Come Back to Me by Jody Hedlund
~ 24 ~
MARIANCOULDN’TRISE from the bench to help the servants with the packing. After the hours of fleeing from London, she was desperate to know what had happened to Will and wasn’t sure whether her legs were trembling out of worry or exhaustion.
Never again would she complain about how texting and social media were taking the place of real conversations. If she’d had the capability to text, she could have discovered how he was doing right away instead of going endless hours with no idea.
And she’d also never again complain about long car rides, not after galloping more than thirty torturous miles on the back of a horse. The heat of the day had parched them, but they’d pressed forward regardless and had only stopped once out of compassion for the horses.
When they’d arrived at Chesterfield Park at dusk, Marian had collapsed onto the ground and hadn’t been able to get back up. Thad had carried her inside. And now he and Sarah and the others rushed around, preparing to leave.
Christina had returned to St. Sepulchre during their absence, but Will’s mother, Lady Felice, had greeted them. Upon hearing the news of Will’s treachery against Wat Tyler, her face had paled, and she’d wordlessly begun assisting Sarah with stowing everything of value they could fit into chests and bags.
“Where are we going?” Marian forced herself up so that she could help, unwilling to sit back any longer.
Thad was shoving large quantities of food into a grain sack, his straight bangs plastered to his dusty face. “The master has entrusted me with seeing you to the coast for your transport to the Continent. You’ll find safety with a friend in Amsterdam.”
Amsterdam? From an aching place deep inside, she couldn’t bear the thought of going to Amsterdam or returning to the present day without making sure Will was all right. “I’m not leaving.”
“You must.” Thad spoke as if the matter was already settled.
“I won’t go anywhere without Will.”
“When ’tis safe for your return, I shall send word.”
“Lady Felice may go with the boys, but I’m staying here and waiting for news of Will.”
Thad halted in his efforts to stuff more food into the already full bag and frowned. “The master gave me explicit instructions—”
“I will not go.” She used her most decisive tone and held his gaze until he dropped his.
He wiped at the perspiration trickling down his temple. “The rebels may come looking for revenge, and if they find you here, they’ll show no mercy.”
It didn’t matter whether she was here at Chesterfield Park or running away to Amsterdam, she would soon be in a coma. She was surprised she hadn’t yet fallen unconscious but was grateful at the same time.
Even so, she couldn’t keep a new worry from sifting through her, the dread that something terrible may have happened to Ellen and Harrison to keep them from going to the crypt. She’d also considered the likelihood that the ampullae had somehow fallen into the wrong hands, that Harrison had retrieved them as planned but had been robbed on his way out of the crypt.
Thad was watching her, frustration etched on his ruddy face. He’d already failed his master once in allowing the rebels inside Chesterfield Park. Even if he’d had no choice but to do so, she’d witnessed his despair in having to let Will down. Now, tasked with seeing to her safety, he was loath to fail Will again.
“If the rebels come looking for me, then you can hide me in the vault and tell them I’ve left with the others. They won’t expect me to have stayed behind.”
“’Tis not what the master wanted. He made me swear an oath I wouldn’t rest until I see you and his sons safely launched at Dover. If you don’t go, word will spread that only Lady Felice and the lads fled.”
“Send Sarah in my stead. She’ll pretend to be me.”
At her words, Thad straightened and glanced at his wife, who was clomping down the stairway.
“She will be safer with them, especially once the rebels learn of your role in aiding the escape of Sir William’s family.”
Thad didn’t respond. Instead, he watched his wife move across the great hall toward the open chests. She placed more items inside, folding them tightly to make room for all they’d need.
In the descending night, the sconces cast a glow across the room, coating everything with a honey-colored glaze. While Marian missed being able to turn on lights at the flip of a switch, she could admit there was a beauty to the simplicity of her life here. In the ease of modern conveniences, she often failed to notice the little things like the violet shadows in a room at sunset or the soft whispers of the wind against the open shutters.
Marian took a sip of the ale Sarah had brought her and found she even relished the bitterness of the watery drink against her tongue. “Sarah is levelheaded and will be able to help Lady Felice take care of the boys.”
Thad lowered his head and stared with unfocused eyes upon the bag before him. Finally he nodded. “The master will cut off my ears for allowing you to stay.”
Will would do nothing of the sort, although she had no doubt he’d be angry, more with her than Thad. “He’ll realize soon enough you could do nothing to sway me.”
Thad smiled ruefully. “You are indeed a strong woman, lady.”
Within the hour, under the cover of darkness, she tucked Robert and Phillip in the back of the wagon next to Lady Felice and Sarah and kissed the boys good-bye. Thad gave her a strict warning not to open the gates for anyone and to stay inside until he returned on the morrow.
After watching them ride away, she made her way upstairs to her chamber, realizing her cheeks were wet with tears and that she already missed the boys. Even though she hadn’t known them long, somehow after the past days of trying to survive together, she’d let them in her heart and allowed herself to love them like they were her own. She would miss them terribly when she returned to her other life.
A different maid attended to her needs, helping her wash away the grit of the past days, brushing her tangled hair, and bringing her a clean shift. Once finished, Marian tumbled into bed and fell into an exhausted sleep.
Marian wasn’t sure how long she slumbered when a commotion outside awoke her and sent fear skittering across her skin. With her pulse tapping a slow drumbeat of dread, she tiptoed barefooted through the corridors. Thad’s warning not to allow anyone inside the gates echoed ominously, especially when she realized the clopping of horse hooves was drawing up in front of the manor—that someone had allowed the visitors to enter, perhaps someone sympathetic to the peasant cause.
Once in the great hall, she picked up her pace, hurrying several frightened women servants ahead of her toward Will’s antechamber.
Before she could reach the room, the thick front door banged open, hitting the wall with a thud that reverberated down to her bones. Marian stumbled. They weren’t going to make it into the vault in time.
A half a dozen men barged through the entryway with the clanking of armor and the heavy tread of boots. In the dim glow of the moonlight streaming through the high open windows, she could see the intruders were heavily armed.
Since she wouldn’t be able to outrun them now, she could do nothing else but face them with dignity. She clasped her trembling hands together and stepped forward into a shaft of moonlight. “Who are you and what do you want?”
At the sound of her voice, the men halted.
“She is here as you predicted,” someone said.
“I am Lady Marian Durham.” She spoke the words with as much authority as she could muster and was surprised at how naturally her new name rolled off her tongue. “Tell me why you are barging into my home in the middle of the night.”
The men didn’t move, except for one, who shouldered his way to the front. Even in the dark, she recognized the outline of his muscular body, the intensity of his demeanor, and the fierceness of his stance.
Her heart tumbled over itself, and relief rushed in like a gust and swept away her fears. She started across the room, tears stinging her eyes. He was alive and safe and here. She rapidly closed the distance, the need to be in his arms greater than her need for another breath. She started to throw her arms around him, but he captured both of her hands in a bruising grip.
“You disobeyed me, wife.” His voice was hard and angry.
She winced. She’d expected him to be happy to be reunited but should have known he’d be upset at her blatant disregard of his orders to leave with Thad. Even so, she wouldn’t cower. “Sarah is disguised as me. Thad will spread the rumor that I’ve left with the others, and no one will suspect otherwise.”
Will’s hold loosened. He swayed, and one of the other knights steadied him. “You have lost a great deal of blood, sire.”
Somewhere behind her, servants had begun to light the sconces, which brought to life Will’s ruggedly handsome face covered with dust and blood. He still wore pieces of his plate armor but had shed much of it—likely so it wouldn’t slow him down during his ride.
“Everyone is safe?” His eyes were glassy.
“Yes, we’re all fine. The boys were very brave.”
He yanked off his glove, lifted a hand, and touched her cheek, as though to make sure she was indeed standing before him alive and well. She leaned in to his calloused fingers, but before she could melt into his caress, he crumpled to the ground.
“Will!” She dropped to her knees beside him.
“He was wounded during the melee, my lady.” One of the knights knelt next to Will. She recognized the thin man with the silver hair and pointed silvery beard as Sir John of Rochester. “We warned him against riding this far, but he insisted on coming. He would not be swayed otherwise. I am astonished he lasted this long before succumbing to his injuries.”
“How badly is he hurt?” She glided her hands over Will’s arms and chest, searching for signs of his wound.
“I am afraid ’tis severe, my lady.”
As her fingers skimmed along his side, she grazed a slick, sticky spot. “He needs a doctor.”
“I already took the liberty of sending one of my squires for my surgeon. He is very skilled, the best in all of Kent.”
Will needed to go to the emergency room in an ambulance where he could receive immediate care by experts, not languish here waiting for a doctor from the Middle Ages to show up without access to modern equipment, sterilization, or antibiotics.
“Help me carry him up to his chamber,” she said with mounting frustration. “We must tend to his wounds until the doctor arrives.”
Sir John and two of the squires lifted Will, and she led the way to his room, where they laid him on the bed. Marian began to help the servants free him from the rest of his armor and garments, ordering others to bring hot water, soap, and clean towels.
She gave instructions for several different herbal salves, praying the servants would be able to locate what was needed to provide a healing balm, ordering them to ride to the apothecary at St. Sepulchre if need be. She might not have access to modern medicine, but at least she knew enough to create something that might help—even if just a little.
As they peeled away the last layer of Will’s blood-soaked garments, she sucked in a sharp breath. He’d been stabbed in several places. The puncture in the fleshy part of his upper arm had severed muscles and oozed crimson even though Will had attempted to staunch the flow by tying a piece of his shift around it.
Another wound in his lower back was long and jagged and would need many stitches. But it was the gash at his right side that worried Marian the most. The blade had gone deep. Without an MRI scan, she wouldn’t know what had been damaged—a kidney, liver, gallbladder, perhaps part of his large intestine, depending on the angle the blade had entered.
She suspected Will was bleeding internally, but without proper surgical instruments, she had no way of helping him. Even though she’d taken numerous medical classes over the years, she was definitely no surgeon.
Later when the surgeon arrived, Marian rose from the side of the bed where she was keeping vigil. She’d been administering herbal water as often as she could get Will to swallow the bitter decoction, and she’d plastered poultices to his wounds. She was beyond frustrated at the length of time it had taken for the surgeon to arrive, silently lamenting that she couldn’t call for a medevac to fly Will to the best medical facility money could buy.
The surgeon took one look at Will’s wounds and shook his head gravely as though he didn’t hold any hope. Marian attempted to explain what she believed to be the problem and urged the surgeon to cut Will open and perform surgery—at the very least attempt to sew his insides together and stop the internal bleeding.
But the gray-haired surgeon only peered at her with pursed lips and flaring nostrils as he laid out an assortment of crude instruments.
Marian ordered a servant hovering nearby to bring her boiling water so she could sterilize the instruments first. As the servant rushed to do her bidding, the doctor shook his head. “My lady, you must leave the chamber. There is naught more you can do for him except to pray.”
“I intend to stay and help you with the surgery.”
“Surgery will not save him.”
Without the proper instruments, anesthesia, and antibiotics, the surgery might only make things worse. But they had to try, didn’t they? “What are you planning to do?”
“Since the wound is so deep, I am left with no option but to cauterize it.” He picked up an iron poker instrument.
Chills crept up Marian’s back at the image of the red-hot tool searing Will’s flesh in an attempt to seal the wound and blood vessels shut. He’d face excruciating pain and would likely continue to bleed internally. “There must be some other option.”
“My lady.” The surgeon’s voice became testy. “Sir William may succumb to his injuries, but ’twill most certainly be so if you do not allow me to do what I was called here for.”
“You were not called here for this.” She didn’t realize her tone had escalated until someone touched her elbow from behind. She swung to find Sir John standing there, his kind face etched with compassion and sadness.
“My lady, my surgeon is a good man. He will do all he can for Sir William.”
Marian tried to quell the frustration and panic climbing from her stomach to her chest and throat. Will was dying. She glanced again to his pale face, to the slow rise and fall of his chest, to the lifeblood already draining away.
“If you will allow me, my lady,” Sir John was saying, “I shall accompany you to the chapel and together we shall beseech God to spare Sir William’s life.”
“If we hope that God will spare my husband’s life, then we must find another way to help him.”
“Sire.” The surgeon addressed Sir John. “Please usher this woman from the sickbed. We are wasting time.”
Sir John took her arm more firmly.
“No!” She jerked away from the knight. He was only trying to do what he thought was best for Will, but surely even rudimentary surgery would be better than the cauterizing.
“You are distraught, lady.” Sir John spoke gently. “And rightly so. Your husband is a courageous man. If not for his brilliant plan today, we might all be dead. As it was, he brought about the end of the rebellion, and for that we are all in his debt. If he perishes, it will be with great honor for having saved his king.”
Sir John’s news brought tears to Marian’s eyes again, and this time they escaped and ran down her cheeks. “I can’t lose him. I love him too much to let him die.” How was it possible to love someone so deeply? She’d never imagined she’d love a man as thoroughly and completely, never thought she’d need someone as much as she needed him. But she did in a way that almost frightened her.
“And he loved you. Even though the king offered to have his best physicians and surgeons tend Sir William, your husband asked permission to return to his home so he could check on your safety. He would not rest or stop until he knew for himself you were alive and unharmed.”
She wiped away more tears. How had he ridden any length much less the journey from London with such wounds? How had he been able to stay conscious? She could only imagine the pain he’d suffered over the course of the past hours. “He’s stubborn.”
“He spoke likewise of you.” Faint mirth tinged Sir John’s words.
The surgeon lifted the iron out of the fire. It glowed orange-red.
Marian couldn’t let Will die, couldn’t bear to think about life without him. They’d had so little time together, and she was suddenly greedy for more, so much more.
She had to find a way to save him. Her mind raced with all the possibilities and landed on only one. There was only one thing left to do.
“Sir John, will you take me to Canterbury Cathedral?”