Joining (39 page)

At the castle, though, she made haste to get him the help he needed, sending for Jhone and
her needles, sending for water and bandages, posting one burly guard at the bottom of the stairs to make sure the castle leech did
not
come up to their bedchamber. She fretted that she could do so little for him herself, but she did carefully get his tunic off, sat him on a stool near the fire, plied him with wine, and got most of the blood off him before Jhone arrived.

Their bedchamber became a gathering place while Wulfric was being fixed up. His parents came to fuss over him. His brother and a half dozen others, wandering in and out, came to make sure he was all right. Anne didn’t stay long, hated the sight of blood herself. Guy hovered nearby, listening to Wulfric’s account of what had happened.

And Milisant was wringing her hands because of the pain he was feeling with each dip of Jhone’s needle. She repeatedly admonished her to be more careful, repeatedly asked for reassurance that he would be all right.

She was making such a nuisance of herself that Jhone finally stopped what she was doing, pointed a finger at the door, and told her sister, “Get out!”

Milisant did leave, huffed out, but was back in less than a minute and making a nuisance of herself again. But each of his winces was driving her mad. She finally knelt before him, put her head on his chest and her arms around him. It was the only way she could offer comfort at the moment.

Nigel found them like that when he arrived, with Wulfric’s cheek resting on the top of Milisant’s head. Jhone rolled her eyes at Nigel as he
raised a questioning brow at her. Milisant hadn’t heard him come in, so wasn’t aware that he was now standing there, watching Jhone work.

Until he said in all seriousness, “I could probably sew a much straighter line—if I could manage to ply a needle around all that blood and gore.”

Jhone’s mouth dropped open. She simply stared at her father. She really hadn’t believed Milisant’s account of his sewing abilities, but now…

Milisant, however, hearing only the description he’d just given, wailed, “I am going to be sick.”

“So am I,” Wulfric agreed.

Which had Milisant bristling, “There! You see what you are doing to him? Stop it!”

“Making him forget to notice the pain, if you ask me,” Nigel said, and chuckled, moving over to stand out of the way with Guy.

The two fathers smiled at each other as they watched their children. A remark or two was made, but didn’t carry far enough for everyone to hear other than a word or two, words like “knew” and “stubborn” and “just a matter of time.”

Finally Jhone was finished, the bandages applied. Wulfric was dressed again and refusing to go to bed in the middle of the day just because he had a few stitches. He did agree to sit back in the bed, though, if Milisant would join him there. She shooed everyone else out, barred the door, and did just that, even snuggled next to him, an arm across his waist, her head on his shoulder.

She didn’t want to talk of what had happened anymore, even though he didn’t know the whole of it yet. He had given his account of it to his father, but it was from his point of view, which didn’t include Walter de Roghton, since he had been dragged away before Wulfric arrived.

But there would be time and enough to tell him the rest later, when he was feeling better. And she was sure he would agree with her, too, that there would be no need to tell his mother that an old, jealous suitor of hers had nigh wrecked all their lives with his far-fetched ambitions.

“Did I tell you yet that I love you?” she asked after a while of comfortable silence.

She had wound down herself, finally, was relaxed now, leaning there against him. The room was warm, quiet, and she had been thinking only vaguely about bringing his dinner to him in bed.
He
might not think he needed bed rest, but
she
disagreed with that. And she was confident that she would be winning at least half of their disagreements from now on, if they even had any more that pertained to other than health.

“I
think you told me about a hundred times on our walk back to Shefford—aye, I think you told me already.”

She smiled at his teasing. “You will have to forgive me. ‘Tis just very new to me, this feeling.”

“Aye, for myself as well, but we can muddle through the intricacies of it together.”

She kissed him lightly on the chest, snuggled
closer, then said out of the blue, “I want to have a baby.”

He burst out laughing, then moaned because it hurt. After a moment he said, “I trust you can wait the requisite time for such things to occur naturally?”

She sighed. “If I must.”

He glanced down at her closer then. “You were not jesting? You really want a baby?”

“Aye—if he looks like you.”

“We can throw him back if he does not, I suppose, but I would rather
she
look like you.”

She grinned at him. “We can always have one of each.”

He stared, then rolled his eyes and chuckled.
“Jesu,
I had not once thought of that, that twins will now be a possibility in my children.” And then tenderly, “You have brought more to this marriage than I bargained for.”

“Twins are a surprise and a handful,” she remarked. “Never a bargain.”

“I was referring to love.”

“Oh.”

She blushed. She beamed inwardly. She hugged him tighter. If she got any happier, she was afraid she was going to burst with it.

“We could begin now,” he said after a while more.

“Begin what?”

“Making that baby.”

She sat forward, smiled, but shook her head at him. “Oh, no, you will be having your healing time first. Do not even think of doing a single thing that is strenuous until your stitches are removed.”

“I find naught strenuous about making babies.”

She almost giggled, he said that so indignantly. She did lean back into him.

“Mayhap when your pain is gone then,” she conceded.

“What pain?” he asked, straight-faced.

She did giggle this time. And kissed him lightly, gently, but with infinite feeling. And then got out of there posthaste before this became one of the times that he won the disagreement. She
would
see to his health. But mayhap later tonight he would be feeling better…

“First rate romance,”
New York Daily News

“Johanna Lindsey has a sure touch where
historical romance is concerned.”
Newport News Daily Press

“She manages to etch memorable characters
in every novel she writes.”
Chicago Sun-Times

“Johanna Lindsey transports us…. We
have no choice but to respond to the
humor and the intensity.”
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“The charm and appeal of her characters
are infectious.”
Publishers Weekly

“Long may she continue to write.”
CompuServe Romance Reviews

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