Chapter Thirteen
Eiselle had just sat down with one of Bric’s tunics in the chamber near the keep entry that was Bric’s former sleeping chamber. Bric decided to occupy Eiselle’s chamber, and that was where the newlyweds spent their time, but his former chamber had been converted into a solar for the ladies.
That was where the women now spent their time, sewing or drawing or reading aloud.
When the noise of the hall grew too much, they could close the doors and shut themselves in, and Keeva had moved furs and rugs and chairs and even a couch into the solar so that she and her ladies could be comfortable.
It was also an Eddie-free zone, meaning Angela was welcome but her son was not. Consequently, Angela had barely spent any time in it at all, but that was normal as of late for her. Meanwhile, Keeva and Eiselle and Zara enjoyed it as a place to call their own.
It was into this room that Eiselle was settling when she heard someone come in through the keep entry.
The great doors were usually closed and when they swung back on their old iron hinges, they made a great deal of noise no matter how much the servants greased them up.
Therefore, she heard the doors opening and the rapid boot falls of someone.
She didn’t think too much of it until she heard someone wretch, and the sound of liquid splashing on the floor of the entry.
Curious, not to mention concerned, Eiselle rose from her chair and stuck her head out of the solar just in time to see Bric rush towards the spiral stairs that led to their chamber, pause once again to vomit onto the stairs, and then disappear up the stairwell.
Throwing her sewing onto the nearest chair, Eiselle raced after him.
She ran past two big puddles of vomit, up the stairs, and nearly stepped into a third puddle at the top of the stairwell.
There were servants on that level and they’d already come out of their alcoves to see what the fuss was about, and Eiselle quickly instructed them to clean up the mess.
She didn’t mention who had left it, but the servants heard the door to her chamber slam, so they could probably guess.
Still, Eiselle didn’t say anything more as she rushed to her closed chamber door and lifted the latch.
The room was illuminated only by the light coming in through the lancet windows as she entered, as the fire in the hearth had long died and now there was only ash. Immediately, she spied Bric in the corner, leaning against the stone, with his hands over his face.
Greatly concerned, Eiselle came around the side of the bed, wondering why her husband was cowering in the corner and breathing as if he were about to explode.
“Bric?” she said softly. “What is wrong? Are you ill?”
His hands came away from his face and he looked at her with an expression Eiselle had never seen before.
Bric not only had an unusual eye color, but the shape of his eyes was somewhat unusual as well – almond-shaped, some would call it.
They were both unique and beautiful, but they were eyes that could narrow down in a slit in a flash-second, a particularly terrifying trait the man had.
At the moment, however, Eiselle didn’t recognize them. They were as wide as she had ever seen them, as if Bric had been deeply shocked by something. He didn’t answer her right away; he simply stared at her. Eiselle took a timid step towards him.
“Bric?” she said again, her brow furrowed in concern. “What is the matter? Are you ill?”
His mouth worked as if he wanted to say something.
Then, it was as if he simply went boneless – his entire body collapsed until he was sitting on his rump in the corner, his back pressed against the wall.
He couldn’t even answer her, and Eiselle sank to her knees where she was standing so that she could be on his level.
Now, he was starting to frighten her.
“Please, Bric,” she whispered. “What is wrong?”
He took a couple of short, panting breaths followed by one long, deep one.
“I do not know,” he finally said. “I was standing with the men, with a sword in my hand, and an arrow landed in the dirt a few feet away. And, suddenly, I’m running.
I’m running blindly and the next I realize, I’m at the top of the stairs.
Then, I’m in this room. I… I do not know what happened, only that I am here and I feel… I feel…”
Eiselle crept closer to him as he trailed off. “What do you feel?” she asked softly.
He was looking at her as if he couldn’t breathe. “My God,” he muttered. “All I could think was that I did not want to die. That arrow… I heard it… and then all I could think was that I did not want to die. I did not want to leave you.”
Eiselle moved in closer, reaching out a timid hand to him. “You will not leave me,” she said. “And I will not leave you. I will always be here, Bric.”
She was close enough that Bric could touch her, and he did.
He pulled her into a crushing embrace, burying his face against her belly as his arms went around her torso.
It was almost like he was attempting to hide or, at the very least, block out whatever was troubling him so.
Eiselle ended up with the man practically laying in her lap as she tried to put her arms around him to comfort him.
“I am here,” she said soothingly. “I am not leaving you, I promise.”
Bric was trembling in her arms; she could feel it.
He was shaking all over. She tried to hold him tighter, trying to comfort him, but he simply remained where he was, his head in her lap and his muscular arms around her body.
Eiselle thought the man might shake apart right in her arms, and she could feel his breathing – it was irregular, sometimes slower, sometimes faster.
Eiselle simply held him tightly, not knowing what else to do.
Time passed, but Eiselle was uncertain as to how much.
It could have been seconds, or it could have been hours.
It seemed like forever. She could hear noise from the bailey wafting through the windows of their chamber, her grip on Bric very tight as she wondered why the man was so shaken.
She’s never seen anything like it in her life other than from her mother, who panicked on a regular basis and imagined she was sick or dying.
It began to occur to Eiselle that Bric was panicking over something, something he couldn’t explain, and it puzzled her greatly.
The most powerful knight in England didn’t panic. He didn’t fall.
… did he?
As she sat there in the dim light, the chamber door quietly opened. She could see the panel moving very slowly, opening further and further, until Manducor’s head suddenly appeared. He had an expression of concern on his face as he looked at Bric, crumpled up in his wife’s arms.
The priest had been in the kitchen yard, his favorite place when he wasn’t in the hall.
But in this case, he’d been arguing with the beer wife about the flavor of her brew.
The woman was very old, married to one of the house servants, and she liked to swap in seasonal ingredients into her brews to alter the taste.
Her last batch of brew had contained elderberries in it, and Manducor was grossly opposed to the use of it in ale.
They’d been bickering back and forth when he’d seen Bric bolt from the training area, strange behavior from the normally calm man, so he’d come into the keep to see if Lady MacRohan knew what had her husband on the run.
Now, he found MacRohan laying on the floor, his head and shoulders in his wife’s lap. It was shocking to say the least. He took a few uneasy steps into the chamber.
“My lady,” he whispered. “Is… is everything all right?”
Eiselle simply shook her head. “I do not know.”
Bric heard them. He’d been half-dozing, anything to escape this crippling panic he felt, but at the sound of Manducor’s voice, he suddenly sat up. It was one thing for Eiselle to see him like this, but quite another for someone else.
“Nothing is amiss,” he said, his voice a growl.
Manducor was wary of his tone. “I did not mean to suggest there was,” he said. “I saw you run and thought to help. I thought that mayhap there was something amiss with Lady MacRohan, so I only came to make sure there was nothing wrong.”
Bric was suddenly on his feet, pulling Eiselle to stand. “I told you nothing was wrong,” Bric said, although he wouldn’t look Manducor in the eye. “And the next time you enter our chamber, you will knock. Is that clear?”
“It is, my lord.”
Bric was clearly uncomfortable and edgy.
He took Eiselle’s hand, kissed it twice, before letting it go and quitting the room.
He simply blew out of the chamber without another word.
Eiselle stood there a moment, both confused and shocked with what had happened.
She looked at Manducor, lifting her shoulders weakly.
“I do not know what is wrong,” she said. “He could not tell me. All he said was that he was working with the men, saw an arrow hit the ground, and then he ran up here.”
Since Manducor had been a knight for years before joining the priesthood, he’d fought in many battles and he had an inkling as to what might be the problem.
He’d seen it before, with some, but he couldn’t really believe that a man of Bric MacRohan’s strength would suffer from such a thing.
A weakness of the heart, they’d called it.
A Man of Dishonor was another term. There were a few names for it, none of them particularly kind.
Like most of the inhabitants of Narborough, he had heard the rumors about MacRohan, about how he seemed less aggressive than he had been before his injury.
Men were whispering that he’d lost his edge, that the injury had damaged his unwavering courage, but the whispers were those of concern and not condemnation.
Nothing Manducor had heard was condemnation for the beloved High Warrior of Narborough.
Therefore, he tried to be tactful when he spoke.