Page 64 of Hers To Command
Fear coiled in Mathilde’s belly, like a snake ready to strike at her heart. “Is he badly hurt?” she asked, and this time, there was a quaver in her voice.
“I don’t know, my lady,” Ranulf answered, and she heard truth in his steady voice.
“How did it happen?” She swallowed hard. “An arrow?”
“No. He went out into the fighting beyond the gates.”
Mathilde halted, looking at Ranulf with horror. “Beyond the gates?”
“When he saw how the battle was going, he went to join his men and left the defenses to me.” He gave her a weary, compassionate smile. “He’s a foolhardy, if courageous, fellow, my lady,” he said as he hurried ahead of her to open the door to the hall.
“He’s the bravest man I know,” she replied, stepping into the hall and one of her nightmares—a hellish vision of blood and wounded, moaning men. She reached for Ranulf’s arm, clutching it, fighting not to be sick from the smell, let alone the sight.
She must be strong. She would be strong for Henry.
Cerdic appeared at her elbow, and he, at least, looked unhurt. “Where is Henry?” she asked him. “Is he badly hurt?”
“Giselle had him taken to his chamber. She’s tending to him herself.”
Mathilde told herself that was to be expected. It didn’t mean his wound was mortal. “You’re not hurt?”
“Nay.” He looked as if he would say more, but she didn’t linger. At that moment, Henry was all in all. She gathered up her skirts and hurried to the stairs leading upward.
When she had disappeared from sight, Cerdic looked at Ranulf. “Did you tell her?”
“I did not have the heart.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MATHILDE CAMEto a breathless halt outside the door of Henry’s chamber. What if Ranulf and Cerdic had been lying to her, and Henry was dead inside? What if his wounds were serious enough to kill him? What if they had brought him to this chamber so that the servants wouldn’t see his body and spread the disheartening word that Sir Henry had been killed?
She told herself they wouldn’t do that. Surely they wouldn’t do that….
Swallowing hard, she eased open the door to the chamber. From her place by the bed, Giselle rose and turned so that her body blocked the sight of the Henry lying behind her.
A fear greater than any Mathilde had ever known, even in Roald’s detestable embrace, threatened to engulf her. Her whole body trembled and her knees went as weak as damp rushes.
“Is he…is he dead?” she managed to whisper, although her throat was so dry with dread, she could scarcely do more than croak the words.
“No,” her sister answered.
Mathilde let out her pent-up breath, but fear still clutched her heart and seemingly the rest of her body, too, because Giselle’s expression remained grave and she didn’t move aside.
“What is it?” Mathilde asked, clasping her hands and trying to still their shaking as she moved closer to the bed. “Why are you hiding him?”
Giselle came forward and took her sister firmly by the shoulders. “He’s gravely wounded, but he is alive,” she said softly, gently, with infinite tenderness before she moved aside.
Henry lay on his back, his head swathed in bandages, save for his left eye, his nostrils and his half-open mouth. She could see his chest rising and falling as he breathed, but otherwise, there were no signs of life.
A primitive cry of pure anguish rose in her throat; again she forced it back, and after a long, heart-wrenching moment, still struggling between agony that he was so badly wounded and hope because he wasn’t dead, she stopped staring at Henry to gaze, searchingly, into her sister’s grief-stricken eyes.
She took a deep, trembling breath. “Tell me all, Giselle. How badly is he wounded?”
“He was struck in the face, by a mace I think, and his left shoulder is seriously hurt.”
To be hit with a mace, and in the face…But he wore a helmet. “His armor—?”
“If not for that, he would be dead. His visor saved his life, but it was pushed into his cheek and brow by the blow. His right cheekbone is broken, he’s lost three upper teeth and his brow was deeply cut. His left shoulder took a severe jarring and now moves too freely. I fear muscles were torn from the bone. I doubt he’ll be able to hold a shield again. I cannot tell if his right eye is damaged or not. The flesh around it is too swollen. I stitched the cut and did my best to set the cheekbones.” Giselle’s eyes filled with pity and sorrow. “I fear he will be disfigured, Mathilde.”
