De Wolfe Pack 05 - Walls of Babylon (10 page)

“Only yesterday you were telling me what a valuable asset you were to Babylon,” he pointed out. “Now you wish to leave?"

"Aye."

"Why?"

"It does not matter the reasons. Suffice it to say that I wish to leave."

"And go where? You said you had nowhere to go.”

"I have a widowed aunt near London. We will live with her."

He just looked at her. In fact, he hadn't taken his eyes off of her from the moment he grabbed her. Nicola had seen that look in his eyes once before, just before he kissed her. She was frightened and warmed at the same time. Finally, he simply nodded his head.

"Nay," he said quietly. "I do not plan to keep you permanently. It would be better if you left. Therefore, I will grant your request but only after this military situation has settled. Will that suffice?"

He gave in far too easily. She thought she would have had a much more difficult struggle on her hands. She began to think that perhaps she hadn't been very nice about her request, more demanding than asking. Perhaps she shouldn't have taken that tone with him. He wasn't acting like a man who wanted to keep her as his concubine.

Now she was wholly confused. Unable to meet his gaze, she turned back towards the stairs.

"It will," she said softly. “You have my thanks.”

Kenton didn't reply. He watched her climb a couple of steps and then she paused, looking at him over her shoulder. "Do you think Edward's army will triumph?"

It was a surprising question. He blinked slowly, pondering his answer. "That would please you?"

She didn't reply in the affirmative right away. Instead, she seemed to mull over her answer, unable to look directly at him as she did so. After a moment, she nodded her head.

"He is the rightful king, you know,” she said softly.

Kenton almost smiled at her boldness. She was loyal to young Edward to the end. "A matter of opinion, Madam."

"What will happen to you and your army if he wins?"

Kenton crossed his enormous arms thoughtfully. "The men-at-arms will be captives, at least for a while,” he said. “Then they will be pressed into service for Edward. I, on the other hand, will probably stand trial for treason and be executed."

Nicola didn't like the sound of that at all. She shouldn't care in the least, but deep down, she didn't want to see Kenton executed. She turned on the staircase and came down a couple of steps, looking at him with distress in her expression.

"But you are not a nobleman,” she pointed out. “You are only a knight. Why should they execute you?"

He was rather touched by her concern. "Because I lead Henry's armies,” he said quietly. “I am Warwick’s attack dog and I have caused a good deal of damage to Edward’s cause for many years. With me eliminated, Edward's war machine will have the advantage. It would be a great victory for them to see me out of action.”

Nicola wasn’t aware of how distressed she sounded.
Distress for him.
"But surely they would give you the opportunity to swear fealty to Edward,” she said. “Everyone knows of your military brilliance and I imagine it would be a great waste to do away with you."

She had paid him a compliment without realizing it but she became quite aware when he smiled at her, dipping his head gallantly.

"I am honored by your confidence in my abilities, Madam,” he said. “Coming from you, that is quite flattering.”

Nicola’s cheeks turned red. She had said too much and, struggling to recover her composure, she quickly turned away and resumed ascending the steps. Kenton's gaze lingered on her until she disappeared from view, and even then he had a visual image in his mind far longer than he should have. His men were demanding his attention, for a battle lay on the horizon, and it was all he could do to concentrate on what needed to be done to keep them all alive.

Thoughts of the delicious Lady Thorne overwhelmed his mind.

Edward's army mobilized at first light.

Nicola had been in a deep sleep next to Tab when the shouts of men gradually roused her. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she went to the lancet window only to be met by a furious tide of soldiers upon the walls of Babylon. Projectiles and smoke were everywhere. The sun was barely breaking in the east and, already, a full scale assault was at hand.

Nicola sighed heavily; battles were always such an ugly business. Babylon had seen more than its share over the past several days. Her walls were strong, but they weren't invincible. When Kenton had laid siege, he had taken great catapults and pummeled the outer walls with great stone projectiles, creating cracks and divots everywhere. The drawbridge had been partially destroyed and was now, in the midst of this battle, the weakest point. Nicola had no way of knowing that Kenton had put a concentration of men on the bridge to try and stem the tide of Edward's men, and the skirmish was growing uglier by the moment.

She became aware of Tab standing next to her, his green eyes watching the smoke and fighting below. He was such a stoic creature, unafraid, and she put her arm around his small shoulders and together they watched the battle unfold.

By mid-morning, there was a heavy haze of smoke in the air. Edward's army had been shooting flaming projectiles and other long arrows over the walls, and the number of wounded was growing. One of Kenton's knights had come up to request that Nicola help with the injured and she agreed without a fight. Leaving her crying twins with Tab and Raven, she took Janet, Liesl and Hermenia with her. The bloodied men were being collected in the great hall, running red rivers over her wooden floors, but Nicola saw their pain more than the mussed flooring and immediately went to work. These were Edward’s men and they needed her help.

Kenton's barber surgeon was an old man that barely spoke a word, but he moved like lightning among the wounded, stitching holes and removing arrows. He didn't give Nicola and her servants any instructions other than to start where they were most needed, which is exactly what they did. Hair pulled back to the nape of her neck and a heavy broadcloth apron over a durable blue surcoat, Nicola went to work on a boy with two big arrows in him. He died before she could remove the second arrow and from that moment on, her mood was full of sorrow and disgust.

Yet it was only the beginning of what was to come.

By noon the hall was half-full of weak, dying men. The smell of coagulating blood was thick. Nicola and Janet were working on a man who had fallen on his own sword, jamming mail and dirt deep into his stomach. While Janet would wash away debris with watered whisky, Nicola would pick the mail out piece by piece, causing the man agonizing pain. He wasn't the silent sort and it was nerve-wracking work.

Finally, the man was clean enough for Janet to stitch him up and Nicola went on to the next injured man. Every time they would bring in a fallen soldier, she would look up to see if it was Kenton and was relieved when it wasn't. She thought herself rather silly for being so concerned for the man but, secretly, she couldn’t help it. Her attention was naturally on him, being in the heat of battle as he was.

Still, she had spent several hours in the great hall and had yet to see him. To her, that was a good sign even as she kept trying to tell herself that she didn’t care what happened to him. It was a lie. Kenton’s luck soon ran out, however. By early afternoon, Gerik came racing into the great hall, shouting for the surgeon. Those terrible words Nicola had been dreading had finally come to pass.

"Le Bec has been hit!" Gerik bellowed. "Come now, man, and assist!"

Nicola was bent over a man with a cut over his eye, stitching carefully. But she passed the duty off to Liesl and leapt over the wounded prostrate on the floor in order to quickly reach the door where they were bringing Kenton in.

Instead of being carried, however, he was walking under his own power. The hilt of an arrow stuck out from the joints in his armor, between the shoulder and the breast plate. He was bleeding profusely. But instead of pain on his face, Nicola only saw annoyance. Their eyes met and Nicola felt what was surely a physical blow; she knew of no other way to describe it. Good or bad, she couldn't tell. All she knew was that she was feeling far more about this enemy knight than she should have.

She had to help him.

Nicola practically shoved the old surgeon out of the way so she could take a better look at the wound. A cursory examination told her that it was embedded deep.

"Take him up to the master’s chamber," she ordered the knights that had accompanied him. "Careful going up the stairs. And do not jostle the arrow!"

Kenton, in moderate pain in spite of his appearance, watched Nicola take charge, giving orders as well as any battle commander. When their eyes had met, he had felt the physical impact, too. He also felt a good deal of comfort, which he couldn’t adequately describe. All he knew was that the sight of her had taken away any anxiety or unease he may have felt.

Therefore, he didn't say a word as she helped him up the narrow steps, unnecessary since he was quite capable of doing it by himself, but she was determined to aid him so he let her. She raced into the master chamber ahead of him, throwing Warwick's personal effects aside in order to make room for him. Kenton thought it was all quite comical and he was touched by it.

He was touched by
her.

Arrow jutting into the air, he sat gingerly on the bed as Nicola went to work removing his armor. He glanced at her face occasionally, seeing intense concentration. He also noticed that she refused to meet his eye. Ackerley and Gerik also helped with the armor removal, helping her unhinge plates, and soon they had all of his protection removed from his arms and torso. Then Nicola asked for a dagger, which Ackerley produced, and she used it to cut off Kenton’s damp padded tunic underneath. Finally naked from the waist up, Kenton lay back on the pillows, carefully, feeling more pain when he lay down than when he was standing. Nicola and the surgeon took a closer look at the projectile.

"It could be lodged beneath his collar bone," the surgeon said. "We must take great care removing it."

Nicola knew she wasn't strong enough to pull the arrow free, so she wisely backed off and let the men take charge of the operation. Going to the chamber door, she sent Janet running for bandages, whisky, and hot water, waiting impatiently while the girl carried out her request. She stood there nervously while the old surgeon broke off the hilt of the arrow, turning away when Gerik and Ackerley held Kenton fast and the surgeon ripped the head free. Things like that had never bothered her before and she had no idea why they should bother her now, but she suddenly had a very queasy feeling at the thought of Kenton's injury. Though he never uttered a sound, she could only imagine the pain. Once the arrowhead was free, however, she took charge.

Nicola chased the knights from the room. The surgeon had worse-off men to attend to downstairs and determined that Kenton's wound wasn't life-threatening. Nicola bent over Kenton as Janet held the bowl of watered whisky, gently cleansing the wound and trying to determine the best course of action for sealing it up. She sent Janet to collect the finest silk thread she could find.

"’Tis not that bad," Kenton's voice was low.

She glanced up at him. "'Tis bad enough. It will require several stitches."

"A scratch," he argued.

"A wound," she countered in a tone that suggested he not argue with her.

She kept her gaze averted, picking bits of mail from the outside of the wound that the whisky bath had missed. Even though she was focused on the wound, she found it very hard to concentrate now that she was faced with a half-naked man on a bed, no less. All of that warm, muscular flesh had her quite distracted in spite of the circumstances. She could feel the searing heat from his skin against her hands as if the man were intentionally burning her. She wondered what it would feel like if he….

"Is that for me to drink to ease the pain when you stab me with your needle?"

Startled from her lustful thoughts, Nicola looked up from the wound, seeing that he was indicating the half-full bottle of whisky Janet had left sitting next to the bed. She shook her head and went back to work.

"It is to cleanse it before I stitch it so you will not come down with a fever," she replied.

His eyes never left her face. "If you just left it the way it was, you'd be finishing what Edward started out to accomplish."

She met his gaze that time, noting the twinkle in his eye. The normally deadly-serious man was actually toying with her. But she was in no mood to tease or be teased.

"I can just as easily go back to the great hall and tend those men who are truly injured," she said irritably. "If you sincerely wish for me to let Edward's murder attempt take its course, then I can abide by your wish."

"Do what you feel is right, of course."

He wouldn't rise to her mood. He maintained an even, steady tone with her. Nicola didn't know why she was irritated with his attempt at lightheartedness; perhaps it was because she had been so worried and he wasn't. He wasn't concerned for his injury in the least. She wasn't sure how to deal with his nonchalance. Sighing, Nicola picked up the bottle and held it out to him.

"You may as well drink," she said. "Mayhap it will indeed ease your pain."

He reached out, slowly, to take it from her. His fingers moved across hers, briefly, but he might as well have pinched her from the way she jumped. He took a long, deep drink, smacking his lips with satisfaction.

"Irish whisky," he commented.

"You know it?"

"Aye," he set the bottle to rest on the bed beside him. "Another drink and I can tell you what city it was aged in and, more than likely, by a professional or an amateur."

He took another drink. "Well?" she said.

He licked his lips as he looked at her. "Dublin. Professional. Aged in a beechwood cask as opposed to oak to temper the flavor."

Nicola’s eyes twinkled with some mirth at a man who could so easily identify an alcoholic drink. "There was a time when ale and wine were sufficient enough,” she said. “Now whisky fills the flask of every soldier from Kent to Northumbria."

"It takes less to get a man drunk."

There was a knowing gleam in her eye. "Including you?"

"I do not get drunk," he replied, almost stiffly. "It dulls a man's senses. And I must have all of mine."

"You are different from the rest, then?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that most men look forward to getting uproariously drunk and care not about their wits. But you do?"

"I do. In my line of work, it is imperative."

Janet entered the chamber bearing silk thread that was nearly transparent and a bone-sharp needle. Nicola took the items and sent the girl back down to the great hall where there were many men in great need. She could handle le Bec on her own.

Kenton watched her carefully as she prepared for the coming task. She seemed quite unwilling to look at him as she laid out precise measures of thread. But she did look him in the eye, apologetically, right before she doused his open wound with the straight, pure whisky. Kenton didn't react to the excruciating pain other than to close his eyes a moment. Nicola bent over him and went to work.

Her stitches were tiny and swift. She was temptingly close, biting her tongue as she worked quickly and surely. Kenton watched her face, feeling her breath on his shoulder and her hair against his flesh. It was one of the most arousing moments he could ever recall, having her so close yet knowing it was inappropriate to touch her, at least at the moment. He wouldn’t give in to his lustful impulses as he had before. She was being standoffish and he was sure their kiss earlier had everything to do with it. He started to get that strange tightness in his chest again and he turned away.

"Is this paining you?" Nicola asked.

He shook his head. "No."

"I'm almost finished."

"Good. I need to return to the progress of the siege."

She stopped in mid-stitch. "You are going back to the battle?"

"Of course."

She looked at him, completely baffled. "But this is a serious wound," she said firmly. "You must rest. You lost a goodly amount of blood and...."

He reached up and put a hand on her arm before she could gain a head of steam. "I have cut myself shaving worse than this," he insisted quietly. "Though your concern is appreciated, it is unnecessary. Finish your stitching and that will be the end of it."

She stared at him, unsure how to react. Frustration was the first thing that came to mind as she bent back over him and finished the last few stitches. "I can see that I am wasting my time," she punctuated her words by stabbing him perhaps a little harder than necessary. "Therefore, your wound is now sealed and you are free to go out and make yourself another hole, bigger than this one. And don't think I'll lift a finger to help you."

She gathered her things in a huff. Kenton lay there, watching her vent, smirking at her animation. When she passed too close to the bed, he reached out and grabbed her. One good yank and she was practically laying across his outstretched body, twisted so that her face was in his. Kenton's eyes devoured her.