Chapter Twenty-Four

N ever before had the carnage of battle affected Augustin, but the sickening sound of Aaron’s blade parting Eyreka’s milk-white flesh would stay with him forever.

For one horrible moment, time stood still, as his wife gracefully fainted dead away at the madman’s feet. Augustin’s roar of anguish echoed through the camp as he drove his broadsword through Aaron’s unprotected side.

“Papa,” Angelique wailed. “Do something!”

Augustin gathered his wife in his arms and carried her over to the fire. Laying her out on the ground, he tore a strip from her chainse and started to bind her wound.

A small grubby hand stopped him. “We must clean it out first,” Angelique said quietly.

“She’ll lose too much blood,” he said gently moving his daughter out of the way. While he held the cloth against the bloody gash in her side, Garrick knelt down next to him.

“Angelique is right,” Garrick said in a firm voice. “I may not have had the time to learn all that my mother knows about healing,” he said quietly, “but I do know the wound must be clean, or she’ll catch wound-fever.”

Augustin barely heard what Garrick said to him, his focus was on the woman he loved. Merde . He never had the chance to tell her how he felt. Don’t take her from me, too. Too engrossed in his thoughts to notice what was going on around him, he was surprised when a clean little hand stilled his ministrations.

“Papa,” Angelique said. “Let me. I know what to do.”

While he watched, his daughter ripped pieces of her own bliaut off, discarding the bottom edge. She dipped the clean strips in the bucket of water that had been heating for their captor’s supper. Angelique worked awkwardly, but swiftly.

Once she had the wound cleansed to Garrick’s satisfaction, he nodded and finally spoke, “It will need to be sewn.”

“We have to get back to the holding,” Augustin said quietly. “We’ll need Eyreka’s needle, threads, and healing herbs.” He took his daughter’s hands in his. Hers were so tiny, almost birdlike, and so very cold. His were massive in comparison and rough from years of wielding a broadsword.

“The wound must be tightly bound,” he instructed. He helped Angelique fold the strips of linen into a thick pad and placed it directly on the gash. Then they wound more strips all the way around Eyreka’s middle.

Garrick’s gaze met his and understanding flowed between them. They had worked closely together to find the women, and now they worked together to save Eyreka’s life.

Augustin remembered the gentle touch his daughter used on his wife. There was no doubt the child had been changed by what she had seen. Gone was the petulant, spoiled little girl. In her place was a caring young woman who had the gift of healing. He had a feeling that Angelique would watch over her new mother very carefully. His daughter had much to learn from his wife. After all, Eyreka had taught him to love again, mayhap she could teach his daughter what it meant to have a mother’s love.

He would never forget the way Eyreka had saved his daughter’s life, or the image of Eyreka throwing her body in front of the blade meant for his little girl.

“Augustin?” Henri’s voice broke through his troubled thoughts.

“Aye?”

“What should I do with the bodies?”

Looking around him, he noticed a dozen bodies strewn about the campsite. The trees were lush, and the scent of pine heavy in the air. The thought of leaving the bodies to defile the beauty of the forest did not seem right. Though the infidels did not deserve it, he gave the order, “Bury them.”

Henri nodded his head and started to turn away. “She will need her comfrey poultice,” he said gruffly.

His vassal’s words touched him deeply. Henri had not loudly proclaimed to accept the Saxon woman Augustin had married, but it was there in his concern for her injury.

“Mayhap you could carry my daughter—” Augustin began.

Garrick interrupted him, “Nay, Henri’s arm is still weak, I’ll carry Angelique.”

When Augustin nodded, Garrick continued, “You can carry my mother.”

The trust was there in the younger warrior’s voice. Garrick was entrusting his mother to Augustin, and the meaning had not been lost on him. He had been accepted at last. “She will recover,” Augustin said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

As the weary party of warriors carried their precious burdens, the sun broke over the horizon. The dawn of a new day greeted them as they headed home toward Merewood Keep.

Eyreka stirred, feeling as if she were floating adrift on a soft white cloud. Everything she looked at seemed to be just slightly out of focus, unreal.

Augustin held her in his arms, his grip strong and sure. He had come to rescue them, she thought. Through her lowered lashes, she recognized Merewood’s familiar curtain wall, as they rode through the gate. She sighed. Her love was bringing her home, she thought as the soft white air darkened, and she slipped into the blessed darkness where there was no pain.

“Papa,” Angelique called out sleepily. “Promise she’ll be all right.”

“I promise.” He prayed fervently that God would not leave him without the woman he loved a second time.

*

White-hot pain seared through Eyreka’s side, waking her. She moaned and tried to move, but was held still by strong hands. As she struggled the rest of the way to consciousness, she remembered the blade headed for Angelique’s heart.

“Angelique!” she cried out, trying to break free of the hands that held her.

“Be still!” The deep timbre of her husband’s voice flowed over her, soothing her like honeyed wine.

Another sharp pain jabbed into her side. She bit down on her bottom lip, unwilling to make a sound.

“Could you not have had the good sense to remain unconscious while Kelly sewed you back together, wife?” Augustin bit out.

“I wish I had,” she whimpered. So many times she had been the one to mend jagged edges of flesh, caring for Merewood’s people. It was the first time she herself had to suffer through it.

“Mayhap a goblet of mead would ease the pain.” She gasped, as the needle poked through her skin again.

“Angelique,” he called.

His daughter carried over a goblet and while Augustin propped Eyreka up, Angelique held the cup to her lips.

The thick sweet mead soothed her parched throat. Pulling away from the cup, she forced herself to smile. “My thanks.”

“Does it hurt a lot?” Angelique asked, her eyes round with trepidation.

Eyreka closed her eyes against the pain and nodded. “A lot.”

“As much as the blade?” Angelique whispered.

Eyreka opened her eyes and looked at the little girl. “I would do anything to protect the ones I love,” she said with conviction.

Tears flowed freely down the child’s pale white cheeks. Angelique used her sleeve to wipe at her watery eyes and runny nose. “How can you love me?” she asked. “I’ve been so mean to you.”

As Kelly tied the last knot and began to bandage her side, Eyreka held out her hand to the little girl.

“Sometimes when you are lonely, or you lose someone close to you, a terrible anger fills your heart. You cannot help striking out at others while the pain and hurt fester inside of you.”

“Fester?” Angelique asked.

“Aye, when a wound goes bad,” Eyreka explained.

Angelique scrunched her nose and said, “I’ve seen that happen.” Then she added, “It is horrible to look at!”

Eyreka nodded. “But with care and patience, you can cleanse the wound, and it will heal.” She looked up and caught Augustin staring at her, the look in his eyes made her want to weep with joy. Her husband understood that she not only spoke of wounds of the flesh, but wounds of the heart as well.

Angelique climbed up onto the bed and snuggled next to Eyreka’s uninjured side. The poor little thing took one deep breath and sniffled loudly.

As Eyreka smoothed the shiny black hair off Angelique’s forehead, and heard the child’s breathing slow down, becoming deeper and even.

“She sleeps,” Augustin said.

“She has been through an ordeal.” Eyreka defended her. “She is so young.”

“As young as you,” Augustin said, “when you bravely stood before your father’s captors.”

Eyreka felt the warmth of his words flow through her.

“She may have night terrors,” Eyreka warned.

“Did you?” he asked pointedly.

She nodded her head slowly. “For the first year of my marriage to Addison.”

“And who soothed your fears away?” Augustin asked, his stomach knotting with the unfamiliar feeling of jealousy.

“My husband,” she answered. “He was a powerful warrior, an arrogant man.”

Augustin snorted loudly.

“But he was honest, and I knew I could trust him.” Eyreka stared at the scar on Augustin’s face and remembered the wicked one that sliced across his chest. Her husband carried many marks of valor on the outside; she wondered how many he carried on the inside. Mayhap she could help him to heal.

“’Twas one of the first things I noticed about you, Augustin,” she said softly. “You are an arrogant man, and a strong warrior.”

“But?” he prompted, raising his gaze to meet hers. His eyes hardened with anger.

“You treated our people fairly from the start,” she continued. “You never blindly sided with your men. You always listened to both sides before passing judgment. My people have come to trust you,” she whispered, “as I have come to trust you.”

She blinked away the tears that blurred her husband’s image. “You are a man of passion and honor.” She looked away from his intense stare and let her gaze rest upon his daughter. “I have come to care deeply for your daughter,” she said, looking back at him, “but I have grown to love her father.”

“You do?” he whispered brokenly.

“With all my heart,” she rasped.

He pulled her carefully into his arms and pressed his lips to hers. His love poured through the kiss, filling in the empty spaces of her heart, until Eyreka was filled to bursting with wonder.

She felt tears running down her face, but ignored them, cupping the side of his face with her hand. “I never thought to find love a second time, Augustin,” she said softly. “I loved Addison with a young girl’s hopes and ideals.” At his dark look she stroked his brow, easing the tension in his face. “But I love you with a woman’s heart and the wisdom that comes from surviving the journey of life.”

“Eyreka,” Augustin whispered, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, one on the tip of her nose and finally her mouth. “I closed myself off from love when Monique died in my arms after struggling to deliver our babe.” His voice broke, but he cleared his throat and continued. “Monique was beautiful with a gentle heart. She was fragile. My need to protect her, and see her safe, was almost as strong as my love for her.

“After she died, I would not allow another woman close enough to touch my heart.” He stroked the tips of his fingers across her cheek and along the line of her jaw. “I could not bear to love again, knowing that the one I loved could be cruelly ripped from me. I tried to not to love you, but I could not hold out against your strength, your courage, and your gift for embracing life.”

His stormy-gray eyes were filled with hope as they searched her ice-blue eyes for the answer. Their gazes met and held, stormy gray softening to a warm deep gray; ice blue changing to a soft clear blue.

He saw beyond his prejudices and those of their two warring peoples to a peaceful coexistence. “You are my life,” he rasped.

This time when she looked into his eyes she didn’t see the specter of a departed love; she saw a second chance at happiness. She pressed her lips to his and whispered, “And you are my love.”

Augustin bowed his head and gave thanks for the gifts in his life, Angelique and Eyreka, and held them close to his heart. Pressing his lips to Eyreka’s temple he rasped, “I’d like to tell you about my home.”