Arrow To The Heart (De Bron Saga) (16 page)

"Oh, please......."

The man was smeared with blood and grime so that she could not see his face clearly.  Grasping his wrist she sought for a pulse and gave a sigh of relief at the faint flutter she found there.  The man was alive!

"It does not matter who you be," she whispered, "for any foe of John's is friend to me."

For a moment she could see the man's lids pulsate like the wings of a butterfly as he sought to open his eyes.  He began to struggle, no doubt thinking her to be one of his attackers.  She held him firmly, all the while trying frantically to stop the ooze of blood seeping from his wounds.  In desperation she removed her cloak, tearing it into strips to act as a binding against the red tide of his life's blood.  All the while she whispered soothing words, telling him that she did not seek to harm him.

The man was mumbling.  What was it about his voice that seemed to strike a chord deep within her.  Did she know him?  It was difficult to see his face with so much dirt and blood covering it but she stared none-the-less.  He wore no armor.  No knight then.  A squire?  An archer.  One of Robin Hood's men perhaps?

"It matters not," she said, tugging him up to lean against her slim frame.  He was heavy.  His body threatened to topple her, yet she fought to maneuver him to her horse.  Slinging him over the animal's back like a side of beef, she climbed up beside him.  It was a testing of her horsemanship to guide her mount back to the stables with a man hanging over the horse, yet Rowena was up to the task.  Nudging the animal into a swift  though careful gallop that matched the beat of her heart, she headed for home.

Never had the familiar walls looked so dear.   Heading for the stables
, she reined her horse to a halt, pulling the injured man from her horse, and sought again for a pulse.  For a moment she was fearful lest the frantic ride had done damage to his wounds.

"Easy.  Easy."  Looking anxiously at him she saw his chest move up and down
, giving proof that he still breathed. But his wounds?  The bleeding was profuse, threatening.  Time was her enemy, this she knew.  She could not take the time to change into her womanly garments.  What then?  Be discovered?

"Help me!  Help me
”! she shouted, feigning her best imitation of a male voice.  When at last two of the larger stable lads had answered her shouts, she pretended to be a wandering bowman, telling the tale that she had happened upon the man in the forest, begging them to take the poor wretch to the lady of the house.

"And just why should we?" One of the lads was surly.
Stubborn.

"Because I'll cu
t off your ears if you don't," Rowena threatened, leaning forward as if she meant it.

The lad jumped back
, then quickly complied with her command, tugging at the arm of the injured man on horseback.

"Have a care!  He's not a sack of barley!"  She watched as the man was lifted up by the strongest of the lads and listened as he groaned.  Suddenly she could have sworn she heard her name.  Leaning forward she listened again.

"Ro....wen....a." 

She had clearly heard it.  "Who....."  It was then he opened his eyes, only for a moment
, but long enough for her to recognize their haunting depths.  "No!  Not him."  Ah, but it was, and the realization was shattering.  "Kendrick de Bron."

Chapter Fif
teen

In agitated apprehension and fear, Rowena looked down upon the pale face of the man lying on her bed.  His face was so pale that he looked almost ghostly.  He had lost so much  blood that she knew him to be in great peril.  Oh, dear God he had to survive.  She just couldn't bear it if he died.

Having quickly climbed up the vine outside her window, Rowena had changed into a  gown and kirtle so that she could greet the stable lads when they knocked at the door of her chamber.  She had ordered that Kendrick be placed upon her own bed then, kneeling beside him had fitfully bound his wounds with torn pieces of her bed linen, seeking  to save the life of the man she had so enjoyed sparring with.  Oh, but she had wanted to see him brought low, but not like this.

"If only......"   Oh, but she had been so hateful.  Why?  Had he really done anything so terrible?  Was being handsome and at
tractive to women such a sin?  "Gwyneth and Ethelred....."  Even there he had not really been the guilty one, except by his association with John.  It was not Kendrick de Bron who had ransacked the cottage, or thrown the two Saxons out in the cold. Why then had she so vengefully blamed him?

Rowena shuddered to think what might have happened had she not chanced upon th
at band of cutthroats.  De Bron's death, most surely.  Yet he was not out of danger yet.  He still might die.  The very thought brought an ache to her heart, melting away any anger she might have once had.  In the face of de Bron's agony, how could she feel resentment? 

"Oh, my lord."  Reaching for the cold, damp cloth beside the bed she gently wiped his brow then moved the cloth lower.  And lower.

Kendrick felt  the warmth of a body next to him.   Everything was soft and safe.  He could sense someone was with him but he hadn't the strength to open his eyes.  Instead he gave himself up to the sensations.  Bit by bit a refreshing coolness, an encompassing gentleness was stealing some of the anguish and pain from his body. 

A voice  was whispering in the darkness.  A comforting voice, like an angel's. Fingers as gentle as a soft spring breeze were touching him.   Up.  Down.  Along his arms, across his chest, down his side, across his hips and back again.  All too abruptly, cruelly, the stroking stopped.  In protestation he uttered a deep throaty rasp but the hands had left him. 

Come back.....

It was as if he were in  a long dark tunnel, groping about, fighting to come into the light.  To follow.  He reached out to consciousness but it was like trying to walk a treadmill through a dense fog.  Darkness was upon him and though he struggled to open his eyes
, he could see only shadows.

His body  hurt so very much and he was  exhausted.  Weary.  He heard faint sounds, muted as if they were coming through  deep, murky water.  Gurgling.   His voice?  Yes.  The sound of his own breathing became louder and louder until it was a roar in his ears.

He was lying in an awkward position but he couldn't quite seem to shift to a more comfortable one.  Dull reverberations shot through his body each time he tried to move.  Pain!   He willed himself to awaken but it was useless.  Something was holding him back.   Those men!  With a jolt their faces popped into his mind and he remembered.  Richard!             

"The k
ing.  Danger." 

As Rowena sat by his side she noted that Kendrick was mumbling again, the same thing he said over and over.  It seemed as though he sought to
warn someone of danger to the king and this surprised Rowena.  He was John's man was he not?  How then did he seek to give warning?  And if the king was in danger what then?

"What about the k
ing?"  In a soft tone she sought to find out some answers.  At the same time she crooned words of comfort to the wounded man, reaching for the damp cloth to wipe his face again and again.  She had sought to see him humbled, had sworn a hundred curses at his head.  Never had she desired to see him injured though.  Never like this. 

"He has lost more of his life
’s blood than can be tolerated I fear, my lady.  "The voice of  Gwyneth was tinged with grave concern.  The old woman was well known for her knowledge of herbs and healing poultices, thus Rowena had requested her help in tending the injured nobleman.

"But he will survive!"  That he would was an obsession with Rowena
, for how could she go on day to day remembering the terrible way she had acted if he died?  Rowena felt lost and forlorn.  The sight of this dark-haired man lying so near death tore at her heart and her soul.  Somehow she could not forget the feel of his lips upon hers no matter how hard she tried, nor the touch of his hands upon her flesh.  "We must do everything in our power to save him."              

"We will.  But there is only just so
much any mortal can do."  Gwyneth looked upwards as if calling on a more powerful presence.

Rowena bowed her head and spoke a silent prayer
.  Please God.  Let him live
.  She wanted to see a smile touch his lips again, wanted to look into his eyes and see them sparkle, even if it was with anger.  Silently she watched Gwyneth go about the business of working with poultices and sighed. 
Admit it
, she thought to herself.  Kendrick de Bron meant more to her than she ever would have admitted.

"It is his fever which frightens me
, not so much the wound itself.  Blood fever.  That is what takes them to the next world and beyond.  If it were up to me, I would burn away the reddened flesh and have done with it,"  Gwyneth was saying.

"Burn it away?"

Nodding, Gwyneth walked towards the knight's sword and thrust it into the fire.  "Burn it."

"Nay."  Rowena stayed her hand.  "I would not see him suffer so."  She had seen the cauterizing of wounds during jousting tournaments and knew the agony it caused.

"As you like."  The old woman scowled.  "I only thought to help.  It would quicken his time of healing."  When Rowena continued to block her way, Gwyneth busied herself with her herbs.

"What is that which you prepare?"  The orange vegetable looked strangely like the food Rowena so hated to eat.

"Carrots for a poultice.  It will help him, of that you have my word.  Apply it to his wound every hour.  Aside from burning the wound, it is the best that I can do."  Handing Rowena the poultice, Gwyneth left the room, casting a glance over her shoulder to see if perhaps by caring for this man Rowena's heart would be softened.  Indeed Rowena noticed that Gwyneth actually seemed to like Kendrick de Bron.

"Every hour."  Rowena was not used to tending the wounded, yet she bent over his form and gently applied the mixture, wincing as he groaned.  He was still in a great deal of pain, lost in the w
orld of his darkness.  "De Bron, open your eyes."  That was what she selfishly wanted so that she could make amends, and yet perhaps because of his pain it was better if he was unconscious.

Remembering the scalding words she had thrown his way and the rude manner in which she had reacted to his compliments, she yearned for the chance to take those words back.  All this time
she had thought him to be the prince's man, and yet now she had her doubts.  Just was what his game?  What was Kendrick de Bron about?  He seemed truly fretful about Richard.  Or was it just pretense?  No.  Dying men did not act at charades. What then?

Her mind was in turmoil as she bent down and soothed his brow.  She felt the same stirring, the same overpowering reaction to his nearness that she had that time before
, but now she didn't fight against it.  What would it be like to make love with him?

"Oh, De Bron…..Kendrick
, why do you make me tremble all over at the memory of your touch?  What is this magic you work so well on me even now?"  Pressing her cool hand against his brow she sought for any sign of fever and was relieved that his forehead seemed to be cooling.  Oh, but his skin was so smooth that she could not resist the temptation to run her fingers lightly over his face.  His cheekbones were high, his nose finely carved, his chin firm and strong.  He was as finely wrought as a statue.  And just as still.  "Oh, de Bron!"

Impulsively she touched his lips with the tip of her finger.  So full.  She remembered the taste of that mouth.  "I wouldn't pull away from your kiss now."  Forgotten was all the bitterness.

For a long while Rowena stared at de Bron's handsome face.  His dark lashes shaded his face, casting shadows and she reached out to brush them gently with her lips, then moved upward to kiss him on the mouth, lightly then with increasing boldness.   Oh, how she wished  he could respond, but nevertheless the sensation was pleasing.

Growing bold in her appraisal
, she gave full attention to the physique that she had bared in order to tend his wounds.  His arms were well-muscled, his waist trim, his shoulders broad.  With a sigh she ran her hands over the hair on his chest, reveling in the sensation.

Once again Kendrick gave himself
up to the wondrous stroking. Who? He forced his eyes open again but he could only see colors.  A swirl of brightness.  But nothing  familiar.  Where was he?  How had he gotten here?  In panic he pushed against the mattress in an effort to sit up, only to fall back down again.  Then for just a brief moment he saw those eyes.  Those wonderful eyes!

"Rowena!"

She was startled to see him looking at her.  Flushing with embarrassment, she stepped away from him quickly.

"No, do not go......"  He weakly raised his hand.  Fighting to sit up
, he gritted his teeth against the pain and soon gave up the effort, plopping back down among the pillows again.

"Lie back," she said more sternly than she felt.  "You must save your strength.  You lost nearly an ocean of blood."

He was confused.  Why was he here.  "You...you found me?"

"You were brought here."  She tried to affect her haughty demeanor
, but it was difficult in the face of his vulnerability.

He grimaced against a su
dden stab of pain.  "The...the king.  I must get word."  Thrashing about he seemed to relive his battle.  The effort sapped what little energy he had and he collapsed again.  His eyes closed as he drifted off into a seemingly dreamless slumber.

Rowena scolded h
erself for not learning of the king's fate before he went out like a candle.  Richard was in danger, that much she could tell.  But from who?  And when?  Her eyes darted to the door and then back to Kendrick again.  Damn, she was tempted to leave Kendrick's side, don her lad's garb and be off, but what if something befell de Bron while she was gone?

Struggling with her emotions, she longed to take to her horse
and carry her bow to help the king, but in the end her attraction and concern for the man abed won out over her loyalty to Richard.  What devastating power was the power of love, she wondered, knowing in that moment that indeed she did love Kendrick de Bron.  God help her. With a resigned sigh, she adjusted the coil of her braid and sat down beside him to hold vigil.