Jenna Jaxon - Time Enough to Love 03 (7 page)

“Aye, Sir Geoffrey.” The man looked ill at ease, but nodded and left to find his detail.

Geoffrey strode off without a backward glance at her.

Infuriating man. Could he not make her privy to his plans? “Where to now, Geoffrey?” she called, trying to keep pace with his long strides. “What must we do?”

“We are going to go fetch your husband and between the three of us try to figure out a plan of action.”

“Is it the pestilence then?”

He slowed his pace
, and she drew up beside him. “I do not know. Margaret had no marks upon her, none of the buboes that were the warning sign in Bordeaux. She may have died from any number of things. There is no way to tell. But ’tis best to assume the worst and be wrong than to ignore the possibility and place us all in peril.”

Alyse studied the problem in silence as they headed to her chamber door. How could they keep the princess safe? Where could they go and how? Moving with the retinue took so long. But what if…

“Geoffrey.” She grabbed his arm, excitement bubbling up inside her.

He turned to her, his hand on the door handle.

“Could not you and Thomas and I take the princess and ride out into the countryside and away from the pestilence? We could make for Spain or turn north and ride to England. As long as we avoid people, would she not be safe?”

His eyes widened, hope kindling there. Then he frowned, casting a shadow over his face.
“What about Mary?”

Good Lord
. In her enthusiasm, his wife had completely slipped her mind.

“Oh.” Chagrined to have forgotten the woman, especially after having disparaged her earlier, Alyse reconsidered the options. “Can she ride?”

Geoffrey opened his mouth then pressed his lips into a straight line. “Aye, though not well. Mayhap we could take a carriage and you three women could ride in comfort and not on horseback. I doubt Princess Joanna could ride day after day in a saddle either.”

“It would serve, I suppose.” Inwardly
, she sighed, for the beauty and freedom of the original plan held more appeal.

Geoffrey eyes shone at her
, and she caught her breath. “Beautiful and intelligent. I said as much the night we met.”

Would that we were there again
.

She gave him a brief smile then motioned for him to open the door. “Come, let us tell my husband of the plan. When can we be ready to leave?”

“With any luck, by midday.” Geoffrey stalked into the dim room, calling, “Thomas! Get up, man. We are on the move again!”

Right on his heels, Alyse almost plowed into Geoffrey’s back when he halted halfway into the room. His words died on his lips. She stopped as well, turning naturally toward the bed where she had left Thomas a scarce two hours before.

Breath rushed out of her body, as though someone had punched her in the stomach. Dread slithered through her body, robbing her of speech, thought, and strength.

Thomas lay
upon his back, his body stretched out in the bed. Only now, instead of the lazy, smiling face, she beheld a soul in silent torment. His brows had pulled into a furrowed frown, his eyes squinted closed against the light, his frame shaking as though with an ague.

“Thomas!” Alyse finally gasped in enough air to call his name. Of their own accord
, her feet started toward the bed. She must help him. She could nurse him. He must survive.

Geoffrey grabbed her
gown, jerking her back.

“Let me go, Geoffrey! Thomas needs my help
. He is ill.” She whirled around, trying to snatch her skirts from his hands.

“Alyse!” Though whispered, Geoffrey’s voice still carried authority. “He has it. He has the pestilence. There is nothing you can do for him now.” Pity and pain stared out of the brilliant blue eyes.

“Nay, I can nurse him, Geoffrey. He can recover. Let me go!” Alyse tore at the garment still held in his steely grip.

“No, Alyse.”

Her head came up at the barely croaked words. Thomas’s eyes were open, black and glistening with pain, but they gleamed faintly as they rested on her. He swallowed, wincing as he did so, and tried to speak again. “Listen to Geoffrey, my love.” The gravelly voice sounded painful. “You cannot help me now.” He was wracked by another spasm of uncontrollable shivering. He slid his hand down the coverlet to draw it closer, but fell short.

Her heart gave a painful lea
p to see him so in need. With a snarl, she yanked her skirts from Geoffrey’s grasp and started toward the bed, intent on tending her husband as best she could.

Geoffrey grabbed her around the waist, lifted her off the floor, and crushed her to his chest. “Alyse! Do you want to catch it too? If you touch him
— Ooof!”

Alyse sank her elbow with all her might into Geoffrey’s stomach. He dropped her and doubled over with a groan. She whirled around and snatched the dagger he wore on his belt, holding the weapon before her as though it w
ere a sword. “Before God, Geoffrey Longford, you will let me go to my husband!”

He watched her warily. “Beware, Alyse. The dagger is sharp.”

So much the better. Mayhap he would listen to her now. “You will let me help him or…”

He stepped closer, his gaze on the weapon, appearing to judge his distance. He would seek to disarm her, of course. She had no skill with a blade. What she did have, however, thanks to her many games of chess, was a thorough grounding in strategy. When
the intended target became untenable, one changed the target.

Without thought, she lifted the dagger to her own throat, stopping Geoffrey in his tracks and drawing an agonized cry of “Alyse!” from the writhing figure on the bed.

“I will see to my husband’s comfort, Sir Geoffrey. With or without your permission.” She eyed him warily as she walked backward to a chest on the far side of the bed. Dagger still poised at her neck, she carefully opened the lid, withdrew a blanket, and closed it. Halfway there.

She shuffled to the bed and spread the blanket over Thomas, who still shivered in the grip of the chill.

He clutched the cover, and the shaking seemed to ease, but he shook his head at her. “Alyse, this is madness.” He paused and drew a deep breath, as though marshalling his strength, before he could speak again. “You cannot save me, my love. And I will not be the cause of your death. Do as we had planned and ride out. I would know that you are safe ere I die.” He lifted his hand as if to touch her then snatched it back. It fell with a heavy plop on the cover.

She shook her head so violently her hair pins flew onto the floor and her hair began to straggle around her shoulders. “I will not abandon you, my love, no more than you would me were I shivering in this bed now.” She tried to smile. “I know you too well to believe you would leave me to save yourself. Yet you ask this dishonorable thing of me? Fie, my lord.” Tears started in her eyes. “You do me wrong to
expect it of me.”

With a great hitching sob, Alyse’s bravado crested and began to ebb. The stark reality of Thomas’s plight seeped into her mind at last, though she could not admit that he
doubtless spoke the truth. She had heard of no one who had survived the disease. At best, she could hope to comfort him and ease his pain during his ordeal, though in her heart she had to acknowledge the outlook was grim.

Her chest tightened
as the truth settled on her heart, and she wailed her grief. She cast the dagger to the floor and leaned against the poster at the foot of the bed then slid to the floor, tears pouring down her cheeks. Once more she must lose a man she loved.

* * * *

Thank Christ
.

Geoffrey bent to retrieve the dagger, not taking his gaze off Alyse until the blade sat safely in his belt. His mind at ease again, he glanced at Thomas
, whose chill seemed to have lessened with the addition of the counterpane then back to the figure weeping against the bedpost.

The suggestion he intended to propose to them horrified him, but Alyse would not rest, would not eat, would not have the will to survive unless allowed to attend her husband in his final hours.
’Twould have to do, and mayhap ’twas all God’s will in the end.

“Thomas,” he whispered, and the haggard form on the bed turned his gaze inch by inch toward him. “I will set a chair for Alyse at the foot of the bed where she can see you and talk to you. If you have need of something
—drink, food, anything—she can bring it to you as long as she does not touch you.”

“No, Geoffrey.” Thomas tried to raise himself from the mattress, but fell back almost immediately. “Take her…from here…before she contracts…this pestilence.” His labored breathing grew more tortured. “
May…be…too late. Want to know…” He paused to draw a breath. “She is safe.” Thomas lay back on the pillows, exhaustion written in the gaunt lines on his face.

Geoffrey shook his head. “My friend, you should know her better than I do.” He snorted. “Do you truly think there is anything I can do to make her go? And the reality is that no one is safe.” He so wanted to avoid Thomas’s eyes, but he must deal straight with
his friend to the end. “She could ride out and be dead in two days.”

Thomas
winced at this, but Geoffrey continued mercilessly, determined to make him see that few options remained. “Let her ease you as best she can. Pray to God that she is spared. Beyond that, we are all in God’s hands.”

Thomas nodded and settled deeper into the bed. “Thank you, Geoffrey, for your good company these many years. You have been my friend as no other has
. I could not have loved a brother more.”

Geoffrey swallowed hard
. He deemed Thomas dearer to him than his own brother.

“But most of all, I thank you for Alyse.”

Jealousy warred with love briefly and lost. Geoffrey stared at his friend, who tried to smile.

“Had things gone differently in June
, I would never have known one of the sweetest delights of my life. I was the fool who could not see the rarest gem under my very nose. Your misfortune proved the opportunity of my life, and I have no regrets, even now. And should God spare you both, I wish you joy of her.”

Geoffrey froze.
Dear Christ! What is he saying?
He opened his mouth to protest, but Thomas waved a leaden hand at him.

“She loves you still. I have tried to deny it, but no more. I claimed some small part of her heart
, and with that I have been content. But you are hers as she is yours. Even those without sight could see it.” He sighed. “If the time comes, tell her I gave you my blessing.”

Geoffrey’s head whirled with this admission. His friend was a better man than he.
How could this good man be dying? How could he bear the loss?

Thomas closed his eyes.
“Would you fetch that chair, Geoffrey?” His voice brought Geoffrey back to the grim present. “I would very much like to speak to my wife.”

He nodded and placed an ornately carved chair at the end of the bed then gathered up Alyse, who still wept softly in a heap on the floor.

“My dear,” he said, raising her, “you may sit here and talk to Thomas. You may bring him anything he wants, but you may not touch him lest you catch the disease yourself. I will go to the princess now and inform her of these events.” He settled her into the chair. “I will tell her you will not attend her for some time to come. She will understand.”

Alyse’s
woebegone face struck like a knife to his heart. “Thank you, Geoffrey. I cannot thank you enough for this.” She took his hand and pressed a kiss to it.

He glanced at Thomas, who watched the exchange and smiled at them.

God, how can he bear it?

Geoffrey disengaged his hand and strode to the door. God grant them as much time together as He would. “I will return later. In case you need anything, I will send a servant to wait by the door. Send to me by him when….” He could not say the words.

He took one last look at his boon companion, lying there weak and drawn. In all their ten years together, he had never expected his friend’s end to come thusly. In battle, aye. ’Twas a knight’s best death to die for his king and country. Death through sickness held none of the glory Thomas deserved. Though as attendant to the princess, he could be said to have died in the service of His Majesty.

The pain in his heart sharpened
, and he choked out, “God be with you, Thomas.”

Before he disgraced himself with tears, he whirled about and quit the chamber.

May they have one last bit of joy
.

As soon as the door closed, Alyse shot her hand out to grasp Thomas’s, but he withdrew it, tucking it beneath the covers he still clutched. “Nay, my girl. You must play by the rules or you will leave me. ’Tis enough danger for you to sit there.”

“But, Thomas
—”

“Nay, love. You must obey me in this. With all my heart
, I wish you to live on.”

“But
—”

“Alyse.” Thomas spoke quietly, frowning as though it hurt to talk.

She nodded. ’Twould be cruel to worry him more, and him already in pain. “Then what may I do for you, love? How may I ease this suffering?”

He smiled tiredly. “Speak to me, my sweet. Let me hear your voice a while.”

“First let me tend to you, make you comfortable ere we talk. Are you yet chilled?” She rose from the chair, ready to do whatever he bid. His time might be short, but she would have him as comfortable as could be.

At her movement
, he shrank back into the pillow.

She raised her hand
to reassure him and shook her head. “Nay, love. I will not come near. Just tell me.”

He
eased back against the pillows. “Aye, it comes and goes, but I long to feel more warmth.”

Good. She could remedy that. “Then I will have the servant fetch logs
, and we will build the blaze until you are warm enough. I will send for broth as well, to strengthen you.”

When
she had the logs crackling, she filled an iron kettle with water from the basin and swung it out into the flames. From her personal chest, she removed a bag of medicinal herbs given her by her mother for emergencies. She glanced at Thomas, whose gaze had not left her once, and smiled as she took small bags of hyssop, licorice root, and thyme out of the larger sack.

“What are you doing there, wife?” Thomas sounded even more exhausted.

“I am brewing a tea to reduce your fever, husband. My mother taught me several simple remedies, and I would help ease your pain.”

“Whatever you will, love. You may tend me as you see fit.” Thomas shifted upon the pillows
, and a low groan escaped his lips.

Alyse stepped toward him immediately. “What pains you?”

“My head. It has pounded since last night.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why did you not tell me?”

“’Twas only a headache.” He sighed and refused to meet her gaze. “I thought ’twould pass.”

She would not chide him, although she wished she had known of his malady before now. He need
not have suffered so long. Oh, but she ached to go to him, wrap her arms around him, and comfort him with her presence. But ’twould only distress him. Instead, she busied herself with the herbs. “Let me finish this tea, and I will make you an infusion of betony as well.”

His gaze met hers once more. “You are quite the physician, dear wife.”

She wished she knew more of the symptoms of this disease. If she could only feel his skin, smell his breath…

But when she took a step toward him
, he raised a hand to ward her off. “Close enough, Alyse. Close enough.” His lids dropped back down as if of their own accord.

So maddening not to be able to tend him properly. “Thomas?” He opened his eyes a crack. “Tell me
, love, what else do you feel? You have a fever and chills, a headache, and you are fatigued. Is there more you have not told me? I promise you I can help.”

“Nay, Alyse. That is all.” He grunted. “
’Tis enough.” His eyes closed again, and she turned back to the fire. Pouring water into the herbs to brew the tea, she tried to remember what Margaret had said about Lady Maurya’s death.

Fever and chills, and of course the swellings. Did she mention anything else? Alyse shook her head. She had plenty to treat at the moment.

As she set the cup on the table to steep, a knock sounded at the door. She hurried to open it and found a large mug of beef broth thrust into her hands. It smelled heavenly. Pray God it would tempt Thomas. Quietly, she approached him, bent on making him sup a little.

“Alyse,” he warned the moment she came within arm’s length of the bed.

“I sent for some broth, Thomas. You should eat, my love, to give you strength. If I put it on the floor, can you reach it?” She stooped and slid the mug to where it could be easily grasped. After she stood up, he reached for the mug and managed to grip it, but he simply did not have the strength to lift it. His hand dropped from the mug.

Her heart cried at his feeble effort and the look of despair on his dear face.

Enough. To the devil with Geoffrey and his rules.

She strode to the bed, despite Thomas’s weak attempts to ward her off, picked up the mug
, and held it before his protesting mouth.

“For pity’s sake, Thomas! On my oath, I will not touch you
, but you cannot do this alone. You must allow me to help if we are to have any chance of your recovery.” She pushed the rim of the mug to his lips and urged them open. “Drink.”

Obediently, he swallowed the broth. “Mmmm.” The small sound of pleasure warmed her like a thousand suns. He managed a smile that tugged painfully on her heart.

“Take another sip.”

He complied then raised a hand and waved away the cup. “Think you there is hope of my recovery?”

She moved back to the table to check the consistency of her concoction and to garner time to answer him. Her words had sought to cajole him into drinking the broth. Did she believe them true?

Carefully
, she strained the leaves and brought the infusion to him. “There is always hope, Thomas.” But she would not lie to him. “And there are miracles.” She held the tea for him to drink, which he dutifully did, though he wrinkled his nose at the pungent taste.

“Aye, love, there are miracles. I have one standing before me.” The longing in his eyes twisted a knife in her heart. Best distract him before her tears began once more.

“Are you warm enough now, Thomas?” Sweat had popped out on her forehead and neck.

“’Tis better now. The broth and the tea helped. And that fire feels wonderful.” Thomas lay back on the pillows, his brow smooth, his eyelids heavy. “So tired.” He
should rest, but she was loath to miss one minute with him. Time had suddenly become their most precious commodity.

“Then what you need most right now is sleep.” She could not deny that which might strengthen him.

“What I need most right now is you, my love. Come sit and talk with me.” He pointed to the chair at the foot of the bed, but Alyse shook her head.

“I need to gather the betony for your headache
, and I want you to try to sleep while I’m gone.” She made her tone as enticing as possible. “I promise not to leave until you are asleep, and I will awaken you as soon as I return.”

He nodded
, and his eyes drifted shut. Oh, but she longed to hold his hand, to smooth his face, to press her kiss upon his brow. How could she refrain from touching him when her arms ached to enfold him?

Sheer willpower stayed her hands as she waited. Priceless seconds that might be their last
slipped away. Finally, in the heavy silence, her husband’s deep, even breathing told her he slept. She quickly let herself out of the room and headed to the medicinal garden near the manor’s vegetable plot. She had explored here soon after their arrival in Loremo. ’Twas good to be prepared against sickness, her mother had told her even as she had taught her about healing. If only her mother were here now. Or Uncle Antoine.

Good Lord.
She stopped, bent over to pick a stem of the betony. Monasteries. Why had she not thought of it before? Her Uncle Antoine was an abbot at a Benedictine monastery and had often told her of the work his order had done with healing the sick. ’Twas why her mother had so much medical knowledge.

With swift, sure hands
, she gathered the necessary plants and retraced her steps to her chamber, hope speeding her feet.

When
she reached the place where two corridors joined, she paused. Should she consult with Geoffrey first, see if he knew of a religious order hereabouts? By now remedies might have been found to help. She stared down the hall toward their chamber then back into the corridor that led to the main part of the manor. Her heart said to check on her husband. Scarcely a moment later, she opened the door and quickly approached the bed.

Please God let him still live.

She sighed with relief to see Thomas slept, face flushed
, and covers kicked to the floor. She dropped the betony on the table and stooped to right them. It took all her willpower to stop herself from feeling his forehead, though she could see from his high color he burned yet with fever. Torn between her need to stay and tend to Thomas and her desire to seek out other remedies, Alyse hesitated, watching her husband’s uneven breathing. She shook her head. She had to try.

After
putting water on to boil, she slipped out of the room, making sure not to waken Thomas. She headed back to the stairs and toward Geoffrey’s chamber. He should know if there was a monastery nearby; and perhaps they would know of a remedy.

As she hurried on down empty corridors, the lack of bustling inhabitants caught her attention. She passed only a few servants and not one courtier. Strange. Where had all the people gone?
Had they fled so quickly, leaving her and Thomas alone? She sped her steps to Geoffrey’s chamber.

For the second time that day
, she knocked on his door, but this time he opened it almost immediately, and his face drained of color. “Has Thomas…?”

“Nay, Geoffrey.” Anger at his assumption set her teeth on edge. “Even this pestilence does not move so quickly. We do not even know for certain that he has that dread sickness. His ailments are not specific to one disease alone.”

Geoffrey narrowed his eyes, pursed his lips as if to speak, but instead shrugged and joined her in the corridor. “Then why are you here? I thought you were hell-bent on tending him?” He crossed his arms over his chest with a studied carelessness.

“He is sleeping at the moment.” Infuriating man. “I went to fetch betony for his headache.” She waved the stalk of purple flowers at him, infusing the hall with its aromatic smell. “I thought I should come ask if you had heard of any remedies being used to treat the disease.”

Geoffrey shrugged. “You might ask the physician, except he is dead as well. From what I have learned this morning, fully half the household is sick, dead, or dying.”

Dear God
.

Her jaw went slack, the horror of his words robbing her of speech. She stood staring at Geoffrey
, who stared back in stony silence, as if daring her to talk of remedies. At last she gathered enough moisture in her mouth to swallow and regained the ability to speak. “Is there nothing we can do?”

He clenched his jaw. “I have given orders that people are to keep to their chambers as much as possible to
reduce the spread of the contagion.” The worry lines in his face had deepened. He carried the welfare of a princess of England and what was left of her entourage on his shoulders. A heavy burden he had had no choice but to assume. “There are certain servants who have been chosen to serve the princess’s needs and those of her immediate court who are still living.” Dull blue eyes stared at her out of the haggard face. “Other than that, I fear I am sadly lacking in ideas.”

His bitter disappointment in himself, in his inability to save those around him, wrenched her already torn heart. “Why do you not take Mary and the princess and leave as we had planned this morning? The three of you could take the carriage and escape to the countryside.”

Geoffrey glanced toward his chamber door and sighed. “Mary’s ordeal this morning has weakened her in body and mind. She is not able to travel.”

“Could you not take the princess then
, and Anne if she is still well?” If he could save the princess, mayhap all would not be lost. “As long as there is someone with the Her Highness as chaperone, it would be permissible.”

“And leave
y—” He shifted away from her. “Mary here alone?” He scowled at her as though she had blasphemed. “I could no more do that than...than you could leave Thomas. Would you be willing to go with me and the princess?”

Alyse shook her head. He was right. She would not leave her husband though it meant Joanna remain
ing in grave danger. So did Geoffrey care so deeply for his wife? The sting of jealousy pricked her, yet she beat it back. She had come to love Thomas. Why should it be different for Geoffrey?

“I beg your pardon. I am so distraught I did not think. Of course you could not leave Mary. But is there no way to send the princess to safety?”

He glanced at the floor, unwilling to meet her eyes, and shook his head. “I fear, Alyse, we must simply ride out the storm here. If the princess can survive and there are courtiers left to accompany her, then we can try to reach England. But as of now, there are not enough noblemen to protect her or women to act as chaperones who are willing to undertake such a journey. While the sickness rages, we must wait and see.”