Chapter Ten
Dashiell was standing in the hall.
When Eiselle looked up from a pallet she was fixing for the wounded, she saw Dashiell just inside the door and it appeared he was looking for something. Or someone. Curious, Eiselle stood up and started heading in his direction. When he caught sight of her, very quickly, he headed in her direction.
“Dash,” Eiselle said as she rushed to him. “Are you well?”
Dashiell was exhausted. Every line, every emotion, was showing on his sweaty, grimy face as he looked at Eiselle. Without answering her, he took her by the arm and pulled her away from the servants and the bustle of the great hall.
“Come with me,” he said. “I must speak to you.”
Eiselle was hesitant. “I cannot leave,” she said. “Lady de Winter has put me in charge of the hall. We are to expect many wounded. Was the battle terrible?”
Dashiell couldn’t stand it; the woman had no idea of what she was about to face and his heart was breaking into a million pieces for her.
What had he told her? That Bric MacRohan always returns from a battle?
He’d sworn that to her, and she believed him.
It was true that Bric was returning, but not in the same condition as when he left.
God, he felt so very guilty.
“Terrible enough,” he said, pulling her along even though she was reluctant. “Selly, Lady de Winter has sent me to you. Bric has been wounded.”
Eiselle stared at him a moment as if she didn’t quite understand what he was saying. But as she gazed into his eyes and saw the despondency in the depths, it began to occur to her that something was amiss. Something terrible had happened.
To Bric? Was it really true? That which she’d been promised wouldn’t happen had apparently happened. Bric had been wounded.
But… it wasn’t possible! Hadn’t she been given assurances? Hadn’t Bric himself promised her that nothing would happen to him and that he would return? Nay… it simply wasn’t possible.
… was it?
As Eiselle’s knees locked up and her breath caught in her throat, she could only think to ask one thing.
“How badly?”
It was a question Dashiell didn’t want to answer. He blinked once, twice, and then tears began to pool in his eyes, tears that he quickly flicked away.
“Badly enough,” he said huskily. “Selly, you must listen to what I am to tell you. That will give you an indication of what you are about to face.”
That sounded as if he were about to tell her something horrible, indeed, and her composure took a hit. The room began to sway. Eiselle whimpered as she gripped Dashiell with both hands because her legs couldn’t seem to support her.
“God, no,” she gasped. “What happened? Where is he?”
Dashiell held on to her, fearful of what would happen if he let her go. “He is being brought in from one of the wagons,” he said. “Is there somewhere else to put him other than the great hall? He will need peace and quiet if… if…”
“If what?” Eiselle practically cried.
Dashiell knew he wasn’t doing a very good job of telling Eiselle what had happened, but he was handicapped with his own grief and guilt.
He felt as if all of this was his fault; he’d been the one to propose the marriage.
He’d been the one to summon the de Winter army for Holdingham.
Now, Bric was badly wounded. Mortally, Dashiell thought.
It was a struggle to overcome the remorse he was feeling.
“Listen to me,” he said, grasping her by the arms and forcing her to look at him.
“I must tell you what happened. Bric was hit by an arrow in the chest. The surgeon managed to remove the arrow and the arrowhead, but what it left in its wake is a sucking chest wound. This happened two days ago and since then, Bric has been in a very bad condition. The surgeon did what he could to pack the wound and sew it up but, earlier today, Bric started showing signs of a fever. If there is poison in his chest, his chances of survival are not good. Sweetheart, you married a warrior and I am so very sorry that this had to happen. Bric MacRohan has never been injured on the field of battle, so for this to happen… everyone is deeply shocked.”
Eiselle stared at him and as he watched, the tears began to pop out of her eyes and her face crumpled. Bric MacRohan has never been injured on the field of battle, he said. But at Holdingham, he was. It suddenly occurred to Eiselle why.
The talisman!
Bric had given her his talisman, and the one time he’d been without it, an arrow had found its mark.
When Eiselle realized that she had been the cause, she couldn’t control her anguish.
To ease her fear of battle, Bric had given up the one thing that he believed in and the very thing that protected him over all.
Now, she knew what had happened.
She’d left him vulnerable.
“I know why,” she whispered. “God help me, I know why. Dash, take me to him. Take me now!”
Dashiell didn’t think it was a good idea.
“Your hysteria will not help him,” he said.
“Selly, I know this is difficult for you, but you must not be hysterical. If Bric sees that, it will crush him. You must be strong for him, do you hear? Stronger than you have ever been in your life. I know you are capable of it. You must be capable of it. For Bric’s sake, you must try. ”
He was right. God help her, he was right. Eiselle struggled to stop her weeping, to stop the panic and grief that was threatening to explode in all directions. Nodding quickly, unsteadily, she wiped at her tears, brushing them away, and took great gulps of air to steady herself.
“I will try,” she said breathlessly. “I will, I swear it. Dash… please take me to him.”
He still didn’t like the idea. “You are needed much more to prepare a private place for him,” he said, hoping to distract her from demanding to go to him again. “Where can we take him?”
Eiselle’s thoughts and emotions were scattered, but she managed to focus on his question. “His… his chamber is near the entry,” she said, pointing to the door that had been kept closed since the army’s departure. “That is his chamber. We can put him there.”
Dashiell turned her in the direction of the closed door.
“Then go,” he said, praying the woman would find the strength he hoped she had.
“Go and prepare the bed for him. Clear out the clutter and start a fire so that the chamber warms. They are bringing Bric in now and we will take him right to that chamber where you will be waiting for him. Let your face be the one he sees when he opens his eyes.”
Eiselle nodded, still a bit unsteadily, but at least she was standing on her own.
Kissing her on the head, Dashiell rushed from the hall as Eiselle headed towards Bric’s chamber.
There was a great deal of commotion in the hall now as some of the walking wounded began coming in through the entry, but she was completely focused on Bric’s chamber, just as Dashiell had asked.
She found herself praying to a God she’d never given much notice to that Bric would, indeed, heal.
She felt like a hypocrite, but this was a desperate time.
She felt as if she had no one else to turn to.
Just as Eiselle put her hand on the door latch, she happened to catch a glimpse of Manducor as the man helped one of the servants seat a wounded soldier against the wall.
Remembering what he’d told her about having tended battle wounds, she knew that she needed the man’s help.
She needed everything he could provide. As she put her hand on the door latch, she called out to him.
“Manducor!”
Hearing his name, he looked up and saw Eiselle over near a half-open door, waving him over. He came, shuffling as quickly as Eiselle had ever seen him move.
“What is it?” he asked.
Eiselle’s throat was so tight with emotion that she could barely speak. “My husband,” she murmured. “He has been injured. They are bringing him in now and I require your assistance.”
With that, she opened the door and Manducor followed. His expression was wrought with concern.
“I am very sorry, Lady MacRohan,” he said. “Very sorry, indeed. What would you have me do?”
Eiselle began yanking the linens off the bed; they were in a messy pile, as was the room in general. “You said that you have tended battle wounds,” she said. “You will help me tend him.”
Manducor saw what she was doing and lent a hand to help her strip the bed. “How badly injured is he?”
The tears threatened; oh, God, how they threatened.
“They say he took an arrow to the chest,” she said.
“He may be with fever. We will know more when we see him, but the truth is that I have no experience tending wounds or illness. My life before I came to Narborough had been a rather isolated one, so I beg you for your assistance. I do not want to lose him.”
Manducor knew what it was to lose someone close. He’d watched his wife and two children die of a disease he’d had no power to stop. The physics had tried, but they’d died regardless. Therefore, he was quite sympathetic to Lady MacRohan’s request. In truth, he was very sad for her.
Performing the wedding mass several days before, he’d seen how the big Irish knight had looked at his new wife, and he’d seen how she looked at him.
There had been interest there; nay, almost affection, even, which was unusual for a couple who had only just met.
Clearly, they had been attentive to one another and when Lady MacRohan spoke of her husband, something in her eyes glowed.
Aye, Manducor felt very sorry for the woman. He knew what it was like to lose a loved one.
“I will help,” he told her, taking charge because she couldn’t seem to. “Quickly; pull the pillows off the mattress. If he has a chest wound, it will probably be better if he lays flat. Is a surgeon with him?”
Eiselle shook her head. “I do not know,” she said. “There seem to be many wounded. He will have many men who need his attention, so Bric must have all of mine. And yours; please. He will need us both.”