Warrior's Moon A Love Story (36 page)

His eyes moved from Peyton to the others and he gasped and took a step back as he almost stammered, “Prince Laird.  Your . . .  Your Highness . . .  ” 

Peyton didn’t even notice the boy’s surprise at finding himself face to face with the prince.  He was still processing what the child had said about harming Chantaya.  It didn’t make sense.  Shaking his head in confusion, he asked, “Where is her body, Daniel?  It’s not in the stall.  Were they trying to take her body away?”

The child let the tines of the pitch fork come to rest on the loft floor at his feet as he shook his head.  “No, Sir Knight.  She is here.  Up here, with me.  They’ve taken her nowhere.  You told me to watch over her.  When I heard them coming, I struggled to help her up here.  We thought it would be easier to hide above them.”

Peyton took the loft ladder two rungs at a time and fair leaped into the dim, cramped space, hardly daring to even hope the child was intimating that Chantaya hadn’t died. 

When his eyes adjusted to the low light, he saw her there, lying motionless in the scattered hay, her face so pale it terrified him and he haltingly asked, “How did you lift her?  Is she . . .  Is she . . .  Is she not gone then?  Did she not die in my absence?”

Daniel shook his head sol
emnly.  “Not yet, Sir Peyton.  With me mostly lifting her, she was strong enough to make it here, although it was terribly difficult for her.  But I think it took near all her strength, for she hasn’t opened her eyes for awhile now.  I fear it won’t be long.  I’m sorry, Sir.  I tried.  I truly tried.  I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to help her better.”     

Peyton finally saw her chest rise ever so slightly and nearly exploded in relief.  He dropped to his knees beside her and wrapped an arm
round the boy’s shoulder and murmured, “You did a hero’s work, today, Daniel.  You’ve done pure excellence.  You need not feel sorrow.”  Almost to himself, Peyton whispered, “She’s alive.  She’s truly still alive.  God bless you, Daniel.  Thank you.  Thank you, Lord.”

He
laid a single finger on her cheek almost reverently and closed his eyes in overwhelming gratitude.  She was alive.  Barely.  But that was so much more than he’d dared to hope.  She was alive.

Turning back to Mordecai and the prince who had come up the ladder behind him, he looked at the old knight and saw the same, tender emotion on his face as Peyton was nearly drowning in.  He gave his dear friend a sad smile and wiped at his eye with the back of his hand.  He turned back to Daniel, “Are there more here after her?  How many men were there?  Beyond the two below?”

Daniel shook his head and then shuddered as he said, “Just the two that I saw, Sir Knight.  If there were more, they didn’t come inside.”

Nodding, Peyton turned back to Mordecai, “Will you go down and ask around for the use of a cart?  Surely someone here will help us move her.”

The prince shook his head and said, “Keep Mordecai to help you check her.  I’ll find a cart.”

Peyton grimaced, “No, Your Highness.  You mustn’t. ‘Tis not secure.  Take Mordecai.  We can’t risk your safety.”

The prince looked around and then said, “Sir Mordecai has great experience with wounds.  He can help her.  Maybe even save her life.  But we do need the cart.  And I’m sure there are several knights coming in our wake, somewhere, knowing my father.”  He gave an encouraging smile to Daniel.  “Perhaps young Sir Daniel would be willing to guard me in the quest for a cart for his mistress, Chantaya?  Would you mind, Daniel?”

Daniel looked down at himself and then up at the prince’s smiling face and swallowed loudly as Peyton looked to Mordecai who nodded and then knelt beside Chantaya as well.  Hearing a commotion outside, Peyton stood up and strode to the door at the end of the loft that looked down over the yard below.  He cracked it and peered out and then returned saying, “Twenty knights and your father himself.  Daniel, know you any who would lend a cart?”

Near rushing to the loft ladder, Daniel scampered down.  “I know just a one, Sir Peyton. ‘Tis certain that he would lend it.”

Peyton nodded, “Guard the prince then as he helps you procure it, if you would.”  The boy and prince left and Peyton knelt beside Mordecai and Chantaya again, pushing the others out of his thoughts as he looked to the older man to help him know how best to help her.  With her coat off, the arrow tip was wholly more visible and Peyton asked, “How do we remove it?”

Mordecai shook his head as he examined her and gently lifted her to look at her back where the arrow had entered, much as Peyton had.  Shaking his head, Mordecai carefully laid her back and tucked her shirt back.  “We don’t.  Not until we have her safely to a physician who is prepared.  If she’s lived this long, ’tis because the bleeding has subsided.  Trying to remove it will start it up again.  It can’t be chanced.”

Grimacing in near horror, Peyton asked, “You want to leave it?”

Mordecai nodded and smoothed her hair back gently, “We need to leave it Peyton.  Trust me.” 

At Mordecai’s touch, Chantaya’s breathing caught ever so slightly and Peyton leaned to her and whispered, “Chani, we’re here.  Mordecai and I.  We’re going to help you.  We’re going to take you to a physician.”  She never opened her eyes, but for some reason, Peyton still felt like she knew he was there and that she was safe.

                                                      
 
SSSS

It had been two days, and Chantaya was still hanging on.  She hadn’t died, but she hadn’t ever become conscious again either.  Peyton sat beside her bed, listening to her struggle to breathe, softly stroking her hand and praying, much as he had been for the last forty something hours now.

The king had insisted
Chantaya be taken back to the castle, and though Peyton was strangely uncomfortable with that, in truth, he hardly noticed where they were.  His concern was only for Chantaya and whether she would survive being shot and the subsequent trauma of being moved and having that horrible arrow removed.

His own short span of experience with such mortal wounds was enough to make his prayers near constant.  Isabella had come and seemed to be confident that between what the physician had been doing, and some herbs she had
been applying, Chantaya would survive.  Still, Peyton intended to do anything he could to help, which included his constant prayers and his touch.  Chantaya had always claimed his touch strengthened her.

The concern he felt for Chantaya overrode anything else.  He didn’t bother with things like eating or sleeping or even noticing who came and went, checking on her.  He was grateful that Isabella had largely taken over caring for the grief stricken Daniel as well, because Peyton was doing a frightfully poor job of it, even after Daniel’s wonderful care for her.  In truth, Peyton hardly even noted when the king himself came in.  Or Princess Clarissa, much as he should be repentant of that fact.  But, the princess understood and respected his near state of oblivion. 

Sometimes the prince came and sat with him.  He rarely said much, just seemed to be worrying about her, as Peyton was.  So, Peyton was surprised when he came in, looked long at Chantaya’s pale, still face and then asked, “So, what do you think of a knight’s life after all of this, Sir Peyton?”

Peyton looked up at him, wondering whether he dared say what he was truly thinking, or if he should be more discreet.  At length, Peyton decided to be honest and said, “Today probably isn’t the best moment to ask such a question, Your Highness.  Please forgive me.”

For the first time since that awful day of the dowager queen’s funeral, the prince gave Peyton a grin and said, “Actually, Father and I were hoping you’d say that.”

                                                      
 
SSSS

Deep in the night of the third day, Peyton was standing beside the window near her bed, looking at their rose garden
and watching the full moon tease in and out of wisps of cloud when he heard her breathing change ever so slightly.  The gurgle that was so troubling had largely subsided, but she still seemed to struggle for every bit of air that she took in.  This time, for once, she took a deep breath. 

He turned back to her in the dimness of a single tallow candle and almost couldn’t believe it when he saw her eyelids flutter and then slowly blink.  In sudden near euphoria, he whispered her name and came to kneel beside her bed as she finally truly opened her beautiful eyes and breathed in again. 

For a moment, she seemed disoriented, then recognized him and gave him the smallest, sweetest smile.  After a couple of tries, she asked in a whisper, “Have I died and gone to heaven then?”

He leaned and softly kissed her temple and said, “Surely you don’t believe heaven is as painful as your chest must be.”  She gave him the merest hint of a smile and closed her eyes again.

             
                                        
 
SSSS

Nearly a full twenty-four hours later, she opened her dear eyes again to find him sitting beside her still holding her hand.  For a moment, all she did was return his long look, then asked, “Is the king well?”

He knelt beside her again and in a voice husky with emotion, he answered, “The king, and the kingdom.  And Rosskeene vanquished, thanks to you, my brave, strong love.”

She gingerly tried to barely shake her head and struggled to whisper, “No.  No more brave, strong loves.  I’ll leave bravery and strength to you and the other knights.  I’ve decided that if I live, I’m staying in Valais for the rest of my life.”

Her answer, as sure as it sounded, puzzled him and he narrowed his eyes.  “Why Valais?”

With great effort, she said, “Because you’re here.  I fully intend to stay within walking distance of you forevermore.”  Again she tried to shake her head and went on, “I know we’re under the same moon.  But . . .  I’ll wait here for you in Valais when you’re gone with the knights.”

Taking her hand, he wove his fingers through her
smaller ones and said, “I’m no longer going to be traveling with the knights.”

She looked hard at him for a moment as if trying to figure out what he was inferring and then tears welled into her eyes as she softly said, “You are a knight, Sir Peyton.  A warrior.  Please don’t quit because of me.  Please.  Don’t stop doing what you love.”

Reaching, he smoothed the tears from her cheek with a gentle hand and put his chin right on her bed as he said, “I’m not quitting.  And not because of you.  Well, in a way, it may be because of you.”  He tenderly kissed a tear that slid down her cheek and continued, “The king has asked me to step in to take over a portion of Rosskeene’s holdings.  Mordecai and me.  And you.”

She was completely shocked and took a moment to finally ask, “Truly?  Are you saying you’ll be
a nobleman?  Can they do that?”

He nodded.  “He is king, Chani.  He can do whatever he deems is best.  They want us to try to work to make those lands and tenants productive and happy again.  They felt that with your willingness to sacrifice everything to protect the kingdom, and my insight of both growing up there a peasant,
and fighting for them, that we would be fair and honorable stewards.”

“And with your wisdom, Pey.  Don’t forget your wisdom, and patience, and your marvelous selflessness.”  She smiled tiredly at him.  “You will make a good and true noble.  People will move into your lands instead of moving out.”

He put his chin down upon her bed again to look into her eyes and said, “I pray it is so, Chani.  Will you still be by my side if I am a landowner, instead of a knight?”

“I will be by your side even if you are a jester.”  Her breath caught and she coughed and winced.  Then looked at him solemnly and added in a whisper, “The only thing that would keep me from you would be death, Sir Peyton.”

Raising a hand to caress her cheek, he looked at her deeply and said, “Then don’t die on me, Chantaya.”

She turned her head slightly to kiss his hand and said quietly, “I’m trying not to.”

“I know, Love.  And I thank God for your life.  For you love.  For your sweet, intrepid willingness to do whatever it takes.  You have indeed earned your lands the hard way.”

Nodding almost imperceptibly, she said, “
I have.  But it wasn’t land I wanted, Sir Knight.  ‘Twas to be preserved a strong kingdom, and to be protected from tyranny that I wanted.  And you, Pey.  I wanted you.  Forever. ‘Tis a pity that peace comes only at the cost of the soldier.”

Smoothing her hair, he assured, “Soldiers understand the cost, Chantaya, because they understand what is at stake.”  He gave her a sad, half smile.  “The kingdom is strong now with Rosskeene gone, but the truth is, there will eventually come a time when another wicked soul will try to take control for his gain.  It has always been that way.  Surely, it always will.”

For a long moment, she considered this, and then asked, “Will you have to go with the knights again when that happens?”

He shook head, “Probably not.  But, honestly, I’ll also probably hate being left behind.  I have the need to protect what I treasure.”

Lifting a weak hand to touch his hair, she said, “You have the heart of a warrior.  A mighty one.  You always will.  But there are sometimes even greater ways to fight for right than battle.  Helping your tenants to provide for their families is a worthy work.  Ensuring secure homes is as vital as ensuring a secure nation.  Yet, if you need go, I will wait.  And you will come.  After all, you are
my
warrior.”