Lygia looked at her, greatly concerned. “What terrible fortune,” she said. “Are you feeling any better now?”
Ghislaine looked right at Gaetan, struggling not to grin. “Much, much better.”
Lygia didn’t miss the expressions of warmth that passed between the lady and the enormous warrior. In fact, it tugged at her heart because, once, she had looked at her husband with the same expression. Feeling sad, and perhaps even a little jealous, she turned away.
“Then I am glad,” she said.
Lygia didn’t say anything more after that, leading then through a series of neat rows of cottages until they reached a great pool of clear water beneath the oak trees. The stream ran right into the pool and then out another end of it to continue on, so there was a constant supply of fresh water in the pool. Women were washing their clothes on rocks on the edge of the pool while children played nearby. It was a bucolic scene as Lygia led Ghislaine and Gaetan to a cottage at the end of a row of small structures and opened the door.
“Here we are,” she said. “The lady will be quite comfortable here. We have already prepared a fire for hot water and we will tend the lady while you go about your business. We shall take great care of her, my lord.”
Gaetan didn’t doubt the woman for a minute. She seemed sincere enough and he was comfortable leaving Ghislaine in her care. Moreover, Ghislaine could take care of herself. Even wounded, she would be able to defend herself against these three rather pale-looking women. Gaetan had great faith in her abilities; Ghislaine wasn’t some foolish woman that needed looking after.
That was one of the things he admired so much about her.
Ducking under the door, Gaetan took Ghislaine right to a small bed that was built into an alcove in the one-room cottage. It was a comfortable little place, and warm with the fire in the crude hearth, and there were already two big pots of water steaming on the fire. Satisfied that Ghislaine would be well-tended, he turned to her.
“I must see to my horse and speak with my men,” he told her. “I will return as soon as I can.”
Ghislaine smiled, sorry to see him go, but so very glad that they had spent this precious time together. It had been one of the most moving and important moments of her life, now to know that Warwolfe, the most powerful Norman knight in the realm, belonged to her. And she belonged to him.
She loved him.
“You need not rush,” she told him, glancing at Lygia and her timid sisters. “I believe I am in good hands.”
Gaetan’s gaze lingered on her a moment, feeling the same thing that she was feeling. He was sad to leave but so very glad they’d been able to share some time together. Something about that moment he’d shared with her seemed to make his life complete, filling him with a contentment he’d never known.
With a subtle wink meant only for her, he left the cottage, leaving Ghislaine dreaming of her heroic knight, the Norman enemy she’d finally given her heart to.
And she didn’t regret any of it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
?
Et pro Gloria dei
Gaetan had no idea what he was drinking, but whatever it was had a punch to it. Seated on the hard-packed earth floor of the convening hall around a table that was hardly taller than his knees, he leaned over in Téo’s direction.
“This drink is rather potent,” he muttered.
Téo, who was feeling the buzz himself, nodded. “Potent like an ax to the face,” he said, peering in the wooden cup he’d been drinking from. “What is in this stuff?”
Gaetan didn’t have a clue. All he knew was that two cups of it had made his head swim, and that usually didn’t happen to him because he had a strong tolerance for drink. Wellesbourne was on the other side of him and he leaned in Bartholomew’s direction.
“What is this drink?” he asked the man quietly. “You purport to know these lands. Is this some mad Mercian concoction we’ve been ingesting?”
Wellesbourne shrugged, but his head, too, was swimming. “It certainly seems to be.”
“Two cups of this drink and already my head is rolling like the ocean waves.”
“It is a cursed drink.”
Next to Wellesbourne, de Lara heard the conversation. He, too, wasn’t feeling so well, making it difficult when he tried to shake his head at Wellesbourne’s comment. “Everything is cursed to you, Bartholomew,” he muttered. “You see more omens than an old witching woman. Why is that?”
Wellesbourne eyed de Lara. “Because everything is cursed. How have you survived this long without knowing that?”
De Lara just laughed and took another drink from his cup, but Gaetan had stopped when he realized that the stuff was going to put him to sleep. He’d requested watered wine, or something else without such a kick to it, and a servant had brought him a bowl of juice from apples and blackberries. It was very sweet, but it was better than becoming drunk on cursed Mercian beer.
All nine knights were at the table along with Antillius and several of the elders of the village. There were even a few of Antillius’ men, who seemed rather intimidated by their visitors though not unfriendly. There were one or two that still tried to strike up a conversation with them. Jathan was missing, however, because he had gone to sit with Ghislaine, taking the watch from Aramis because Gaetan didn’t want the man anywhere near her until he’d had a chance to explain that Ghislaine was no longer an unpledged woman. Now, she belonged to him.
She was all he could think about.
Aramis hadn’t been happy with Gaetan in the least for sending Jathan in his stead to sit with the lady while they partook of the evening meal, but he didn’t argue. He simply did as he was told. But even now, he was sitting across from Gaetan, his dark and murky eyes glaring at him from across the table.
De Russe was an intimidating man when he wanted to be and it was clear that he was trying to convey his displeasure with Gaetan at the moment, but Gaetan wasn’t intimidated in the least. He was, however, growing irritated, something that was magnified by that damnable drink. Therefore, Gaetan tried not to look at Aramis because he was certain if he did, the next step would see him flying over the table and wringing his friend’s neck.