most amazing battle strategy I have ever seen. He closed his eyes and I thought surely he was dead; instead, he managed to bring his blade up and catch Percy in the neck. What hours of close-quarters fighting had failed to procure, Richmond achieved in his final blow. I have oft seen him lodge arrows visualizing the target rather than actually seeing it, but I have never seen him use the tactic in open battle,” his voice was hardly a whisper as his anguish-filled gaze found her. “He killed Hotspur without seeing him, Riss. It was the only stratagem he had left because all else had failed.”
Arissa’s knees gave out completely and Gavan lifted her in his arms, moving toward the bed of the rig. “Gavan, Gavan,” she murmured, too consumed with her grief and terror to allow her tears to come forth. “Whathappenedto him? Where is he?”
He put her in the wagon bed.
“Here, Riss. He’s here.”
On her knees, Arissa’s eyes drank in the sight of Richmond lying prone on the rough slats of the wagon bed. At first, she simply couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing; it did not look like Richmond. His hair was long, his face sporting several days’ growth of beard. Baffled, she peered closer to notice that he was clad only in his lower body protection and his magnificent torso was naked but for the heavy wrappings Mossy seemed to be adjusting.
Arissa was in limbo as she approached the still figure. She wondered why she couldn’t feel anything as she gazed down upon Richmond’s still face, a face she had loved for as long as she had been alive.
Somehow, she managed to inch forward on the wagon bed, unaware that the earl, Bartholomew, Gavan, and the rest of her tightly-knit family had suddenly appeared at the edge of the rig, watching with the greatest sorrow as she came to grips with Richmond’s state. But she was not conscious of any of them; only Richmond.
“He’s in a bad way, Riss,” Mossy said gravely. “Hotspur cut him through the groin and he has a terrible infection, not to mention that he’s lost a good deal of blood.”
Arissa heard him but she could not respond. As she continued to gaze at Richmond, she realized that the most meaningful thing in her life was stretched before her eyes, dying from a wound sustained in battle. Dying as a result of his love for her, of his duty to his king. Dying for his torn loyalties.
She couldn’t cry. As she watched his shallow breathing and ashen complexion, her pain went beyond simple tears. Nay, tears were not strong enough. Not cleansing enough, not forceful enough. Nothing was strong enough to ease her anguish. Nothing but her love for him.
A white hand reached out to touch his clammy forehead; he was burning with fever. “How long has he been like this?” she whispered.
“Four days,” William was standing next to the wagon, his sunken gaze moving between his daughter and the knight. His voice was weak, tight. “You were right, Riss. He was loyal to Henry to the end. He turned against Hotspur and killed him, making it possible for the English to emerge victorious. When Hotspur was killed, the Welsh panicked and ran. If it hadn’t been for Richmond, England would not have been victorious. He won our battle single-handedly.”
Her hand still on his head, she raised her eyes to the group collected about the rig. Her gaze was unnaturally bright. “I told you, but you did not believe me. Richmond was never a traitor;he did what he had to do in order to save me. He’s still Henry’s greatest knight.”
The earl nodded briefly, making the sign of the cross over Richmond before turning away. He had done all he could do; bringing Richmond back to Lambourn to die had been his final act of devotion, an apology to his friend for ever doubting his loyalties in spite of the overwhelming circumstances. Whatever happened now was in the hands of God. He could do no more.
Arissa noticed that Lady Ellyn was kneeling by the edge of the wagon, her head bowed in prayer as Mossy rummaged about in his great black bag for something that would ease Richmond’s fever. A small brown mouse leapt from his bag and scurried off the edge of the wagon, but the old man let the creature go without a comment or a word. He was too consumed with saving Richmond’s life to lend remark to a common enough occurrence.
Arissa turned back to Richmond, ignoring the mouse and all else transpiring about her. She continued to gaze at him, stroking his sticky brown hair, touching his perspiring face. No tears, no screaming, no fits; only the tenderness and love she had always felt for him. She was so very proud of the man. After a moment, she bent over to kiss his lips with incredible gentleness.
“Richmond?” she whispered against his lips. “Can you hear me? I am here, my love, I am here. Awaken and look at me.”
He did not move. Arissa kissed him again, her dazed state beginning to wear thin as her torrential emotions began to grow. Her hands began to quake with the struggle to keep them at bay. She refused to lose control, not now. Not when she had so many things yet to tell him.
“Richmond,” she murmured, kissing him yet again. “Awaken, my love. Awaken and see the fruits of our love. You will not die before you have seen the results of our adoration. Do you hear me?”
Suddenly, his leg twitched and Penelope shrieked with surprise; standing by the rear of the wagon enveloped in her husband’s arms, she had been sobbing softly at the heart-wrenching scene. But Arissa ignored the cry; Richmond could hear her, she was positive, and hope surged to thunderous proportions within her soul.
“Richmond!” she hissed pleadingly. “Open your eyes and look at me. Open, I say!”
His leg twitched again and his head abruptly lolled to the side. Arissa bit her lip raw with anticipation as he moved his mouth, licking his dry lips. Putting her hands to his clammy cheeks, she smiled. When he opened his eyes, she wanted him to see her smile.
