Beauty's Curse (4 page)

For certes, that was not a ladylike thought.

Flustered, she looked away from Rourke and stared at Jamie. “He fights the fever.”

“Need I remind you what will happen if he—”

“Nay,” Galiana boldly cut him off, holding up one hand. “You needn't.” She turned her back on the blustering knight, understanding that his constant barging in and out of the room stemmed from worry over a friend. “'Tis oft times worse before it gets better, or so Gram says.”

“Who's Gram? And where can we find her? Do not tell me yer talking of that old crone in the hall, either. She'd like to poke Rourke's eye through.”

Folding her fingers before her, Galiana admitted with a slight nod that watching Dame Bertha's palsied hands so close to Rourke's eye had been frightening. It had seemed natural to step forward and do the stitches herself. “Would you believe that I grow faint at the sight of blood?”

She glanced at the neat row of tiny black knots. Her skill with a needle had come in handy. She'd just had to pretend that she was working on an embroidery sampler and not a man's very handsome face.

Jamie scoffed, hand hovering over the knife hilt protruding from the leather scabbard at his waist. As if, Galiana thought, he could battle Rourke's fever himself. “Gram?” he prodded.

“The Lady Evianne, my grandmother. But she is with my sister; I told you that. North, then west, toward the Scottish border. Six days' ride, at the fastest pace. With the snow still falling the way it is, it would take longer to send someone, and by then—” Galiana shrugged.

“You said your sister is a healer, too.”

Turning, she adjusted the trailing cloth of her headdress around her shoulders. “Both of them are. 'Tis your misfortune that you have but my hands.”

As if he could change circumstances by sheer force of will, Jamie held the knife out, the tip to her throat. “It will be your misfortune. Or your brother's?”

Thinking of Ned brought tears to her eyes that she couldn't blink away fast enough. Upstairs, her brother was under guard with the eight Montehue knights. Her family's vassals had all surrendered once Jamie had threatened to slice Ned's throat right at the door. Father Jonah was doing his best to clean the wound across Ned's chest; he couldn't be any better or worse than she. The family priest was the only one allowed to go back and forth from the solar to Celestia's dungeon-turned-sick room.

Galiana sent a swift blessing of thanks that her sister had the foresight to label everything, and that she'd kept a book filled with neat recipes for various illnesses.

After the good priest had shown Galiana where to find the supplies she'd need, he'd whispered to her that Ed had not been taken, and to claim but one brother. There'd been no time to question him, so she'd simply nodded. She was not a liar by nature. However, when it came to protecting her family, it seemed she could learn. She wiped at the cowardly tears, vowing to make them her last.

Galiana met Jamie's gaze directly, determination in every bone of her body. “If you harm one more hair on Ned's head, I'll let this man die.”

“Ye threaten me?”

Drawing on strength she didn't know she had, she lifted her chin—refusing to back down. “Nay. It is you who threaten me and mine. I have said I would give my all to this knight, even though he was out to harm my brother. And, yes, while it was my rock that knocked him from his beast of a stallion, it was his visor that cut into his temple.”

“'Tis but a small difference, lass.”

“Perhaps.” Galiana felt her knees shake and was grateful for the thick velvet tunic she wore. “I am but saying, sir, that I will do my best. I am not”—Galiana paused, amazed at her own audacity—“going to be bullied into doing a better job because you keep pointing that at me.”

Jamie lowered his weapon, and Galiana was unsure what his flashing amber eyes were saying. His lips were pressed tight together like a seam in a sleeve.

Tension broke as Rourke suddenly tossed back the sheet, baring his skin down to the hip. A fresh stain of burgundy blood flowered on the coverlet at his calf, and sweat beaded upon his brow and chest. Both eyes remained swollen shut, and Gali wondered what would happen to such a vital man if he could no longer be a knight in arms. She was reminded of their old hunting bitch, Daisy. Once she'd lost her back leg to a wild boar, she'd given up the will to live.

Rourke started speaking in a language Galiana didn't quite understand, hoarse and guttural, similar to her mother's native Welsh.

“What is he saying?” she asked Jamie, who had turned pale beneath his freckles.

“Nothing for you to hear, lass, nor repeat.”

Shivering with a sense of foreboding, she said, “I should stitch that wound. When did it happen?” Peering closer at the gash, she gulped. “It must be done.” Her stomach flopped even as she felt her trembling fingers still.

“Aye.” Jamie tucked the knife away. “I'll hold his leg.”

Galiana exhaled, swaying a little to the left.

Jamie grabbed her arm. “Ye really cannot stand the sight of blood?”

Shaking off his hand, she straightened. “Not especially, but I'll manage.” Mint for me, she thought, walking to Celestia's shelves. To calm my belly. Now what for Rourke? she wondered, eyeing the rows and rows of dried herbs,

“Basil, marigold, and sage …” she read the labels aloud.

“For fever, aye—that is common enough that ye won't accidentally kill him.”

“You, sir, are not helping.” Galiana kept her back to the knight, gathering the ingredients.

Father Jonah called down the stairs, “Lady Galiana? Shall we call the leech? Poor Ned is out of his mind.”

The leech? Montehues never used bloodletting unless there was a specific area needing to be released of infection. Even she knew that much. Calmly walking to the stairs, she looked up and into the priest's worried face. “I could go myself to the village,” he suggested with a wink.

“Oh,” she said.

Jamie shoved Galiana to the side and shouted upward, “Nay, not one person, priest or no, is leaving this manor.”

Galiana glared at Jamie, then lifted one shoulder daintily. “Whatever you wish, sir. Father Jonah? Could you fetch me two eggs?”

“Where will he get those, lass?” Jamie asked menacingly.

As if she weren't the least bit scared, she answered, “The larder, of course.”

Jamie waved the priest away. “Hurry back.”

“You have no manners,” Galiana accused, irritated enough to let him feel the weight of her temper.

“I need none. Ye have no clue as to how important that man over there is, and it is my sworn duty to see to it that he survives to fulfill his destiny.”

“Who is he, then?”

She stared at him, daring him to answer. Needing to know, and knowing it would change her life once she did.

“A brother.”

“Jamie, Jamie, man, to me.” Rourke's voice lacked power as he called for his fellow knight.

Galiana took three large steps toward the injured man, but still Jamie reached Rourke first.

“Right here, Rourke, old Jamie's got your back.”

“I hear ye, but I cannot see,” Rourke said with great effort.

Galiana's heart fluttered as she watched Rourke's arm muscles straining against the linen ties in an effort to be free.

Jamie bowed his head, but kept his voice even. “Ye'll be fit, man, in no time at all. Sleep, would ye?”

“I think, Jamie, I must'a had too much ta drink.” Rourke chuckled ruefully. “'Tis sick I feel, from my head to my arse.”

Galiana put her knuckles to her lips at his language. This was no time for ladylike outrage. Not that she'd ever been outraged, but her mother had told her she should be. All ladies were.

Instead, Galiana had been fascinated by the slang of the villagers compared to the educated speech of the nobility. The traveling musicians and entertainers were a cross betwixt the two classes.

Jamie patted Rourke carefully on the shoulder, calming his friend with stories in that rough language they shared. Galiana gave them privacy, and gathered what she needed, careful to follow Celestia's written instructions to the letter.

Father Jonah delivered the two eggs. “Here ye are, my lady. How are you faring, here in the dungeon?” His voice was kind, and Galiana felt the flush creep up her neck.

“'Tis not filled with the monsters I'd always thought,” she smiled, taking the eggs from his outstretched hand. Cracking the first, she separated the yolk from the white and handed the dish of the clear liquid to the priest. “It will help Ned's wound heal and close. Spread it over the top, letting it dry. We must do this twice a day, according to the notes Celestia penned.”

Father Jonah sighed heavily. “I am most proud of you, Gali,” he said with a familiarity he hadn't broached since she'd turned fourteen and grown taller than he. “Your parents … they would be proud, too, seeing how you are overcoming your fears.”

“I've not much choice,” Galiana answered smartly to hide her pleasure that he'd noticed. Before this, Galiana refused to come down to the dungeon at all, certain it was filled with tortured souls. So far, she hadn't heard a single boo. She looked down at the dish she'd poured the egg into and sucked in a scared breath. “Oh! Oh, this is not good at all,” she said with a shiver. “Look. Blood in the yolk.”

“That's just an old superstition.” Father Jonah said, calmly.

She gnawed her lower lip. “It's bad fortune, and danger.”

Father Jonah took the dish away.

“'Tis nothing, my lady. Take this egg white for the injured knight, and I will find another egg for Ned.” He turned, then shook his head and whispered conspiratorially, “I almost forgot. Ed will be ‘haunting' the manor, so if ye hear any strange sounds, act frightened, aye?”

Galiana watched the old man walk carefully up the stone steps. Acting frightened would not be much of a stretch, she thought. She sent a quick prayer to Saint Jude that Ed would not be found; then she took the tray of supplies, along with a freshly heated needle and black thread, and set everything on a small table near the cot, where Rourke lay muttering something unintelligible.

“What language is that he speaks? It's similar to my mother's language, but I can't make it out.”

Jamie rose quickly. “Don't be listening in where ye should not be, lass, else you'll be minus those pretty ears.”

Galiana huffed, refusing to give in to Jamie's bullying. I'll not think about the blood in the yoke. “It sounded like he said Merlin.”

Jamie blew out an annoyed breath.

She sat down, setting the bandages and herbs around her and babbling on to stop her nerves. “Do you know the tales? Of a wizard so powerful he controlled the ancient kings? He lived on Iona, you know. I wish I could go there. I would ask for magic.”

Hearing Jamie's audible gulp, she turned, the threaded needle in her hand. “Run this through that candle's flame, will you?” She picked up a damp, sage-scented cloth from a shallow bowl and wrung it out before gathering her courage and peeling back the sheet to reveal the gash in Rourke's leg. “You cannot blame this injury on my family, sir. From whence did it come?”

“We were attacked by brigands on our way here.”

“Mercenaries. Thugs.” Galiana closed her eyes briefly. “The trouble seems to get worse as the years pass.”

Jamie cocked his head. “With no king at the helm, ye mean?”

“Nay! I said nothing of the kind. My family is loyal to King Richard.”

He handed her the needle and mumbled, “Pity.”

Galiana paused before returning her gaze to Rourke's wound. “Excuse me?”

“I said, ‘pretty.' Ye're a comely lass, ye ken?”

“Hmph.”

“Why are ye not married already, with babes at yer feet?”

Point to flesh, press, pretend that this is a coarse piece of cloth, and not a man's skin. Her stomach rolled as blood came to the surface. Dark blood, with an unhealthy smell. Babes? “'Tis none of yer concern,” she said shortly.

“I would know, too,” Rourke said in his deep voice.

“Ah! Ha! Oh, sweet Brigid! Do not scare me like that.” She swallowed, then picked the needle back up from where she'd dropped it on his leg. “Oh, no. No. I cannot pierce your flesh whilst you are awake!”

“Keep talking,” Rourke instructed.

Galiana bit her lip, hating to see any creature suffer.

And at her own hands, it was unbearable. “I can't.”

“Do it!” Jamie growled.

“Leave us, friend,” Rourke said. “Your temper makes her hand shake worse, and I'd just as soon not bleed to death.”

Jamie cursed, then stomped loudly up the stairs.

“Galiana, yes?” Rourke's throat was dry, and it irritated him to talk, but he could sense the lady's mounting frustration and knew she needed soothing before taking up the needle again.

“Aye.”

“Tell me, then, why you have not married if you are as comely as Jamie says. Was he teasing you? Have ye two noses?”

She laughed softly. “He was but being kind, sir. And I have just one nose.”

“'Tis large; it must be. Or have you a wart on your chin?”

Galiana made an odd sound before saying, “No. No wart. But if it is a beauty aid you seek, I could make it for you.”

“Are ye calling me ugly?”

Her startled inhalation of breath made him smile, which in turn made his head ache like the devil. A groan escaped his lips despite his efforts.

“Since you're awake, I can give you the tisane I've made. For fever and pain.”

“I could hear you and Jamie arguing.”

“Your friend leaves no room for argument.”

“I suppose that's so. It is a valiant quality in a knight.”

He assumed she had no answer for that, as she said naught else. The sound of water being poured into a dish teased his ears, and he wished he could see. Damn, but his head ached, and now his leg throbbed as well, which could only mean infection. The bursting smells of sage and marigold filled his nose, and his throat closed against what he knew to be bitter medicine.