Page 78 of Hers To Command
“You don’t need to torture me,” Ranulf muttered, pulling his arm free. “I was trying to spare you, since she returned unharmed. Roald didn’t touch her.”
Relief flooded through Henry, until he realized Ranulf wasn’t finished.
“He gave her to Charles De Mallemaison.
De Mallemaison? Sweet Christ!
“But she fought him off and ran.” Ranulf’s sardonic smile appeared. “Apparently she set the lout on fire.”
“Fire?” Henry gasped.
“She attacked him with a candle stand after she lost her daggers.” Ranulf stroked his beard. “Like I said, quite a woman.”
“Daggers?”
“You don’t think she was fool enough to go unarmed, do you? But even when she lost her weapons, she used what was at hand just as Sir Leonard taught us.” He coolly raised a brow. “It must be gratifying to have a woman like that care about you.”
It was—and humbling, and heartbreaking. “Go now, Ranulf.”
“Very well,” he agreed, rising. “The ladies will not be pleased if I stay much longer anyway, and there’ll be hell to pay if you’re exhausted when they return. I would rather not risk their wrath.”
He sauntered to the door, then turned back with one of the few genuinely happy and sincere smiles Henry had ever seen him give anyone. “I’m damned glad you’re not dead, Henry.”
Henry said nothing as his friend left the room, although in his heart he believed it would have been better to die in battle defending Mathilde than live without her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
DURING THE NEXTfew days, as Roald seemed content to pin his hopes on undermining the wall, Mathilde spent as much time as she could with Henry. When he was awake, she helped him to eat and watched as he slowly recovered from the worst of his wounds. As the swelling in his face diminished and he was able to talk with more ease and clarity, they spoke of many things, including their childhoods—Mathilde’s that had been so happy, Henry’s that had not. She learned that his father had gambled away their wealth and lost the family estates. Nicholas had taken over the father’s role and, she gathered, carried out that duty with rather a heavy and unfeeling hand, betrothing their sister against her will, and sending Henry off to be trained by another man. Marianne had thwarted his plans, however, and was happily wed.
Henry sounded as if he’d enjoyed his time with Sir Leonard, although his mentor sounded like a harsh teacher to her. It made her wonder what sort of man his brother must be, if Henry preferred Sir Leonard’s martial household. All in all, it must have been a cold, loveless youth; was it any wonder then, if such a handsome young man should seek warmth and comfort in the arms of women? Had she not sought warmth and comfort, too? And she had far less reason.
She helped Giselle tend to his wounds, and although they weren’t as severe as she feared, Mathilde was well aware that Henry would never be the same again. Henry never talked about his injuries, though; instead, he asked about the other wounded, and spent some portion of every day with Ranulf and Cerdic, who were now sharing the command of the garrison. Cerdic was in charge of the defenses, while Ranulf guided the efforts of their men digging beneath the wall, trying to break through before Roald’s forces. Henry had asked Mathilde to come the moment either Ranulf’s men broke through, or if Roald’s men attacked the gate again, so that he could watch the confrontation from the window of his chamber.
When Mathilde was not with him, she supervised the distribution of food and mediated the conflicts that arose from too many people in too small an area. Everyone was tense, and even the animals seemed short-tempered.
So it was almost a relief when, finally, Ranulf came to tell her that his men were nearly through the wall. Cerdic’s men were gathering on the battlements, ready to attack from above when Roald realized what was afoot. They were keeping their heads low and moving quietly so that Roald and his army wouldn’t guess what was about to happen.
Mathilde ran to Henry’s chamber, to find him already standing by the bed, clad in a long linen shirt that reached to his knees, his face and shoulder still swathed in bandages.
“They’re nearly through, aren’t they?” he asked. “Cerdic and his men are massing on the wall.”
“You should have waited for my help to get out of bed,” she chided, with that pang of guilt she always felt when she saw his bandaged wounds.
“I’m not going to watch the battle from here.”
She tried not to look upset, but if he found it too taxing even to stand…. “Let me help you back into bed.”
“I’m going to lead the garrison from the battlements,” he said with firm resolution. “I want the men to see me. I want Roald to see me and hear my voice as I call out my orders. I want him to know I’m not dead.”
He couldn’t. He was still too weak—but that was not a word she would use. “You’re not yet well enough to be on your feet for any length of time.”
“If you can go by yourself to Roald de Sayres and demand his surrender, I can don my mail and command the garrison from the battlements.”
She clutched the post of the bed. How had he found out about that failed effort? “Who told you?”
“Are you going to deny it?”
He was so certain, there was no point trying even if she had considered it. But she wouldn’t lie to Henry. “No, I’m not. I did go to Roald and tell him he should surrender. I hoped to convince him he couldn’t defeat us.”
