Arissa’s knees gave out completely and Gavan lifted her in his arms, moving toward the bed of the rig. “Gavan, Gavan,” she murmured, too consumed with her grief and terror to allow her tears to come forth. “What happened to him? Where is he?”
He put her in the wagon bed.
“Here, Riss. He’s here.”
On her knees, Arissa’s eyes drank in the sight of Richmond lying prone on the rough slats of the wagon bed. At first, she simply couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing; it did not look like Richmond. His hair was long, his face sporting several days’ growth of beard. Baffled, she peered closer to notice that he was clad only in his lower body protection and his magnificent torso was naked but for the heavy wrappings Mossy seemed to be adjusting.
Arissa was in limbo as she approached the still figure. She wondered why she couldn’t feel anything as she gazed down upon Richmond’s still face, a face she had loved for as long as she had been alive.
Somehow, she managed to inch forward on the wagon bed, unaware that the earl, Bartholomew, Gavan, and the rest of her tightly-knit family had suddenly appeared at the edge of the rig, watching with the greatest sorrow as she came to grips with Richmond’s state. But she was not conscious of any of them; only Richmond.
“He’s in a bad way, Riss,” Mossy said gravely. “Hotspur cut him through the groin and he has a terrible infection, not to mention that he’s lost a good deal of blood.”
Arissa heard him but she could not respond. As she continued to gaze at Richmond, she realized that the most meaningful thing in her life was stretched before her eyes, dying from a wound sustained in battle. Dying as a result of his love for her, of his duty to his king. Dying for his torn loyalties.
She couldn’t cry. As she watched his shallow breathing and ashen complexion, her pain went beyond simple tears. Nay, tears were not strong enough. Not cleansing enough, not forceful enough. Nothing was strong enough to ease her anguish. Nothing but her love for him.
A white hand reached out to touch his clammy forehead; he was burning with fever. “How long has he been like this?” she whispered.
“Four days,” William was standing next to the wagon, his sunken gaze moving between his daughter and the knight. His voice was weak, tight. “You were right, Riss. He was loyal to Henry to the end. He turned against Hotspur and killed him, making it possible for the English to emerge victorious. When Hotspur was killed, the Welsh panicked and ran. If it hadn’t been for Richmond, England would not have been victorious. He won our battle single-handedly.”
Her hand still on his head, she raised her eyes to the group collected about the rig. Her gaze was unnaturally bright. “I told you, but you did not believe me. Richmond was never a traitor; he did what he had to do in order to save me. He’s still Henry’s greatest knight.”
The earl nodded briefly, making the sign of the cross over Richmond before turning away. He had done all he could do; bringing Richmond back to Lambourn to die had been his final act of devotion, an apology to his friend for ever doubting his loyalties in spite of the overwhelming circumstances. Whatever happened now was in the hands of God. He could do no more.
Arissa noticed that Lady Ellyn was kneeling by the edge of the wagon, her head bowed in prayer as Mossy rummaged about in his great black bag for something that would ease Richmond’s fever. A small brown mouse leapt from his bag and scurried off the edge of the wagon, but the old man let the creature go without a comment or a word. He was too consumed with saving Richmond’s life to lend remark to a common enough occurrence.
Arissa turned back to Richmond, ignoring the mouse and all else transpiring about her. She continued to gaze at him, stroking his sticky brown hair, touching his perspiring face. No tears, no screaming, no fits; only the tenderness and love she had always felt for him. She was so very proud of the man. After a moment, she bent over to kiss his lips with incredible gentleness.
“Richmond?” she whispered against his lips. “Can you hear me? I am here, my love, I am here. Awaken and look at me.”
He did not move. Arissa kissed him again, her dazed state beginning to wear thin as her torrential emotions began to grow. Her hands began to quake with the struggle to keep them at bay. She refused to lose control, not now. Not when she had so many things yet to tell him.
“Richmond,” she murmured, kissing him yet again. “Awaken, my love. Awaken and see the fruits of our love. You will not die before you have seen the results of our adoration. Do you hear me?”
Suddenly, his leg twitched and Penelope shrieked with surprise; standing by the rear of the wagon enveloped in her husband’s arms, she had been sobbing softly at the heart-wrenching scene. But Arissa ignored the cry; Richmond could hear her, she was positive, and hope surged to thunderous proportions within her soul.
“Richmond!” she hissed pleadingly. “Open your eyes and look at me. Open, I say!”
His leg twitched again and his head abruptly lolled to the side. Arissa bit her lip raw with anticipation as he moved his mouth, licking his dry lips. Putting her hands to his clammy cheeks, she smiled. When he opened his eyes, she wanted him to see her smile.
“Open your eyes, Richmond, or I shall do it for you,” she commanded softly. “You will not disobey me.”
He licked his lips again and his eyelids moved, his eyes crusty and sore. “God’s Teeth,” he slurred with the greatest of effort. “Riss, you…. you are a tyrant.”
Daniel laughed loudly, joyfully. The earl managed a tremulous smile to his wife and younger daughter, expressing his relief and happiness that Richmond was reacting to any stimulation at all. He’d been unconscious for four days and they were beginning to doubt that he would ever recover from his stupor. A lethargic sign, as feeble as it was, was still an invitation for hope.
Only Gavan was not smiling. As far as he was concerned, there was no hope; he’d never seen anyone recover from a wound of this magnitude and he suspected Richmond would not be an exception, whether or not he had managed to emerge from the depths of unconsciousness.
Struggling with consuming regret, he stared at the man on the wagon bed, wondering how he could have ever doubted his loyalties. Thinking back, he never truly believed; he knew Richmond better than anyone and the man did not possessed a rebellious bone in his body. He was loyal to the core, devoted to the end. And, as he had proven while a host of astonished English knights witness, willing to sacrifice his life for his beliefs.
He wished he could tell Arissa all of it, but now was at the time. Even as Gavan continued to doubt Richmond’s chances of survival, Arissa refused to believe that he was going to die in her arms. She could not believe. Struggling against her fears, she smiled broadly and kissed him again, sweetly. This time, he responded.
“Welcome home, my love,” she murmured, her silky hair tumbling over the both of them. He could feel it caressing his chest and shoulders.
“H…. home?” he rasped, trying desperately to open his eyes. “Where i….is home?”
“Lambourn, of course,” she said softly, collecting one of his massive hands. “You are going to be fine. Mossy will heal you, as he has healed me so often in the past. You will survive, Richmond, do you understand?”
He licked his lips again. “Lamb… I do not….”
She would not allow him to continue. Pressing his huge hand against her rounded belly, she rubbed the appendage across her swollen midsection so that he would feel her state. In the muddled throes of agony and fever, Richmond did indeed feel her condition and his head lolled to the side again as he struggled more fiercely than before to focus on her.
She smiled as she saw his increased agitation. “Do you feel the result of our love? We are expecting our son in September.”
His swollen eyes were open, staring at his hand as it touched her blossoming stomach. She watched his dazed expression as he swallowed, hard.
“My God, Riss…,” he rasped. “Do you…. feel all right?”
To hear words of his concern for her health nea
rly broke the threads of her slimly-held control and she couldn’t help the tears that welled in her eyes. The man was on his death bed; still he was only concerned for her well-being. One tear broke free, pelting his pallid cheek.
“I am fine, my love, never better,” she assured him, her voice tight with emotion. “Now, you must recover in time for the birth of your son.”
Richmond’s hand moved weakly against her tight stomach as the news of her condition sank deep. In spite of his own agony, he couldn’t help the despair that swept him at the sight of her protruding abdomen; his greatest fears were evident beneath his touch and his already-shaking hand quivered more violently as his terror took hold.
“But…. Mossy said that….”
“She’s as healthy as a horse, a far sight better than ye I might add,” Mossy hovered over Arissa’s shoulder, a glass vial in his hand. “It is up to me to heal ye so yer son will know his father. Ye’ve got to drink this.”
As Mossy thrust the vial forward, aided by Arissa, Richmond’s crusty eyes widened. “Nay,” he whispered, fending them both off. “There…. is something I must do first,” he rolled his head away from Mossy and Arissa, looking for familiar features he knew would be lurking about. His gaze fell on William. “Seek Father Ralph from the village, William. I…. I have a need for his services.”
The earl did not hesitate. He sent several men on their way instantaneously and Richmond closed his eyes, too weary to thank the man. He could hold out until the priest arrived to join them in matrimony, mayhap giving him last rites at the same time. After all, it was his privilege to marry the fair maiden. He’d won her fairly enough.
He’d killed Hotspur as he had promised, quashing the Welsh rebellion in one powerful blow. Even if he had been branded a traitor, rumors had probably already reached London spouting tales of his valor and bravery, turning against his friend in battle and taking the man’s life. Henry, he was sure, had been the first to hear the tales from the border, knowing his greatest knight was still his mightiest supporter. Knowing that Richmond le Bec, in fact, had not betrayed his king.
Richmond had kept his part of the bargain. And he was positive Henry would keep his.
It was amazing how the months of separation from Arissa had shaped him, bringing about a strength of character he never knew he had. He had learned of her blood ties to Owen, and that Sister Repentia or, more correctly, Lady Ellyn was Owen’s cousin. He’d come to know David Glendower and had actually come to like the man, making it hard to kill him in one of the many smaller skirmishes along the border. Richmond had made it to look as if an enemy dagger had done away with him, a necessary action leading to the systematic weakening of the Welsh resistance.
An internal weakening that had taken a strange turn when Charles de Worth had managed to make his way back into Owen’s camp, demanding monetary compensation for more information on Arissa’s whereabouts. Richmond had taken great pleasure in doing away with the treacherous bastard, his former captain, even before he learned that Charles de Worth had been responsible for Owen’s initial knowledge of Arissa’s existence.
As from the beginning, Richmond found himself protecting Arissa against those who would seek to do her harm, especially her mother’s vengeful husband.
He had been unaware of his dozing state, reliving vivid memories of the past several months until Arissa gently touched his cheek, kissing his parched lips and bringing him back to the world at hand.
“Richmond? Can you hear me still?”
He grunted feebly. “I am with you, kitten.”
“Why did you send for the priest? I told you that I forbid you to die.”
His eyes cracked open, a faint smile coming to his dry lips. “And I have no intention of dying at the moment. The priest will marry us, you silly wench, unless you have decided against my proposal during our months of separation.”
Her tears came then, freely. Tears of joy, of sadness, of the longing that had been her constant companion during their time apart. She could scarcely believe what she was hearing from his pale lips.
“Today? We will be married today?”
“I refuse to wait any longer.”
“But what of Henry? Mustn’t you speak to him first?”
His smile faded and she could see fire within the depths of the bright blue eyes. “I have done my duty for God and country, and Henry can rot in hell if he has a notion to dispute our union. You are mine, Riss. I have earned you.”
She did not question him any longer. All that mattered was that they were to be wed this day, and the delight of her impending marriage was almost enough to offset the sorrow of Richmond’s injury. He was terribly frail; even as Mossy struggled to dispense the healing liquid from the vial into his dry mouth, Arissa and Gavan had to help him lift his head. When the contents of the glass were consumed, Richmond laid his head to the slats with a grunt of exhaustion.
A hush settled over the collection of people gathered around the wagon bearing Richmond. Arissa continued to hold his hand tightly, clutching it over her rounded stomach as they wait for the priest to return. Yet in the midst of her grief, she also felt a certain amount of hope.
She simply couldn’t believe he had survived four days with a vicious belly wound only to die at some later time. The injury should have killed him immediately, but it did not. The life flowing within his body was a direct testimony to his fortitude and power, and of his love for her. He was going to survive. He had to.
“Riss?” his voice was faint.
She turned to him, noting his eyes were wide open, staring at the hot blue sky above. She smiled and touched his cheek.
“What is it, my love?”
“You will promise me something.”
“Anything.”
He looked at her, then. “If you promise to survive the birth of my son, I will promise to survive my bout with Hotspur’s sword.”
Her smile broadened and she leaned down, kissing him sweetly. “I promise.”
“And tonight. Promise we will not sleep.”
She put her cheek against his, feeling his life and knowing he would live to see another day. Knowing he would grow old beside her, loving and laughing and living. She had ordered him to endure and it was his pleasure to obey.
“We will not sleep.”
“Promise I shall forget all of my pain.”
Hot tears found their way onto her cheeks and his, knowing his softly uttered plea held a double meaning. She would make him forget his pain. As her protector had struggled to shield her from the worst in life, in turn, the charge would now become the protector. She would ease his ache, his heart, and his weakened body. She would give him the strength to live.
It was the very least she could do for the man who had loved her enough to die for her. A man who devoted his life to her protection eighteen years ago, risking everything so that she might survive.
A man she loved beyond the barrier of time. Even if he broke his vow and left her this day, there would be no ending to their love. On the next plane in their existence, she would still adore him with limitless devotion. She would always be his charge, and he would always be her great protector.
“I promise, my love,” she murmured against his lips. “No more pain.”
I promise.
It wasn’t until two months later on a cool September night, after the healthy birth of their first son, that either of them realized they had made their promises to keep.
* THE END *
AUTHOR NOTE
Great Protector was originally called The Guardian, for obvious reasons, but as the story grew, it was clear that Richmond was much more than a Guardian. He was everything to Arissa. Is it a bit of a Lolita complex? Not really. Their love was very pure, something that knew no age limits, and Richmond was certainly the model of propriety until Arissa became of age and admitted her feelings. But once she confessed her love, he realized he felt the same way. Then, and only then, did he allow anything romantic to occur.
WHIL
E ANGELS SLEPT
A Medieval Romance
By Kathryn Le Veque
“And so it lasted for nineteen years while Stephen was King, till the land was all undone and darkened with such deeds, and men said openly that Christ and his angels slept.”
~ Anglo-Saxon Chronicle
CHAPTER ONE
Rochester Castle
Kent, England
September, 1139 A.D.
The sunrise is bloody.
It was her first thought as she looked to the east with its hazy splashes of red and orange across the horizon. As dawn approached, black turned to dark blue and dark blue to azure. She could hear her husband behind her, rattling about their smoky bower, dropping a gauntlet here or a piece of armor there. But there was more to the clumsiness than met the eye or the ear. The wife slowly began to realize that he was dropping things purely to annoy her.
She did not want him to believe that he had rattled her, though he had. It was a game they played sometimes to see who could hold out the longest. He would annoy her until she took a swipe at him, though it was all in good fun. Such was the playful banter that they so often had. She finally turned away from the lancet window only to find him grinning at her.
“I was wondering when you were going to put your attention back on me where it belongs,” he said. “Or is the sunrise too lovely to tear yourself away?”