Chapter Ten #3
“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 sunrise.
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.”
“Of course, angel,” Gaston said calmly. “But send for a priest and his prayers just the same.”
When she quit the room, she left behind a mood of sorrow. No one wanted to think the worst. After a moment of reflection, the physic motioned to Gaston.
“She’s no longer struggling, my lord,” he said. “You may get up and leave her to the bed.”
He was sorry to have to let her go, but he did as he was told.
Laying the lady gently down to the feathered mattress, he took a moment to gaze at her lovely face, praying that Matthew would make it back soon.
He did not want to be the one to tell Matthew that he had found his wife, only to have her die before he returned.
No, he did not relish that thought in the least.
The sun continued to rise in what was a beautiful morning.
No hint of the rain and clouds of the past few days remained.
Caroline came back into the room and resumed her duties, as did a few servants, collecting soiled linens and generally cleaning up.
Gaston stood by the window, watching the landscape, listening to the bustle of the chamber as people came and went.
Someone stoked the fire. A glance at the lady every now and then showed her to be gray, sweating, and still.
Even gravely ill, she was still a lusciously beautiful woman.
Gaston found himself wishing fervently that Matthew would hurry.
By late morning, his prayers were answered.