Chapter Eighteen
Bedingfeld Manor
Birds were singing.
And they were damned loud.
Bric had no idea how long he’d been laying there, listening to the birds screaming outside of his window.
When he rolled onto his side to actually look at the window, it wasn’t something he recognized at first. It wasn’t the window from his chamber at Narborough and as his gaze moved around the room, he realized he wasn’t even at Narborough. He was somewhere else.
Slowly, he sat up.
“So the sleeping giant awakens,” Eiselle said softly. “Good morn to you, my love.”
Bric heard Eiselle’s voice, turning to see her sitting over by a rather elaborate hearth that was burning gently.
The hearth was set into a brick wall that was as tall as a tree.
In fact, the entire chamber itself was huge, as was the bed Bric was lying in.
It had four huge posts, one on each corner, and a canopy overhead with heavy brocade curtains.
Bric looked around, muddled by the opulent surroundings. This definitely wasn’t their tiny chamber at Narborough. Rubbing his eyes, he felt as if he’d been asleep for a thousand years.
“Am I truly awake?” he asked.
“You are.”
“Where are we? This is not our chamber.”
Eiselle had been sewing on something that she set aside as she stood up from her chair. With a smile on her lips, she made her way over to the bed.
“We are someplace safe,” she said. “How do you feel?”
Bric blinked his eyes. “I do not know yet,” he said. “Where are we?”
“Bedingfeld Manor.”
Recognition dawned. Bric looked around again, gaining his bearings. He didn’t feel quite so confused now. “I see,” he said. “I should have recognized those windows.”
He was referring to the elaborate windows with the diamond-shaped mullions, a unique feature. Eiselle leaned over and kissed him on the head.
“Not to worry,” she said. “We have all the time in the world to become acquainted with this place. It’s really quite beautiful, at least what I’ve seen of it.”
Bric reached up and pulled her down to him, and Eiselle slid into his embrace easily. But it wasn’t any embrace; it seemed powerful and tense. When she tried to move, he wouldn’t let her. He just held on to her, tightly.
“How long has it been?” he whispered.
Eiselle wasn’t sure what he meant. “Since when?”
“Since…” He couldn’t finish. He abruptly let her go, raking his fingers through his closely cropped hair. “I do not know. That sounds foolish, but I truly do not know.”
Eiselle sat down on the bed next to him, watching him struggle. Although he seemed more lucid than he had the last time they’d spoken, only time would tell just how coherent he really was. She proceeded carefully.
“What is your last memory?” she asked gently. “Let us start there.”
He shook his head. “I cannot,” he muttered. “I do not want to think.”
Eiselle didn’t push him. “Then don’t,” she said. “Lie there and think of nothing more than the shape of the windows, if it pleases you. I shall be here if you need me.”
She stood up from the bed with the intention of returning to her sewing, but she didn’t get very far. His hand shot out, grasping her by the wrist so she couldn’t move away. When Eiselle turned to look at him, questioningly, he simply sat there, staring off into space.
“Do not leave me,” he whispered.
Slowly, Eiselle sat back down, but he kept his grip on her as if afraid she was going to get away. He kept staring off into the room, not focused on anything in particular, but it was clear that his mind was working. After a moment, he released her wrist.
“Mayhap… mayhap I should speak of it,” he muttered. “It is not as if I can run from it.”
Eiselle didn’t want him to think he was under any pressure to talk of his feelings. “You do not need to speak of it now if you do not wish to. There is all the time in the…”
He cut her off, but it wasn’t harshly. “Nay,” he said, more firmly. “I… I must speak. I feel as if my head is about to burst.”
“Then speak. I will listen. What do you remember?”
Bric thought hard, trying to collect thoughts that were as tangled as cobwebs.
“I remember the battle at Castle Acre,” he said as the day of the battle started coming back to him.
“It was a good day, Eiselle. I was strong and the men were strong. I felt… I felt fine, as I normally do in battle. I was killing and men were dying, so it was a good day for me. We chased the French away from the village and they ended up by the priory. That is where… is where…”
He abruptly faded off and Eiselle reached out and took his hand, squeezing it tightly. “That is where?”
He looked like he was growing nervous because he swallowed hard. His manner seemed uneasy.
“That is where night fell, and we found ourselves in a fight down by the river,” he continued.
“It was a dark night, darker than I have ever seen, and the fight became dangerous. I even stopped swinging my sword, fearful I was going to strike down my own men. And then… then I heard Mylo shouting to me.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me to watch my back,” he said. The hand Eiselle was holding was beginning to shake.
“It was too dark for me to see anything, but I could feel men beside me, struggling. There was a fight going on right next to me. I saw the flash of a blade in the darkness, and was certain I was about to be killed, so I had no choice but to strike out in self-defense. But then the torches were brought in and I saw that it was Mylo I had cut down. God help me… it was Mylo.”
He lowered his head and Eiselle lifted the hand she was holding, kissing it. “Bric, it was not your fault,” she insisted softly. “You did not know it was Mylo. How could you?”
He was hanging his head now, looking at her hands as she held on to his scarred fingers. “That was what he said,” he muttered. A lone tear dropped onto their tangle of hands. “He said it was not my fault.”
“You were able to speak with him?”
“He lived for a brief time. He told me that he had put himself between me and the man attempting to kill me. He sacrificed himself so that I might live.”
Eiselle was starting to tear up because she could hear the anguish in his voice.
More than that, she now knew what had truly happened between Bric and Mylo, and it was too tragic for words.
But it wasn’t her right to cry; she knew that.
Bric was the one in need of comfort, and not her, no matter how badly she hurt for him.
Reaching up, she gently caressed his stubbled cheek, wiping away his tears.
“Bric,” she said, quietly but firmly. “I know you are devastated, my love. I cannot pretend to know how you feel, but I can only think to say one thing to you – if the situation was reversed, and it had been Mylo who cut you down under the same circumstances, would it have been his fault?”
Bric drew in a long, unsteady breath before releasing it all in a heavy rush. He simply sat there, holding her hand, pondering her words.
“Nay,” he said after a moment, his voice trembling. “He would not have known it was me, as I did not know it was him. There is no one to blame. Even so, I cannot shake the guilt, Eiselle. I killed a man who was trying to protect me.”
“He laid his life down for you, just as you would have done for him had the situation been different.”
“That is true. I would have. I would gladly give my life now for his.”
Eiselle almost said something selfish, that she was glad Bric hadn’t given his life for Mylo, but she bit her tongue. It was not her place to say such a thing, even if she did think it.
“Daveigh told me that you gave him your talisman,” she said. “That was a generous thing to do, Bric. I am sure it would have meant a great deal to Mylo.”
Bric could only nod. Then, he began to search around his neck, hunting for something beneath the smelly tunic he wore.
He was still in much of the clothing he’d worn for the battle because, not wanting to disturb him too much, Eiselle had only stripped him down to the breeches and tunic he wore beneath his mail.
But he quickly found what he was looking for, pulling out the keepsake that Eiselle had given him.
“The talisman belongs to Mylo, but this belongs to me,” he whispered, looking at it. “It is the most valuable thing I own.”
Eiselle smiled. “And you are the most valuable thing I own,” she said.
“Daveigh sent us to Bedingfeld because you must regain your strength. Being wounded as you were, and then suffering through Mylo’s death, has earned you some time to rest, Bric.
You have been through too much as of late. Even the strongest of men must rest.”
Bric looked at her with eyes that didn’t seem to glisten as they usually did. The Bric MacRohan she had married was a sharp man with a sharp mind, fearless in every way. But the man that looked back at her now… it wasn’t the same man.
He seemed empty.
“What I have endured as of late is something I have never had to endure,” he said.
“It’s as if I do not even know my own mind any longer.
I woke up in a room I did not recognize but what is even more frightening is that I do not remember how I got here.
You asked me what I remember, and I have told you everything I can recall.
I also remember carrying Mylo in my arms after I killed him…
and now I am here. Bleeding Christ, I am surely losing my mind. What is happening to me?”
It was a plea and Eiselle felt it carve through her like a dagger. She didn’t know what to say because Manducor had warned her against tell him that the world would be well again, or trying to make his concerns not sound so serious.
The man was seeking answers she could not give.
Therefore, she did the only thing she could think of – she threw her arms around his head and neck, embracing him tightly. She had never had to fight off tears so strongly as she had to at this moment.
He was breaking her heart.