Chapter Forty-Three #2
Christopher smiled. “My lord, I think I like you already.”
“That is good,” Rob replied. “For someday I may need your help to explain my actions to Richard. I do intend to regain my keep, but I shan’t be able to do it as an outlaw.”
Christopher’s smile faded. “I can promise you I will do everything in my power to persuade Richard to return your holdings. He’s returned to England now and I can only assume he will be taking back England fortress by fortress.”
“He has returned from the quest?” Rob repeated; he had been out of touch a long time. “God be praised; now mayhap England can return to some normalcy.”
“One can only pray,” Christopher replied softly.
Rob scratched his scalp and buttoned his tunic. “Well, I must be running along. Our spies tell us that the Earl of Dorset is on the road this day with a load of cash and other valuables destined for John at Nottingham. I think I shall relieve him of his burden.”
His manner was so carefree and light that Christopher thought he sounded much like a naughty boy, not at all like an earl.
As Rob and Jonathan left the tent, a pretty maid entered bearing a steaming bowl.
Her soft brown eyes immediately fell on Christopher and she flushed, handing the bowl to Marianne.
Marianne was not daft; she saw the look on the maid’s face.
“Lizabetha, be pleased to meet Sir Christopher de Lohr,” she said. “We must make him well so that he might return to his wife and child. My lord, this is my niece, Lady Lizabetha du Bois.”
Christopher glanced at the woman, she was very young, younger than his wife, and pretty. She blushed virginally and lowered her gaze. Very practiced, Christopher thought. Seeing the girl made him long for Dustin all the more.
Marianne chased Lizabetha out and fed Christopher herself, a rich beef broth. He was hungry and ate the whole bowl, feeling the fuel in his veins already. He watched Marianne put the bowl away and prepare another compress for his healing wound.
“My wife must think I am dead,” he said softly.
Marianne raised her face to him. “No doubt that she does, sire, I am sorry we cannot risk sending a message.”
Christopher shook his head. “Nay, madam, I did not mean to imply that I was insistent upon sending her word. I understand your husband’s situation, and I understand John. It is just that…well, it pains me deeply to know that my wife believes I am dead.”
Marianne began to change his bandages. “I can only imagine her torment, my lord, and yours. But you will not be able to leave until your strength has returned, and that could take weeks. To travel any sooner will surely do further damage.”
He glanced down at the wound in his side, purple and puckered and scabbed. It was just below his ribcage. “I ought to have a lovely scar.”
Marianne smiled. “Hopefully, these herbs will lessen the scarring.”
“Nay, madam, I am worried over no scar. I am simply grateful for my life,” he replied, greatly fatigued again.
Marianne watched his strong, handsome face as he drifted off to sleep once again.
She could hardly believe his identity and she said a quick prayer to Fate.
Fate had brought Jonathan to the wood’s edge that day in search of battle souvenirs, instead finding a dying man.
Why had he brought him back? Even Jonathan hadn’t truly known the answer to that, but she knew Fate had brought him here so that she could heal him.
The Defender, in thanks for his life saved, surely would help her Rob get his fortress back.
Hope soared within her bosom; aye, Fate was to thank for this.
Christopher slept until noon. He was roused by a gentle voice, knowing it wasn’t Marianne’s and not surprised to see Lizabetha hovering over him, a smile on her pretty face.
“My lord, I have brought food and a razor,” she said softly. “Marianne said you lamented about needing a shave. If you will allow me, sire, I shall both feed and shave you.”
He nodded, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.
He allowed Lizabetha to prop him up with a few blankets so that he was sitting up a bit.
After the world stopped spinning, she fed him the broth of a stew that had been made from the remainder of their beef.
It was thick and delicious and he ate the entire bowl, gratefully accepting a cup of watered ale to wash it down.
The entire time, Lizabetha said not a word but smiled endlessly. He was polite but cool, for he did not want to encourage the girl and her obvious infatuation.
She lay him back once again and carefully shaved his face. He made sure she left the beard, but she cleaned it up a great deal. She even washed his hair with a bit of soap and dried him gently with a towel. He knew he looked much more presentable when she blushed. He could not help but grin.
“Your assistance is appreciated,” he said, rubbing his hand over his smooth neck. “Amazing that something as simple as a shave can improve one’s spirits.”
Her blush deepened as she collected the bowl and razor. “You are welcome, my lord,” she said. Then, her gaze lingered on him, daring to look him in the eye. “Is there anything else you require?”
It was a leading question, one that made him slightly nervous. “Nay,” he replied evenly. “You have been a great help and I appreciate it.”
Lizabetha’s gaze lingered on him, suggestively, but she said nothing more as she quit the hut. Christopher kept his gaze averted until she left, only then daring to look at the door to make sure she had truly gone. Even then, he could only roll his eyes and pray the infatuation was a passing thing.