Lady Gallant (24 page)

"My lord," she began.

"I'll call my guards."

Clasping her hands in front of her, she mimicked Arthur by sticking out her chin. "If you do, I—I'll wait until you fall down from loss of blood and come back."

"God's blood."

"It's yours that is sprinkled about this chamber, my lord."

He bit the inside of his mouth. "Why don't you run from me like you do from your father?"

"If you don't let me tend your wounds, you won't be able to watch over your father at all."

She waited, but there was no blast of obscenities, no threat to hurl her into a dung heap. Silence was as much acquiescence as Christian de Rivers would give her, and Nora took it. Moving slowly so as not to invite rejection, she placed one hand on Christian's chest and braced his back with her arm. Exerting only slight pressure, she lowered him to rest beside his father.

Nora didn't give him a chance to change his mind, but set about immediately removing the stained bandages and clothing. She'd tended many an injured pup and stray cat, but never a man. It was unnerving, too, the way this one ignored her. He lay quietly, allowing her to touch him but not looking at her. Either he turned his head to watch his father or he stared up at the velvet canopy that topped the bed.

She was beginning to know him, Nora thought as she realized his blank stare concealed a maelstrom. She longed to ask what troubled him, yet at the same time she feared to know. He traveled paths of darkness, did Christian de Rivers, black alleys peopled with phantoms and beasts in human form, such as Jack Midnight. She wavered between the desire to call him from his world of darkness and the urge to flee.

She left him to request supplies from one of the serving men who waited outside the Earl's chamber. When she returned with a basket, Christian was lying as she had left him. She produced scissors and began to cut away his doublet and shirt. Once the garments were in shreds, she peeled them away from his chest, then stopped with her hands poised over him.

She was an evil person. She was devouring the sight of him as though he were a cup of sack and she a thirsty pilgrim. She couldn't prevent her eyes from stealing glances at the way his flesh stretched tight over his ribs, then sank as it topped his lowest rib and descended to his waist. Perspiration formed on her brow, and she patted it with her sleeve before removing the remnants of his shirt.

Next she pulled off his boots. As she tossed them to the floor, her hand came to rest on his ankle. His flesh was cold, and she flushed, contrite at the way she hesitated to remove his hose when he so obviously needed her help. Biting her lower lip, she plucked at the laces at the side of his hip. The material tugged, drawing tight over his codpiece, and she finally gained his attention.

His hand grabbed her wrist, and she met his bleak stare.

"Sweeting," he said, "if I weren't in Hell, I would be glad to let you continue. Turn away."

When he called her back, she found him lying beneath the sheet, his body clearly outlined by its white folds. She lifted the sheet a fraction of an inch, sure that he would make some terrible jest. He surprised her by pulling the cover back to expose his thigh while casting a worried glance at his father. Chiding herself once more for her lack of fortitude, Nora set about cleaning the gash in his thigh. As she wiped away dried blood, she realized the wound would have to be stitched, as well as the one on his arm.

She busied herself gathering needle, thread, and cloths. No-ticing a bottle lying in the basket, she remembered the serving man's comment that there was sleeping potion among the other supplies. The dosage was written on the outside of the bottle. She poured a dash of the liquid in a cup of water and held the cup out to Christian.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I have to stitch your wounds."

"That's not what I asked."

"A sleeping draft."

"No."

"I will hurt you."

"Which will hurt worse, do you think—a little embroidery, or waking up and finding him dead?"

She set the cup aside and took up her needle. Unlike her injured puppies and cats, he gave no sign of his pain beyond a tightening of his mouth as she closed the wounds. The whole business was accomplished in silence. By the time she finished binding the thigh and arm, Nora could almost believe he hadn't noticed what she was doing at all.

"He doesn't stir," he said as she straightened.

"When a creature is wounded, its body sleeps in order to husband strength for healing."

"Or to die."

She couldn't think of a believable lie, so she remained quiet. Christian stirred; he raised himself on his elbows and took hold of the sheet that covered him.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I need clothing, and I have inquiries afoot that need seeing to. God's blood, woman, do you think this attack is a chance happening? It comes on the heels of Bonner's attempt to take me and break all the bones in my body one at a time."

She didn't answer. She simply put her hands on his bare chest and shoved.

He fought her. "Get your hands off me or I'll—"

"You're weaker than a newborn pup."

"And that's the only reason you'd dare defy me, you sniveling mouse."

She pressed him down in the bed and straightened the sheet that had fallen to his groin. He reached for the cover again, but she grabbed his wrists and forced them down to either side of his head. His strength gave way suddenly, and she plopped down on his chest. Her nose bumped his shoulder hard enough to sting. She lifted her head to find him furious at being subdued so easily. Her nose throbbed and itched, or she might have shrunk from him. Instead, she was reduced to holding him down with both hands while wriggling her nose in an effort to prevent a sneeze. Christian stopped fighting her and stared, his mouth falling open at the dance her nose was performing. Nora made a little squeak, turned her head, and sneezed.

Mortified, she buried her head in the crook of her shoulder. Her face was hot with embarrassment, but she lifted it because she couldn't remain perched on Christian's naked chest forever.

He was lying beneath her without protest now, his wrists no longer flexing and twisting to get free. His gaze, still flat and shadowed, traveled over her features, and the barest of smiles formed on his lips.

" 'Untimely grinning is the silliest sin,' " he said. His smile vanished, and he closed his eyes. "You've cost me what strength I had left, damn you."

Nora pressed her advantage. "I will keep vigil for you, my lord. I give you my word, before God, I'll wake you at the slightest change."

She caught a glimpse of dark violet as he tried to open his eyes.

"I command lords and cutpurses, ladies and bawds," he said. "Why is it that I find myself surrendering to a mouse?"

She released him, relief flooding her to the bone. "Mayhap it is as you said, and I am but a dragon in the guise of a mouse."

"Promise. No bleeding, no physicians."

"I promise."

As she gave her word, Christian's body seemed to release its tension. He turned his head toward his father. His lashes fluttered, then lay still.

Nora heard his breathing deepen and knew that he was asleep. Drawing a chair to the bed, she settled herself to watch both men. Hours passed during which she tended them and struggled to find an answer to her own predicament. Sometime during the day Hext returned with the Earl's steward, and she accepted their gratitude for convincing Christian to rest.

Their gratitude vanished when she objected to the entry of the Earl's three learned doctors. Sensing a battle, Hext retreated along with the steward. Harpylike, the physicians descended on the sickbed, their thin fingers twitching with eagerness.

One, a spider with a beard that reached to his knees, whispered to the other two. "At least the fires are high. They might keep out the evil vapors." The spider lifted his brows at Nora and bowed. "Hobart Dogdyke, physician, Mistress Becket. The steward made us aware of your kind offer to nurse the Earl and his heir."

The physician's voice rose in a question, and Nora could see the dubious and scandalized expression he tried to hide. Suddenly aware of the consequences of her mad flight, she twisted her hands together and inclined her head in silent acknowledgment of his words.

"This is Thimbleby, my colleague," Dogdyke went on, "who studied with me in Padua. And that is Clopton the apothecary. If you will pardon us, mistress, we will bleed the Earl now."

Dogdyke bustled past Nora, followed by Thimbleby, who carried a bag. The apothecary left and returned with several metal basins, while Nora looked on with growing horror. Dogdyke possessed an air of authority that confused her, but she couldn't break her promise to Lord Montfort. She would rather die.

Dogdyke fished in the bag and withdrew a lancet. "I told Lord Montfort," he said to her, "that most people have too much blood in them. Reducing it relieves the body, and when I examine the blood as it flows, I can better perceive the patient's malady."

"I—I forbid it," Nora said.

Wiping his sharpened blade on a cloth, Dogdyke watched the apothecary bare the Earl's chest. "Fear not, mistress. The Earl's health is under the influence of the planet Saturn, and I have a new tincture of bitter apple, mercury, turpentine—"

"I said no!" She swept up to the physician and thrust her arm between Dogdyke and the Earl. "No."

"The Earl was left in my charge," Dogdyke said. He edged closer to the Earl, his lancet at the ready. "I can't let you interfere and cost me the life of my most important patient."

Nora stumbled as Dogdyke shouldered her out of the way.

He bent over the Earl while Thimbleby and the apothecary moved to stand between Nora and the bed. She heard the Earl moan.

"He's waking," she exclaimed. "Stop."

No one paid attention, but Christian stirred at the sound. He rose on one arm to find the doctors looming over his father.

"Bloody carrion," he said, his words slurred. "Get you gone from here."

He heaved himself up on his knees and grabbed Dogdyke by the throat. The movement must have torn his wounded thigh, because he gasped and lurched to the side. He caught himself before he collapsed on top of his father, and Thimbleby jumped into the fray by clutching Christian's wounded arm. The apothecary let out a terrified whimper and fled.

Nora stared at what her dithering had caused. Christian fought the two men, cursing and bleeding all the while. If he lost, Dogdyke would bleed his father and Christian would be next. She looked around for something to use as a weapon, and found Christian's sword in its scabbard tilted against a chest in the corner. Rushing to it, she unsheathed the weapon, then hurled herself at the doctors.

Nora gripped the sword hilt with both hands and hit Thimbleby on his rear with the flat of the blade. The doctor yowled and brought his hands around to protect his buttocks. She lifted the sword and bashed him on the head. Thimbleby plummeted to his knees and fell on his face. She clambored over his back, hefted the sword again, and brought it crashing down on the head of Dogdyke.

The blow made no impression on the fervent doctor, who was busy peeling Christian's hands from his throat. Dogdyke fastened his own hand over Christian's wounded arm and squeezed. Crying out, Christian froze, enabling Dogdyke to tear the choking hands from his neck.

"You are under the influence of evil humors, my lord." Dogdyke shoved Christian, and Christian fell on his injured leg with a moan.

Fury suffused Nora with strength. She swung the sword, whirling it over her head and dashing in against the physician's thick skull. Dogdyke teetered, and his scrawny body tilted toward the Earl. Christian's arm shot out, and he sank his fist into the man's gut. Dogdyke backpedaled, and Nora finished him off by tripping him with the sword. The doctor crashed to the floor and lay shaking his head.

Nora stood over him, sword poised. "Out."

Dogdyke opened his mouth. She slapped his arm with the sword, and the physician screamed. Flailing his arms and legs, he managed to get them moving in unison and burst out of the chamber on all fours.

Nora followed him, slammed the door shut, and bolted it. Dropping the sword, she returned to the bed to hover over the Earl. Christian lay with his arm draped protectively over his father. Pale, his skin damp with sweat and his mouth tight with pain, he nevertheless managed a weak chuckle before sinking onto his back.

"God's cock, what a fighter," he said.

Satisfying herself that the Earl was holding his own, Nora rounded the bed to check Christian. As she did so, she realized what her fury hadn't allowed her to notice in the scuffle. He was naked and bleeding all over the sheets.

She shut her eyes while her face heated like a baked tart. When no ribald comments were hurled at her head, she opened her eyes. Christian lay on his back, one leg bent and the wounded one out straight. He clutched the wounded leg with his good arm, while he kept his face turned away from her. Contrite, Nora realized he was in too much pain and far too weak to do anything.

"Drowsy syrup," she said, her embarrassment forgotten.

She snatched the bottle of sleeping draft from a table and poured another dose into a cup of water. Giving Christian no opportunity to refuse, she crept up on him while his eyes were shut in pain and forced the cup to his mouth. His eyes flew open, and so did his mouth. She tipped the contents down his throat. He coughed and sputtered, but he was no match for her, and she won. Most of the liquid went down his throat before he could stop her.

"I'll flay your arse," he swore, "you sneaking, sniveling little witch."

She skittered away from him and waited for the potion to take effect. He tried to rise from the bed, but his arms folded.

"Damn your soul, Nora Becket. Promise. Promise."

"I already promised, and I didn't betray you. Please, my lord, rest, and trust me."

"Trust a mouse."

He pointed a finger at her, and she watched it weave back and forth.

"Trust is for children and fools," he said. "Are you going to make me a fool?"