Sword for His Lady (21 page)

Nothing.

* * *

“Wake and kiss me, Wife.”

She rolled over, stretching, and felt as though she had never slept so deeply. The bedding started to slip down her body as she moved, and Ramon reached over and pulled it back up.

Her vision cleared and she realized Thomas was tending to his lord.

She grabbed the bedding and frowned at the amusement twinkling in her husband's eyes. He leaned down and kissed her pouting lips.

“I'm off to down a stag, now that this keep is finished.” Her mouth started watering.

She smiled. “The meat will be welcome.”

Only a noble or royal could down a stag. She sat up, careful to keep the bedding held up to her chin. A short snort came from the outer room.

“Ambrose St. Martin,” she admonished softly.

Her husband's friend gave her an amused look before he turned his back on her. His mail shimmered in the early sunlight, and he stomped on the floor.

“Pull yourself from your bedchamber, Ramon! Even if I understand what tempts you to stay there, the day has begun.”

Ramon sighed. He winked at her before walking across the chamber to join his friend. They left, and Mildred bustled into the chamber.

“What a fine keep!” her nurse exclaimed as she handed Isabel an under robe. “So much space. Mind you, it's already full because of the lord's men, but such a space nonetheless. He sent a third of his men to help cut more stone. By next season, we'll see the beginning of a true castle here.”

Mildred wasn't the only one in a fine mood. Everyone seemed to be in good cheer. Isabel saw more smiles on her way down the stairs. There was even soft singing as the women went about their duties.

The harvest was still underway and the half-finished new kitchen was pressed into service. There was stewing and brewing to do. Isabel held back one of the large hearths, anticipating a stag to roast. The children started licking their lips with anticipation, for the only time they might have hoped for such a treat was at the harvest festival, still a month off. They sat on the steps of the keep, watching for Ramon and his men to return.

* * *

“He is a baron, Lord Raeburn.” His men were always loyal, but only because Jacques made sure they were paid well. “And so long as he draws breath, we cannot claim the prize.”

His man still didn't look appeased. The men behind him were frowning.

“When I wed that widow, there will be a new keep to man and more silver for the men loyal to me. As well as all those women to ease your cocks. We all know most of their husbands will never return from the Crusade,” Jacques told them. “Why do you think I am here? Let Richard have his Crusade. There is plunder here for those of us wise enough to stay.”

Grins appeared on his men's faces.

“But she must be a widow for me to claim her.” Jacques left his words between them. It didn't take long for his men to see the wisdom in his plan. They split into two groups and made their way through the woods. He joined them, enjoying the anticipation of driving his sword through Ramon de Segrave.

His father would not be disappointed.

* * *

The younger children settled on the steps of the keep as the sun sank low. They were giddy with excitement, watching the road for signs of the men and the possibility of a stag to roast.

“Riders!” the children cried out at last. They stood up, clapping with glee, their faces bright with excitement. But then their hands stopped, sending a chill down Isabel's back. She hurried out of the keep to see Ramon riding back into the yard. The scent of fresh blood filled the air, but there was no stag.

Horror shot through her. Time slowed as she searched each man for injury.

Ramon snarled as he slid off his stallion. His men were crowding around him and helping the other members of his party from their horses.

“Damned Raeburn ambushed us,” Ambrose declared.

Ramon's men cursed, many of them spitting on the ground.

Ramon lifted his hand and bellowed, “Hold.” His men stilled instantly. Isabel felt cold because her husband's fingers were red with blood.

His blood.

“There will be no vengeance,” Ramon said clearly.

He stood for just a moment before turning toward the keep. Mildred gasped beside her because his face was a ghostly white. Isabel bit her lip to contain her tears. She must stand firm.

He staggered toward her, finally accepting help from Ambrose when he found the first step impossible to climb. His leggings glistened with blood, the arrow still stuck in his thigh.

“Lady?” Ambrose implored her.

His tone snapped through the shock freezing her in place. “The kitchen,” she directed, turning and shooing everyone out of their way. “Mildred?”

“I'm coming, child,” Mildred responded as Ambrose helped Ramon through the new hall.

“And who thought it a bloody fine idea to make this keep so large?” Ramon groused.

“You did,” Ambrose answered.

The women working in the kitchen shrieked when they arrived, scrambling to clear the long work table before Ramon made it to it. He snorted and refused to lie on the table. Instead he sat on the edge of the table and stretched out his leg.

“Damned bastard,” he muttered as he grasped the arrow.

“Do not do that,” Isabel warned. She covered his hand with hers. “It will tear your muscle if you pull it.”

“Allow your lady to tend you, my lord,” Mildred cautioned him. “I've taught her well.”

“So long as this damned thing is out of my leg.”

Mildred set a basket on the table. Isabel pulled a bound roll of linen from it and untied the knot holding it closed. When she unrolled it, several small knives were nestled into the pocket. She pulled one out and used it to cut the fabric of his legging away.

“Do it, lady…” Ramon said.

“I must have everything ready first…” she warned, rubbing a soothing hand along his leg. “Else you might lose too much blood.”

She started shaking and forced herself to stop.

Mildred mixed boiling water with some powder she'd taken from the basket—willow bark for pain. Then she laid out a ground dust from mushrooms to stem the flow of blood.

Mildred pulled the pot from the fire and set it on the table. Another woman set a beeswax candle on the table and lit it, but there was no time to enjoy its sweet scent. Isabel took a long silver needle from the fabric and held it in the candle's flame. She threaded the needle when it had cooled and stuck it into the linen again.

She was trying to focus.

But it was hard.

She didn't have time to think about why it was affecting her so greatly; it was hardly the first wound she had tended.

She picked up a knife and held it in the flame. When the blade had been completely heated she turned to Ramon.

Her belly clenched.

Ambrose hooked his arm through Ramon's. Mildred tried to push a length of leather between Ramon's teeth, but he refused. He grinned at her, arrogant and as full of command as the first time she'd seen him.

“I trust your hand, Isabel.”

Oh
Christ…

She wasn't sure she did. Which didn't make any sense. She'd tended worse wounds, but the sight of his blood sent bile into her throat.

Enough! You are the lady of this keep…

She swallowed and looked at the arrow. Cutting it away was better than tearing it out. A cut could be sewn. She gripped the handle of the dagger and set to work. Sweat beaded on her forehead before she had the arrow free. Mildred handed her the mixture and she poured it on the wound.

Ramon sucked in a harsh breath but never moved.

“It will help prevent fever,” she explained.

“Didn't your last husband die of fever?” Ambrose asked mockingly.

Isabel gave him a hard look. “He refused to take anything I made for him, placing his faith in divine intervention.”

“Foolish,” Mildred declared with a humph. “The Lord blessed us with a forest full of healing plants. Why would he do such a thing if we weren't allowed to use them? Do you tell the sword master not to forge the metal?” She looked into the basket with a knowledgeable eye and her lips settled into a satisfied smile.

Isabel began closing the wound, keeping her mind on the task of making sure her stitches were deep enough to hold. Time crept by, tormenting her with how slow it moved.

Stitching had never taken so long before!

When she finished, she wiped her brow and the sides of her face. She wrapped a long length of linen over the wound. Ambrose moved away and returned with a drinking bowl full of fresh hard cider.

Ramon took it with a grunt before he stood up.

“You should rest.”

Her husband started to argue but his leg refused to hold his weight. “Curse Raeburn for the coward he is.” He ended up perched on the edge of the table again.

Isabel looked to him for an explanation but he lifted the cider to his lips and drew a deep swallow from it. She sent Ambrose a questioning look.

“Bastard loosed an arrow before crying attack. It was an ambush. The action of a coward,” Ambrose answered her, his tone harsh with rage. “Let me ride out against him.”

Ramon lowered the drinking bowl. “It's
my
leg.”

Her mouth went dry and her hands began to tremble again.

His leg…so his right of vengeance.

* * *

The harvest fair was drawing close, and all the inhabitants of the keep were getting excited. All except Isabel.

Children once again sat on the steps of the keep and watched the road; now they were waiting for merchants to arrive. The air was cool at night and rain fell more often. The last of the harvest was brought in and men climbed up on tall ladders to make sure the roofs were in good repair for the coming winter. The elders went down to the river in the early mornings, looking for signs of ice. The hay was stacked high in the fields to feed the livestock through the next season.

Isabel tried to focus on making sure the window shutters were in good repair and the other tasks a lady needed to oversee, like the making of soap. But her thoughts always returned to her husband's healing leg. He was walking around more now and she truly should have been more grateful for his recovery.

Instead she dreaded what he'd do when he was fit for battle again. She awoke to the sound of armor one morning and knew without a doubt that her fears were coming true.

Thomas was fitting on the shoulder pieces of her husband's armor with the use of a stool, so that he could be taller than Ramon. Isabel swallowed her distaste and rose from the bed.

The contentment that had settled over her shredded as she watched the squire finish his duties.

“Where do you go, my lord?”

He turned, his hair hidden beneath his mail hood. Thomas had his helmet in his hands. Ramon waved the squire toward the door.

Isabel came to the arched doorway in her under robe now that the youth was gone.

“What troubles you, Isabel?”

She bit her lower lip, trying to conceal her fears. “Can I not be curious?”

His dark eyes were sharp and keen, cutting into hers. “It is more than that.”

She sighed. “Can you not be content with your recovery? Why must you give him another chance to kill you?”

Her voice trembled. She couldn't keep her emotions hidden.

A look crossed his face that she didn't recognize until his expression softened.

“You fear for me.”

She felt exposed but couldn't argue. Not without lying. She looked at the floor. She heard him coming to her, his soft steps eating away at the dam she had her emotions held behind. She blinked rapidly, trying to keep from weeping.

It made no sense. Yet she could not deny what she felt.

Ramon cupped her chin, the scent of his skin filling her senses. She shuddered, so full of need for him, need that ran much deeper than passion. Her heart was involved now.

He lifted her chin until their eyes met again. His dark ones were so full of authority and strength, but it was the determination that cut her to the bone.

“Do you fear for me?” he asked softly.

“I would not have you risk yourself.” It was a confession, one that was dug out of her soul.

“I am a knight; as such, danger is something I will not shrink away from.” His tone was steady and strong, two of the qualities that she held most dear in him, but they also brought her worry.

“I question you riding out for vengeance.”

His expression became guarded again. “And if the cause was just, would I not see worry in your eyes?”

She searched his eyes, trying to determine if he cared as much as she did. She wasn't sure she could bear it if he didn't.

“You would, yet I would keep my peace, for I know you would never turn coward.”

He smiled slowly. “I never thought to find myself appreciating a woman's argument.”

“Nor did I think I might worry over you risking your life.” Yet she did.

He drew back. “It is a natural thing for a woman to become content when she is treated well.”

“Are you not content?”

“Our union is very satisfying.” His tone had a touch of heat in it. A flame that had been missing since his injury.

Still, that was lust and her passions had grown roots that went much deeper. “That is not the same thing.”

She should have kept her lips closed. Shouldn't have empowered him in such a manner. Her tender feelings were on display now, the unreadable expression on his face wounding them.

“Men are not the same as women,” he offered.

It was an attempt at kindness but she felt the sting of rejection. She stiffened and his expression hardened. His honor prevented him from lying to her, even to save her pain. She turned around, seeking escape, but the sight of the bed was her undoing. Two tears escaped her eyes.

She heard him let out a short breath before he moved, his steps closing in on her. She didn't have time to turn around before he wrapped his arms around her. His armor was hard, reminding her that she only touched the lust in him and not his heart.