Chapter Eighteen #2
“Nothing has happened to you,” she said hoarsely.
“You simply need rest and I shall make sure you get it. You shall rest and then you shall be ready to take on the world again, I swear it. You are the High Warrior, Bric. You are the strongest man in all of England and you must never doubt that, not for a moment.”
His big arms went around her, holding her so tightly that he was squeezing the breath from her.
“I do not know who I am any longer,” he whispered.
Eiselle kissed the top of his head, holding him close. “I know who you are,” she whispered fiercely. “You are my husband and I love you very much. Now, can you do something for me?”
“If I can.”
“Can you eat something? You’ve not eaten in days and if you are going to regain your strength, then you must eat. Please?”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. He simply held her tightly, his face buried in her bosom. When he finally spoke, it was muffled against her flesh.
“If you wish it,” he said.
Eiselle kissed his head again and released her grip on his head. “It would make me happy,” she said. “Stay in bed. I shall send for food right now.”
She kissed him on the lips before bolting from the bed and rushing to the chamber door, pulling it open.
They were on the top floor of Bedingfeld and right outside the door was a landing and a small servant’s alcove.
The servants had been told by Daveigh to stay close to Lady MacRohan in case she needed anything, so both a male and female servant were nearby, prepared to move when Lady MacRohan sent them down to the kitchen for food.
She also asked for hot water so she could clean Bric of the battlefield grime, and the gore on his skin that she was certain had been left by Mylo.
If she was going to help him, and tend to him, then it would start now.
As the servants fled for the kitchens, Eiselle shut the door and turned to Bric, still sitting on the bed.
“Food is coming,” she said, smiling at his pale face. “You shall eat and then you shall sleep again, and mayhap tomorrow, I shall escort you on a walk outside. The gardens are truly lovely, though I only had a brief glimpse of them when we arrived.”
He looked at her, his lovely little wife with her beautiful dark hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. The guilt he felt, that was his constant companion, began to shift as he gazed into her sweet face.
“Mo chroí,” he said after a moment. “You married a man only to take care of him constantly. That is no life for you.”
Her smile vanished. “You will not say that again,” she said sternly. “I have the exact life that I want with the man I want. My life is perfect.”
He sighed faintly. “You are not married to a man. You are married to a weakling.”
He looked away from her as he said it, but she moved around the bed so he couldn’t avoid looking at her. When he tried to turn away again, she put her hands on his face, forcing him to meet her eye.
“I am married to the man I love,” she whispered. “You are the High Warrior, Bric. You will always be the High Warrior. You do not have a weak bone in your body. You are simply tired.”
Bric closed his eyes because he could no longer look at her. “I am broken.”
He sounded so grieved, so very torn and shattered. Eiselle wasn’t sure what more she could say to the man. She knew he was upset and it was an effort for her not to become upset, too, because his words hurt. She didn’t like to see him so down on himself, his usual confidence destroyed.
That was perhaps the worst part.
“Broken or weak, you are still my husband,” she said. “If you are trying to scare me into leaving you, I will not do it. I do not scare easily.”
Bric stared at her a moment before breaking into a crooked smile. “I do not imagine that you do,” he said. “You have proven to be quite formidable, Lady MacRohan. You are a fine tribute to a man who does not deserve you.”
It did her heart good to see him smile, if only for a moment. Her hands were still on his cheeks and she kissed him, a sweet and lingering gesture.
“Do not tell me how wonderful I am because it will go to my head,” she said, watching him smile yet again.
“Whether or not you like it, I am here to stay. I am not leaving you, not ever, so you had better come to terms with it. Please do not ever try to discourage me again because next time, I might have to punch you in the face.”
Bric started laughing, a raspy sound that was like music to Eiselle’s ears. It was good to hear him laugh. She put her arms around him again and kissed him just as there was a knock on the door. Moving quickly to the panel, Eiselle opened it up to the servants bearing food and hot water.
As it turned out, Bric was very hungry and ate everything on the tray.
Once he was finished with his meal, he permitted Eiselle to strip him and wash him down with hot water and soap that smelled of flowers, but he really didn’t care.
Her attention, and her warm touch, was the best medicine in the world for him at that moment.
When he slept again, it was with Eiselle in his arms.
Two days later
“We have followers.”
“I know.”
It was Bric who had uttered those words, words of observation as he and Eiselle walked in the garden of Bedingfeld on a bright summer morning.
The garden was truly a delight, surrounded by tall stone walls, with every imaginable flowering plant and vine contained within.
Several servants tended the garden constantly, and it showed – it was a marvel to see, and Eiselle had to stop every few feet and smell a bloom.
Bric walked along beside her, dressed simply in a tunic and breeches, following his wife as she marveled at the glorious flowers.
But he’d seen movement out of the corner of his eye when they’d first entered the garden.
They’d come in through the main gate but there was also a smaller gate in the southern wall that paralleled the brook that ran through Bedingfeld’s property and fed the moat that surrounded the manor house.
That smaller gate had opened, and then shut, and then he’d seen the top of someone’s head as they moved amongst the bushes, trying to stay out of sight. First one head and then two.
Bric was curious, but Eiselle wasn’t paying much attention.
She was more interested in the flowers. As she paused by a stalk of foxgloves that was taller than she was, Bric casually looked over his shoulder in time to see two little faces peeking out at him from a bush several feet away.
When they saw that the big knight was looking at them, they quickly disappeared.
Bushes shook as they moved away, and Bric was certain he heard laughter.
Children’s laughter.
“They are giggling,” he said. “Our stalkers are giggling.”
Eiselle stood up from having been bent over a smaller variety of foxgloves. “I heard,” she said. “I do not know who they are, but I am sure we will discover it soon enough.”
She was casual about something that had Bric’s curiosity.
Perhaps it was the observant knight in him.
As he watched the stalkers move through some bushes over near the wall, the main gate suddenly swung open again, spilling forth Manducor.
When Bric realized that it was the priest, he shook his head in a gesture of disapproval.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, though he didn’t sound entirely displeased. “My wife and I came to Bedingfeld for a rest and we do not need an audience.”
Manducor sensed that Bric was jesting with him, at least for the most part.
He was sure there was some part of the man who genuinely wanted to be alone with his wife, but Manducor couldn’t stay away any longer.
He’d spent the past few days staying clear of Bric and Eiselle, simply to give them time alone, and keeping busy around the manor house, at least as much as he could.
But when he saw Eiselle and Bric head to the garden on this bright morning, he wanted to see for himself how Bric was feeling.
He’d not seen Eiselle enough to have a decent conversation with her, as she had remained in the master’s chamber with Bric since their arrival, so now was his chance to sate his curiosity.
“My lord, I promise I will not be a burden,” he said. “But I thought I would come in case I could be of service. You may want a man to play games with, you know. There is a chess set in the hall and I shall be more than willing to challenge you for supremacy.”
Bric eyed the man as he came near. “Chess,” he muttered. “I’ve not played that in years.”
“Good,” Manducor said firmly. “Then I shall triumph over you.”
“I did not say I’d forgotten how to play, old man. Be careful who you challenge.”
Manducor grinned. “I am very bold now, but ask me again when we actually start playing. You frighten me, MacRohan.”
Bric couldn’t help but snort at the man. “If that is true, then you are the only one.”
His smile rapidly faded as he turned away, wandering in the direction of a stone sundial in the middle of the garden.
Manducor and Eiselle exchanged glances, hearing the struggle in Bric’s voice again.
Eiselle sensed that perhaps this time, Bric didn’t want to hear her tell him how great he still was or how much she loved him.
He’d been hearing that enough. Perhaps this time, he needed to hear something from another man, someone who, perhaps, understood more of what he was going through.
It was time for Manducor to earn his keep.
Manducor understood Eiselle’s pleading expression, though he was hesitant. He wasn’t a peer of MacRohan’s, but he had been a knight, once. He understood the profession. As Eiselle pretended to turn back to the flowers, Manducor followed Bric as the man wandered towards the sundial.