Heather Graham (17 page)

Danielle caught Joanna, calling out for help. Simms, one of the strong men who handled the heavy carcasses for the cooks, lumbered in and awaited further instructions.

“Simms, please, take her straight to my chamber—I think that is best,” Danielle commanded quickly, and followed along behind. When Joanna was laid out on her bed, she ordered Simms to bring a cloth and fresh, cool water and to send for Doctor Coutin. Simms left to do as he was told, and Danielle sat by Joanna, touching her forehead.

She had been warm before. Now she burned.

Simms returned with the water and stood in the doorway, his dark eyes now deep and wide with alarm.

“Bring the water, please!” Danielle said.

“I’ve touched her!” Simms moaned.

“Aye, so bring the water!”

Simms just stood there and Danielle hurried to snatch the water and cloth from him. She sat at Joanna’s side again and bathed her forehead and arms, her heart sinking.

She understood the terror Simms had felt.

They had thought themselves safe. Now the plague had come to them at last.

Doctor Coutin came and studied his patient.

“The Black Death?” Danielle said.

“Aye, milady. I am sorry. I’ll do what I can, but as you know, there is so little that I can do …” He hesitated, clearing his throat. “Lady Joanna did not bring it. The cook, your man from Aville, fell ill earlier. He died just moments ago, milady.”

“Oh, sweet Jesu!” Danielle whispered, and crossed herself.

“Those in the fortress are panicking, for the plague attacks so swiftly and is so merciless! Danielle, there are many falling sick, and I must attend to them. I pray you, you must help Lady Joanna.”

“Aye, I would not leave her! I will help her, stay with her,” Danielle assured him.

Joanna’s condition deteriorated rapidly, and while Danielle attended to her, she heard with horror what was happening throughout the castle. A groom dropped to the ground while walking across the courtyard; one hour later he was dead. Fanners, craftsmen, one after another, fell.

By darkness, there were three more deaths.

The next few days would be the worst, Doctor Coutin advised her. He knew well, for, like Danielle, he had survived the sickness himself and seen Aville through it. “Sometimes death is all but instant. Usually, those who will die do so within two to five days. Let’s pray God that most of our people will have the will and the faith and the strength to make their way through it.”

By the following morning, Sir Thackery and Monteine had both been taken ill.

The household had gone mad, it seemed. When Danielle tried to summon help from the kitchen, she found the maidservants there dancing with the grooms, many of them only half-dressed. She stared at them all in shock, and when Swen, one of the young grooms, saw her, he gave pause, but only for a minute.

“Death is coming, lady. Take what you will of life, because death is coming now.”

“Death will pass some by!” she cried out. “I have seen it come before, and some will survive! I need help with those who have fallen ill—”

Molly, one of the kitchen maids, her bodice fallen, her breasts completely exposed, giggled. “Some will die, some will live, lady.” Then a sob escaped her. “The boils! They form on me already! Oh, God, oh, God!”

“Doctor Coutin will lance them if you quit acting like a lunatic!” Danielle cried. She remembered Doctor Coutin’s words—the people had to have faith and strength for any of them to survive. Sir Thackery was ill; Doctor Coutin was busy throughout the fortress. She was countess here, and somehow, she had to force them all back to their senses.

The girl continued to laugh and cry. All around her, Danielle could hear the hysteria rising. Men had come in from the fields, men-at-arms mingled with the farmhands. It was only morning, and the whole of the kitchen reeked with the smell of spilled ale. Some had drunk themselves into stupors and lay where they had fallen. The others were ready to continue their mad, music-less dance, as if they could race their way into oblivion.

Swen the groom was grabbing for Molly’s half-naked form, and Molly was squealing again—this time with laughter. Danielle leapt upon the huge oak preparation table amidst half-kneaded dough, decaying meat, and drying vegetables. Tears of frustrated anger filled her eyes. If MacLachlan had been here now, none of them would have dared behave so badly, even if the grim reaper himself were whispering in their ears.

A cast iron pot lay upon the table and she clutched it up and gave Swen a sound knock upon the head with it. He slumped to the floor, rubbing his head, staring up at her, dazed. The sound of it seemed to echo about the room, and to her amazement, the maddened revelers suddenly went still.

“You may act like fools and give up all hope of life yourselves, but I will not allow my friends to die! Molly, get to a bed. Swen, if you would fondle her so, help her to it. Get wet clothes and cool her down. Some of you start cleaning up. Those who are sick, may the Virgin Mother pray for you. Those not afflicted must help. Now, get out of my way!”

She hopped down and left the kitchen, going to the well for the cold water she had come for. When she came to the kitchen, she saw that some of the servants had sullenly decided to obey her. “Doctor Coutin will come as soon as he can to attend to all of you.”

“Doctors can not save us from the Black Death!” Swen told her sadly.

She spun around. “Then a priest will come, and speed you on your journey to heaven or hell! By God! Can’t you all at least fight to live?” she demanded.

Blank stares followed her as she hurried away from them all, wearily aware that what could be done here, she would be doing herself with little able assistance.

With Lady Jeanette and a few servants left to help, she and Doctor Coutin moved from sickbed to sickbed, trying to do what could be done. She summoned all the barbers from the town—those who could still stand—to see that the victims’ boils were lanced. At Doctor Coutin’s orders, Danielle worked very hard to keep the afflicted cool, bathing foreheads, throats, hands, chests, backs.

Black crosses were drawn in ash all around the walls of the fortress.

By the fifth night, the death toll within the walls of the town had risen to fifty. Miraculously, though, some began to recover.

Joanna continued to breathe, to fight for life, and Danielle hoped that since she had made it thus far, she had the will and strength to survive. She sat by her bed throughout another long day, keeping her body as cool as she could.

By the sixth morning since the Black Death had come to Gariston, Danielle could barely move. She’d had no sleep. She knelt down by Joanna’s bed, her fingers entwined with Joanna’s. She closed her eyes, and she must have dozed.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw that she wasn’t alone with Joanna anymore.

Adrien MacLachlan had returned.

H
E SEEMED INCREDIBLY TALL
and strong as he stood by the bedside, staring down at Joanna, so beautiful now, so very frail and fragile with her dark lashes sweeping her ashen cheeks. He seemed indomitable, a tower of power, life, and health, his shoulders broad beneath the magenta sweep of his mantle, his thighs sturdy as oak. In the pale light of the early dawn, even his rich red-gold hair seemed dark. His features were taut and drawn, his eyes like a mirror of death itself.

Danielle’s fingers were still entwined with Joanna’s. Then Danielle realized why agony filled Adrien’s eyes.

Joanna had given up the fight at last. Danielle no longer needed to cool her from the fever. Joanna lay cold now, her fingers like ice. The fever had left her, along with the warmth of life.

Danielle had no chance to react, for Adrien MacLachlan let out a cry of grief, falling to his knees as well. He reached for Joanna, cradling her dead form in his arms, bowing his head over her.

Danielle struggled to her feet, backing away. She ached for Joanna herself, but she had been living in a nightmare between life and death for a very long time. She remained numbed, for Adrien’s grief was so very terrible and intimate. It was as if he hadn’t even noticed her yet, and she wanted very badly to slip away. Still, she couldn’t move. The seconds began to pass, and then the minutes ticked away, and still, Adrien embraced his dead lover. And finally, tears started to trickle down Danielle’s cheeks, damp and silent, and they seemed to break her from her paralysis. She started to slip quietly from the room, but Adrien suddenly reached out, his fingers curling around her wrist. He stood, and his tormented, glittering eyes met hers.

“You have stayed with her all this time?”

His voice was hoarse, pained, different.

“With her, with some of the others.”

“With no help?”

“So many are stricken. There aren’t many left to help. And I love Joanna. I tried very hard to save her,” Danielle whispered. “I swear to you—”

She was startled when he suddenly pulled her close, picked her up, and sat on a bedside chair with her in his arms. He held her gently, rocking slightly as he stared at Joanna again, giving comfort, taking comfort.

“Poor lass, you are quite something,” he murmured. “The servants fled and dying, and you doing it all.”

She didn’t want his sympathy. She had been fighting too hard to betray any weakness now. “Doctor Coutin never deserted me,” she whispered. “Nor Milady Jeanette.”

Despite her resolve, tears rose to her eyes. She couldn’t seem to stop them, but it didn’t seem so bad. She had never wanted to cry in front of him, never, but his own cheeks were damp, his grief was so terrible. She was weary, bone weary from head to toe, dazed and numbed still. It felt good to be held, for the moment. It was good to rest, and feel that she passed a burden from her own shoulders to his.

He held her another moment, then stood, setting her upon her feet. “Things have settled somewhat. I understand you beat a groom upon the head.”

“I didn’t
beat
him, I merely gave him one good crack.”

She was startled when the ghost of a smile touched Adrien’s lips. “Still, milady, there is much to be done here, and I’ll not watch these people lie idle waiting to die. They had no right to let you do so much.”

He strode from the room angrily and came down the steps. A number of the servants were in the hall, some slumped upon the floor, a few gaming with dice.

Adrien walked into the midst of them with a fury and energy that seemed to send off sparks of fire. Swen was the first to feel his wrath. The groom was sprawled by the hearth and Adrien clutched him by the shoulders, dragging him to his feet.

“Tragedy strikes and you lie about as if you were a beaten dog!”

“Death comes for us, milord! What matter?” Swen demanded.

Adrien drew his sword and there was a collective inhalation of breath as he touched its lethal tip to Swen’s throat. Others who had been lying about quickly rose.

“What does it matter? You seem healthy as yet, lad. Be about your business and help with this pathetic siege of fever or else I will hasten you to your own grave this very minute!”

“Aye, milord, aye!” Swen cried.

Adrien looked around the hall. “Sweet Jesu, you lie here with your dead! By God, man, get litters!” He strode across to where a few of the men-at-arms had come to lie and wait. They rose, backing away from Adrien’s wrath. “Get litters, now!” he commanded, “You men, dig a pit far outside the gate and see these poor wretches are burned and buried. Any man knows this—the dead must be taken away. They cause more disease by their poor demises! Do it, now. You—!” he cried suddenly, stopping a man called Robin Sentell, a stonemason. “You!” he said again. “You will begin work on a tomb for—for the Lady Joanna. She will lie within the crypt of the chapel, do you hear me?”

“Aye, milord, I will get to work immediately!” Robin promised.

“A hundred lashes to the next man to fear the plague with such fervor that he will not aid his fellow. Seek to dance with the Devil again and by God, I swear it, you will stand beside him before dusk!” Adrien’s eyes, glittering with a hellfire promise, swept the room. Men and women stumbled upon one another to hasten to their work.

Danielle stood on the landing of the stairs, watching as the household guiltily went to order at Adrien’s commands. Lady Jeanette came to stand behind her, setting her hands on Danielle’s shoulders.

Adrien came up the stairs again, pausing before the two of them. “Sir Thackery?” he asked Lady Jeanette.

“He lives, milord. Fighting on.”

Adrien’s gaze flicked down to Danielle. The fury in them was gone. The pain was back. “Monteine?” he asked her.

“She fights as well.”

He nodded. “Leave me be then, with my Lady Joanna,” he said, and stepped by into Danielle’s room, where Joanna lay in death. He closed the door, and he was alone with the woman he had loved.

Lady Jeanette and Danielle stood there for several seconds after the door had closed, then Lady Jeanette sighed softly. “Order is restored, milady. God will fight for the others now. You must sleep.”

“I’ve nowhere—”

“Laird MacLachlan’s chamber upstairs will do for now,” Lady Jeanette said briskly. “Sleep, and perhaps when you awaken …”

The guest chamber was nearly as magnificent as her own. She allowed Jeanette to lead her to the massive bed, pull down the covers, and see her into it. Jeanette gave her wine; she drank the full goblet, relishing the burning that seared her throat and helped to numb her pain. But no matter what the tempest in her heart and soul, sheer exhaustion seized her when her head touched the down pillow. She slept.

It seemed she slept forever, and she was finally roused by a clinking sound nearby. She blinked, thinking it was night, for there was candlelight near her and a fire burning in the hearth. Her stomach growled, and she realized that she hadn’t eaten. Then all the horror that sleep had erased returned and she remembered that Joanna and many others were dead. She sat up slowly, frowning. Adrien was there, his great length slumped in a chair before a table by the hearth. The clinking sound she had heard had been his wine goblet falling against it time and again. A carafe was by his hand, nearly empty now, and Danielle was quite certain it had been full when Adrien began drinking. A beautifully designed golden circlet for a lady’s hair lay before him as well, and he fingered it as he sat there drinking and staring into the fire.