Chapter Thirty-two

R eina snipped off the last thread and stood up, shaking out the finished garment for inspection. She had to smile. Trimming the blue velvet with strips of brocaded ivory silk had produced a bedrobe worthy of a king. Whether her husband would consent to wear it was the question, however, and not just because he was not used to wearing a bedrobe. All of his clothing was nondescript, plain woolens and linens without embellishments, most in need of repair. You could not accuse the man of being showy or ostentatious, even though he had long been able to afford grander clothing. That he preferred simple attire said a lot for his character.

She had indulged her own fancy with the bedrobe, since only she and the few servants allowed in the bedchamber would see him wearing it. The rest of the new wardrobe she intended making for him would be of fine quality, but much more modest—at least until she could accustom him to the idea that wealthy lords of the realm were expected to be grandiose, at least more splendidly arrayed than their own vassals.

The comments she had gotten from her older ladies as she was working on the bedrobe were typical ribbing for a new bride, and she had taken them in that vein.

“Are you sure you want to cover those magnificent shoulders in that?”

“I would be taking it off him, not putting it on.”

“You will be sorry if he takes after my William and decides to sleep in his.” That from Lady Margaret.

“If he is not used to wearing one, why tamper with a good thing?”

What they did not seem to realize, and Reina was not about to tell, was that having a man with a body like Ranulf’s parading around the bedchamber in the altogether played hell on a woman’s equilibrium, at least on hers. She did silly things when he was naked, like stare with brazen discourtesy, or accuse a poor cat of being spiteful. Before long she would succumb to the sensual urges all that golden skin manifested in her, to touch him, caress him, taste him, whether he bade her to or not. What would he think of her then? After all, his frequent bedding of her now was no more than a fulfillment of their bargain. Once she was with child, it would end.

Putting him into a bedrobe now was a safeguard to temptation. It assured that he would not think her pining away for loss of his body later on. If he had gone on as he had to begin with, there would have been no doubt of that. But his new techniques had gotten to her. Jesú , how they had gotten to her. And he knew it. He was also sweetly endearing in his delight over this great feat, a typical male reaction, she supposed, like a little boy winning his first victory against insurmountable odds. So it was up to her to make him believe she was still basically indifferent. She was going to come out of this with her pride, if naught else.

Reina draped the finished garment over her arm to take to her chamber. She would leave it on the bed for Ranulf to find. Hopefully he would feel obliged to wear it simply because ’twas made for him. If not, she would have to see about making the chamber drafty by removing some of the wall coverings. A little cold would curb his lack of modesty if naught else would.

“I would reconsider were I you,” Dame Hilary called out in a singsong voice, setting the younger ladies to giggling.

Reina smiled despite herself. Were the circumstances of her marriage different, she would indeed reconsider But she was not likely to forget that Ranulf had practically had to have his arm twisted ere he would agree to wed her. He might have new loverlike skills that he was inordinately proud of, but he would no doubt prefer to practice them on someone else.

“If you must give it him, lose your own,” Florette suggested, straight-faced. “That will assure he will not wear his too often.”

They finally managed to get the blush they were after. But before Reina could give a suitable reply, Wenda appeared in the doorway to interrupt the merry laughter. She was out of breath, with a hand to her chest indicating she had come at a run. Nor did she mince words once she had caught her breath.

“My lady, best you come quickly. Lord Ranulf’s knights have returned, and two are grievously wounded.”

There was not a single sound heard in the sewing room after that. Reina’s heart had dropped with those first words, thinking something had happened to Ranulf. Why she should react like that she was not sure, but as her color returned, her mind turned efficient.

“Hilary, Florette, do you both come with me.” She tossed the bedrobe to Wenda. “Put that in my chamber when you fetch my medicaments. Margaret, do you gather what is needful and meet me below. Elaine, send someone after my lord. This will not await his return.”

“Where is he?”

“In the village, I believe.” Making Red Alma rich , she added to herself, for she was not sure Ranulf had been teasing when he had said the woman’s advice was worth her weight in gold. “Florette?”

The young widow had not moved to join her, was in fact still staring ashen-faced at Wenda. “Was—was Sir Walter one of the wounded?”

“I know not, madam,” Wenda replied. “They were still being carried into the keep when Master Gilbert sent me to fetch Lady Reina.”

Florette’s color did not improve with that answer, and Reina had to wonder if the lovely brunette had developed a tender for Walter de Breaute. Obviously, her own problems had made her lose touch with what was going on around her in her own home. She had not even been aware that Ranulf’s men had left Clydon today.

“Florette, mayhap you had best remain here,” Reina suggested, deciding the woman would be more hindrance than help if she did indeed hold Sir Walter in her affections and he was one of the two wounded. “Margaret can—”

“Nay, I need to know.”

“Certainly, but—”

“Please, my lady, I was only surprised,” Florette insisted. “I am fine now.”

Reina hesitated, but finally nodded and left the sewing room.

Even before she reached the hall she could hear Searle of Totnes blasting the men carrying him with invectives. He had taken a pike in his thigh, and although the metal spearhead had been removed, he had links from his mail chausses embedded in the wound that were agitating it with each movement. From the volume of his voice, however, she determined his condition was not as grievous as Wenda had implied. Walter, on the other hand, and he was the other man hurt, was unconscious. His color was not good, and he was bleeding from more than one wound.

Eric Fitzstephen followed behind them, and it was to him Reina directed the questions she needed answering, while the bearers deposited the knights in their separate chambers off the hall. “How long has Sir Walter been bleeding?”

“Too long,” Eric replied, his voice raspy with worry. “He took that gash on his side early in the fray, yet continued to fight. And we were a goodly distance from Clydon when we were set upon.”

“Did he fall from his horse when he received that head wound?” she asked with concern. “I must know if he has aught to tend from within.”

“Nay, no cracked ribs or the like. That wound did not fell him, nor the other. ’Twas the sight of his own blood when ’twas over that—ah—”

“I understand,” Reina cut in, realizing how difficult it was for one knight to claim another had fainted. “Know you who did this?”

“We were on the woods road, my lady.”

Explanation in itself, she supposed. “Very well. I have sent for Ranulf. Best you have one of my ladies attend your scratches ere he gets here, for he will want a full accounting of what happened.”

She found Florette already bent over Walter in his chamber. Her face was colorless again, but she was not rendered useless. Carefully, she was removing the makeshift bandage that had been wrapped about his head.

“Leave that,” Reina said briskly. “The bleeding has stopped there, but his side still seeps.”

“Will he—die, my lady?”

“Why should he do a fool thing like that?” Reina said, though until she saw the wounds, she could not really say for sure.

The most difficult task was removing Walter’s heavy hauberk so they could get to the wound. It took two men to manage this with the least amount of movement. The rest of his clothes were quickly cut away, to reveal more clearly the extent of his blood loss.

Too long, Eric had said, and had not exaggerated. Walter’s whole left side was soaked red clear down to his boots, the wound ragged and still dripping. The weapon, whatever it was, had pierced the hauberk just above the lowest rib. But instead of entering the body for a death wound, it had been deflected off the rib to slice a long tear straight across beneath his hauberk. ’Twas deep, but did not seem dangerously so; at least it would not be had it been closed up sooner. The danger now was in whether he had lost too much blood, and so would be too weak to fight off infection.

Reina worked swiftly, cleaning the wound and then applying a salve to immediately stop the blood flow. She let Florette do the stitching while she then saw to the head wound. This was just a small break in the skin, though there was a thick lump under it. A helmet could have prevented it, had he been wearing one at the time. As he was certain to have a splitting headache for a goodly number of days, he was not about to leave Clydon without a helmet again.

Walter did not awaken once, which was fortunate as there were so many stitches to apply, but ’twas not so easy getting the tonic she had prepared into him. She left Florette to see to that while she checked on the younger knight.

Searle’s loud complaints, grown louder still while Hilary worked on him, were heard clearly in the next chamber. He had only quieted down now that she was almost done with him.

When he saw Reina, however, his voice rose again. “You are cruel, lady, to set this witch on me.”

“That witch has gentler hands than I, sirrah, so be grateful I was too busy with Sir Walter to attend you myself.”

That shut him up nicely and brought a chuckle from the stout dame. “Did you ever hear a boy make so much fuss over a little prick?”

“Little?” Searle choked.

“Only three stitches, my lady,” Hilary informed her.

“So few? Sir Walter had nigh a full score. Did you hear him screaming for mercy?” Reina grinned then, taking pity on the young man now blushing. “Nay, Searle, we only tease you. Yelling ofttimes eases the pain. You should have heard my father when he would get a mere splinter from the exercise yard. We had to stuff our ears with cloth ere we could remove it.”

“Is Walter—will he—”

“You have no need to worry over him. He is still unconscious, but that is a good thing just now. His wounds were not as bad as they seemed, but they will be very painful once he rouses. Now drink this.” She handed him a decoction of white poppy mixed in warm wine. “’Twill ease your own pain and put you to sleep, which is what you also need just now.”

“But Ranulf—”

“Eric can answer all his questions.”

At that moment, the door in the next chamber crashed open and Searle swiftly gulped down his tonic. “How quickly will this work?”

Reina frowned at him. “What is wrong with you?”

“He is going to be furious. I would just as soon sleep through it.”

“But why should he be angry, unless you three did wrong? Did you?”

“We have one dead and two wounded. There were only fifteen of them. We should have given a better accounting of ourselves, lady.”

“How many rode with you?”

“Six.”

Reina gave him a look of disgust. “Go to sleep, lackwit. Hilary, see to it my lord husband does not come crashing in here to disturb him.”

“You do not ask for much, my lady.”

Hilary got a disgusted look, too, for her unneeded sarcasm. “Very well, I will see to it myself,” and Reina left, mumbling, “ Jesú , three to one is even odds? Does he think his men are all giants like himself?”

Eric slumped weakly against the wall outside Walter’s chamber, apparently already having told Ranulf what had happened. The door was still open, and Reina became hesitant now on seeing Ranulf within. He stood next to Walter’s narrow bed looking down at him, his body so still it could have been made of stone, muscles bunched, fists clenched at his sides. She could not see his expression yet, but he must indeed be angry to have frightened Florette into leaving her patient, for she, too, was waiting without the chamber.

He still did not move or glance her way when she reached his side. “You cannot truly be angry with him for getting wounded, Ranulf. Think you he did it apurpose?”

“The fool knew he would be traveling through the woods, lady. He knew the place swarmed with brigands, and yet he only took three men-at-arms with him.”

“But they were besides three knights fully armed. The outlaws rarely set upon travelers with any strength in their group.”

“They did this time.”

What could she say to that? So he did have reason to be angry. But when he finally looked at her, ’twas not anger she saw in his eyes, but a deep, terrible dread.

“My lady, please, do not let him die,” he said with heartfelt gruffness. “Do you aid him to recovery, you will have my deepest gratitude.”

Reina felt her throat tighten. She had the overwhelming urge to put her arms about him and assure him he had naught to fear. But sympathy and trite assurances were not the way to deal with this man.

“Whatever can you be thinking, my lord?” She made her voice deliberately stern. “Much as I would like to have you beholden to me for a time when I might find it useful to have you so, I must tell you de Breaute is not dying. His wounds are trifling compared to some I have seen.”

“Then why does he not awaken?”

“Because I gave him something to make him sleep, as I gave to Sir Searle. ’Tis the best way for a man to get his strength back after losing a little blood. But neither of them is so sorely wounded that he will not be full of complaints at the long bed rest I will insist on.”

She was not sure her husband would swallow that, but after a moment he nodded curtly and left the chamber. Reina sighed in relief that was short-lived as she glanced down at Walter. He was still terribly pale. No wonder Ranulf had thought him dying.

“Best you hear me, de Breaute.” She bent over him to whisper sharply by his ear. “You make me a liar by dying now, and I will spend the rest of my life praying you spend the rest of your life rotting in purgatory. For whatever misbegotten reason you are dear to him, for his sake you will recover right quickly.”

Whether he somehow heard her or not, she felt better for having said it.

Florette was still hovering anxiously outside the chamber, so Reina sent her back in, instructing her to watch for fever and send for her at the first sign. A glance about the hall found Ranulf in conversation with Eric again, but Reina only heard the last of it as she approached them.

“Send a messenger you can trust to the castellan at Warhurst. Tell him does he send a large force after the outlaws on the morrow at first light, he will at last have them.”

“Will he?”

“Aye. After he chases them into our hands, he can have whatever is left of them to do with as he pleases.”

Reina turned away ere Ranulf noticed her, not that he would call her to him if he did, when he had only bloodshedding on his mind. She had never heard him speak in quite that tone before, but knew that whatever it was he planned for the morrow, ’twas not something she wanted to know about. She could almost pity the outlaws, if they had not long needed getting rid of.