Heartsong (17 page)

“As you will,” Lydon muttered.

“I’m off to my bed.” He took the stairs thinking about his bed, the bed occupied by Rhianna. Well, it mattered not, for all he wanted was sleep.

During the night Garrett dreamed of arrows piercing his body, of knives cutting into his arms, his stomach and his legs. He grew restless and hot. Through every image that played through his mind, heat consumed him. He never knew a new day had dawned, nor about Lydon’s frequent visits to his chamber, or of the concern lacing the faces of his men.

He never heard the sharp command issued after the sun had set. “Get the Lady Rhianna.”

Rhianna hurried to Garrett’s chamber minutes after Lydon sent for her. The lord of the castle had not graced his hall once during the day and she had seen the worried looks exchanged between the knights.

Still, she hesitated before she knocked on his chamber door.

“Come.”

The voice telling her to enter was not Garrett’s voice but that of Lydon.

Rhianna opened the door. “Why was I summoned?”

“My Lord is ill,” Lydon replied. “He retired after our evening meal last night and has not risen all day. I believe you will know how to care for him. There are binding cloths on the table and water in the basin.” He pointed to a small table in the corner of the chamber.

She walked into the chamber and Mildred, who’d brought Lydon’s message, followed.

“Mildred,” Lydon said. “We will not need you.”

“I might need her,” Rhianna whispered.

“Nay, your maid has no interest in this.”

Rhianna bristled. “I said I may have need of her. She knows about the attack. I told her.” Rhianna raised her chin in defiance and glanced at her surroundings.

“This is not the lord’s chamber, is it?”

“Nay. You have his room.”

“I—I should have taken this. It is…ah…better suited to a—a captive,” she murmured.

“‘Tis of no importance. Now, come, care for his injury. The wound must be dressed and I know you have the skill.”

“How do you know that?” she asked, her voice carrying a whisper of fear.

“I know because I suspect you are more than you seem. Lord deShay does not believe it, but I think you were the lady of the keep.”

Mildred stepped close and whispered, “I told you what

Sir Lydon thinks.”

Rhianna glanced at first one and then the other. Tension spread through the room as she tried to ignore their words. Should she deny them? She bit her lower lip and gazed at the man in the bed. deShay was unconscious, so he had not heard. She felt the tension ease from her body.

Rhianna stepped to the bed. His skin had lost much of its bronze tone and he looked feverish. She touched his head, ignoring the sensations winging through her body.

She jerked her hand away. He was on fire. There was more here than just the wound left by the arrow. Had a bit of cloth lodged in the flesh? Nay, she had cleaned the wound herself. Nothing but the arrow pierced his arm.

She removed the linen she had wrapped around his injury and gasped.

Lyon stepped beside her, Mildred at his elbow.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

“This is not good. I fear there might have been poison on the tip of that arrow.” Rhianna pointed to the place on his arm. “See how red the wound and his skin is like fire, much hotter than needs be.”

“Can you care for him?”

“Aye,” she nodded as his groan of pain echoed through the chamber.

“Then, do what you must.”

“Aye, but he will like it not.” Rhianna stepped back.

“Just do it,” the knight ordered.

“Mildred.” She turned to her maid. “There are herbs I need and the cook would never allow me near his domain. If we don’t purge the poison from his body and clean this wound properly he will grow so hot that he will burn up inside. And we must hurry before he grows worse. These are the things I will need.”

She recited a list of herbs and sent Mildred on her way.

“I’ll need cold water.” She turned to Lydon. “And linen. We must bring down his fever.”

While she waited for Mildred to return, she stared at Garrett. Such a strong, vital man. To see him now wrenched something in her.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Mildred returned with the requested items. While Rhianna prepared a tisane, Lydon returned, followed by another servant carrying a bucket of water and a stack of linen.

“What is that smell?” he asked.

Rhianna grimaced herself. The odor alone would make them all nauseous.

“This will counteract the poison,” she explained. “But he will not like it. Lydon, you must help. Mildred. We will have to hold him down.”

Lydon hesitated, but Mildred moved to the bed.

“Now,” Rhianna commanded. Lydon moved to the other side of the bed. Once they were in position, Rhianna poured the mixture over his flesh.

Garrett roared. He tried to twist away from them.

She glanced at her assistants. “It burns as if the devil wants a bite of his arm, but it will clean the poison from the wound,” she explained despite Lydon’s glare.

“Now, we must purge his system. This too will be unpleasant for him. But I can do this myself.” She fixed another drought and holding his head against her breast, she drizzled this mixture into his mouth. He gagged but she continued until she was satisfied that he had consumed enough to do him good.

“Now, I’ll wrap his wound and make him another drink.” She busied herself with more of the herbs Mildred had brought and some ale. “‘Twill calm his stomach and take away his pain.”

After she dribbled a quantity into his mouth, he grew less agitated.

She glanced at the scowling Lydon. “You have fear I give him poison?”

“Nay! Mildred is witness,” Lydon said. He presented her with a satisfied smile. “If he dies, then you will not live through the night. But what I heard of your care earlier tells me much. His death is not something you want.”

“Nay, I want no man to die by my hand.”

Rhianna stepped away from the bed. “He will need to be watched all night, and his body must be bathed with cool water you brought. He is very hot. I will—”

“Nay,” Lydon interrupted. “I’ll see to him now. If he worsens, I’ll send for you.”

She nodded before starting after Mildred.

What if he dies?
Her heart sank to her feet. She glanced back at the bed,
I only fear because I would be blamed.
But she knew she was not being honest with herself. She did not want him to die. Nor was she going to ask herself why that was so.

Ten

The next morning, when Rhianna came to dress his arm, Garrett was conscious. “I owe you my thanks,” he muttered.

“Nay. No thanks are needed. I would do the same for a wounded animal.” She stepped to the bed, her arms full of linens and a crock of herbs.

“Still, I thank you. Now, get on with it.” He held his arm so she could unwrap the bandage. Her touch fired his blood. For an instant he thought about tossing her down on his bed and having his way with her. He had been without a woman for weeks. But at the moment, he had not the strength to please them both. Still, her touch bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

When she left, he struggled from the bed. It would not do for him to stay abed for long. His people depended on him and any weakness would soon be learned by his enemies. The best way to avoid an attack upon Knockin was a healed, ruling baron.

Much to his chagrin Rhianna returned that afternoon, this time carrying a tray with a jug of ale. She spent several minutes mixing a sour smelling brew and then approached his bed.

“Here, you must drink all of this,” she said as she pushed the mug in his direction. “You won’t like the taste but you have need of it.”

“I don’t like the smell of it, either.” She was also right. He didn’t like the taste at all. To get his mind off the awful mixture he asked, “Tell me wench, what did you do to my wound?”

“I mixed herbs to hinder the poison. Then I fed you a purging drink to clear the poison from your body. Whatever poison touched your flesh was drawn from the wound before the sun rose this morn.” She reached for his arm.

A multitude of silent curses rushed through his head. Her touch alone sent a different heat through his veins. He pulled against her touch, but she ignored him and removed the linen.

“‘Tis already healing,” she commented and began applying new linen. “Just leave the dressing in place for another day.”

“And the drink?” he asked.

“A swallow or two will ease any pain this gives you. I’ll mix a bit more before I leave.” She turned back to the hearth and a flame of desire leapt through his loins as he watched her bend and sway before the fire.

After she filled the goblet and handed it to him, he hid a smile. This time she had been so careful not to let her fingers brush his. That could only mean he affected her as she affected him. He watched her glide toward the door.

“Nay,” he muttered. He didn’t want her to leave, not yet. Despite her gasp, he rose from his bed, not even aware of his intent. Before she reached the portal, he stilled her.

“I thank you for your care,” he said, hearing the husky need in his tones. He wanted more. And he would have more, now.

When he pulled her into his arms, he was surprised she offered no resistance. Her full pink lips beckoned and he could not deny himself. His lips touched hers. For an instant heat surged through him. He teased her with his tongue, begging for a taste of her sweetness.

Her arms rose to encircle his neck and she opened for him. As he drew her against his hot body, he felt the sting in his arm. However her taste pulled him away from the pain into another world. A world of want, of need, of an ache in a different part of his body. He wanted this woman. He needed her. She would ease his pains, all of them.

“Nay,” she pulled away. But when she jerked out of his arms, the motion pulled against his wound. A searing pain exploded through him.

“Nay,” he agreed, slightly nauseated. ‘Twas not the time or place for their first joining. He would have her but not until he felt more like himself. Aye, she would be his, but not yet while he had a burning hole in his arm.

She stumbled through the door and Garrett made no attempt to stop her. Soon she would warm his bed. He knew enough about women to know she felt the same need, the same feelings with which he had been swamped. Aye, she would welcome him, but not this night.

~ * ~

Over the next two days, Rhianna insisted Mildred accompany her when she cared for Garrett’s arm. She had no intention of allowing another kiss. Oh, she enjoyed those kisses, but she could not allow them, for he was not for her. He was English.

By week’s end, Garrett’s wound was healing well. It no longer needed a binding.

“Let it breathe,” she said, traveling beside him to the hall to break their fast.

“Where did you learn these skills?” he asked.

Without thinking, she replied, “From my mother.”

“She was also a healer?”

Rhianna wanted to bite off her tongue. How could she have said something like that? The mistress of the keep always took care of those ill and injured. He had to know that. She bit her lower lip, knowing she had named her position in the keep.

“Aye,” she mumbled, surprised he didn’t demand to know her kinship to the Alwyn ap Brynn Ffrydd. But, he did not. She sighed with relief, then stiffened, afraid that he would question more.

Her worries were unnecessary. They were interrupted by a message from the king. Garrett took the scroll the messenger handed him, then left the dias for the solar.

Rhianna tensed, wondering if this had anything to do with her or Arthur. Were they to be sent to Edward and an uncertain fate?

As the minutes dragged by, Rhianna’s apprehension turned to wrenching fear. What if she and Arthur were taken from Knockin? Her brothers had to know deShay held them prisoners. If Garrett sent them away, would her brothers find them?

Finally, he returned but she could tell nothing from the scowl on his face. Her anguish expanded until breathing became impossible.

“Tell my liege I do as he commands,” he said. Garrett ignored her and turned to his men. “Edward sends us on another mission. Lydon, you will stay here.” He spun away from the dias and started for the stairs. “Joseph, you travel with me. Tell the men we leave before the nooning.”

An hour later, Rhianna stood in her chamber, watching from the window slit as the column of men marched from Knockin. For a reason she didn’t want to question, this leave-taking hurt as much as Arthur leaving the keep.

When the dust of the horses dissipated, she turned to Mildred. “What say you? Today, we’ll begin a new tunic for your lord. He’ll be pleased when he returns and you’ll surely get a reward.”

“He knows,” Mildred said. “He knows my stitches are not this good.”

“Tell him you have improved.”

The rest of the day passed without incident and Rhianna retired early. But despite the warmth under the furs she trembled. She wondered if the chills wracking her body foreshadowed some new disaster.

Had something happened to Lily, to Arthur, to another of her brothers? She could only imagine.

After she drifted off to sleep, dreams, dark and foreboding, disturbed her slumber, but she remembered only her fear. In the morning, she was anything but refreshed, nor did she wish Mildred’s enthusiastic company this day.