Jenna Jaxon - Time Enough to Love 03 (12 page)

“Ahhhh!”
Would the cursed thing never move? Sweat popped out on his brow and slid down into his eyes. He shook his head and tried again. Gripping the bar until his fingers must sink into it, he gave a huge jerk, and finally the iron rod inched toward him. He took hold of it with his whole hand, lifted, and tugged on it. The bar slid as far as the hole would allow, and he inched it back until he judged it had cleared the door.

He jumped up and
grabbed for the door handle. The door swung inward easily, and his attention went straight to the bath tub. No one in there, or on the floor beside it. He released the breath he held.

Thank Christ
.

He turned to the bed,
and there she lay, half under the covers, her hair straggling across the pillow. “Alyse, thank God.” He strode to her, relief pouring through him.

I must pace our love
play from now on lest she live perpetually in an exhausted state
.

He chuckled and stroked her rosy cheek. The sound died
, and his heart sank. His hand burned as though it had been thrust against a pot just taken from a fire. Swiftly, he laid his hand to her forehead, where another fire raged. Her hands were no better. “Oh, Alyse, no!”

His cry roused her sufficiently to open her sunken eyes and peer at him. “Geoffrey. The bath water was cold
, and after I washed, I could not get warm again. Now ’tis like I stand in the snow.” She shivered and tried to grasp the covers. “What is wrong with me?”

“Shhh, love.
’Twill be all right.” He could think of naught else to say to comfort her, yet nothing would ever be right an she died. “Let me fetch soft cloths and a basin of water to cool you.”

“I…am c…cold already.”

“’Tis the fever, Alyse. The coolness will help reduce it.” He gathered the things quickly, loath to leave her side for even a minute. He sponged her face, then neck, then chest and belly even though she protested and continued to shake.

“’Tis the pestilence, is it not?” She drew breath carefully. “You should go, my love.” The words were said with more strength than he
would have expected from her. Stubborn to the end.

“And where would you have me go, sweetheart? My place is here with you.” He fought to remain calm when he wanted to rail and curse God. Why must He take the one thing without which he could not live? After having stolen the few weeks of happiness they might have shared ere this.

“You must live, Geoffrey. Let me die knowing that at least you are safe.”

He dropped the cloth back into the basin and wrung out the tepid water. It heated quickly with the warmth Alyse
gave off. “There is nowhere to call safe, love. They die by the hundreds in Bordeaux and across the countryside. If I am to be taken by this scourge then I will be taken here by your side.” Grasping her hands, he squeezed them, and stared into her eyes. “I was torn away from you once. Only death will part us again.” He raised her hand and kissed it, though it burned his lips. “Now let me get cooler water. ’Twill help you.”

As he poured the water, he bent over the basin. Pain, sharp and all
-consuming, washed over him. Useless. He was useless to her. She would die, and he could do nothing. ’Twould have been better had he succumbed if it meant she lived. Why would God not grant them that one boon?

“Geoffrey?”

“I am here, love.” He straightened and took the cooler water back to the bed.

“You must go.”

He gently shook his head and wiped her hot forehead. “I told you I would not—”

“To a monastery.
”

Fever dreams. He
had seen his share in the wounded in the aftermath of a battle. Had had one or two himself where he dreamed strange, disconnected things. She could not think he would spend the rest of his days shut away in contemplation when he could end it now and save himself more suffering. “I am certainly not one to follow holy orders, Alyse.”

A smile flitted across her lips. “Nay, that you are not. But know you of a monastery near Loremo? Benedictines
, if possible, but any order will do.”

She wanted a last confession. “Hush, love. We were shriven several days ago. I do
not believe we have committed a mortal sin since that time. Why need you a priest?”

“They have medical knowledge. My
uncle Antoine told me.” She clutched his hand. “I would have you go and find if they possess a treatment or cure for this cursed illness.”

“Go? And leave you alone? Nay, love, I cannot.” What if she died while he was gone? Alone and frightened? How could he return to this room not knowing if he would find her alive?

She closed her eyes and shivered. “It is my only hope, Geoffrey. All the others have died of this.”

Blessed Virgin, what should I do
?

There seemed but one true choice.

At last, he sighed. “Aye, there is a monastery. Montclair, the one where I found Brother Augustus, although I know not if ’twas Benedictine. ’Tis almost an hour’s ride from here down the road toward Bordeaux, before taking a road that goes to Montclair. The monastery is on the hill.” He sat on the bed and took her hand. “But Brother Augustus may have left or died. There were precious few clergy remaining when I went there four days ago.”

“Do they have a hospital attached to the monastery?”

“I know not. My order was to bring a priest, and that is what I did.”

Her face contorted, and she shook violently as a chill swept her naked body. Geoffrey tossed the cloth into the basin and drew the covers over her. She continued to shake, so hard the bed
quivered. He rushed to the nearest chest and plundered it, searching for more cover. After finding nothing in three of them, he discovered the linen chest and drew out two blankets. He piled them on top of her and waited an eternity until the shivering abated.

His shoulders drooped
, and he smoothed her brow and took her hand again. A sudden resolve calmed him. ’Twas always good to have a plan, even in the most desperate of circumstances. A plan suggested hope of victory.

“As you will it, my love, I will leave you for a time, to see if the brothers can give me knowledge enough to save your life. Need you anything ere I go?”

“I am thirsty.”

He leaped up and poured her a cup, and him one as well.
’Twould be a long, hot journey with fear in his heart the whole way forth and back. Best fortify himself as best he could. He held the wine for her to drink, and when she finally shook her head, set the half-f cup on the table next to the bed.

“I will return as soon as I can, love. Please wait for me.”

She nodded then closed her eyes.

He stared at her,
committing her beloved face to memory. Then he strode from the chamber, determined to find some miracle at Montclair.

Chapter 13

For the second time that day, Geoffrey found himself in the saddle, racing down the long road toward Bordeaux. He reined Saracen in when he reached the turning, and swung the animal to the left. Not far now. Another ten minutes brought him to a bend of the road. In the middle of a sand and grass clearing sat the ancient monastery. He pulled the horse to a stop before the main gate and jumped down almost before he had halted. He stumbled toward the bell that announced visitors and rang it sharply. Its clanging shattered the stillness of the afternoon, bringing the discordant cawing of crows from a nearby field.

He shifted from foot to foot in the hot sunshine, hoping, praying that someone would answer. Again he pulled the rope—harder this time—and the
clanging bell seemed more adamant. He strode to the edge of the structure to peer around the side, searching for any movement at all. Had they all died? The monastery wall went straight back several hundred feet, with no sign of access or egress along the wall. Head drooping, he turned back to the door only to find it open, and Brother Augustus standing half out of the doorway, frowning.

“Ho, Brother Augustus.” Geoffrey ran toward him
, and the monk fled back into the dark recesses of the building, shutting the door. “Wait.” He pounded on the door as it closed.

“Nay, my lord,” Brother Augustus called from behind the
entry, “I will no longer leave this place while the pestilence rages. We here are sore pressed with the many clergy who have gone to God already. Our numbers now are less than twenty.”

“I do not want your presence, only your knowledge. Please, I beg of you!” He pounded on the door again, his fist making it jump on its hinges. “For the sake of God, open the door!” He rattled the handle.
’Twould not take much to tear it from its fastenings. He grasped the lever and gave a great heave. Nothing.

“
’Sblood!” He rained blows on the door, the hollow booming sending up birds from a nearby tree, yet the portal remained in place.

He sank to his knees in the dust, the
sun’s heat baking into him. This had been a fool’s errand. Instead of spending what little time remained with Alyse, he had wasted the precious hours fruitlessly. If knowledge of the disease existed, the monks would deny it him.

He
sank onto his knees and laid his head on the dusty ground, his stomach retching. Alyse would surely die. He knew it now as well as he knew the names of the saints. And his life would simply stop. He could not go on with a heart broken beyond repair. ’Twould be best to take a last kiss from his love, take her sickness onto himself, and die with her.

He must get back to the manor. There was so little time left now.

With great effort, he raised his head and blinked. A vision had appeared before him.

Five figures in dark brown monk’s robes, cowls drawn up around their faces, clustered about him, staring down with varying degrees of interest. Geoffrey lurched back, falling on his backside. The brother in the middle, taller than the rest with a spare frame made more
spindly by the looseness of his robe, stepped toward him, and extended a hand.

“
Ave
, my son. I am Brother Sebastian. Why do you seek us? Are you hurt or ill?”

Geoffrey grasped the proffered hand and rose to his feet. The kindness in this man’s weary voice made him dare hope anew.
“Nay, Brother Sebastian. I am Sir Geoffrey Longford, and I have neither hurt nor illness, though I come on behalf of one who is gravely ill.”

“Do they have the great pestilence?” His voice lowered,
the compassion in it heart-wrenching.

“Aye.”

Brother Sebastian shook his head and made the sign of the cross. “May God have mercy on their soul.”

“She lives yet,
Brother.” Geoffrey fisted his hands at his sides. He would not jeopardize hope of gaining information by laying the man flat. “I have come to see if you or any of your brethren have remedies for this disease? Are there any who you have seen survive? Mayhap if something was done for them it could work for another.” They must know something. They had seen the sick for weeks; surely they had noted differences in the patients?

“Nay, my lord. There is truly
naught that may be done for those who suffer this dread disease. Nothing seems to make a difference. We make them as comfortable as possible, but in the end they go to God.” Brother Sebastian crossed himself, as did the other monks.

“Except for Brother Michel.”

Geoffrey stiffened, so stunned he could scarce draw breath.

A different voice had spoken, the last figure on the right. This brother was much smaller than the others, younger
, Geoffrey would say. Eager to help, too, so it seemed. “Brother Michel had the sickness several weeks ago, and after two days of fever and chills and the great tumors that filled his body, his fever left him and though he is weak, he lives yet.”

A miracle. The miracle he had so desperately sought to find. “What is your name, brother?”

“Tomas, my lord.”

Thomas
. “Did you tend Brother Michel, Brother Tomas?”

“Aye. I tend to his needs still.”

“And what did you do for him while the sickness was upon him?”

But here Brother Sebastian intervened. “Tomas! It is not kind to raise his hopes. Sir Geoffrey, it is true that one brother did survive, for which miracle we all praise God. But we believe it truly was a miracle. For no other that we have seen thus afflicted has lived.”

Geoffrey glanced from Tomas to Sebastian. Mayhap God would spare a second one for Alyse. “Then I too shall pray for intervention, brothers. I will pray to God, and ask you to help make another miracle occur.” He turned to the young monk and seized his hands. “’Tis my wife, whom I dearly love, who lies ill at Loremo. Any service within my power I will do to see her well again.” He stared into kind brown eyes, so like Thomas’s. “Can you tell me what you did to ease Brother Michel?”

“Aye, my lord. Would you like to come in out of the sun and sit while we talk?”

“I thank you, Brother, but nay. I must haste to return to my lady. I will stand here that we may speed my hearing.” The brethren cast long afternoon shadows upon the lawn. Time for him to be on the road again.

“Then I will tell you quickly all I know. I only wish it was more. But what I did was simple. When he had a fever, I bathed him. When he had chills, I covered him with many blankets. I gave him ground peony mixed with oil of roses for his headache. And I made sure he ate and drank well, even when he did not want it.”

Geoffrey waited for him to continue, but Brother Tomas had done with his remedies. This was all? ’Twas only what he had already done for Alyse, save the peony mixture. A huge weight settled on him. There would be no miracle. “Thank you, Brother Tomas,” he said wearily. “’You did nothing else?”

Tomas’s brow furrowed. “Nay, my lord. I gave no other aid to Brother Michel. And he did not seem greatly relieved by my care of him until the great tumors came under his arm and in his
…” He paused and whispered, “In his private region.”

Geoffrey nodded then looked sharply at the young monk. “He was
relieved
when the tumors came?”

“Nay, not when they appeared, but when they burst.” Tomas shuddered.
“’Twas then he felt relief. The poisons in the tumors drained away, and he began to recover.”

“Did the tumors burst of their own accord, or did you cut them?”

“They burst of their own accord. And the sight of them…” He swallowed hard and shifted his weight. “’Tis no wonder Brother Michel felt better after that mess drained from him.”

Relief shot through Geoffrey with the speed of a jousting horse. At last he had found the treatment he sought. A glimmer of hope in a darkened world. “We both thank you, gentle brothers, for your most blessed knowledge.” Geoffrey bowed and ran for his horse. “I pray this information will help me combat the disease in Lady Longford. I ask that you keep us both in your prayers, as you will be in mine.”

He swung himself up onto Saracen, suddenly exhilarated. As he turned him in a small circle, he glanced over his shoulder at the group before the monastery walls. “May the Blessed Virgin and St. Jude favor you all, brothers. And especially you, Brother Tomas.” He urged the horse into a canter and was racing away when he heard a faint, “Go with God, my lord.” He smiled and crossed himself. “Amen, Tomas, amen.”

A little less than an hour later, Geoffrey rode into the stable, threw the saddle and blanket to the ground, and handfuls of hay into the stall then ran for the manor house.

“Alyse. Alyse.” He barged through the main doorway, calling even though reason told him she could not hear him at this distance. He sprinted across the Great Hall and up the flight of stairs in the gathering gloom, quickly reaching their chamber door.

There he stopped, a chilled hand clutching his heart. What might he find after so many hours? Taking a deep breath, he quietly opened the door and entered.

She was much as he had left her, save some of the covers had fallen or been pushed to the floor. Her face had flushed even redder, and her breath came in shallow gasps. She jerked awake then the strain around her eyes eased when she spied him.

“Geoffrey.” It was all she could manage through fever-cracked lips, but it was enough to tell him she still lived.

He ran and knelt beside her, his head at her side on the bed, her hot, dry hand clasped firmly in his. “My love!” he mumbled into the sheets. “Oh, Alyse, I thought I would not return in time.”

She squeezed his hand, a slight pressure, but comforting nonetheless.

“I feared at first the brothers could not help us, but God be praised, they had treatments that may help.”

At her silence, he raised his head
, and his stomach lurched. She had worsened in the time he had been gone. Her eyes, rimmed with black, had sunk back in her head. When she breathed, ’twas as though she had not the strength to take air deep into her lungs. As he watched, her brows furrowed, and she closed her eyes, wincing.

“What pains you, love?”

“My head.”

Brother Tomas had mentioned headache and the remedy. “Have you any peony and rose oil in your herb chest? The brother who tended the sick said it would help.”

A slight nod of the head then she stretched out her finger toward the chest at the end of the bed, intricately carved with flowers and stars. He opened it and took a smaller chest from within. He raised the lid and a pungent whiff of mingled herbs assailed his nose. He frowned. The box was fitted with dozens of compartments crowded with dried flowers and herbs. Give him an armory, bid him stand off any enemy, and he could happily oblige. These weapons, however, were beyond his ken.

“Heat water first.” The words were scratchy, as though they stuck in her throat. “I will tell you how to brew the infusion.”

Carefully, he set the chest down and did as she bid him. ’Twas good to have a task at hand. After he rekindled the fire and swung the kettle over it, he grabbed the wine bottle left from their evening feast. “Come, love. Drink a little of this while the water boils. ’Twill give you strength.” He poured a cup and set it to her lips. She wrinkled her nose, and tried to push it out of the way.

“None of that, my lady.” He held the cup steadfast until she took several sips. “And you have eaten naught since I left. We must remedy that as well.”

She scowled. “The wine will do for now.”

“You need to eat.” He glanced at the remains of last evening’s repast. What might tempt her? There was little left. Some bread, a bite of cheese, the wine. Setting her cup on the table, his hand brushed the pot of pears. A slow grin spread over his face. “Let me prepare something for you.” He cut a slice of bread then tore it into thumb
-sized morsels. He drew up a chair beside her and took the honeyed pears.

“Here.” He dipped the bread into the pot and held it to her mouth. “You should remember this.” She smiled
, and he popped the bit into her mouth. Although she pursed her lips and looked as though she wanted to spit it out, she chewed and swallowed.

“May I have some more wine?” She lay back on the pillows, her gaze following his every move.

“Whatever you wish, my sweet.” A good sign, mayhap. He held the cup for her to drink again, and she managed to drain it. “And now another bite of bread and pears.”

“I am so thirsty.” She
clutched at the covers, pulling them up to her chin. “And cold.”

He felt her cheek and cursed under his breath. Her skin was burning to the touch. She needed to cool down. Perhaps a bath?

“Eat first. While you do, I shall prepare a bath for you. That should make you more comfortable.” He placed several more pieces of bread with honey in her hand. “Do not mind if ’tis sticky. We can remedy that in the tub.” He rose and looked at the water in the tub then felt it. A bit soapy, but cool indeed. ’Twould serve.

“Have you finished, love?” When she nodded, he pulled the sheet back, revealing her naked body, as beautiful as he had always found it. He scooped her into his arms and lowered her into the bath. “This should help your fever.”