Chapter Eleven
Exhausted from hours in the saddle and days without sleep, Matthew’s first look at Alixandrea had him falling to his knees beside the bed.
He could hardly believe what he was witnessing. Lying upon the damp sheets, her delicious bronze hair stuck to her moist forehead, he knew just by looking at her that she was on death’s door. No one had to tell him anything specific; he just knew.
But in spite of everything, he was so glad to see her, so overcome with emotion, that he gathered her into his arms and buried his face deep in her neck.
He’d only meant to hug her. But something unexpected happened.
The next sounds that filled the musty chamber were those of his profoundly pitiful sobs and he was unable to stop them.
Gaston hadn’t seen the break down coming, but he wasn’t surprised. He chased everyone out of the chamber except for Caroline and the physic. Caroline stood next to Matthew, weeping with him. Because he was crying, she was crying. His display had weakened her already-taxed emotions.
Gaston stood by the door, never more deeply sorry for someone in his entire life.
He and Matthew had seen so much life and death together, but never when it was this close.
If Richard and Henry and the allied forces throughout England could only realize that The Dark Knight and The White Lord were men of flesh and blood and feeling, all might be lost. To the world, these were men with steel where their hearts should have been.
If it were known that they did, indeed, feel pity or pain, then the land would be set upon its ear.
Only within the confines of this small chamber were they allowed to show any emotion.
Hesitantly, Gaston went to his friend. The man was sobbing deeply into his wife’s pale neck. He put a hand on Matthew’s shoulder.
“Matt,” he whispered. “Put her down, man. Let the physic have her.”
Matthew was having a difficult time controlling himself. The dam had burst and his feelings were flooding out all over the place, his shock and exhaustion and anguish finding an outlet.
“What happened to her?” he wept. “Where did you find her?”
“At the church in Oakley,” Gaston gently pulled him back as the physic pried the lady loose and laid her back upon the bed. “She was ill when I found her. I do not know how long she had been that way.”
Matthew wiped furiously at his eyes, his nose. “But I do not understand any of this,” he said. “What was she doing there? How did she get there?”
“The priest said she had come to the door, telling him that she was in trouble,” Gaston replied steadily. “Other than that, I cannot tell you any more. The only person who can supply all of the answers is your wife. But she did say something strange to me.”
Matthew looked at Gaston with his red-rimmed eyes. “She spoke to you?”
“Aye. Long enough to tell me that she could not come home.”
Matthew’s pale brows drew together. “She could not come home? What nonsense is that?”
Gaston shrugged. “Perhaps only the ramblings of a sick woman,” he said. Then he peered more closely at Matthew. “The two of you did not have a row, did you?”
“Never.”
Gaston had no reason to doubt him. He looked back at the lady on the bed. “Then it must have been her sick mind talking.”
Matthew was still in his armor. He began removing pieces, tossing them against the wall with a clatter and bangs. He was fatigued and drawn, but the sight of Alixandrea brought renewed vigor to him.
There was an odd sense of urgency to his movements and Caroline had to jump aside at one point or risk being struck by a flying piece of armor.
It smacked against the wall, leaving a gouge in Aunt Livia’s wall covering that she had ordered from Paris.
French artisans had carefully plastered the painted linen to the walls.
It was the first of its kind in the area, now with a black mark on it.
But Matthew hardly cared. He ripped off his mail and let his weapons fall where they may.
He ended up in his soiled linen tunic and leather breeches.
He could not get his greaves off without removing his boots, and he had no mind to do that yet.
He simply wanted to be near his wife without all of the fortified protection.
He kicked aside a piece of shoulder armor that was in his way, an unusual action from a man who normally took great care of his expensive protection.
“Perhaps you should sit and eat something,” Caroline had been watching his sharp movements and it concerned her. “You look as if you could use a bit of sustenance.”
Matthew shook his head. “I am not hungry.”
“Please, Matt.”
He picked up his mail hauberk from where it had fallen and tossed it back against the wall with the rest of his armor. “Perhaps later.”
Caroline looked at Gaston, who merely shook his head.
They both watched as Matthew went back over to the bed and sat his bulk upon a small stool that the physic had been using.
Taking one of Alixandrea’s hands into his great palm, he brought it to his lips and sat, staring at her, as if afraid she were going to disappear.
Caroline went back to her task of placing cooling rags on Alixandrea.
Gaston stood there a moment, knowing there was nothing further he could do.
“Matt,” he said quietly. “I shall be outside if you need me.”
Matthew turned to look at him. He had an expression on his face that Gaston had never seen before.
“I haven’t the words to thank you,” he said quietly. “Without you… she would not be here.”
Gaston’s lips twitched into an exhausted smile. “You would have done the same for me.”
“Without question. But I still cannot adequately express my gratitude.”
“No need. But I will say one thing.”
“What is that?”
“She is worth every effort.”
He quit the room, leaving Matthew flattered and oddly jealous at the same time.
*
It was snowing. At least, that was what Alixandrea thought.
In her dream, it was freezing. There was snow on the roof of the keep at Whitewell and snow inside as well.
It was in her bed. She dreamt that she could not find anything to wrap up in.
It was so cold that she was shaking. And when the stark reality of consciousness claimed her, she was shaking so badly that her teeth were smacking together.
But the chill wasn’t the reason she had awoken. Someone was talking to her, speaking in tones that could only be described as agonized. Her eyes slowly opened, moving unsteadily to the source of the sounds.
He was hobbling because one leg was broken and he was leaning heavily on crutches that his youngest son had fashioned for him.
He shouldn’t have been out of bed much less attempting to walk.
But Adam Wellesbourne was nonetheless standing beside Alixandrea’s bed, one hand clutching her clammy fingers as he offered soft prayers to a God he had forsaken long ago.
“…and I swear that if you allow this woman to live, I promise I will never again attempt to take my life as I have so often sworn to do,” he murmured.
“She has brought life back to the House of Wellesbourne. ’Twould be a cruel thing to do to Matthew if you were to take her from him.
From all of us. Please, God, hear my prayers.
Let this woman live. Alixandrea, you must live! ”
It took her a moment to realize that she was not looking at a ghost. Shocked, she opened her mouth to speak when something buzzed loudly in her right ear.
Groggily, she turned her head slightly to see Matthew’s head down on the bed beside her, snoring softly.
His big arm was thrown over her body protectively.
She could not see him very well, but he appeared to be seated, his head and upper body resting on the corner of her mattress.
And he was sleeping like the dead. She looked back at Adam, the apparition she still could hardly believe.
“Sir… Adam,” she rasped. “You are alive?”
It was most definitely a question. Adam’s eyes flew open, the dark orbs looking at her first with surprise and then with such joy that words could not adequately describe it.
“My lady,” he gasped. “You are alive!”
She blinked, slowly reorienting herself. She had a suspicion that she was at Aunt Livia’s home, but had no idea how she came to this bed. In fact, she remembered very little after Adam’s accident. Everything was a blur, seemingly weird and distant.
“Of course I am alive,” she whispered. “But, more importantly, you are alive. The last I saw, you had been badly injured.”
The conversation had snapped Matthew from a deep sleep.
His head came up, sharply, his focus instantaneous.
Such were the traits of a seasoned knight.
But the moment he saw that Alixandrea was lucid, the battle-ready expression on his face washed with such astonishment that he very nearly fell off his stool.
He grabbed her by both shoulders as if fearful she would slip away.
“You are awake,” he breathed, his gaze moving over every delicious feature of her face. “My God… you are actually awake.”
“Aye,” she wasn’t quite sure why he was so shocked.
“How do you feel?”
She blinked, becoming more oriented. But she felt strangely weak when she tried to move. “I… I am not sure,” she said softly. “Has something happened?”
Matthew put his hand on her forehead; she was no longer hot. He sighed heavily with relief, with gratitude. It was enough to bring tears to his eyes again, but he fought them. “You have been ill, love,” he said quietly. “Don’t you remember?”
She shook her head, but glanced down at the cold cloths still covering her body. She was reminded of how cold she was and she gingerly picked one up to inspect it.
“You were with fever,” he told her. “We had to do that to bring down your temperature.”
“I am freezing,” she whispered. “Please take them off.”