Page 79 of Hers To Command
“And you went by yourself.”
“Yes, by myself.” She wasn’t ashamed or sorry for what she’d done, even if her plan hadn’t worked. “I didn’t want to put anyone else at risk.”
“You could have been killed.”
“Yes.”
“So although you were willing to risk your life for me and everyone in Ecclesford, you would have me stay in here like a child, waiting for the battle to end.”
“You’re hurt,” she pointed out, trying not to reveal too much of her distress. She didn’t want him to think he was as helpless as a child, but he would never again be the same powerful warrior he was when he arrived in Ecclesford.
His expression softened. “I know that I’m wounded, and I know you’re concerned for me, Mathilde. But can’t you see? I can’t stay here like an old woman. Imustdo this, or I might as well lie on that bed and never get up again. I want to lead the garrison against the man who hurt you so much. Who’s trying to steal what’s rightfully yours and who foolishly thinks he can defeat you and those who love you.”
He took her right hand in his. “I would rather die as the garrison commander of Ecclesford defending the woman I love than live another twenty years.” He tried to smile in the old, merry way. “And once my brother got over the shock of my chivalrous end, he might be proud of me at last.”
Even now, he would try to lighten her sorrow, and her heart broke anew as she looked at him standing so resolutely before her. She studied his bandaged face and saw, deep in his eyes, a plea.
He was a proud warrior, a commander of men. Losing to Charles De Mallemaison must have been as devastating to his pride as the wound to his face. As humiliating for him as Roald’s attack had been for her. He, too, had been made to feel weak and helpless, had had his self-worth stripped from him and his pride stolen away. How could she deny him the chance to regain that pride? To be again a warrior, a commander of men? She couldn’t. As she loved, honored and respected him, she couldn’t. As he had helped her recover her self-worth, she must help him now, no matter how afraid she would be.
Despite her acceptance of what must be, for his sake, it wasn’t easy to speak. “Very well, Henry,” she said. “I will help you.”
His shoulders relaxed, telling her how tense he’d been.
With his good arm, he pulled her close and held her tight.
“I’m sure the sight of their commander will inspire our men,” she whispered, determined not to show him her fear, to be as brave as he as she helped her lover prepare once more for battle.
From the chest holding his clothes, she fetched his breeches, then a shirt and the gambeson, and helped him dress, mindful of his swollen cheek. She gently eased his clothing over his head and carefully maneuvered his left arm into the sleeve. She lowered his mail hauberk over the gambeson, followed by his scarlet surcoat. Henry bit his lip and blanched as he moved, but no sound escaped his lips. Kneeling she tied his leg armor around his shins.
“You’ll have to bind my left arm in place.”
She mutely nodded and got a wide strip of linen to use as a sling. When she was finished, he said, “My helmet? Or is it too damaged?”
She retrieved it from the chest. “I had the armorer repair it.”
Henry took it in his right hand and examined it. “He did a good job.”
Mathilde said nothing. She found it difficult to look at that helmet. Whatever Henry thought, it still bore enough evidence of the attack to upset her.
“The visor should hide most of the bandages,” he noted with approval. “No need to scare the troops, eh, my beloved? There won’t be room for my coif, but I’ll manage without it. Shouldn’t be as sweaty around my neck, at least.”
Oh, heaven preserve him, how she loved him! And feared for him. Yet she couldn’t—wouldn’t—say anything to dissuade him. She must be brave for him, as he was being brave for her.
He gazed at her with tender sympathy, then reached out to caress her cheek. “I know this isn’t easy for you, beloved, but Imustgo.”
“I love you more than I can say,” she whispered, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall.
“As I love you,” he vowed, and then he drew her close, and kissed her.
“SIRHENRY!It’s Sir Henry!”
The excited murmur raced first through the hall and then the men waiting anxiously in the courtyard as Henry, with Mathilde by his side, made his way toward the battlements. Ranulf’s men digging beneath the wall heard the news and paused in their efforts, until Ranulf reminded them of its importance and urged them to work with a will. They were nearly through and it was imperative that they reach the other side first.
Despite Henry’s resolve and Mathilde’s support, the walk to the battlements wasn’t easy for him. His whole body ached, and it was difficult to breathe through the helmet and bandages around his face. But when he saw the delight on the men’s faces, and their relief, he was more than glad he’d made the effort.
“Well met, Sir Henry,” Cerdic said with a grin when they joined him on the wall walk. “I am glad to see thee, as I never thought I would be, and gladder still that we come to battle again at last. Hiding behind walls is not to my taste.”
“Nor mine,” Henry replied, squeezing Mathilde’s hand as he found his balance. His legs were weak from inactivity, but without his coif, he didn’t dare lean on the merlon where an archer might see him.
