Page 86 of Hers To Command
In the past Henry would have resented such aid from his brother, but now such help would be pointless. He could be of no use to a lord. “Ranulf? Cerdic?”
“Both are well,” Mathilde assured him. “They have the repairs to the wall and gate in hand, and are rounding up any of Roald’s mercenaries who might be lingering in the county.”
As happy as he was to hear that Ranulf and Cerdic had escaped without injury, this was another reminder that he wasn’t needed.
“I gather the tale of the defense of Ecclesford is becoming fodder for minstrels from here to London,” Nicholas said, and Henry saw the glimmer of brotherly pride in his eyes. “The brave Sir Henry rises from his deathbed to vanquish the demonic Charles De Mallemaison and the evil Roald de Sayres.”
And since Roald was dead, the dispute over Ecclesford was over. Henry could take some comfort from that during the lonely days ahead.
“Gentlemen, you should leave now,” Giselle said gently, but insistently. “Henry really must rest. You can speak with him again tomorrow.”
Nicholas and Merrick were used to giving orders, not receiving them. Nevertheless, they both nodded with acquiescence, as much as such proud men could, and obeyed Giselle’s orders as meekly as the lowliest foot soldier under their command.
Henry continued to hold Mathilde’s hand tightly. He hoped she would stay a little longer. One day, and all too soon, he would have to leave her. Until then, he wanted to feast his eyes on her, even though he was already sure he’d never forget her face.
Giselle looked at Mathilde as if she’d like to order her to go, but knew it would be useless, and instead went to the door. “I shall be below if you need anything,” she said as she glided gracefully from the chamber.
Once she was gone, Mathilde brushed a lock of hair from Henry’s forehead. “Sleep, Henry, my love, as Giselle directs. I will be here when you wake.”
In truth, he was still bone weary, but there were questions he wanted answered first. “How long?”
Her brow furrowed. “How long?”
“Since Roald…?”
“It’s been five days. After the men brought you back, Giselle gave you medicine to make sure you would sleep and stay still. You were very lucky, she said, that you didn’t kill yourself by going to fight. Why did you join the battle, Henry? And after you gave me your promise you would not?”
“I thought they’d killed you.”
“But they had not and if you had died…” Her breath caught in her throat and she looked away.
He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He never wanted to hurt her, or see her suffer. That was why she must be free, to choose a better man with better prospects, who could be the sort of husband she deserved.
“I would have wished myself dead if you had been killed!” she whispered.
He let go of her hand to caress her cheek. “Thank God I’m not, then.”
She smiled, her eyes bright, and he was both glad and anguished when she leaned down and laid her head against his shoulder. “Thank you for coming here, Henry,” she whispered, kissing the lobe of his ear, her breath warm on his face. “Thank you for helping us.”
Her heartfelt words nearly unmanned him. “Water?” he rasped. His throat was still sore, but that was not why he asked. He couldn’t bear to have her so close, saying such words.
“Of course,” she said, hurrying to pour him a cup from the ewer on the table nearby.
As she did so, he reached up and gingerly felt his wounded cheek. It was too covered with bandages to tell much, although he didn’t think it was as swollen as before. He moved to his brow bone, and felt the stitches running along its length.
“Here, my love,” she said, raising him and putting the cup to his lips. He drank, then sank down again on the pillows. “Rest now.”
Closing his eyes, he attempted to feign sleep, but he was so exhausted, he was truly asleep in a very short time.
WHEN NEXT HE WOKE,it was to find Ranulf in Mathilde’s place. His red-haired friend smiled, for once without a hint of sardonic world-weariness.
“I sent your nursemaid to eat,” he said before Henry tried to speak. “Otherwise, I fear she would starve herself looking after you. She also needs to rest, you know. The tip of that arrow did a little more than prick her skin.”
He knew it! She had been sore hurt and was only pretending for his sake—
“Not that it was life-threatening,” Ranulf hastened to add, “or would be accounted more than a flesh wound by Sir Leonard, but if she tires herself out, it could slow the healing, and she’ll have a scar.”
Henry took a deep breath and let it out slowly, while Ranulf leaned back and locked his hands about one upraised knee. “I myself fail to see the fascination in watching a man sleep.”
