His Captive, His Conquest by Ashe Barker

Chapter Fourteen

The small procession thundered across the Elborne drawbridge at breakneck speed, Stephen at the head. His mount clattered across the cobbles to come to a shuddering halt at the foot of the steps to the keep. Stephen slithered from the saddle almost before the stallion stopped, his precious bundle still cradled in his arms.

His brother and Matilda were beside him as he dashed up into the hall, to be greeted by Katherine and Frances.

“Dear Lord! Take her upstairs at once.” Katherine assessed the situation in an instant. “Your Grace, could you send a man to Rothbury, on the fastest horse we have? Tell him to bring the physician with all possible haste.”

While Richard rushed to do Katherine’s bidding, Stephen sprinted for the stairs. Instead of taking Flora to one of the unoccupied guest chambers, he marched straight into his own.

“Pull back the bedclothes,” he commanded. “We need to get her settled and out of these soiled clothes.”

Katherine rushed to do as he had asked, but not without some uncertainty. “Stephen, are you sure? We have other accommodation…”

“She should be here,” he asserted, carefully depositing the limp bundle on his mattress. “She is unconscious. And bleeding…”

“Let me see.” Frances elbowed her way to the bedside and began to unwrap Flora from her cocoon of blankets. “Ah, yes. We shall need clean linens, and a bowl of fresh water.”

“I shall see to all of that. What else?” Katherine was brisk, as ever.

“Just those, for now. And space to work.”

Katherine hurried from the chamber, and Frances turned to Stephen.

“Has she been unconscious the whole time? Has she wakened at all?”

He shook his head. “Nothing, not even a sound.” There had been occasions on the mad dash to reach his keep when he had thought her already gone from him. “Help her. You must save her…”

“We shall certainly do all we can. We must start by staunching the bleeding and cooling her down. She is burning with fever.” Frances had already begun to cut away Flora’s soiled, damp nightdress using the small dagger from her belt. “We shall need lamps. More light to work by.”

“I shall run and ask someone…” Matilda had followed Stephen upstairs. She and Richard now hovered in the doorway but had to move aside when Katherine bustled back in, her arms full of clean linens. Two manservants followed, carrying buckets of water.

Matilda hurried from the chamber, while Katherine and Frances dunked cloths in the water and started to sponge Flora’s brow and neck.

“Come, brother. There is nothing more we can do here.” Richard slung his arm around Stephen’s shoulders. “Let us leave the women to their work.”

“But I need to be with her. What if she—?”

“We will send for you if there is any change,” Katherine assured him. “His Grace is correct. It is best we get on with what must be done.”

“But, I—”

“I know. I understand, but ’tis best we leave them to it.” Richard steered him from the chamber and back downstairs to the hall. “If anyone can help her now, it will be our ladies. And her friend is here, also. She is in good hands.” Richard signalled to a servant to bring ale. “There is nothing we can do now but wait. And pray.”

Stephen allowed himself to be ushered into his carved chair at the head of the high table, then buried his face in his hands. “Those pitiless crones have rather soured me to the notion of prayer.”

His brother’s answering chuckle was without mirth. “May they pay for their own sins in time, along with the rest of the merciless MacKinnon clan. Why did they permit this… this atrocity?”

“I do not know, but I mean to find out. I shall start by questioning Matilda MacKinnon. Where is she?”

“She is tending to Flora now. All of this can wait. We have more pressing priorities.”

Stephen nodded. He knew his brother was right, but it was all he could do to subdue the burning, gut-deep anger which now threatened to consume him. His blood boiled when he thought of what Flora had suffered. The tale told by Matilda on the journey to St Mary’s had been almost beyond belief. Had he not witnessed for himself the callous neglect dealt out by Mother Immaculata and the nuns at St Mary’s he might still not credit the depths of their cruelty. They had actually intended to murder a newborn infant, bury the innocent child in an unmarked hole in their bloody garden, then allow his mother to perish also. And all in the name of a just and merciful God. It beggared belief and would not go unpunished.

“I shall burn that fucking hellhole to the ground,” he swore through gritted teeth. “And that cold-blooded bitch with it. I shall personally send that abomination of an abbess to meet her Maker, and she can explain to the Almighty why she finds herself so soon at His gates.”

Richard thrust a mug of ale into his hands. “All in good time, my brother. All in good time…”

“How is she?” Richard stood in the doorway to his chamber, barely daring to look at his bed.

“Weak, but she is still with us.” Frances sat beside the sickbed, Flora’s limp hand in hers. She gently stroked her patient’s fingers. “The bleeding has stopped.”

“Thank God. And the fever?”

“Not yet. I will wait with her this night. She should not be alone.”

In case she dies. No one should die alone.

Stephen refused to voice his fears out loud. If it was not said, then, please God, it would not come to pass.

“I will stay, also.”

Frances nodded and proceeded to wipe the damp cloth across Flora’s brow. It would be a long vigil.

“Stephen, wake up.”

He was alert at once. “What? What has happened? Is she…?”

Katherine offered him a sad smile. “The fever still rages. She is very weak and fading. We fear that the end is close now.”

“No!” He leapt to his feet from the chair in which he had sprawled, exhausted, and closed his eyes not an hour past. “She cannot die. She must not.” He rushed to the bed and sank to his knees beside it. “Flora. My love, do not leave me. I cannot lose you. Please, come back. I need you. Your son, too. We both need you…” He grabbed her lifeless hand and kissed it, then dashed the tears from his eyes. “There must be something we can do. Anything…?”

Katherine shook her head. “We have done all that is possible. All we can do now is be with her…”

“Wait. I shall not be long.” Frances had been standing beside the window but now hurried from the room. Moments later, she returned, carrying Flora’s infant son. He was whimpering, clearly having been roused from sleep.

“He should not be here. He will disturb her,” Katherine protested.

“Exactly,” Frances replied. “She is his mother. She will hear him and know that she is needed. He may give her the will to live, for him if not for herself.”

“I am not sure…”

Stephen raised his head from the pillow beside Flora. “It is worth trying. We have nothing else.”

Katherine nodded. “You are right.”

Frances gently placed the fretting infant on his mother’s chest. “There. This is all we can do, now. Make her stay with us, little one.”

Stephen pressed Flora’s cold hand against his cheek. Her breathing had become more laboured with each hour that passed. Frances had taken the baby away to feed him and brought him back sated. He now slept peacefully beside his dying mother.

Katherine had gone in search of yet more fresh linen.

Frances had been convinced to get a few hours’ sleep and would be back soon to tend the child once more.

Stephen refused to leave Flora’s side even for a moment. He must be with her, whatever the coming minutes or hours might bring. It had been half a day since he was roused from his doze to attend her deathbed, and still her breath rattled in her throat and she clung to the final shreds of her life.

Do not leave me. Please, I love you…

He lowered his forehead to the mattress and, despite the rotten example set by those at St Mary’s, he prayed.

Silence.

The awful, deathly wheezing had ceased. She had gone.

Choking on his grief, Stephen raised his head to utter his final goodbye, to be greeted by a pair of moss-green eyes staring back at him.

“Flora…?” Could it be?

“What are you doing here, English?” she croaked, before closing her eyes and drifting back into unconsciousness.

Speechless, he could only gape in joyful astonishment.

Katherine chose that moment to enter, laden with lengths of fabric. “How is she?”

He turned to gaze at his friend. “She lives. She is… better.”

Katherine dumped her burden and rushed to the bedside. “Better? What do you mean?” She laid her palm on Flora’s forehead. “You are right. She is cooler. And her breathing has eased.”

“She was awake. Just for a moment. She looked at me, and she knew me.”

Katherine beamed at him, her eyes glistening. “’Tis a miracle.”

“Aye. I know.” Stephen got to his feet and raked his fingers through his hair. “I prayed for her, for this. And He heard me.”

“It would seem so. Would you like me to sit with her for a while? You could get some sleep. And perhaps a bath…?”

“No, I think—”

Katherine gave him a quick hug. “The worst is passed. It is safe to leave her, and I will send for you at once should she wake again. You need to tend to yourself now, lest you scare the poor lass to death when next she opens her eyes. You look dreadful. And you have worn the same clothes for the last five days to my certain knowledge.”

He drew in a ragged breath and allowed relief to wash through him. Katherine was right. The worst was over, and his Flora would live.

He offered up a private prayer of gratitude to the Almighty and to all the saints who must have interceded for Flora. He did not forget the earthly aid, either. He kissed Katherine on the forehead.

“You are right. And it is indeed a miracle, but you and Frances did your part also. How can I ever thank you?”

She smiled up at him. “You may start by getting yourself clean and rested, in readiness to greet her properly.”

* * *

Where am I?

I am dreaming. Or… dead?

Flora opened her mouth, her lips dry and sore. She was thirsty. Desperately thirsty.

Cool water dribbled into her mouth. She swallowed, then parted her lips in a silent plea for more. Again, the blessed freshness of water soothed her parched throat.

This must be paradise…

A low chuckle. “No, but perhaps the next best thing. You are in my bed, at Elborne.”

English? Could it be…?

Confused, bewildered, she cracked open her eyes to be greeted by soft lamplight. Surely, if she were truly at the gates to Heaven, it would be lighter, brighter. There would be sunshine, and… and music. And he would not be here.

“Elborne?” she whispered, her voice raw, barely recognisable even to her own ears. “But I was… How did I get here?”

“Hush now. Do not try to talk yet. You have been ill. Very ill.” It was a different voice which answered her now. Different but familiar.

Mattie?

“Yes, I…” Dear God, my baby! She clutched at the hand which held hers. “Where is Alister? Is he safe?”

“Alister? Is that his name, then?” It was English who now spoke, whose hand she gripped so tightly.

“My baby…”

“He is here also, and safe. But he was hungry. Matilda is going to fetch him.”

Flora closed her eyes again, tried to recall what had happened. “I…I heard him, before. He was crying.”

“I know. He possesses a decent pair of lungs for one so young. Ah, here is Frances, with Alister.”

Matilda, and another woman who Flora did not recognise, entered the chamber. The stranger approached the bed, a tiny infant in her arms. Flora had seen her child but once before, and then only briefly, but she knew her baby.

“Alister…” She held out her arms, and the woman placed the child against her chest. “Alister, my baby. My precious little son.” She turned her tear-filled gaze upon the three who hovered beside her bed. “I… I thought I would never see him again.”

The strange woman smiled. “It is over now. You are safe, both of you. And your baby needs his mama.”

Overcome suddenly by bone-deep weariness, Flora closed her eyes again and sank back against the pillow.

“Sleep now. We will talk again later.” English leaned close to kiss her forehead.

No, not English, his name is Stephen…

“There. I told you she knew me…”

Flora was wakened by Alister’s fretting. She shifted in the bed, the precious bundle still cradled in her arms. Soothing words came naturally.

“Do not cry, sweetling. Mama is here. All will be well…”

“He is hungry, I think.”

Flora opened her eyes and for the first time managed to focus upon the woman who smiled at her from a chair at the bedside. “I… I do not know you.”

“I am Frances de Whytte. My husband is brother to Stephen.”

“Stephen’s brother? But…” Flora searched her memory. She knew of this brother. Stephen had spoken of his family in Devon. “But he is a duke.”

“Yes. The Duke of Whitleigh.”

“Your Grace…” Now that her wits were returning, Flora was well aware of the proper manner in which to address a duchess.

“Frances,” the duchess corrected her. “And now, we must see to feeding this little lad of yours. Do you think you might be able to…?”

“I do not know. I did, just once, before Mattie fled with him.”

“Would you like to try again now, or would you prefer me to feed him for a bit longer?”

“You? But…”

“My own daughter is six months old. I have enough milk to go around, and Alister is thriving now, but you will wish to feed him yourself, I am sure. As soon as you are strong enough.”

“Yes. I… I would like to try.”

“Then we shall.”

With deft but gentle fingers, Frances showed Flora how to unfasten the top of her nightgown and place the hungry baby to her breast.

“You will know when he latches on. He will suck, and you will feel the draw.”

“What if I cannot? What if I have no milk?”

“You do have milk, and more will come. You are his mother. You can do this.”

“Oh! Oh, that feels so… odd.”

Frances smiled at her. “Aye, at first. And look how contented he is now.”

Flora peered down at the little pink face, watched in wonder as his cheeks worked to suck the milk into his mouth, then the rise and fall of his throat with each swallow. The baby’s eyes were closed, and his tiny, perfect fingers rested against her flesh.

We have survived. By the grace of God, we have both survived.

“What happened? I know that Mattie must have reached here safely, and convinced you to take Alister in. But, what then? Why did you come to St Mary’s? What of the sisters there? And my father?”

Flora was bursting with questions. It had now been two days since she had first opened her eyes, since the sounds and scents which had filled her senses during those long, dark days of her illness had given way to the light. Two days during which she had been surrounded by people who cared for her, and for Alister. People who had tended to her and coaxed her back from the very brink of death.

Flora was in no doubt how close she had come to relinquishing this life. Had it not been for the insistent, plaintive cries of her helpless son, the knowledge that she must not abandon him, that she must struggle on, for him, she would have surely succumbed to the weariness and let all her cares and suffering drift away.

Yes, she had been close. Very, very close. But now, she was back with the living, and she needed to know.

Stephen lay beside her on the bed, and Alister was sleeping between them. His little belly was full, and his soft snores made his father smile. Stephen stroked his son’s cheek, then propped himself on one elbow.

“Yes, Matilda arrived here a week ago, with Alister. At first, I did not believe her story, but she had the owl…”

“Ah, yes. I hoped you would remember.”

“I did. We realised that something must be amiss for you to give up your newborn baby, so we went to St Mary’s to discover just what was really going on.

“Did you see Mother Immaculata?”

“Oh, yes. A most delightful female.”

“She is vile. A hag.” Flora paused, then, “I should not speak so of a woman of the church, but—”

“You are right, and I mean to see to it that she answers for her wrong-doing.”

“She will answer for herself in the next life.”

Stephen’s lip quirked in a wry grin. “I had hoped not to be obliged to wait that long.”

“What happened, when you arrived at the abbey?”

She listened in silence as he recounted the rest of the tale, scarcely able to believe how fortunate she had been that he had decided to investigate her circumstances.

“If you had not come…” she breathed, when he finished his account.

“But we did. And all is now well.”

“Do you have word of my father? Mattie told me he is worse, and that my cousin, Angus, leads the clan in my brother’s absence.”

Stephen shook his head. “I do not, but I should send word to Roxburghe Castle that you are here, with Alister, and that you will both remain at Elborne. In safety.”

“He will probably not even remember me.” She swallowed hard, trying not to break down in tears again. “His mind has gone. He is confined to his chamber, according to Mattie.”

“I shall inform him that we are to wed. If he does not comprehend the meaning of my words, then we shall have to live with that.”

She shook her head. “We cannot wed.”

“We can. We should, and we must. What of Alister?”

“Your own father did not abandon you, despite the circumstances of your birth. I know you will always provide for Alister and protect him.”

“I love you. I want you as my wife. My marchioness.”

“But it is impossible. What of Katherine? What of your king?”

“Katherine has no desire to wed me, nor anyone else as far as I am aware. She will be content to remain here and run this household. I believe you and she would get along together. As for the king, Henry wishes for stability and peace at his northern border. He will appreciate the merits of an alliance with the MacKinnon clan.”

“Not if that alliance is gained in defiance of the will of the clan chief. My father would need to agree to the marriage contract, and he will not. He cannot.”

“What of this Angus MacKinnon who leads in his stead? Could he give consent?”

Flora shook her head. “He has not the authority to agree such a weighty matter. And you will recall he spent an extended stay in your dungeons less than a year ago. Even if Angus had the authority, he would never countenance an alliance with his sworn enemy.”

Stephen offered her a rueful smile. “Perhaps if I gave him the ransom back…”