For his part, Gaston had remained stoic and silent throughout the ordeal, fighting improper thoughts when theyoccasionally entered his head. The lady was sweet and supple and he could understand Matthew’s infatuation with her. Gaston’s own wife had never felt this marvelous against him, cold bitch that she was. He had wondered from time to time what it would have been like to have been married to a woman he hungered for. During the course of the night as Lady Wellesbourne lay against him, he was coming to understand what it might have been like. He envied Matthew.
As the cold light of dawn filtered through the covered windows, the lady finally quieted but for an intermittent twitch now and again. All was still, calm and quiet. Gaston was awake, his chin resting against the top of Alixandrea’s head as he watched the room lighten with the sunrise. Caroline, too, was awake, diligently changed the rags that soaked Alixandrea’s body, rinsing them in cool water and placing them back against her searing skin. As the birds began to chirp on the windowsill, the physic rose stiffly from his stool and put his hand against the lady’s forehead.
“She is still burning,” Gaston muttered to him.
The physic did not reply. He went back to the clutter of paraphernalia he had brought with him and pulled out a small wooden bowl with part of the rim cut away. Gaston watched as the man put Alixandrea’s hand in the bowl and nicked her wrist with a small flint. Blood began to seep into the bowl.
Bloodletting was never a good sign. It was what some would call a last resort. Gaston had never liked it because he thought it weakened an already weak body. Perhaps the physic was reading his mind, for when he spoke, it was in tones only Gaston could hear.
“It might do well to send for a priest,” he murmured. “The lady cannot take much more of this and it is best to be prepared.”
In spite of his hushed voice, Caroline heard him. Her eyes widened, her hands frozen in place above a wet rag she was replacing.
“No,” she hissed. “You will not give up. She will live.”
“I am not giving up,” the physic said. “But we must face truths. The lady is burning with fever and soon her body will surrender. It is the way of things.”
“No,” Caroline said, more loudly. “Not Alixandrea. Matthew will be here soon. He will tend her when he returns and she will live.”
Gaston could see that she was growing agitated. “No one is giving her over to God just yet,” he reached out and put a massive mitt on her arm, comfortingly. “But prayers could not hurt. That is what the physic is suggesting.”
Caroline was torn between resentment and sorrow. She put the cool rag on Alixandrea’s leg and muttered angrily all the way to the door. “She is not going to die,” she told them. “I forbid you to say such things.”
“Of course, angel,” Gaston said calmly. “But send for a priest and his prayers just the same.”
When she quit the room, she left behind a mood of sorrow. No one wanted to think the worst. After a moment of reflection, the physic motioned to Gaston.
“She’s no longer struggling, my lord,” he said. “You may get up and leave her to the bed.”
He was sorry to have to let her go, but he did as he was told. Laying the lady gently down to the feathered mattress, he took a moment to gaze at her lovely face, praying that Matthew would make it back soon. He did not want to be the one to tell Matthew that he had found his wife, only to have her die before he returned. No, he did not relish that thought in the least.
The sun continued to rise in what was a beautiful morning. No hint of the rain and clouds of the past few days remained.Caroline came back into the room and resumed her duties, as did a few servants, collecting soiled linens and generally cleaning up. Gaston stood by the window, watching the landscape, listening to the bustle of the chamber as people came and went. Someone stoked the fire. A glance at the lady every now and then showed her to be gray, sweating, and still. Even gravely ill, she was still a lusciously beautiful woman. Gaston found himself wishing fervently that Matthew would hurry.
By late morning, his prayers were answered.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Exhausted from hoursin the saddle and days without sleep, Matthew’s first look at Alixandrea had him falling to his knees beside the bed.
He could hardly believe what he was witnessing. Lying upon the damp sheets, her delicious bronze hair stuck to her moist forehead, he knew just by looking at her that she was on death’s door. No one had to tell him anything specific; he just knew.
But in spite of everything, he was so glad to see her, so overcome with emotion, that he gathered her into his arms and buried his face deep in her neck. He’d only meant to hug her. But something unexpected happened. The next sounds that filled the musty chamber were those of his profoundly pitiful sobs and he was unable to stop them.
Gaston hadn’t seen the break down coming, but he wasn’t surprised. He chased everyone out of the chamber except for Caroline and the physic. Caroline stood next to Matthew, weeping with him. Because he was crying, she was crying. His display had weakened her already-taxed emotions.
Gaston stood by the door, never more deeply sorry for someone in his entire life. He and Matthew had seen so much life and death together, but never when it was this close. If Richard and Henry and the allied forces throughout England could only realize that The Dark Knight and The White Lord were men of flesh and blood and feeling, all might be lost. To the world, these were men with steel where their hearts should have been. If it were known that they did, indeed, feel pity or pain,then the land would be set upon its ear. Only within the confines of this small chamber were they allowed to show any emotion.
Hesitantly, Gaston went to his friend. The man was sobbing deeply into his wife’s pale neck. He put a hand on Matthew’s shoulder.
“Matt,” he whispered. “Put her down, man. Let the physic have her.”
Matthew was having a difficult time controlling himself. The dam had burst and his feelings were flooding out all over the place, his shock and exhaustion and anguish finding an outlet.
“What happened to her?” he wept. “Where did you find her?”
“At the church in Oakley,” Gaston gently pulled him back as the physic pried the lady loose and laid her back upon the bed. “She was ill when I found her. I do not know how long she had been that way.”
Matthew wiped furiously at his eyes, his nose. “But I do not understand any of this,” he said. “What was she doing there? How did she get there?”
