The White Lord of Wellesbourne (28 page)

A few men, including Patrick de
Russe, were waiting outside when Gaston burst through the door with the lady in
his arms. Patrick’s eyes bugged at the sight of Lady Wellesbourne.

“Jesus!” he exclaimed, leaping
off his steed to assist his cousin. “You found her!”

“Aye, I found her,” Gaston
grunted as she pushed against his neck. “She’s ill and requires a physic. Ride
for Rosehill and make sure one is waiting for us. And for God’s Sake, send
someone to bring Matthew back. Tell him we have his wife.”

Patrick snapped orders to the
nearest soldier, who went on the run. He carefully took the squirming lady from
Gaston so that Gaston could mount his charger.  Lady Wellesbourne smacked him a
few times, too, for good measure.  She had nearly gouged his eye out by the
time he handed her back up to Gaston.

“She’s on fire, Gaston,” he said
quietly. “I could feel her heat against me, even through this mail.”

Gaston’s expression was grim. “I
know.”

He gathered his reins and tore
off without another word.  Patrick leapt onto his destrier and the entire party
followed The Dark Knight at a raging pace.

***

She never did tell him why she
could not go home. All Gaston could get out of her was crying and coughing, and
finally silence. She slept against him heavily, like a boneless body, which
made it tricky when he dismounted his charger with her in his arms once he
reached Rosehill.  She was dead weight and he was very careful not to drop her.

Having been notified by an
advance soldier from Gaston’s party, Caroline and Lady Livia met them at the
door, screeching over Alixandrea’s condition. The entire house and hold was in
an uproar as Livia directed Gaston to take her upstairs to the first bedroom on
the right. Even as he mounted the stairs, servants raced around him, carrying
all manner of healing medicaments and other implements. By the time he reached
the bedroom with the massive carved bed, it was full of people.  It looked like
a convention.

Gaston exploded. “Everyone
out
,”
he bellowed. “Only the physic and Lady Caroline will remain. The rest of you;
be gone!”

Orders from The Dark Knight were
not meant to be disobeyed.  Aunt Livia tittered like a hysterical bird as her
ladies escorted her from the room.  Caroline stood on the opposite side of the
bed with the same physic that had tended Adam after his accident. She was
surprisingly composed.  Gaston approached the bed and gently lay Alixandrea
upon the goose-stuffed mattress.  She was incoherent as Caroline began to
gently remove the dirty blanket that covered her.

“Where did you find her, my
lord?” she asked as she peeled back the cloth.

Gaston stood back as the physic
went to work on her. “At a church in Oakley.”

Caroline slipped the blanket off
as the physic held the patient up off the bed. “What in God’s name was she
doing there?” she asked, baffled. “What happened?”

Gaston went to stand at the end
of the bed. “I do not know, my lady. She has been confused since I found her.” 
He watched them toss aside the blanket and fumble with the course monk’s robe
she wore. “I will be waiting outside, Lady Caroline.  I would speak with you
when you have Lady Wellesbourne settled.”

He left the room, closing the
door softly behind him. A quick perusal showed a corridor crowded with people.
Aunt Livia was seated upon a small silken chair with one of her ladies fanning
her face.

“Gaston,” she gasped. “Where did
you find her? Do you know that Matthew has been in a panic?”

“I do indeed, Lady St. James,” he
said. “I found her in a church in Oakley, a few miles from here. I do not know
how she came to the place. The lady is quite incoherent, as you saw. I could
not get an explanation out of her.”

“She’s going to die,” Livia
suddenly began bawling into her fine silk kerchief. “She’s going to die and
Matthew will have no heirs! O, the pity!”

Gaston had known Lady Livia for
many years. She had always been the supreme example of over dramatics, but they
tolerated her because she had a kind and generous heart. Matthew thought a good
deal of her; therefore, so did Gaston.  But her hysterics were trying his
patience.

“She is not going to die,” he
said steadily. “She should be well in a day or two.”

The door from the chamber
suddenly flew open and Caroline was stood in the opening.  She began snapping
orders at the servants hovering about.

“Bring me cold water and rags,
and plenty of both,” she said. “We must bring her fever down. And bring me
fresh clothing for the lady.”

Gaston had never heard Caroline
speak in such a manner. She was usually a quiet, meek lady because that was
what her husband liked. The lady before him was taking charge and he liked the
change.

“A word, Caroline,” he said
quietly.

As the servants rushed off,
Caroline followed Gaston several feet down the corridor so they could speak
privately. His manner seemed odd and she sensed that.

“What is amiss, my lord?” she
asked him.

He paused, gazing down at her. “I
am not sure,” he said. “Something Lady Alixandrea said to me. Do you have any
idea why she feels she cannot return to Matthew?”

Caroline’s brow furrowed. “Cannot
return to him?” she repeated. “I have no idea. Is that what she said?”

“She did,” he replied. “She said
that she could not go home. And what in the hell was she doing in that church?”

Again, Caroline shook her head,
baffled. “I truly would have no idea, my lord,” she said. “Perhaps Matthew can
answer that better than I. Perhaps… perhaps they had a quarrel.”

Gaston wriggled his brows, no
closer to discovering the lady’s reluctance to return home than he was a moment
ago. “Perhaps,” he said. “Has someone gone after Matthew?”

She nodded. “John and Mark rode
after him several minutes ago. Matthew and Luke left for Ely a few hours ago.”

Gaston’s thoughts turned to
Matthew’s state of mind, his travel plans. “And, no doubt, they were riding
hard. It will take some time for Mark and John to catch them. I do not expect
we shall see Matthew until late tomorrow at the earliest.” He looked at Caroline.
“How is Lady Wellesbourne?”

Caroline knew what he meant; he
was asking if she thought the lady would survive long enough for her husband to
return. “She is ill, my lord,” she said. “Beyond that, I cannot say.”

The servants were returning with
cool water and rags. Caroline left Gaston standing in the corridor as she
returned to her charge.

Only time would tell.

***

“Gaston,” someone was shaking him
awake. “Gaston, we need your help.”

Gaston had been asleep in a chair
in the corridor outside of Lady Wellesbourne’s room, his head leaning back
against the wall.  It was pitch black, the night silent and still. He had no
idea what time it was.  When he opened his eyes, he found himself gazing into
Caroline’s pale face, her features illuminated by the small taper in her hand.
He was instantly concerned.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Come,” Caroline began to walk
back into Lady Wellesbourne’s room, motioning for de Russe to follow. “Please,
come and help.”

He was up, following her into the
room with such speed that he nearly ran her over.  The first thing he saw was
Lady Wellesbourne laying on the big bed, her skin the same sickly shade as the
sheets. She was ghostly pale.

The physic was leaning over her,
his fingers against her neck, feeling her pulse.  The lady was twitching and
rolling and would have pitched herself off the bed had the physic not stopped
her.  Then she rolled to the other side, mumbling incoherently, and the physic
reached out yet again to prevent her from throwing herself onto the floor.  It
was exhausting just to watch her.

“Has she been this active all
night?” Gaston asked, incredulous.

“She is delirious,” Caroline
whispered, leading him over to the bed. “We must cool her down, but we cannot
get her to stop moving. I am not strong enough and the physic cannot hold her
and tend her at the same time.”

“What do you want me to do?”
Gaston asked.

“Get on the bed and hold her,”
the physic answered. “She must be held still with considerable strength so that
we may get medicine in her and cool cloths on her. She is rolling herself to
death.”

Gaston did not ask any further
questions; he went to the head of the bed and pulled the lady up into a sitting
position. It was like trying to grab hold of a waterfall; she was sliding and
tumbling in every direction. While the physic and Caroline held her forward,
Gaston managed to get in behind her and then the three of them lowered her back
against Gaston’s broad chest.

Seated in between his legs,
Gaston took her right hand in his right hand, her left hand in his left hand,
and wound her own arms around her body.  His legs acted like a fence, holding
both her lower body and legs confined.  He shifted around slightly, settling
them both comfortably. He had a feeling the lady’s state would get worse before
it would get better and he wanted to have a good hold of her.

“Good,” the physic could see she
was adequately restrained. “Now, we must get some bark brew down her. ‘Twill
ease this fever.”

Alixandrea’s head was against
Gaston’s shoulder, her bronze hair spread out over them both.  Gaston used one
arm to wrap her in a bear hug while one hand went across her forehead, holding
her back against him and effectively trapping her head.   The physic poured
some potion down her throat as she coughed and sputtered.

“There now, lady,” the physic put
the phial down.  He looked over at Caroline. “The cold cloths, lady. Cover her
in them.”

As Alixandrea struggled weakly
against Gaston’s embrace, Caroline and the physic proceeded to completely cover
her in cold, wet rags. From her neck to her toes, she was enveloped in them.

At first, she became semi-lucid
and protested viciously; it was too cold and she was going to kill them all
given the chance. But her objections faded as exhaustion and illness claimed
her, and soon she lay quietly shivering against Gaston’s powerful body.

For his part, Gaston had remained
stoic and silent throughout the ordeal, fighting improper thoughts when they
occasionally entered his head.  The lady was sweet and supple and he could
understand Matthew’s infatuation with her. Gaston’s own wife had never felt
this marvelous against him, cold bitch that she was. He had wondered from time
to time what it would have been like to have been married to a woman he
hungered for.  During the course of the night as Lady Wellesbourne lay against
him, he was coming to understand what it might have been like. He envied
Matthew.

As the cold light of dawn
filtered through the covered windows, the lady finally quieted but for an
intermittent twitch now and again. All was still, calm and quiet. Gaston was
awake, his chin resting against the top of Alixandrea’s head as he watched the
room lighten with the sun rise.  Caroline, too, was awake, diligently changed
the rags that soaked Alixandrea’s body, rinsing them in cool water and placing
them back against her searing skin.  As the birds began to chirp on the
windowsill, the physic rose stiffly from his stool and put his hand against the
lady’s forehead.

“She is still burning,” Gaston
muttered to him.

The physic did not reply. He went
back to the clutter of paraphernalia he had brought with him and pulled out a
small wooden bowl with part of the rim cut away.  Gaston watched as the man put
Alixandrea’s hand in the bowl and nicked her wrist with a small flint. Blood
began to seep into the bowl.

Bloodletting was never a good
sign. It was what some would call a last resort. Gaston had never liked it
because he thought it weakened an already weak body. Perhaps the physic was
reading his mind, for when he spoke, it was in tones only Gaston could hear.

“It might do well to send for a
priest,” he murmured. “The lady cannot take much more of this and it is best to
be prepared.”

In spite of his hushed voice,
Caroline heard him. Her eyes widened, her hands frozen in place above a wet rag
she was replacing.

“No,” she hissed. “You will not
give up. She will live.”

“I am not giving up,” the physic
said. “But we must face truths. The lady is burning with fever and soon her
body will surrender. It is the way of things.”

“No,” Caroline said, more
loudly.  “Not Alixandrea. Matthew will be here soon. He will tend her when he
returns and she will live.”

Gaston could see that she was
growing agitated. “No one is giving her over to God just yet,” he reached out
and put a massive mitt on her arm, comfortingly. “But prayers could not hurt.
That is what the physic is suggesting.”

Caroline was torn between
resentment and sorrow.  She put the cool rag on Alixandrea’s leg and muttered
angrily all the way to the door. “She is not going to die,” she told them. “I
forbid you to say such things.”