Fragments of Grace (Prequel to the Dragonblade Trilogy) (40 page)

Keir was feeling numb, disoriented. It was difficult
for him to think much less make a decision.  He knew that Garran meant the
offer kindly and he didn’t much care one way or the other if they accompanied
him back to Aysgarth.  He simply wanted to get to Chloë, as fast as possible.

“You are not traveling the borders of Wales for your
health,” he said. “Surely you have another destination in mind.”

Garran shrugged. “We are heading home from visiting
my new grandson in Manchester,” he replied. “We are in no hurry to return
home.”

Keir considered the request. “If you wish to come, I
am grateful,” he said. “But we will ride hard and fast.  I will not have time
to wait for women or stragglers.”

Garran actually grinned. “You have not seen my
daughter ride,” he said. “She has a leggy warmblood that will outpace the
chargers.  You will be fortunate to keep up with
her
.”

Keir merely nodded, losing himself in more wine and
dark thoughts.  By the time Kurtis had finished with his meal and the horses
had been properly fed and watered, he was quite drunk and quite emotional. 
Kurtis and Michael were concerned for him but once he mounted his charger, he
seemed to come around. He was focused and at least pretending to be lucid.

Garran and Summer joined the knights, Garran with a
big hairy charger and Summer astride a long legged horse the color of mud.   In
the dead of night, the five of them took to the road north, one that would take
them through Wrexham, skirt Chester and Manchester, and then head north through
York.   It was easily a three day ride, one that was too long for Keir even if
it took three minutes.  His desperation to get to Chloë knew no limits.

As they rode hard day and night, through weather
that was mercifully mild.  By the time they reached familiar lands, Keir was more
panicked than he had ever been.  He refused to stop, continuing on even when
Garran’s charger took on a decided limp.  All he could see or feel was Chloë,
drawing closer to her by the moment, feeling such anguish in his heart that he
could not contain it.  It was bleeding out of him like blood pouring from a
wound.

 About an hour out of Aysgarth, the tears came.
Tears were still streaming down his face when he entered the bailey of
Aysgarth, the familiar haven of Coverdale’s empire.

He was sobbing by the time he entered the keep.

CHAPTER TWENTY
SIX

Chloë was vaguely aware of movement. Someone was
holding her hand and she could hear soft whispers. Someone was speaking to her,
gently and lovingly, and for the longest time she thought she was dreaming.
Mist covered her mind, making thought and focus cloudy. Emerging from a deep
sleep, she realized that someone was kissing her hand.

Keir.
She seriously thought she must have
been dreaming when she opened her eyes and saw Keir kneeling beside her bed,
sobbing softly as he held her hand to his mouth.  His eyes were closed, tears
all over his face and her fingers.  Chloë lay there, watching him, not at all
sure that he was real. There was only one way to find out.

“Keir?” she whispered.

His eyes flew open and he looked at her, his ice
blue eyes wide with shock.  He opened his mouth to say something sweet and
meaningful, but the words wouldn’t come.  Instead, he collapsed against her,
his face in the crook of her neck as he wept.

“Chloë, sweetheart,” he sobbed softly. “Please…
please do not die. I cannot live without you. You are my life.”

His warmth and firmness against her told Chloë that
he was not a figment of her imagination. She lifted her weak arms, wrapping
around his armored bulk as he laid his head against her shoulder and sobbed.

“Who told you such nonsense?” she whispered into his
dirty, damp hair. “I am not going to die. I would never leave you.”

Keir sobbed for another moment or two before
abruptly pulling away, wiping quickly at his face as if ashamed of his
outburst.  He touched her face, her hair, not trusting himself to speak for a
moment. All he could do was touch her and reassure himself that she was alive.

“I could not stay away,” his lips were quivering as
he spoke. “Not God nor kings could keep me away from you at this time. I… I
feel like my entire life is fragmenting, the pieces of the grace I have known
with you now transforming into horrid, mortal grief. I survived Madeleine’s
death only by sheer necessity but with you, I could not survive. I would not
want to. If you die, I die. I will not be without you.”

Weakly, Chloë put her hand against his bearded cheek
and he kissed her palm eagerly, reverently, tears from his face dampening her
flesh. She shushed him softly.

“And I will not be without you,” she murmured. “I
have no intention of dying, Keir.”

“Promise?”

“I do.”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“And I love you.”

Keir kissed her hand, her cheek, caressing her
fingers and struggling to compose himself. He began to realize that he had charged
into the room without regard for anyone else in the chamber, as his sole focus
had been on Chloë. He had been blind to all else. Now, he was coming to realize
there were others in the room, watching his breakdown.  

He wiped at his eyes, taking a moment to look
around. Cassandra was standing a few feet away, sniffling softly in her
husband’s arms, as Blanche and an older man Keir did not recognize stood near
the foot of the bed. He focused on Blanche because he knew she would tell him
the truth.

“How is she?” he half-demanded, half-asked.

Blanche, ever-present sewing in her hand, moved in
Keir’s direction.  Her expression was surprisingly gentle, having witnessed one
of the more touching things she had ever seen in her life. She would not have
imagined a man like Keir St. Hèver to have such emotion in him, but in
retrospect, the man knew what it felt like to grieve. He had done it before. 
Blanche felt a good deal of pity for the man.

“She has taken a bad fall,” she replied. “The physic
does not believe there is any permanent damage, but the truth is that her
memory has been poor since the fall and she cannot stand.  The physic believes
that time will heal these issues.”

Keir’s attention jerked back to Chloë, his eyes
wide. “You cannot stand?”

Chloë gripped his hands tightly. “My legs are a bit
weak,” she admitted. “It is difficult to walk.”

He almost dissolved into tears again. “Have you
tried? What I mean is, how
much
have you tried? Perhaps it is only a
matter of regaining your strength.”

She touched his cheek when she saw his eyes watering
again. “Mother is not entirely correct,” she said. “I can stand somewhat, but
not for very long. It is walking that is the difficulty. My legs feel very
weak.”

He closed his eyes, tears running down his cheeks
again. He pressed his mouth against her hands, absorbing the news, struggling
not to succumb to the grief.

“It is of no matter,” he whispered, forcing bravery.
“I am here now and I will help you. We will walk and walk until your legs are
no longer weak. And if you cannot regain your… well, it is of no matter. I am
here now and I will never leave you again. I consider it a privilege to carry
my beautiful bride in my arms for the rest of my life.  It is of no
consequence, Chloë. Either way, I am here and will never leave your side, not
ever.”

She smiled at him, touching his face again while he
kissed her hands, her cheeks, eagerly.  As the lost themselves in
reacquaintance after days of separation, Michael timidly entered the room.

He had been standing in the doorway with Lady Summer
and Garran, watching the tender scene.  It had been difficult to watch it and
not feel a great deal of sorrow for the pair, and for Keir in particular. The
man had known much sorrow in his life. He came up behind Keir quietly.

“Keir?” he cleared his throat softly. “Lady Summer
has come all this way to see to Chloë. Will you allow this?”

Keir was holding Chloë’s hands to his mouth, smiling
at her as he whispered words no one else in the room but Chloë could hear.  He
heard Michael’s softly uttered question and turned to the man.

“Of course,” he said, his voice hoarse from weeping
as he wiped the last of the moisture from his eyes and stood up.  He looked
over to Garran and his lovely daughter. “Please, come in. I did not mean to be
rude.”

Garran and Summer stepped into the chamber, Summer
passing a lingering smile at Michael as they did so. In fact, Michael and
Summer had ridden together most of the trip north and Michael had been
respectfully but obviously attentive to the woman.

 Usually, he could be quite aggressive when he
wanted something, but not this time. Whether it was because of the woman’s
enormous father or because he felt a genuine and sincere respect for her,
Michael could not be sure. All he knew was that she was sweet and gentle, and
he responded in kind. When she smiled at him, Michael broadly smiled back.

Summer reached the bed, gazing down at the very
pale, very beautiful young woman with an enormous mane of dark red hair. She
smiled timidly as Keir rolled through introductions.

“Lady Chloë de Geld, this is my old friend, Sir
Garran de Moray and his daughter, the Lady Summer,” Keir looked down at Chloë.
“Lady Summer is a miraculous healer. When she heard of your accident, she asked
permission to examine you. Perhaps she can help you.”

“That is not necessary,” the old physic at the foot
of the bed found his voice. “I have tended the lady since her fall. She does
not need another physic.”

Keir’s expression turned to stone.  “I will say who
tends Lady Chloë and who does not,” he growled. “Keep your mouth shut or I will
throw you from this keep.”

The old man looked stricken but did not argue,
looking to Blanche for support but being met by an emotionless expression. He
backed away as Summer came to the edge of the bed.

“Greetings, my lady,” she said to Chloë. “I
understand you have done battle with a staircase.”

Chloë grinned; she could already tell she liked the
woman simply by her manner and the tone of her voice. She was young, perhaps
her own age or even younger, with long black hair and soft golden eyes.  She
was also very pretty.  Chloë felt much more comfortable with her than with the
gruff old physic from Aysgarth.

 “So I am told,” Chloë said. “Truthfully, I do not
remember much.  It seems to be coming back to me in pieces.”

Summer went to remove her cloak.  Keir extended his
hands to politely help her, but Michael was suddenly there, all but snatching it
out of Keir’s hand. He was insistent that he alone help the lady, in any
fashion. Keir stepped away, without a fight, when he saw Michael’s challenging
expression.  He had to supress a grin.

Summer didn’t notice any of the male posturing going
on behind her as she sat on the edge of the bed, visually examining the
greenish lump on Chloë’s forehead.  She then removed her leather gloves and
lifted her hands.

“May I examine you, my lady?”

Chloë nodded. “Be careful of my head,” she said. “It
is still rather tender.”

Summer’s warm, delicate fingers moved around the
bump. “I have no doubt,” she said sincerely. “You took a hard knock. And you
say your memory has been poor?”

Chloë nodded faintly, feeling the woman’s soothing
hands on her head.

“At times,” she said quietly. “My memory over the
past several days has been vague. I did not remember that Keir had gone to
Wales but last night, suddenly, I remembered that he had gone.  I remembered
the battle of Exelby, and of meeting Keir and traveling to Pendragon, yet I
still do not remember much about coming to Aysgarth but it is coming back to me
bit by bit.”

Summer felt Chloë’s forehead for a moment longer
before, satisfied, removing her hands.

“I do not feel any damage other than the lump,” she
said. “I do not feel any cracks in your skull. I would guess that your memory
should fully return. Does your neck pain you?”

Chloë nodded again. “A little.”

Summer drew in a thoughtful breath. “That is to be
expected but if there was any serious damage, you would be getting worse, not
better.” Her gaze moved down Summer’s body to her legs. “You say you have
weakness in your legs?”

Summer struggled to prop herself up on her elbows.
Keir saw what she was doing and knelt beside the bed to help her.  Chloë smiled
gratefully at him as he propped her up.

“Aye,” she replied. “It is exhausting to stand and
difficult to walk.”

“Is there pain?”

“A little. Mostly in my back and hips.”

Summer thought on that a moment before standing from
the bed.  She turned to Keir.

“My lord,” she said. “I would like to more closely
examine Lady Chloë but I will not do it with an audience. Will you please clear
the room so I may preserve the lady’s modesty?”