Chapter 6 – The Place of White Stones #5
This seemed an outrageous lie. But again, Ophele hesitated, doubting herself.
She had been reading Harmony of Elements, a healer’s guide to common ailments, but how was she to know whether Remin had taken in bad air or bad water?
Was there such a thing as bad fire? He certainly felt hot enough; even though he was shivering, his skin was hot and dry, and after a few token noises about kicking her out of the bath chamber, he just leaned forward and let her scrub his back with his elbows over his knees and his head hanging.
He didn’t even have the energy to argue.
That was a bad sign. Was it too much fire, burning him out? The book said an imbalance of the four elements—fire, water, earth, and air—was the cause of illness, and it felt as if all the fire in the world was blazing under his skin.
“I don’t think you ought to come to supper,” she said, watching him grimace his way through a second cup of tea. “Wouldn’t you like to go to bed? I’ll make you some toast later, if you’re hungry.”
“All right,” he agreed, which was downright alarming. She had never once known him to miss a meal. He was asleep almost the moment his head touched the pillow, and Ophele covered him in furs and blankets and built up the fire.
“His Grace will not be joining us,” she said as she came into the solar and shut the door, so as not to disturb him. Justenin was setting the table for supper. “Miche, you are well enough yourself, I hope? And the men that will go with you?”
“Not even a tickle in my throat,” Miche promised, without his customary levity.
“Though that was what we were about today, making sure the men who will march are well. We planned to bring tonics and medicine anyway, in case there are ill or wounded with Huber. It’s no trouble to take a little more. ”
Like Remin, he was trying not to worry her, but Ophele understood this was another one of those dreadful choices that she was glad she did not have to make.
It would be awful if Miche and his men were to get sick in the wilderness in the middle of winter; if another storm came, they really might all die, hundreds of them.
But Huber and his men and dozens, maybe hundreds of villagers might be out there, sick and hurt and needing help.
Would they not go to rescue them because Miche and his men might get sick?
No. They had to go.
“Is there anything else you need?” she asked, allowing Leonin to seat her.
“No, we’ve everything but the horses and men loaded up, my lady. And that reminds me, Auber sends his thanks for the use of your horses,” he added. “They have been a great help. I expect His Grace meant to talk to you about that.”
“You were the one that brought them here,” she replied tartly.
At first, she had been very upset when she realized exactly how thoroughly Miche had plundered Aldeburke; she never dreamed he might interpret the phrase Lady Pavot’s belongings so liberally.
If the Hurrells ever came back, the lady’s vengeance would be terrible.
But it was true that those horses were badly needed in Tresingale; they had only been able to spare her elderly little Eugene for hauling water, after all.
And these horses would ensure the comfort of her people, and if they went to fetch Huber, perhaps save lives.
“There were some stunners,” Davi agreed, setting heartily to his meal.
“I saw a fair bit of horseflesh when I was growing up, and a couple you brought back must be fit for a king’s stable.
Did you see that big dun fellow with the white blaze?
He looks as if he would go all day and still have the fire to kick you in the face. ”
“An evil eye,” Miche agreed. “But I’ve never minded a horse with a temper—”
“That’s—that’s Regal,” Ophele said faintly. “You took Regal? That’s Julot’s hunter, he cost fifty gold sovereigns, no one is allowed to touch him. You said…you said you only brought back carthorses.”
“Oh, did I?” Miche asked innocently. “I never had much of an eye for horses. So he’s a good one, is he?”
Ohhhhh, she just bet he had an eye for horses.
Ophele had known most of Aldeburke’s horses well; she had spent a fair amount of time hiding in the hayloft, after all, and had made friends with the gentler ones.
It hadn’t occurred to her to wonder about Miche’s other acquisitions until now.
Bad enough that he had stolen all the linens.
Literally all of them, Azelma said he even stripped the sheets off the beds.
“There isn’t a gold one, is there?” she asked in sudden anxiety. The golden Gevalle was the finest horse in the stable, a mare with large, soft eyes, of noble lineage and nobler temper, admired by all, and was Lady Hurrell’s riding horse.
“You know, I believe there was,” Miche replied, and she had to resist the urge to bury her face in her hands and moan. “Gentle as a kitten. You have many fine horses, my lady.”
He met her gaze with affectionate insolence and a jerk of his chin, daring her to deny it.
“A Gevalle mare,” she told Davi, looking away in confusion.
It…it was true, everything in Aldeburke was hers, on paper, and though she had always been told she owed it to the Hurrells for what her mother had done, in the end, they hadn’t even wanted it, had they?
“They always said she had a very fine gait…”
Lady Hurrell had named the mare Innuendo.
The name suited the lady better than the horse, in Ophele’s opinion; she had never liked it.
And sometimes she had slipped into the paddocks to pet the gentler horses, and that golden mare had looked like a butterfly going over the grass. Even at a gallop, she had moved like a…
“Dancer,” she said, meeting Miche’s challenging gaze with a sudden burst of defiance. “Her name is Dancer.”
* * *
“No. You are not going,” Ophele said the next morning, shutting the bedroom door in the face of an unhappy Magne and moving to block it with her body. For the second time in two days, she was putting her foot down.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Remin rasped, and she certainly hoped not. He looked as if he had been dead a week before someone dug him up, and his voice had dropped an entire croaking octave.
“I don’t care,” she said obstinately, though her heart was thumping as she backed into the door, preparing to physically resist him.
She had never defied him like this before, and he knew so much more about…
everything, she couldn’t help second-guessing herself.
“Remin, just sit down, I can tell Davi or Leonin to go, or I could go get Ju—”
“Ophele, move,” he said tiredly, and his black brows lowered as she moved in front of the doorknob. “I am not playing with you.”
“Neither am I. Remin, no!” she cried, pushing at his hands. “Tell me what’s so important that you have to go! You’re going to get even sicker, and I don’t—no!”
He was gentle, but he dragged her out of the way with one hand and gave her a push into the room behind them, opening the door to find Magne still on the other side, popeyed with terror.
“Magne, go get my—wife, what are you doing?” Remin demanded, looking down in astonishment as he found himself dragging Ophele behind him. Her arms were wrapped tight around his middle, and she was digging in her heels.
“I am going with you. Just like this. I swear to the stars, if you go outside, I will follow you all day. Magne, don’t you dare move.”
Her cheeks were blazing with fury and embarrassment.
Ophele didn’t need Lady Verr to tell her that proper lords and ladies did not wrestle before the servants, and she had never dreamed that Remin could be so…
so…wildly unreasonable. Poor Magne vibrated with the undecided terror of a rabbit between the conflicting orders of Remin Grimjaw and the Star Lady, and hugging Remin was like clutching an oven.
“Let go of me this instant.” Remin was getting angry too. He was breathing hard, and his face was flushed red, and she almost flinched as he straightened up and glared. “I will not—”
But his breath caught, and he exploded into a fit of coughing so violent, Ophele had to shift from holding him back to holding him up. And while he was helpless, she darted a glare of such venomous ferocity at Magne that he sidled out of the doorway to hide around the corner.
“You know you wouldn’t let me stir out of bed if I had just done that,” she said when Remin was done, heaving himself upright with his eyes streaming.
It was an effort to keep her voice from wobbling.
She wanted to win this argument with the power of logic, but she was so worried that she could feel tears starting in her eyes.
“Remin, please. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.
But you are too ill to go out, you know you are. ”
“Fine,” he said hoarsely, and did not resist as she shepherded him back to bed. “A bit more sleep and then I’ll be better.”
“I’m sure you will,” she agreed, pulling back the blankets.
“It’s just a cough,” he muttered, falling between the covers. His eyes were already closing. “During the war, we used to stand in the snow and cough at each other…”
“Yes, I know,” she soothed, brushing his shaggy hair back off his forehead and letting her hand rest there. Hot. So hot. “You were all very brave.”
He barely stirred as she pulled off his boots and wrestled him out of his breeches, to make sure he didn’t go wandering.
And while she had his clothes, she also confiscated his key to his dressing room, tucking it into her pocket.
Pulling on her morning gown, she slipped into the hall and locked the door behind her.
It wouldn’t keep him in—there was another key on the mantle, if he wanted out—but she would take no chance of someone coming upon him while he was so ill, and trying to do him harm.
“Magne,” she said softly, beckoning him over. “I’m sorry you heard us quarreling. His Grace is ill. You are well, I hope?”