The More I See You (30 page)

If Richard hadn’t been so angry, he might have laughed out loud. He took great pleasure in the fierceness of his lads. A pity all this enjoyment had come at Jessica’s expense.

Without giving it much thought at all, he leaned over and jerked the arrow out of Gilbert’s wrist.

Haft first.

The head of the arrow had likely shredded the lad’s wrist but Richard didn’t care. The scream of agony almost made up for the smell of burned flesh he still couldn’t rid from his nostrils. He grasped Gilbert’s chin and forced his face up.

“Stop blubbering,” he snarled. “You’re going to live a long life, a very
long
and lucid life and every moment of every day you’ll remember the pain in your wrist and that will remind you of what you did to earn it. You’re a bloody coward, Gilbert, and I’ll take great pleasure in knowing you’ll have to live with that knowledge for the rest of your
lengthy
life.”

“Faery,” Gilbert sobbed. “She’s a faery.”

Richard brushed aside the lad’s words. “Someone bind
the little bugger’s wrist. I don’t want him bleeding to death. Godwin, you do it. Someone come hold the boy down. I have the feeling Godwin’s going to want to feel inside the wound for splinters. Gag him so his screams don’t disturb my lady.”

“Nay,” Gilbert howled. “The man . . . he said . . .”

Richard turned away. “Where is the drink?”

John put a hand out. “Don’t—”

“It isn’t for me, you fool,” Richard snapped. “’Tis for Jessica.”

“Oh,” John said, smiling faintly. “I see.”

Gilbert continued to squeal. “Faery . . . steal my voice.”

“By the saints,” Richard said, whirling on him, “would you just be silent!”

Gilbert’s eyes widened in horror. “You want my voice, too. She’s . . . bespelled you!”

Richard started to tell him to be silent yet again, but found himself pausing. The words were too foolish to waste breath on, but there was something about the way Gilbert was saying them.

“Who’s bespelled me?” he demanded.

“The faery,” Gilbert said, both his eyes and his nose leaking prodigiously. “Had to kill her.”

“Who told you to do that?” Richard asked. Gilbert didn’t have the wits to think up such a thing on his own.

“The man outside the gate.”

Richard frowned. If there was indeed someone outside the gates with evil intent, it bore investigating. He looked at John.

“Have the whole tale from him, then see if such a man exists. I’ll be above.”

John nodded. “If aught is found, I’ll send word.”

Richard started from the chamber, then stopped next to his captain. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

John waved aside his words. “It was nothing.”

“I don’t know that I could have done that alone—”

“I knew what you meant, Richard.”

Richard nodded, then continued on his way. He found
a stash of bottles in the cellar, then ran across the new floor of his hall, and up the steps to his chamber. The garrison was still gathered there and Stephen was still brandishing his sword.

“Six guards,” Richard barked. “The rest of you go look after the rest of my keep. We do have walls to defend, lads.”

He shut and bolted the door behind him and hastened over to the far side of the bed. Jessica’s breath was harsh in the stillness of the chamber.

He slipped his arm under her shoulders and lifted her as slowly as he could.

“Drink, sweetheart,” he coaxed. “Slowly.”

She swallowed, then coughed. She cried out at the pain of her protesting body and tears streamed down her cheeks again.

“Oh . . .” Richard said helplessly. He put her back down and searched his chamber for a cup. When he found it, he filled half of it with water, then added the wine. He returned to the bed.

“This will be better,” he promised.

She drank and didn’t cough, though her eyes continued to water madly.

Soon she was drinking undiluted wine and the tension was starting to ease from her. Richard stopped when he judged the bottle to be half-empty. Jessica usually drank his watered-down wine by mixing it again with water. He had the feeling half a bottle of strong drink would be more than enough to put her out for hours.

“Are you staying?” she asked.

“Aye,” Richard promised. He set the bottle aside without tasting even a drop, though he certainly could have used a bit of solace for himself, and stretched out next to his lady.

She opened her eyes but she seemed to be having trouble focusing on him. She frowned. “There’s two of you.”

Richard wanted to laugh.

Jessica gasped and lifted her hand. She missed touching him by a full length. “Are you
smiling?
”

“Impossible,” he said, catching her hand and gently lowering it to the bed. “Jessica, you’re drunk.”

“’Sss all yer fault,” she mumbled. Her eyelids fell.

Richard tucked the blankets around her and propped his head on his elbow as he watched her succumb to slumber. She started to snore, then began to drool.

He was certain he’d never seen such a delightful sight.

I take thee, Jessica of Edmonds, to be my betrothed wife
 . . .

His words came back to him and he froze. Panic crept up on him but he held if off while he turned the memory over in his mind.

Someone list his holdings.

Nay, Warren, you forget the properties in Normandy. And there is that little villa in Italy.

And then another voice, one very faint and filled with pain.

I, Jessica, take thee, Richard of Burwyck-on-the-Sea
 . . .

Richard could hardly breathe. Jessica had said the words. He’d said the words. There were witnesses. According to law, they were as good as wed.

It wasn’t how he would have wanted it. He would need to wed her in a chapel. Perhaps in his when it was finished.

Nay, that would take too long. Perhaps in London. Or in Paris. He would take her to the Sainte-Chapelle and wed her with all that colored glass surrounding them. He would have a beautiful gown fashioned for her and he would spend whatever she wanted on whatever pleased her.

Then he would take her traveling. He would show her the places he loved in Italy, in Spain and France. Then he would carry her home and fill their hall with treasures from their travels. Every conceivable luxury he could find, that would be what he gave her. She would never once regret having left her time to be with him.

The panic crept closer, accompanied by a niggling doubt. Could she go back to her time? Did she want to?

He shoved both thoughts aside forcefully. They were
betrothed. It was too late for thinking. A betrothal was as binding as marriage. He could bed her with a clear conscience, sire sons and daughters on her and not call them bastards. She was bound to him and it was a bond she could not break. He would make certain of that.

She’d stolen his heart, damn her, and he wouldn’t let that go unpunished.

He leaned over and gently kissed her cheek. Jessica smacked her lips, snorted a time or two, then dropped back off to sleep.

“I love you,” Richard whispered. “Sweet Jessie, I do.”

Only soft snores answered him.

Richard smiled. He wished Jessica had been awake to see it, for he was certain it was a smile that would have pleased even her. More than just the corners of his mouth had joined in.

He laid his head down next to hers and stared at her. He would sleep later. Now he would look his fill and see if he couldn’t identify that expanding feeling in his chest that brought tears to his eyes.

Could it be joy?

He’d ask Jessica when she woke.

After all, she knew all about it.

Jessica woke to a dull, throbbing ache in her side. She lay completely still, hoping that if she didn’t move, it would go away. It took her a moment to realize what it was from and how she’d gotten it.

Her breath came in gasps and she started to shake. How close she had come to death without even suspecting it! She had no idea what had set Gilbert off, but it must have been a doozy of a something. She flexed her hands, then sighed in relief. For a moment there, she’d wondered if she hadn’t grabbed his knife on its way back along her side. Her ribs would heal; her hands might not have. Losing her means of musical expression would be something she doubted she would ever recover from.

She waited until her breathing returned to normal before she began to think about more prosaic needs. If she didn’t make it to the bathroom soon, well, it would be too late and she’d be looking for new sheets. Once that was seen to, though, she was quite certain she would curl up and sleep for at least a week.

She sighed and opened her eyes. Then she shrieked.

Warren was hovering over her.

“Warren,” she gasped, “you scared me to death!”

Warren didn’t move. “Richard bid me watch you closely. I don’t dare disobey.” He flashed her a grin. “He’s training me, you know.”

“Yes, I know. I’m very happy for you, but you don’t have to be so literal about things.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t breathe,” she said, trying to push him away. It only made her side hurt worse. “Warren, just move!”

“Warren!” a voice thundered from the doorway. Booted feet approached swiftly. Jessica couldn’t mistake that purposeful tread for anyone else’s.

Richard rounded the end of the bed, his eyes flashing silver in the pale light from the partially open window. His hair was dripping wet, his tunic only half on and his hose held up with his hand. His lordship had obviously been interrupted in his bath.

“Lackwit, close the window!” he bellowed. “She’ll catch her death from a chill. And don’t hover thusly. Give the girl room to breathe.”

Warren jumped to obey and Richard took his place and hovered even more fiercely.

“Richard, you’re dripping on me,” Jessica complained. “Go dry your hair.”

Richard put his hand against her cheek, then felt her forehead. “You’re cool, the saints be praised,” he said, sounding relieved. “But that could be from the
open window
,” he said, throwing that over his shoulder at Warren, “so I’ll stay right here until I’m certain the fever is completely gone.”

“Fever?”

“Four days’ worth,” he said with a nod, dripping some more.

It was then that Jessica realized what she was wearing: nothing. Oh, except for what felt suspiciously like a diaper.

The blush started at her toes and worked its way up. She threw her right arm over her face.

“Go dry your hair,” she said, mortified. “Please.”

Richard gently pulled her arm away and peered down at her, his expression grave.

“Are you in pain? Saints, but the fever has begun again. You’re flushed.”

“I’m embarrassed!”

He blinked. “Why?”

Jessica ignored the fact that Warren was standing not a handful of feet away from them, listening as if being able to repeat every word was imperative to his survival. “If you don’t know,” she said tartly, “I’m not about to tell you.”

Realization dawned. She saw it in his eyes. And in the color that leaped to his cheeks. He lowered her arm to her side carefully and frowned.

“No one else saw,” he muttered.

“You did!”

“What was I to do?” he countered defensively. “Leave you be?”

“No,” she moaned.

He took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. “I tended you as best I knew how,” he said roughly. “I wasn’t about to leave you to some addle-witted leech.”

For the first time she looked at him long enough to see the deep circles under his eyes and the haggardness of his face. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.

She found his hand and brought it to her lips. He tried to pull away, but she tightened her fingers around his and kissed his knuckles again.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “You did a wonderful job. I really do feel much better.”

“That isn’t saying much.”

“I could be dead,” she said.

“Don’t remind me,” he said harshly. “I never want to endure another se’nnight such as this last one.”

“I’ll stay out of trouble from now on,” she promised. “Will you help me sit up? I think I need to make a trip to the garderobe.”

Richard dragged his hand through his damp hair and looked over at Warren. “Fetch me those clean cloths on
my trunk. The dressing will need to be changed. And bring me the salve.” He turned back to her and slipped his hands under her back. “I’ll help you turn on your side. I must see how the wound fares today.”

Moving hurt worse than she thought it would and she sucked in her breath in spite of herself. Richard cursed as she did so.

“You’ll not go anywhere,” he announced.

“Yes, I will,” she said, through gritted teeth.

“You’ll use a chamber pot.”

“I will not!”

He thrust his hand in front of her face. The heavy silver ring sat prominently on his middle finger.

“This says you’ll obey me,” he growled. “You’ll use the chamber pot because I command you to do so!”

“You’ll have to hold me there and that just isn’t going to happen,” Jessica argued.

“What is the difference between that and—”

“Richard!”

He made a sound of impatience. “’Tis nothing to be ashamed of, Jessica. I would expect the same care from you. And if memory serves, I had it when I had the fever before. Isn’t that so?”

“It was different.”

“Aye, ’twas me with my arse bared to the daylight!”

Jessica started to cry. Where the tears had come from, she wasn’t sure, but they certainly seemed to be close by. She sobbed as she listened to Richard swear. He bellowed for Warren to leave, then carefully stretched out behind Jessica and put his arm over her hip. He slipped his other arm under her neck and folded his forearm over her chest and drew her carefully back against him.

“Hush,” he commanded. “You work yourself into a state over nothing.”

“I’m just so embarrassed!”

He cupped his hand over her upper arm and rubbed gently. “Nay, Jess, you’re just weary. The fever was hard on you. I’ll take you to the bloody garderobe—just to
please you, mind you—then you’ll come back and sleep again.”

She put her hands over his forearm and held on. “Have you been here the whole time?”