Wild Wind (27 page)

Nicki twisted beneath the sheet that Alex had drawn over her, her eyes wild. When he’d first found her, she seemed to think he was attacking her. Then she’d accused Gaspar of the same thing. Other names came and went in her deranged ramblings. She said Milo’s name occasionally, and also those of Father Octavian and Brother Martin. She’d spoken to Alex as if he were her late uncle Henri, and once she’d even called him “Mama.”

“No one wants to hurt you,” Alex assured her, taking her face in his hands. “Least of all me.”

“You did hurt me, Phillipe,” she rasped. “How could you? I trusted you.”

Phillipe? “I’m not Phillipe, Nicki. I’m Alex. Look at me.”

“Alex?” she said in a small voice.

“Yes.” Rising, he sat on the edge of the bed and took her in his arms, not caring, for now, what the old man thought. She felt so soft and vulnerable. It filled him with cold fear to see her this way. Turning to Guyot, he said, “Do something for her!”

The old surgeon was stirring something in a little bowl. Alex smelled mustard. “Sit her up so I can purge her stomach.”

Wishing she didn’t have to go through this, Alex propped her up, sitting behind her for support, while Guyot got her to choke down the vile concoction. Within moments, she began to moan piteously and clutch at her stomach. “It’s all right, love,” Alex soothed as Guyot put a chamber pot before her. Alex held her tightly, murmuring reassurances and twisting her hair out of the way as her stomach emptied. “You’ll feel much better now.”

But she clearly didn’t. In fact, another seizure gripped her almost immediately. Alex held her as it ran its course, and then she closed her eyes and went slack. He brushed the hair off her face and pulled the sheet back over her, lamenting her dreadful paleness. But for the rising and falling of her chest, she looked like a corpse.

“Do something that will help!” Alex ordered the old man. In desperation, he added, “If she dies, so will you—by my own hand.”

Guyot shook out his bloody apron and tied it over his tunic. “I’ve been threatened thusly dozens of times, and as you can see, I’m still very much alive. I suggest you concentrate your energies on helping me treat your...lady cousin, for if you think you can strike terror into this old breast, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“Just see that she lives.”

“That’s up to God.” The surgeon reached into his satchel and brought forth his small knife, testing its blade with his thumb. “And his men of healing.”

Alex felt uneasy as Guyot positioned the bucket at the edge of the bed. “Is that really—”

“It’s absolutely essential,” he snapped. “Else I wouldn’t do it.”

“Aye, but she’s so terrified of bloodlettings.”

“More terrified than she is of death?”

Nicki stirred, murmuring something Alex couldn’t make out.

“Make no mistake,” Guyot said softly, “if she’s not bled, she won’t live to see the morning. ‘Tis the only thing that saved her husband.”

“Do it, then,” Alex said, wishing to God there was some other way.

“Alex?” Nicki mumbled. Her eyes glittered feverishly despite the coolness of her skin. One strap of her shift had slid down over her shoulder. Alex straightened it and gathered her in his arms.

“I’m here.”

“What’s wrong? Everything’s spinning.”

“You’re sick. You’ve got what Milo had. Maître Guyot is going to help you get better.”

She turned her head, her expression of disorientation giving way to alarm as she took in the surgeon’s blood-flecked apron and knife. Alex felt her go rigid in his arms. “Nay.”

“Nicki, it’s only way.” But she’d begun struggling against him, kicking and clawing.

“Nay! Please, Alex, don’t let him—”

“Nicki, listen to me—”

She cried out, her nails digging into him. Alex turned to find Guyot pulling a loop of rope out of his bag.

“Nay!” she screamed, fighting to free herself. “Nay, please!”

“Here.” Guyot thrust the rope at Alex. “You do it. She’s too strong for me. Just leave her left arm free.”

“Nay!” Nicki shrieked, thrashing frantically as Alex strove to restrain her.

“No rope,” Alex told the old man. “Put it away. I won’t tie her down.”

“But how the devil are we supposed to—”

“Put the rope away,” Alex said. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Look at her. You can’t hope to—”

“Put it away!” Alex roared.

Guyot complied, muttering under his breath.

“Nicki, listen to me.” Alex leaned his weight on her, pinioning her arms to keep her from hurting herself. “No one’s going to tie you up. Do you hear me? I won’t do it, and I won’t let him do it. Do you understand?”

She nodded. “And you won’t let him cut me?”

“Nicki...I can’t lie to you. I don’t want him to do it, but we don’t have any—”

“Nay!” She squirmed and writhed, trying to wrest her arms free.

“Just hold her down,” Guyot snapped impatiently. “You’re strong enough.”

“I’ll do this my own way,” Alex told him. “I’ll let you know when it’s time. Nicki, look at me.”

She whipped her head back and forth on the pillow.

“Look at me, Nicki.” Alex took both her wrists in one hand and cupped her face with the other, forcing her to be still. “Look at me!”

Her eyes were wide and terrified. “He...he tried to tie me down and...and make me...”

“No one’s going to tie you down. I promise.”

“He had a knife.”

“Maître Guyot?”

“G-Gaspar. He was going to cut off my nose.”

“Gaspar isn’t here, Nicki. No one wants to cut off your nose.”

“No, you don’t under—”

“Look at me.” Alex quieted his voice to a murmur. “Look at me, Nicki. Look right into my eyes. That’s right.” She was trembling, but had ceased her frenetic struggling. “Keep looking at me. Just at me.” He kept up this pacifying litany until he felt her body relax under his.

“That’s better.” He kissed her cheek. “Close your eyes. Good.” He released her wrists to trail his fingers through her hair. “Think about something pleasant,” he whispered. “Think about our cave. Remember how quiet it was, way in back, where we used to talk?”

She nodded.

“We must have had a hundred candles in there at the end. They made your hair look like spun gold. Remember how the reflections from the water would shimmer all over the walls? It was like something alive.”

“I remember,” she breathed.

Alex took her right hand in his and gently laid her left arm where Guyot could reach it.

“We used to make up stories about the paintings on the walls. Or, you did. I mostly just listened. I thought you were the cleverest person I’d ever known. You used to read to me—poems and stories. Remember?”

She smiled. “Yes.”

Alex rested a hand on her left shoulder and nodded to the surgeon, who took hold of her arm. “Maître Guyot is going to do what he needs to do now.”

She opened her eyes.

“But it will be all right, because I’m here.”

“Keep her still,” Guyot cautioned as he positioned the knife. Alex pressed firmly on her shoulder.

“Alex—” She flinched and squeezed her eyes shut as the surgeon made his cut. “Oh, God.” She clutched Alex’s hand, grimacing.

“I’m here.”

“Oh, God, make him stop.”

“Look at me. Look at me, Nicki. ‘Twill be over soon.”

She winced. “I hate this.”

“I know, but it will all be over soon. You’re doing very well.”

“Liar.” She actually laughed, after a fashion. “I’m a quivering baby.”

“Only about this. Everyone has something they’re afraid of.”

She looked skeptical. “What is the great White Wolf afraid of?”

He smiled. “Mallets.”

“Aye, well...that’s understandable.”

“So is this.”

“That’s the worst of it,” Guyot announced with a smile. “That wasn’t so bad was it?”

Alex and Nicki both cast him withering looks.

EVEN BEFORE ALEX
opened his eyes, while his mind still groped toward wakefulness, he knew something wasn’t right. He wasn’t lying down; he was sitting up, leaning forward on something, his head nestled in his arms. “Hunh...?”

A soft chuckle, very soft and feminine.

Alex raised his head, squinting into the face looking down at him—Nicki, sitting up in bed in her night shift, her hair askew, smiling at him. “Good morning.”

Alex looked around, squinting at the sun pouring into the solar through the window over the writing desk. “Good morning,” he croaked as he straightened up, grimacing at the stiffness in his bad hip.

Nicki hugged a pillow to her chest and grinned. “I couldn’t wake you up, of course. I considered breaking one or two of your ribs, but I don’t know as I’ve got the strength this morning.”

“No, I shouldn’t think so,” Alex said through a yawn. “You’re much improved from last night, though. Do you remember any of it?”

“Bits and pieces. I’m not sure what was real and what wasn’t.” She held out her bandaged arm. “I remember this—most of it, anyway.”

Alex nodded. “I’m sorry. Maître Guyot insisted we had no choice. I couldn’t let you...I didn’t want you to...” He combed a hand through his disorderly hair.

“I don’t remember the pain,” she said. “Just...you holding me, and talking about our cave. You were...you were very kind to do that, Alex.”

“I didn’t want you to suffer. You’d been through so much already.”

“Was it the same thing Milo had?” she asked.

“Aye. You caught it from him. I knew I shouldn’t have let you—”

“Hush.” She touched her fingertips to his lips. “I’m his wife, remember?”

Impulsively Alex caught her hand and pressed it to his cheek. “I wish you weren’t.”

She fell silent, her fingers lightly scrubbing the needle-sharp stubble on his jaw. “Why did you come up here last night?” she asked quietly. “Did you know I was sick?”

Alex shook his head, wishing he had it in him to lie. “You’ll think it’s foolish.”

“Tell me.”

He closed his eyes. “I wanted to kiss you. I’d promised myself I’d kiss you before midnight, and...I told you you’d think it was foolish.”

She gave his face one last, raspy caress and then withdrew her hand. “It’s probably just as well that you didn’t do it.”

He opened his eyes. “But I did.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You kissed me?”

“Your cheek.” He reached out and touched the very spot, soft as thistledown. “Not because of my promise to myself—I’d forgotten all about that. I just did it because...well, I just did it. And it wasn’t quite matins yet, so I suppose I kept my promise.” And when Guyot left, Alex had paid him several times more than he’d had coming to him, in order to discourage him from gossiping about what he’d seen.

Nicki shook her head, smiling crookedly. “You make the most peculiar oaths and promises. How on earth do you manage to keep track of them all?”

He rubbed his neck. “It isn’t easy.”

“Have you ever broken an oath?”

“Never,” he said quickly. “A soldier’s oath is a pledge to God Himself. I would die before breaking one.”

“But if you had to—”

“There could never be a good enough reason.”

She smiled blearily. “Don’t you think God would understand if there were? He made us. He knows our weaknesses and the impediments we face. If anyone could forgive our breaking an oath to God, it would be God himself.”

“You don’t understand,” Alex said. “Soldiers are judged by a higher standard of honor. We can’t afford to indulge our weaknesses, or bow down to impediments. When we promise God we will do a thing, we must do it.”

Slow footsteps scraped on the stone steps in the turret; something clanked softly. Alex rose and crossed to the door. “Edith is here with your breakfast.”

“You do have exceptional hearing,” Nicki said as Alex opened the door for the elderly maid.

“Oh, my poor lamb,” Edith exclaimed when she saw her young mistress. Alex took the breakfast tray from her before she dropped it. “Serves you right, though,” she added with a disapproving glare, “for not heeding Guyot and staying clear of his lordship.”

Nicki just sighed as Alex arranged the tray on her lap. The lumpy porridge and watered wine struck him as supremely unappetizing, but she bolted it all down and sent Edith away for more.

“You should leave, too,” she told Alex. “I want to wash up and get dressed now.”

“Don’t you think you’re rushing things? It took Milo much longer to get over this. He still hasn’t gotten out of bed.”

“Milo started out sickly,” she reminded him. “I feel fine, honestly. Just a bit woozy, and that will go away if I just get up and get on with things. And after what Edith said about Milo being worried about me, I want to reassure him that I’m all right.”

“Very well,” Alex conceded, crossing to the service staircase. “But try not to do too much.”

“Alex,” she said as he opened the door. “I’m very grateful to you for what you did for me last night, staying here with me, and...everything. But you really shouldn’t have come up here. And you mustn’t kiss me, even innocently, ever again.”

“Nicki...”

“I’m married, Alex. It’s wrong. If you persist in these...familiarities, I shall have to stop spending time alone with you. And I’d hate that. Our afternoons have been...” She ducked her head; was she blushing? “Please don’t take them away from me.”

Torn between his desire to reassure her and his obligation to seduce her, Alex found himself speechless.

“Tell Milo I’ll be down by dinnertime,” she said.

Alex nodded and ducked into the stairwell.

MILO COULD SMELL
the wine in the goblet Gaspar held just out of his reach as he sat on the edge of the bed. It was like some madly intoxicating perfume, drifting around him, tickling his nostrils, teasing his senses. Damn the bastard for tormenting him this way. He knew how impatient Milo always was for that first drink of the morning.

“You do know he’s fucking her,” Gaspar said.

Milo’s perceptions could not be relied on of late—he’d become nearly as muddled and forgetful as old Edith—but he didn’t think he’d misheard. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your wife.” Gaspar swirled the wine around in the goblet, releasing more of its heady bouquet into the curtained enclosure of Milo’s bed. “And Alex de Périgeaux.”