Part 23 (2/2)

And Sir David Radcliffe fell in love.

16.

The solar filled with a silence that lapped up and over everyone, and they were silent, David knew, because of the awe and reverence he displayed. Only now, when Alisoun showed her trust, did he realize-he was living the legend his crazy old great-grandmother had told him.

”David?” Alisoun raised her hand to touch his face. ”Have you hit your head?”

Hit his head? He almost laughed. Aye, Alisoun would think something like that. The truth was, he had all the symptoms his granny described-unusual strength, a sense of rightness, a glow from within. He didn't even have to be around Alisoun to feel the effects. Granny had called them signs of a great love.

”David, no one's going to hurt you. You don't need to look so-” Alisoun c.o.c.ked her head, at a loss for a description, ”-preoccupied.”

Granny had entertained him and the other children in the long winter nights, and the best story, the one they always asked for, was the one about their grandmother and grandfather, and how they'd come through trial and sorrow to a special place, a special feeling, just for each other. Not everyone had it, Granny said. Most people never witnessed such a phenomenon in their whole lives, but it had shone through his grandmother and grandfather's everyday activities. It had warmed the whole family and every servant and serf. It had been precious, inviolate, and it had worked miracles. Even after Grandfather died, Grandmother carried the glow with her to her grave.

”I think it would be best if you sat down.” Alisoun tried to steer him toward a stool, but he took her hand off his arm and just held it.

Aye, it had been his favorite story, but he'd grown up. By the time he reached the great age of eight, he'd realized what nonsense Granny spouted. After all, she wasn't his grandmother, she was his great-grandmother, so old he had believed his mother when she said Granny had lived through four kings. Granny didn't remember what she'd eaten two hours before. She didn't remember his name, or his mother's, or even her own maid's. She was nothing but a crazy old lady who told crazy old stories, and he'd scarcely thought of her since the day she died.

Now he couldn't forget her, because he was living that story she told. His union with Alisoun was almost mystical, as if they had been separated long ago, lost to each other across time and s.p.a.ce, and now reunited to form one being, one self.

”I wish my Granny were alive to see this.” David brought Alisoun's hand to his lips and kissed it respectfully, then turned it over and kissed her palm with the pa.s.sion of a lover.

Her puzzled frown faded; she must have seen something in his demeanor that hinted of his thoughts, for she stepped closer and placed her hand on his chest once more. ”David?”

His heart pounded from the contact, and the glow from his reflected in her eyes. They drew closer and closer still, caught in the precious moment of recognition and dedication-until Sir Walter coughed.

Alisoun turned away from David at once, and he let her go without a qualm. There would be time and place for this later. Now Sir Walter needed tending, and Alisoun took that responsibility seriously. She went to his side and took his hand, then leaned close to his battered, swollen face. ”It's Lady Alisoun. Did you want me?”

The sounds Sir Walter formed weren't words, not really, but he spoke urgently, as if he needed to make himself heard.

Alisoun winced and reached for an icy cloth to place over his puffy eyes. ”Pray you, Sir Walter, don't speak if it gives you pain.”

”Must!”

Moved by the urgency in that one word, David came closer.

”Grave.”

Puzzled, David shared a glance with Alisoun.

”I don't know what you mean. Grave trouble?” she suggested. ”Grave wounds?”

The breath Sir Walter took came up through a windpipe so battered it scarcely functioned, but he lisped, ”The grave.”

Suddenly alert, Alisoun bent so close her lips almost touched the injured man's ear. ”The grave? In the churchyard?”

”Open.”

David observed the appearance of bluish veins in Alisoun's forehead as the color washed out of her face.

”Is that where he found you?” she demanded.

A tear squeezed out between Sir Walter's swollen lids and trickled down his cheek. ”Stupid.”

Some great shock held Alisoun in its grip, then she started as if she woke. ”Nay, you're not stupid. We weren't expecting that he would be suspicious. Sleep now, and heal. I'll have need of your services when you are better.” After giving his hand a light pat, she placed it on the covers. Then she turned and surveyed the room. No one except she and David had heard Sir Walter's words. They'd been spoken in a low tone and his injuries had rendered him almost inarticulate. Nevertheless, she examined each servant and maid, requesting their discretion without saying a word. Clearly, she held their complete loyalty.

Near the door, Philippa and Edlyn huddled together, victims of the fear this violence had brought. To them, Alisoun said, ”Warm sand in the sandbags and brace it against Sir Walter on both sides. Bring blankets and keep him covered. Don't let him get chilled this night, and if his condition worsens, call me.”

”Where are you going?” Philippa questioned her sharply, as if she had every right.

”I'm going to order added patrols and find some way to return security to George's Cross.”

”What did Sir Walter say?”

Alisoun wrapped her arm around Philippa's shoulder. ”I'll take care of it. You take care of Sir Walter.”

She walked toward the door and Philippa followed her, but David grabbed her before she could jerk Alisoun around. Gruffly, he said, ”I'll take care of her.”

Philippa stared at him and gulped audibly, then nodded.

”Alisoun.” He caught up with her when she was halfway across the great hall. ”Lady Alisoun, we need to talk.”

She kept walking with a serenity that belied her intentions. ”I have to go instruct the men-at-arms to watch for strangers, to be more careful.”

”That's for me to do.”

Without looking at him, she asked, ”You'll stay?”

His hand shot out and grabbed her elbow. Spinning on his heel, he used her forward motion to turn her toward his bedchamber. ”You couldn't drive me away.”

Trying to jerk out of his grasp, she said, ”I need to set watches.”

”And have them beat, too? Anyone who tries to protect you is in danger.” The horror on her face proved everything he could have desired. ”Every person in George's Cross knows what happened to Sir Walter by now. They'll be cautious, I have no doubt, and I wouldn't want to be a new merchant come to visit the market this night. He'll find himself without a place to stay.”

”Aye.” The door of his chamber loomed before them and she grabbed the sill and tried to hang on. ”This will be bad for our prosperity, but what can I do?”

He stuffed her through the entry and shut the door behind them. Leaning against it, he said, ”Come with me to Radcliffe.”

She whirled on him. ”What?”

”Radcliffe,” he repeated. ”It's small, there's no market, and any stranger who visits is noted and marked and treated with suspicion.”

”I can't come to Radcliffe with you.”

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