The Lady Series (59 page)

Brigit only shook her head. "If I come off the wall, you’ll send me home,” she cried.

Strong arms closed about Belle’s waist as Jamie yanked her back against him. "I don’t care what she does, but you’re coming off this damn wall right now." His voice was hard and angry in her ear.

"Nay,” Belle cried, clinging to the merlon with all her might. "I can’t go back without her."

"I don’t want to go home,” Brigit sobbed, her voice rising with each word until she was nigh on howling with the wind. "Oh please, my lady. Please, I promise I'll never again err."

It was more than enough contrition for Belle. "Of course you can stay Brigit. Just come off the wall with us."

"Thank you, my lady. You’ll not regret it, this I vow." As the governess stepped into the space between the merlons a blast of air came screaming over the hall's roof, its shriek so high it sounded almost human. It pummeled Jamie and Belle, shoving them against the stone at their side. Brigit screamed, arms flailing as she tried to reach the stone in front of her. Her hair snaked out over the wall's edge. Her now heavy skirts followed.

Even as Belle stretched out her arms, trying to span a distance three times their length, Brigit lost her balance.

"Nay!" Belle screamed.

From the tower's door, Richard echoed her despair.

But Brigit was gone.

"Nay, Belle breathed as she sagged against Jamie.

Jamie tightened his hold on her then leaned over the merlon. There was no sign of the governess on either of the river's banks. If by some miracle she'd survived the fall she was now tumbling in the water's raging current. Certainly unconscious and dressed in heavy clothing, there was no chance she'd survive.

He turned to look at the tower’s door where Belle's footman had been a moment ago. The man was gone, no doubt to the river’s edge.

Only when Jamie had guided a trembling Belle back into the shelter of the tower did he let himself believe they were safe. His relief was deep enough to make his own knees weaken. He leaned back against the tower wall, Belle caught close in the circle of his arms.

A ragged breath tore from him. He’d nearly lost her tonight. God save him, but he’d had no idea how precious she’d become to him until he'd seen her teetering on the wall's edge. In that moment he'd discovered his life wasn’t worth living without her in it.

Belle's hand curled into his doublet. Jamie looked down at her. There wasn’t an inch of either of them that wasn’t soaked through. Her hair was like a web, the long wet strands tangling around them as if to bind them, one to another.

She lifted her face to look at him. Misery pinched her features. "Oh Jamie,” she whispered, "I killed her."

That Belle should take the least bit of responsibility for the fate that tantrumming chit had brought upon herself went straight to his heart. He caught her face in his hands. "Nay love, you didn’t. She was playing a game and she fell."

The feel of her chilled skin against his palms brought with it the need to comfort her. Lowering his head, he touched his mouth to hers. Her lips clung hungrily to his. Jamie tasted the salt of her tears.

After a moment he released her mouth and braced his forehead against hers. "God help me,” he breathed, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. "I thought I’d die when I saw you sliding toward the edge."

Once again he caught her mouth with his. This time, there was far more passion than comfort in their kiss. Footsteps rang on the stairs. He stepped back from her. Until he could claim her as his own, their every touch would be adjudged sinful and he wouldn’t have her carrying any more than she already did.

"My lady?" her maid called out as she climbed. “What's happening? Richard raced by a few moments ago and without a single word. Where's Brigit?"

Belle's tears were flowing again. She looked up at him. "What if the river carries her too far and you don’t find her?" It was a plea.

Jamie shook his head. "Even if it carries her all the way to the sea, I'll find her for you. I'll not leave her out there alone, on that you have my word."

Then, pushing past the servant, he went to do as he had vowed.

Dawn two days after they laid Brigit to rest in the village churchyard found Jamie sitting on the stool next to Nick's bed. Nick's breath was coming in short, rattling gasps.

After spending most of yesterday closeted with Kit, Nick’s fever had spiked anew. Overnight the heat became so great that Father Walter had come. Against the possibility that Nick wouldn’t survive the night the Catholic priest had administered his patron’s final rite.

Then they’d waited. Now Kit slept on the sitting room floor just outside the bedchamber door. The priest had gone to take his rest in Cecily's makeshift chamber while the healer lay curled on Nick's bed between her love and the wall. Only Jamie and Belle were still up and about. Belle stood at the bed's end. Her face was marked with exhaustion as she wrung out another cloth to lay upon Nick's brow.

In the window across the room the pink of dawn lightened into the gold of a fully risen sun. Jamie's hope brightened with it. No matter how weak Nick’s body might have become, his will was stronger. If Nick decided to live, then live he would.

Even as Jamie told himself this, a part of him argued that less air seemed to fill Nick's lungs with each breath. Indeed, his friend's body had grown quiet, so much so that he seemed to own the stillness of a man already dead.

As if he felt his steward’s interest, Nick’s eyes opened. They gleamed with all the life that seemed missing from the rest of him. There was a touch of sardonic amusement in their expression, as if Nick found it odd to be in this state somewhere between life and death. When their gazes met Jamie's nerves tightened until he thought he'd scream. Reaching out, he caught Nick's hand and held it as if he could pour his own strength into his friend by that touch.

Belle laid her hand upon his shoulder. "He needs to rest. You should go,” she said, her face soft with sadness. She'd worn the same expression since they'd laid Brigit to her final rest.

"I'm not leaving," Jamie replied. He couldn’t leave. Nick needed someone here to remind him that he needn’t give way, that there was still time to reclaim his life.

As Belle leaned into the bed to lay her cloth upon Nick’s forehead, Nick moved his hand to catch Jamie’s attention. Graceton’s lord coughed, the sound liquid with what was drowning him.

"Damage-from-gale?" Nick asked his steward, his voice breathless, his words so low Jamie could barely hear them.

If Nick wanted the local reports, Jamie could share them, having heard them all yesterday. "The bailiff says a number of cottage roofs were damaged, but only Goody White's hovel was toppled. It was fortunate most of the grain was already in the barn in preparation for flailing. Little of that was lost. I've not yet heard from your other manors." Graceton held two small manors, actually no more than small working farms with naught but hamlets around them. “The foresters say quite a few trees were felled in the parkland."

Nick's eyes narrowed. “Go." His voice was naught but a raspy thread. "See-damage."

“I won’t,” Jamie cried.

Amusement flashed through Nick’s gaze, fading in the next instant as if he hadn’t the strength left to entertain the emotion.

“What sort-of steward-?" His voice devolved into panting.

"I won’t go,” Jamie warned Nick, but his words came too late. Nick’s eyes had closed. With a sigh, Graceton’s lord slipped into something that wasn’t quite unconsciousness or sleep.

So quickly did Jamie come to his feet that he overbalanced the stool. It crashed to the floor. On the bed, Cecily murmured and eased closer to her love.

"Damn you,” Jamie cried to the unconscious man, "you’re sending me away so you can escape while I’m gone!"

Belle caught him by the sleeve. "Hush, Jamie,” she chided, her voice low. "He's only resting."

With her touch, the need to feel her in his arms overcame Jamie. It didn’t matter that the bedchamber door was open. It didn’t matter that Kit might waken and walk in at any moment, or that a servant might enter. Jamie pulled the woman he loved close to him and bent his head into her shoulder.

"Nay, he's not resting,” he grieved. "God save me, Belle. He's leaving me."

Her arms encircled his waist. She touched her lips to his jaw. “Aye my love, he is."

It was quiet confirmation of what Jamie most dearly didn’t wish to hear. "If he’s dying, why does he send me away?"

Leaning back in his embrace, Belle looked up into his face. "Because he knows how much you want him to stay. He’s trying to make it easier for you to let him go."

Jamie turned, Belle yet caught in his arms, and looked at the man on the bed. All that remained of his friend was a wasted and frail shell of flesh. Yet, he wished to hold Nick here so he didn’t have to be alone? Disgust at himself filled Jamie.

As if it had been waiting for just this moment, acceptance crept out of some hidden place within him. But that didn’t mean he could sit here and watch his dearest and only friend slip away from him. The urge to do something, anything, took him.

And that brought Jamie’s gaze back to Nick. How well they knew each other. In Nick’s command to survey the storm damage, Graceton's lord was anticipating and accepting his steward’s need for action as Jamie came to terms with his friend’s departure.

Of a sudden, his eyes burned. Belle reached up to brush her fingers against his cheek. Catching her hand in his, he pressed a kiss to her fingertips.

"God help me, but I'll miss him terribly when he's gone,” he breathed into the cup of her palm.

Tension drained from her with a sigh. "I know,” she whispered.

Releasing her hand to wrap his arm around her waist again, he tried to smile at her. Her mouth quirked in response. The love she knew for him filled her gaze. It was a brief kiss they shared, made all the sweeter by its shortness.

He touched her cheek. "I am riding out. Before I go I'll tell Tom how to find me. Send him for me when it’s time.”

The ghost of a smile touched her lips. "That I shall,” she promised.

With his jerkin atop his doublet and his cloak over his shoulders against the day's persistent drizzle, Jamie rode away from Graceton's stables. He followed the river's edge toward the village. His intent was to give a cursory inspection to the damaged houses before joining the foresters in their chores.

As he neared the church he caught the steady tap of a hammer coming from its roof. It was the chaplain's lay servant who clung to the slick slate tiles, pounding those loosened by the wind back into place. Beneath his perch a ladder leaned against the church wall, the chaplain at its foot. Without a churchman's robe over his doublet and breeches, Father William looked even lankier than usual.

As he saw Jamie he raised a hand in greeting. "Good morrow, Master Steward. How fares our lord this morn?"

“As well as can be expected, given his ailments,” Jamie replied, his tone brusque as the question stirred his own unsettled emotions. God save him, he hoped he'd not have to spew that lie too many times this day.

Another hour found him with Graceton's foresters. With axe and saw, they worked to turn the fallen trees into firewood to feed the castle’s many fireplaces. As they moved from woodfall to woodfall, Jamie took care to mark their progress so Tom could find them if need be.

It was well past midday when they finally broke for their meal, that being nothing more than bread and cheese with a flagon of ale to wash it down. Huddled deep into their sodden cloaks, they retreated to what little shelter from the steady dripping they could find beneath barren branches. Jamie stood a little apart from the others as was his wont, listening to the commoners speak.

It was the man farthest from Jamie who lifted his head first. The other woodsmen followed suit, all of them staring in the same direction through the trees. It took Jamie another moment before he caught the sound of pounding hooves.

His heart dropped. Even before Tom brought his horse to a churning halt in the soft sod, Jamie had tossed aside his meal and was striding for his own horse. The misery that filled Tom’s face needed no words to explain it.

It was at a full gallop that Jamie rode past Graceton’s stables and into its gateway. In that tunnel-like opening the clash of his horse's iron shoes upon the stones rang around him like an alarm bell. Across the yard he drove his mount, their path marked by the great clods of earth its shoes tore from the rain-soaked sod.

Shivering and sidling, the horse cried out in complaint as Jamie yanked the poor creature to a halt at the hall's door. There, he left him to the grooms who came racing after as he strode into the hall. The whole of the household was gathered there. Caught in small groups, they stood or sat, their heads bowed, their voices hushed. Some of the women were sobbing.

Jamie ran across the room, praying he wasn’t too late. Through the parlor he went, then up the stairs to the gallery. The door to Nick's apartment was open. Lucy clung to the door frame, a lost and lonely look upon her face.

As he passed her she leapt to catch his hand. "Now I’m to have no stepfather,” she cried, her voice tiny in fear.

Jamie swept the child up in his arms. Heedless of his wet clothing, she wrapped her arms about his neck and rested her head upon his shoulder. As he carried her across the sitting room, he touched his lips to her cheek.

"You’ll still have me, lass,” he promised her as he strode into Nick’s bedchamber.

Old Father Walter knelt at Nick's bed's end. His beads were slipping through his fingers as his lips moved in silent prayer, paving a path for his lord into heaven. Belle stood not far from him. The sadness on her face had deepened until tears clung to her lashes. Kit knelt at the side of his brother’s bed, near the center, his forehead pressed to the mattress's edge, his shoulders heaving as he grieved in silence for Nick.

Cecily sat on the bed, braced against the headboard. Nick was cradled in her lap, his head braced upon her shoulder, his face tilted upward toward the woman he loved. His eyes were closed.

Gone were the tears and panic that had filled Cecily's face yesterday. In its place there was only the love she bore for her noble husband. She was rocking slowly, crooning as she moved. It was a lullaby, meant to soothe a child into sleep, that she sang.

Carrying Lucy in his arms, Jamie stopped beside Belle. She took her daughter from him. "He's been waiting for you, I think,” she whispered. “Go. Bid him farewell."

The aching in Jamie's heart grew until he was certain that organ meant to shatter. Shedding his sodden cloak as he went, he stopped beside Kit. When he’d stripped off his filthy gloves, he caught Nick's hand.

Words tangled in him. There was so much he wanted to say, but none of it seemed worth saying at the moment. As he sought to straighten his thoughts, he moved his fingers against Nick's palm, tracing the rigid scars that marked it. His eyes stung. At last, he simply bent his head to press his lips to Nick's knuckles.

"I shall miss you, my friend,” he breathed against the man’s already cooling skin. "Good journey to you. May you find the joy and freedom you deserve in your God’s presence."

Although Jamie was certain Nick must be beyond reach of his words, his friend’s fingers moved a little. Grateful that he'd been heard, Jamie gently set his lord’s hand back into his lap.

Cecily gave a quiet gasp. Nick's eyes were open. He was studying the woman he’d chosen as his wife, his eyes a brilliant green. In his lap Nick's hand shifted. His arm strained as if he sought to lift it.

Jamie lifted Nick's to place its back against Cecily’s cheek. Gratitude flickered in his friend's gaze then his eyes closed. It was with a quiet peaceful sigh that Nick departed, the sound of his last breath bearing in it Cecily's name.

Cecily's arms tightened as she drew her husband closer to her breast. Then, keening, she bent her head over Nick's and rocked him as she wept.