Her Lord and Protector (formerly titled On Silent Wings) (28 page)

“Alex,” she
whispered. “I love you. Stay strong for me.”

She moved to a
chair by the bed and watched his chest rise and fall, afraid to look away lest
he took a last breath. Leaning down, she smoothed his hair and drifted her
fingers over his purple eyelids, his cheeks, and the bristles on his jaw, and
willed him not to die.

Two or three
hours passed. Outside, a steady rain fell. The darkness pressed in on the
single lit candle on the dressing table. After a time the storm let up, and
eventually the moon peeked silver through breaking clouds.

Katherine turned
the poultice on Alex’s shoulder and pulled the covers over him, then pressed
her cheek against his. Heat emanated from him in waves. He lay unmoving as if
already dead. Yet he still breathed.

Footsteps
sounded outside her door and then receded as someone walked past their room.
Outside on the dark street, a raucous voice called to another. Later, a woman
let forth a shrill laugh. Katherine drank of the ale and tried to swallow some
of the bread and cheese brought to the room.

Midnight passed.
The moon had disappeared over the roof, leaving a black stillness broken only
by occasional barking of dogs outside or the skittering of rats within the inn
walls.

Her lids growing
heavy, Katherine wrapped and wetted a fresh poultice. The wound had swollen and
now oozed a watery, reddish fluid. The streaks had expanded, reaching out from
the dirt-encrusted hole like spider legs. She studied it, and made a decision.

A moment later
she banged on the innkeeper’s door. “Have you soap?”

“Have I what?”
The innkeeper rubbed a hand over his weathered face and then straightened his
crumpled nightcap.

“Soap. I need
soap.”

“Why? We have no
one to draw water for a bath at this hour. You do not even need a bath, from
the looks of you.”

She fought the
urge to rear back from his sour breath. “I just need soap. I will pay.” She
held up a guinea.

The innkeeper
shuffled down the hall and a moment later returned with a palm-sized bar. “For
the laundry,” he said. “Will it do?”

Katherine held
the rough gray bar to the candlelight. “It will have to, if you have no Castile
soap.”

“You want that
Spanish soap for whores, go to Spain. Take it or leave it.”

Back in the
room, she wrung water from a towel, then rubbed the soap onto it until it made
a rich lather. Alex didn’t awaken when she scrubbed the wound.

If the
knowledgeable doctor knew what she was doing, he would call her an ignorant
dolt, perhaps even accuse her of aiding in his death. Her mother had always
told her to stop thinking up such outlandish notions as questioning the
conviction that dirt was a shield against disease.

Now, as she
rinsed the wound and then placed the fresh poultice on it, Katherine told herself
that she had done her husband no harm.

After all, she
had nothing else to lose.

She set the
candle on the bedside table and undressed to her petticoat, then carefully
climbed over him to lay on his left side. She ran her hands over his hot, still
form. “Alex,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean what I said. I want to go home with
you. To our home. Don’t die. Don’t.”

Finally, she
slept.

And awoke with a
cry when she was slammed against the wall. She rubbed her head and looked
around in confusion. The candle sputtered on the bedside table. Beside her,
Alex thrashed about with rasping moans.

“Alex?” She
touched his face, and gasped. He was burning up! The poultice had come off and
in the dim light of the candle, blood was smeared over his shoulder and onto
the sheet.

He lurched his
body and flung out his arms, narrowly missing her face.

Katherine swung
one leg over him to leave the bed.

He gripped her
arm. “Who are you?”

“Katherine. Let
go.” She tried to pull away from the painful vice of his hand.

“Liar!”

She recoiled
with fear at his blank, glassy stare.

“’Tis
Katherine!” she cried. “Alex, you’re hurting me!”

“She-devil!
Trying to kill me!”

“Alex! Please!”
Katherine jerked backwards but not soon enough; his other hand gripped her
neck. Her gasp of pain was cut short by his thumb pressing into her windpipe.

Desperately she
pulled at his fingers. He stared at her with flat, emotionless eyes, his pale
lips contorted in a grimace. Spots filled her vision, a gray haze.

He would kill
her.

Her hand left
his and fumbled for the one thing that might stop him.

Her fingers
found it. And drove into his torn flesh.

“Oh God!” With a
roar, Alex released her throat and groped at his wound.

Katherine flung
herself off the bed and crawled to the door, then stood on shaking legs,
gasping and coughing.

Alex didn’t come
after her, and a moment later, his thrashing had ceased. Shaking out a long
breath, she crept toward him. His eyes were closed and his breathing was
shallow. He moaned and moved in spasms, occasionally twisting his body and
muttering garbled words.

Wearily, she
poured water into the bowl and soaked a towel to lay across his fiery brow.
After cleaning and dressing his wound again—all the while watching him for any
sign of awakening—she moved the chair across the room near the door and sat,
then leaned forward with her head in her hands.

Pink dawn had
touched the rooftops of the buildings across the street when Katherine finally
succumbed to sleep.

****

Bright sunlight
bathed her eyes. Katherine jerked up in the wooden chair. Alex!

Was he alive?

Shaking off her
stiffness she ran to him, held a hand to his cooled cheek, and noted the
peaceful rise and fall of his chest. Checking the poultice, she found that the
swelling of his wound and the strange red streaks had subsided.

Relief rushed
through her. “You will be all right,” she breathed. “My husband. You will be
all right.”

Now she did
climb over and cuddle beside him, and once again allowed sleep to overcome her.

Alex awoke to a
painful throb in his shoulder. A linen cloth bag filled with a fragrant, green
spongy concoction covered his wound. Had the doctor come, then?

Katherine
slumbered beside him on her side, her breaths slow and deep. Purple shadows
under her eyes revealed her strain, and his heart twisted over what he had put
her through these past weeks.

He wasn’t good
for her. And she didn’t want him. In the watery depths of his pain during their
ride away from the brothel, he had heard her say that she never wished to see
him again.

No, their
marriage had been a mistake.

Quietly Alex got
out of bed and stood on weak and shaky legs. He paused to drink the warm
watered ale on the bedside table before retrieving his dried blood-soiled shirt
and waistcoat. Clenching his jaw at the fire in his wound, he dressed, then
stood by the bed and gazed upon his beautiful wife. He leaned down and kissed
her brow.

A bruise circled
her neck. He studied it for a moment while anger filled him, wondering what
monster had done that and why he hadn’t seen it during their departure from the
brothel.

She didn’t stir
as he closed the door.

****

He was gone. No
clothes lay over the chair where she had laid them.

Katherine sat up
on the bed and felt the hungry rumbling of her stomach. Mayhap he had felt
strong enough to go to the kitchen to buy a meal for them. They would eat,
wash, and then head home.

Thank God her
husband had survived. Whatever the reason he had mistakenly sent her to the
brothel, it had to be sound. She had to believe in him.

She rose to
dress, then saw a folded piece of paper on the table next to the packets of
herbs. Instructions from the doctor that she had missed? Unfolding it, she
gazed upon familiar neat, bold handwriting.

She wasn’t aware
that she had sunk into a nearby chair until she reached the end of the letter
and started reading it again.

Katherine,

A guard is
outside your door until Millie arrives later today. I have departed for home
and will arrange for you to move into a home of your choice in the village. You
will never lack for anything.

Forgive me.

Alex

“But I didn’t
want you to leave without me,” Katherine whispered. “I wanted to come home with
you.”

Hot, heavy tears
flowed unchecked down her cheeks and dripped onto the paper, smearing the ink
into unreadable lines.

Lord Wiltshire’s
smile was wide and pleasant when Alex trudged past his parlor and saw him
perched on a chair like a blasted parrot.

The man couldn’t
do to look comelier than a woman—he also had to have the largest, most flamboyantly
pink feather in his hat that Alex had ever seen.

Thomas Bliss stood
and bowed, detaching the hat from his brown peruke with a flourish. When he
bowed, the feather swept the Aubusson rug.

“Lord Drayton!”
he began, and then his lips curled in distaste. “Have you been assisting in the
birth as well?”

“What birth?”
Alex asked dully, wanting nothing more than to retire to his bedchamber for a
few days until the pain left his shoulder—and his heart.

Elizabeth stood,
pale and red-eyed. “Clara is dead.”

“Clara.” Alex
tried to think. “Clara? The sheepherder Thaddeus’ wife?”

“Yes.” Elizabeth
approached him, her limp worse in her troubled state. “She gave birth late last
night. The midwife grew impatient and pulled the babe from Clara’s womb. Then
she—she reached inside to get....” Elizabeth bent her head and sobbed.

Wiltshire, uncomfortable
at either Elizabeth’s distress or the subject at hand, sat.

Alex drew
Elizabeth into his arms. “What happened?”

“The midwife
ripped Clara’s womb. “I—I have never seen so much blood.”

Alex was silent
for a moment. Then, “The babe?”

“Strong and healthy.
But poor
Stephen
is
beside himself. He—he ran away and no one can find him.”

The ride home on
Neos had been long, and Alex needed to lie down. But he said, “I will find
Stephen
.”

For the first
time Elizabeth seemed to notice the dried blood on his clothing. “You are
hurt.”

“The highwayman
shot me.”

“And?” Wiltshire
stood once more.

“He is dead. I
killed him.”

“Well, good
riddance, I say,” the baron said with a tug on his gray bristled chin. “But you
look a little peaked, Drayton. Best that you go to your bedchamber and rest for
now. Elizabeth, would you like me to dispatch the servants to search for the
boy?”

Alex tensed.
“That will not be necessary, Wiltshire. I will take care of it. You may want to
leave now so my cousin can rest.”

“Yes. I think I need
to lie down,” Elizabeth murmured, and turned to Wiltshire. “Forgive me, my
lord.”

“Of course,”
Wiltshire replied. His smile toward Alex curdled. “I do hope we can renew our
acquaintance. I realize we did not part on good circumstances.”

Alex grunted. “Farewell.”

Later, his body
trembling with exhaustion and pain, Alex reached the top step leading to the
battlements of the keep.

By now Millie
should be well on her way to Lobb’s Inn to serve Katherine. Sam had dispatched
a message to a lawyer to end the marriage and handle the purchase of a
comfortable home in the town. After the lawyer ensured that Katherine was
settled in and safe, Alex would set himself to forgetting about her.

Being alone was
best, after all. It kept his heart intact.

Now he turned left
on the battlement walkway and moved toward the crumpled form of a boy curled
against one wall.

“
Stephen
.”

The boy stirred
and turned his head, reddened eyes blinking in the sunlight. He sniffed once,
then lowered his head onto his arm.

Alex knelt and placed
his hand on
Stephen
’s thin, shaking
shoulder. “I am sorry.”

“Mama’s dead,”
Stephen
sobbed. “Why?
Why?”

“I cannot answer
that,” Alex said. How could he explain to a child the impatient gropings of a
midwife? “But you have a new brother who needs you.”

“Don’t want
him,”
Stephen
said,
his breaths coming in wet huffs. “Send him back. He hurt my mama.”

“He didn’t hurt
her,
Stephen
. Your mother
died in no pain.” That was surely a lie, but something to soothe him.