Once Upon a Romance 03 - With True Love's Kiss (6 page)

It was
difficult to peel and cut all the roots and bulbs with her small belt knife,
but Bianca was feeling lighthearted as she worked. She almost would have sung,
if she hadn’t been afraid to wake the two sleepers. Isabelle needed her rest,
and Robin, well, who knew how long he had been out the night before, gathering
the things she’d mentioned?

Once she had
everything prepared she threw it all in a pot, along with just enough water to
cover it. Then she placed the pot among the coals of the fire and settled down
to wait. It would take a while for the hard roots to cook down into a mash that
could be placed on Isabelle’s back, and Bianca needed to keep an eye on it, to
make sure it didn’t boil.

She crouched
beside the pot, watching it steam gently, while her thoughts dwelt on the man
currently sleeping on the bare floor of the cave. He was incomprehensible to
her. He’d been the King’s Huntsman for years, and escorted her out into the
countryside on many occasions, but through it all she’d never really known him.
He was always calm, always polite, and invariably cold to her. He’d been one of
the few people in the castle she could have sworn held no love for her. Indeed,
most of the time it seemed as though he actively disliked her.

And now, to
find out that he had been there all along to protect her, was shocking. To be
hiding in a cave in a desperate attempt to escape capture, even more so. But
most shocking of all was to find that he was not the cold, callous person she
thought. He’d left the cave—left the safety of their hideout—to go gather the things
that Isabelle needed.

The pot of
roots was just beginning to form bubbles, so Bianca poured in some fresh, cold
water and the heat subsided. With the mash safe for the moment her eyes drifted
over to linger on Robin. She wondered where he was from. Given that he was
taking them to Albion, it seemed possible that he hailed from that kingdom, but
Isabelle spoke of his people being different, as though they lived somewhere
far away, in a land separated by both distance and custom.

He certainly
looked no different from the people of the nearby kingdoms. He could have
passed for a member of any of the Toldan noble families. His hair was black,
like her own, and framed a face that held a dangerous kind of beauty. His
features were keen; the sharp jaw, the fine nose, the hard-edged line of his
cheeks, and his eyes… They were blue, but where hers were a deep midnight,
his were the shade of blue found at the heart of a flame. Bright, and vivid,
and—

And wide
open.

They stared
at each other, through the rising steam. He seemed wholly unconcerned at having
woken to find her staring at him, and, despite being caught, Bianca felt no
chagrin. He was a mystery, and she could no more help being fascinated by him
than she could help her concern for Isabelle. So she focused on him, and delved
in those glowing depths for answers to questions she didn’t even understand. As
their eyes stayed locked together the silence grew, filled with a crackling
energy that ran along Bianca’s skin like the precursor to a lightning storm.
Robin lay quiet and completely still, yet the intensity in his fiery blue eyes
bore into her, quickening her heart and catching her breath. She felt trapped,
and only now did she realize that even as she searched for answers in him, he
searched for them in her.

She tried to
think of something to say, some words that would break this tension between
them, but her mind was blank, enveloped by walls of intense, brilliant blue. It
was Robin who broke the spell.

“You have
put my gatherings to good use.”

Her eyes
flew to the pot, and she gasped. Grabbing one of the linen bandages she dragged
the mash away from the fire, saving it from boiling by only a few seconds. Then
she snatched her hand away from the scalding pot, before the heat could sear
her even through the linen. She heard Robin give a startled cry, and the next
moment he was at her side, cradling her hand in both his own, examining it
closely.

“It’s fine.”
She tried to reclaim her hand, but he stubbornly held it.

“It is
reddening. You could have burned yourself badly.” As he spoke he took the linen
bandage and dipped it in her pot of cold water, then laid it gently against the
skin on her palm. “That was a foolish thing to do.”

“I’m fine.”
She tugged again, but still couldn’t extricate her hand. “I couldn’t let the
mash burn. Isabelle needs it.”

“And do you
not need two functioning hands?” He sounded irritated. “For that matter, does
not Isabelle need both your hands? You are the only one here with the skill to
care for her.”

“My hand is
fine,” she said sullenly, as Robin lifted the cold, wet linen free and bent to
examine the skin. “It isn’t as though I—”

She broke
off with a gasp. Robin was gliding his fingers gently across her hand, testing
for tenderness, or pain. Truly, there was none—she hadn’t been burned at
all—but the intimacy of his touch, light and tickling, almost a caress, stole
her breath away.

“Indeed, you
have not harmed yourself this time.” He ran his fingers over her palm one last
time, then closed her own fingers over the rapidly fading redness. “But you
should have more care for yourself, Bianca.”

Finally she
could free her hand, and she wasted no time scooting away from him. Then,
carefully protecting her hands with the thick layers of her riding skirt, she
busied herself with the pot holding the steaming mash. She settled it atop a
small rock, where the air could flow around it and cool it as fast as possible.
Picking up a small stick of firewood, she stirred, letting the steam escape and
using the vigorous motion to break down the heat softened roots. All the while
she felt Robin’s eyes following her, but he said nothing, so she ignored him.
At last he rose and went to check the horses, who were resting peacefully just
inside the waterfall.

It was time
to take another look at Isabelle’s back. When Bianca knelt down beside her
friend, Isabelle cracked her eyes.

“Bianca?”

“I’m here,
Isabelle. Robin went into the forest and brought back some plants for me. I can
treat your back, now.”

“Hurts.”

“I know, I’m
so sorry. I’m afraid this will hurt, as well.” Bianca kept her voice low and
calm. “Do you want some water before we start?”

“No, just…
Do it.”

As gently as
possible, Bianca began lifting the linen from Isabelle’s back. The strips of
cloth came away, smeared with blood and the telltale signs of infection.
Beneath the bandages, the unhealed lash mark was a gut-clenching sight. It was
swollen into strained white flesh, and the vivid, angry red streaks of
infection reached from hip to shoulder. Bianca looked back at Robin with worried
eyes. She had never been forced to treat an infection so far gone.

“This will
help, but…”

Robin came
back over to them, and looked down at the awful wound. “It may not be enough.”
Bianca bit her lip and nodded. “What else can you do?”

“If I were
home, I would try to lance it. But lancing can be dangerous, and at home I have
sweet birch to give her, and honey, to coat the wound. Here—” Bianca broke off
in frustration. “I need my still room.”

Robin put a
comforting hand on her shoulder. “Use your poultice. It may work as you hope.
By tomorrow, the king’s men should be well past this place. If Isabelle is no
better, we shall try to find the things you need.”

“Besides,”
Isabelle spoke, startling Bianca. She’d thought the queen had drifted off
again. Her voice was weak, but still managed to sound amused. “If it’s all the
same to you, I’d prefer you keep sharp objects away from my skin.”

Bianca
leaned down and kissed Isabelle’s temple. “I will do my best.”

“Of course
you will, love. I have faith in you.”

Cleaning out
the wound was horrible, but necessary. Bianca kept her touch delicate, but
Isabelle still gasped and winced as the edges of the gash were slowly blotted
free of the awful, oozing infection. She jerked away reflexively, and then
tried to apologize.

“I’m sorry,
I can’t… I can’t hold still.” Isabelle’s voice was shaking, and Bianca knew
her friend needed help.

“Robin,
could you?” He didn’t speak, but moved to kneel by Isabelle’s head, placing his
hands firmly on her shoulders and preventing her from moving. She gave a small
sigh, almost in relief, and Bianca bent back to her task.

Once the
wound was cleaned Bianca fetched the mash. It was still warm, but no longer
scalding. She left it at Isabelle’s side, and went to clean her hands as best
she could beneath the waterfall. Then she returned to her patient, and, trying
not to jar her, carefully straddled her hips, sitting down gently so that her
own body weight held her friend motionless. With her damp, clean fingers she
scooped up some of the root mash mixture, took a deep breath, and looked at
Robin.

“You’ll need
to hold her shoulders still.”

She waited
until she saw his body weight shift, pinning Isabelle firmly, and then she
began to smooth the mash deep into the wound. Isabelle’s body jerked, and she
let out a pained cry, but she couldn’t move. Bianca kept her hands steady,
making sure she covered every surface, packing the wound well, and moving with
as much haste as she could. In reality it only took a few moments, but Isabelle’s
half muffled sobs made it seem like an eternity. When Bianca was done she
tumbled off her friend, and then crawled over to where she could lay her face
down level with Isabelle’s.

“I’m sorry!
I’m so sorry, Isabelle!”

Isabelle
looked at her with tear stained eyes. “Oh Bianca, love, don’t say that. It isn’t
your fault it hurts.” A shiver passed over her. “It doesn’t even,” she
shuddered, “hurt that much, I’m just—” Again she shook. “So cold.”

“I’ll get
your blanket.” Bianca wiped her eyes and laid a clean cloth across Isabelle’s
back, then tucked her up under the heavy blanket. By the time she had Isabelle
firmly wrapped, the injured woman had closed her eyes, losing contact with
consciousness once again.

“It is not
cold.” Robin stood just behind her, and spoke quietly.

“No, it isn’t.”
Bianca tried to answer the unspoken question. “Sometimes a person will react
that way, when their body is damaged. The pain gets muted, while their mind
gets cloudy. And they’ll shiver as though they’re freezing, no matter how warm
they are.”

“Is it a bad
sign?”

“It’s a
reaction to what happened, nothing more. She needs to rest, and give her body
the chance to heal, and let the poultice work. If her fever breaks, we’ll know
it’s working. If not…” Bianca shook her head. “I suppose I’ll have to try to
lance it.”

“It is
fortunate that you are such a skilled healer.”

The
compliment startled Bianca enough that she turned to face him. There was
nothing but sincerity in Robin’s face, but she scoffed.

“I am not a
skilled healer at all.”

“Why do you
say that?”

“A skilled
healer would have been able to prevent this. A skilled healer would know another
solution, besides cutting her open, and causing her even more pain! A skilled
healer would—”

“Bianca!”
Robin broke in, snapping her name. “Are you the only human in all the realms
with no regard for yourself? You are skilled—for certain, I never would have
known how to help Isabelle—yet you treat yourself like a tool, merely an object
used to accomplish an end, and not even a valuable object at that!”

“I don’t, I—”

“You do! You
expend yourself as though you mean nothing!”

“So what if
I do?!” Bianca was, at last, well and truly angry. “What is so wrong with that?
What is wrong in placing value on another’s life? What is wrong with being
willing to sacrifice? Perhaps you would rather I treated others like game
pieces? To be manipulated?”

“No! I would
rather you treated yourself with one small crumb of the care with which you
treat others! I would rather you acted as though your life meant something! I
would rather you behaved as though you cared whether you lived or died!”

“And I would
rather die myself, than to have yet another person lose their life because of
my actions!”

The words
echoed in the sudden silence of the cave. Bianca glared up at Robin, waiting
for his next admonishment, but none came. All the anger had fled from those
shocking blue eyes, to be replaced with concern.

“What are
you talking about, Bianca?”

“Didn’t Dame
Merriweather tell you all about me, before she sent you on her little errand?”
Her voice was bitter, she didn’t even try to hold it in. “Don’t you know?”

“I do not.”

“Then you
must be the only one in the kingdom.”

Robin took
her hand, and drew her to the fire, away from Isabelle. There he pressed her
down, waiting until she had settled herself before hunkering down beside her.

“Perhaps,
since it is not a secret, you would share the story with me.”

Bianca
sighed. Her unfamiliar anger had fled, and with it all her energy. She wrapped
her arms around her chest, and stared into the fire. As always, the flames
showed her the story Robin wanted to hear.