She watched him blink his eyes to show her that he heard, but Jane knew that even as ill and debilitated as he was, it would be almost impossible for Lynx de Warenne to give himself entirely to another’s keeping. She smiled into his eyes and slid her hands into his hair so that her fingers touched the base of his skull. Jane focused on what she was attempting to accomplish and tried to ignore for the present the appalling filth of his once beautiful mane of tawny hair.
Along with the steady pressure of her fingertips, Jane crooned to him, telling him how to separate himself from the pain. “I love you so much, my darling, give me your pain … let it go, don’t be afraid … I’ll be here … let go a little at a time.” Jane knew that the most important part of healing was touching. Her fingertips moved in ever widening circles at the back of his skull and her voice fell into the same mesmerizing rhythm as her fingers.
Inside her head was in stark contrast to her outward calm. Panic, fear, love, hope, and despair warred passionately within her. She wanted to treat everything at once, his fever, his filth, his wound, but her instincts told her that the first thing she must grapple with was his acute suffering. Jane knew she would do anything to take away even one small part of his pain, so she decided to bribe him. “If you will sleep, I will bring your son when you wake … sleep now, let the pain go, push it away.”
Her heart ached for the plight of this once strong warrior, who had never given his trust to a woman in his life; now he had no choice. It took the best part of an hour before Lynx closed his eyes in sleep, but to Jane, there was no longer any such thing as time; no day and night; no past or future; only this present moment.
When she was absolutely certain he could not see her, she closed her eyes in dismay. His life hung by a thread as fine as a cobweb. It was a miracle that he had survived the journey home. Deep within the secret recesses of her mind Jane knew he was dying, but she vowed not to acknowledge it. Despite her tightly closed lids, the tears escaped and like scattered pearls dropped onto her tightly clasped hands.
In the adjoining chamber Keith awaited Jane with the Welsh healers. When she joined them, she cut straight to the heart of the matter. “I don’t want to know how this happened, there will be time aplenty for the telling later. First, I want to know what you have done for him, then I want you to assess the extent of the damage for me, and finally I want your advice on the best way to heal him.”
After consulting with the Welshmen, Jane turned to her brother. “Keith, go to the monastery for me. The Franciscans do scientific experiments with minerals. I want some permanganate salts and potash, and perhaps sulfur, if they would be so kind. Please hurry.” When Keith tried to protest, she said, “Don’t tell me again that my husband is dying. At this moment he lives, and this moment is all we have.”
When Jane returned to the bedchamber, Lynx was no longer peacefully sleeping. His squires each carried in a stack of fresh linen sheets and towels, and Jane immediately set them new tasks. “Thomas, I want hot water right away and tell them in the kitchen to keep a good supply on the boil continually from now on. Taffy, ask one of the cooks to make Lynx some barley water.”
When they left, Jane took up one of the decoctions she had prepared from the milky juice of the white poppy mixed with honey and water to help cover its bitter taste. She poured a small measure into a cup; it was not safe to give a man more than half an ounce.
Jane had no idea if Lynx heard or understood her, but she spoke to him as if he did. “I want you to try to drink this, my love. It could make you vomit, but enough will stay down to ease your pain and bring you sleep.” She held the cup to his lips and tipped it. Lynx took the bitter white liquid into his mouth and swallowed. Almost immediately he began to retch and vomit. Jane was horrified by his agony, but knew she had to be cruel to be kind.
Thomas arrived with hot water and together they cleaned up and put fresh sheets on the bed. Then Jane kept her promise. She ran down to her own chamber and carried her son upstairs. “See Daddy,” she crooned, carrying him close. It almost broke her heart when she saw Lynx’s mouth half curve into a smile. She prayed to every saint and every goddess she had ever heard of that the poppy would carry Lynx into the arms of Morpheus.
The moment his eyes began to close, she sat down beside the bed and fed her hungry baby. When she returned him to Grace Murray, she said, “I’m not going to have much time for his lordling, Grace. I think we should get him a wet nurse, because there are going to be times when I can’t even feed him. Ask Judith to come and see me, perhaps she will be generous enough to move into the adjoining chamber down here and bring her new baby with her.”
Jane hurried back upstairs. She lay down beside her husband and held his fevered hand. She whispered her magic words of love and hope, pouring them over him like gentle rain. Her eyes caressed his face, noting the sharp cheekbones and the slant of his jaw, now covered with a golden stubble of beard. Jane was too watchful to sleep, but she rested her body while the opportunity presented itself.
As she lay with him, she convinced herself that they were connected by an invisible thread that could never be broken. It had drawn them together in the beginning. It had been extremely tenuous until they had made a child together and now the magic thread connected all three of them. It was fragile at the moment, but it would grow stronger until it became a cord and eventually, with love and trust, it would become a cable.
Jane stubbornly refused to entertain negative thoughts, knowing they would sap her strength and debilitate her. This was a bad time, a wretched and devastating time that must somehow be gotten through, not necessarily with grace and dignity, but any way she could. They would have to live through the bad, so they could experience the good. Once she had heard someone say, “If I keep a green bough in my heart, the singing bird will come.” And that is what Jane believed deep inside her soul. If Lynx meant enough to her, and he most assuredly did, somehow she would save him.
In her luxurious apartment at Edinburgh Castle, Alice Bolton could hardly believe that Fitz-Waren had accomplished what he set out to do. My revenge is complete! she told herself over and over. Lynx de Warenne deserved to die for the things he did to me. I did what I vowed I would do: I destroyed him and used his own cousin to do it!
Alicia had been terrified about her future, but now she realized that she had done the right thing. In all the time she had been with Lynx de Warenne, she had never been able to rule him, nor even influence him much. Fitz-Waren was entirely different. She could manipulate him as easily as a puppet. The trick was knowing which string to pull.
“Fitz, when your father arrives and tells you of Lynx’s death, you must show surprise and shock. Both of us must mourn with him and shower him with sympathy and understanding for the loss of his beloved nephew.”
“The old swine will have no one to turn to except me.”
“I will go now and make sure his rooms are comfortable. There is nothing like a woman’s touch to bring solace to a grieving heart.”
Fitz stared at her with dispassion. The false bitch didn’t even realize the irony of her words. She was the most cold-blooded female he had ever encountered. He thought longingly of Jory de Warenne and how he would like to comfort her in her hour of grief. Amazingly, Fitz saw no irony in his own thoughts.
When John de Warenne arrived at Edinburgh Castle from Scone he was exhausted physically and bereft emotionally. He was relieved that he would be able to send word of the English conquest at Irvine to the king in France, but personal satisfaction from the victory was impossible with Lynx’s imminent death staring him in the face.
These days the governor traveled with his own personal guard of twelve, two of whom were his squires who acted as body servants and slept in an adjoining chamber. His squires immediately lit a fire, prepared his bath, and ordered him food, though lately his appetite was small.
John sat before the fire, gazing into the flames. He did not seem to notice that Fitz and Alicia had entered his chamber until Fitz-Waren
spoke.
“Father, you look ill.”
John lifted his chin from where it had sunk onto his chest and stared at the intruder. He seemed suddenly to become aware of where he was and what had gone before. “I am sick at heart. What good in gaining Scotland if I lose Lynx de Warenne? The price is too high.”
“He died with glory, fighting the enemy, as any noble warrior would wish,” Fitz said firmly.
John stared. Fitz spoke as if Lynx were already dead and most likely by now he was, God rest his soul. “God moves in mysterious ways … he gave him a son and a heir at the last minute.”
“Lynx had a son!” Alicia murmured to herself before she moved forward with purpose. “My lord earl, the child is a bastard; Lynx de Warenne was not married to the servant girl who claimed to be carrying his child.”
John stared at Alicia, seeming to notice her presence for the first time. “You are wrong,” he said quietly. “Lynx left here after Christmas for the sole purpose of wedding Lady Jane, so that his child would be born in wedlock.”
“How do we know it is his?” Fitz demanded.
John looked at him with sorrow. “Indeed, how does a man know if his son sprang from his own loins?”
Fitz’s eyes narrowed with hatred. The urge to commit a murder gripped him by the throat and only the squires’ presence stayed his hand.
“I intend to confirm Lynx’s son as my heir to the earldom of Surrey as soon as I receive official word that my nephew has died.”
“Lynx de Warenne lives?” Alicia demanded incredulously.
“When I last saw him, though I doubt he survived the journey home to Dumfries; his wounds were horrendous.” Tears streamed down John’s face, oblivious of those who witnessed them.
The moment Fitz-Waren closed the door of their own chambers, Alicia turned upon him like a snarling she-wolf. “You useless bastard, can you do nothing right? Lynx de Warenne lives!”
The back of Fitz-Waren’s hand smashed across her mouth, sending her staggering across the chamber. “That is the last time you will call me bastard,” he hissed, stalking after her. “All I ever get are crumbs from the de Warenne table. Even you are Lynx de Warenne’s leavings!”
A terrified Alicia realized she had pulled the wrong string. She saw his intent and began to scream. His fist shot out to silence her. As Alicia went down, her head struck the solid brass fender of the fireplace, silencing her forever.
30
Lynx moaned softly. Lying beside him on the bed, Jane heard and her spirit flickered, then rekindled. She climbed from the bed and lit the candles to banish all the darklings, then she lit a small fire to help make the chamber even more cheerful.
Jane’s breasts were full and aching, so she bathed and slipped Lynx’s velvet bedrobe over her nakedness and was about to call down to Grace Murray and have the nursemaid bring up her son. Suddenly Jane paused on her way to the door and looked back at Lynx. Breast milk! I’ll try him with my breast milk Hope blossomed inside her. Slowly, she approached the bed and gently lay down beside him. She turned Lynx’s head on the pillow and spoke to him softly. “Love, I want you to take my milk; I want to suckle you.”
Lynx stared at her unblinking, while Jane wondered if he understood her meaning. Then he spoke the first words since he had returned. “For … baby.”
“No, Lynx. He’s fat as a little piglet. He doesn’t need my milk. But you do! I want to nurse you … let me do this thing … don’t resist me, Lynx, please let go of your will and give yourself to me.”
Jane waited for him to give his consent. “If you won’t do this for me, do it for your son … he needs you to live!” Jane waited no longer. She cupped his cheek and drew his head to her lush breast. With gentle fingers she slipped the nipple into his hot, dry mouth. Jane held her breath, silently willing him to take what she offered. It was the only thing she had left to give him. It seemed she had to wait an eternity before Jane let out her breath on a hope-filled sigh as she felt his tongue curl about her nipple.
Lynx was appalled at Jane’s suggestion. He knew that he was dying and cursed heaven and hell that he had not died on the battlefield. Jane was so small and sweet; it was wrong that she had to face his horrendous wound with its disgusting stench. It was wrong that she exhaust herself over him when ail she would have as reward was his death.
He could feel her nipple in his mouth. That she could even bear to touch him filled him with awe. She had ordered him, begged him, and now she was seducing him to give up his will to her. He knew if he did not take the last thing that she had to offer him, she would be deeply hurt by his rejection. Lynx was sure that the end was drawing close and his breathing would soon cease. At this moment Lynx acknowledged that Jane was stronger than he, and that he must bow to her will. He knew the moment had arrived when he must relinquish control. Almost, he did not have enough strength to suckle. He curled his tongue against her rouched nipple and began to draw.
Miraculously, Lynx’s starving body did not reject the nourishment that he took from Jane’s body. Later, though still fevered and in pain, Lynx felt comforted as he lay unmoving beside his sleeping wife. Her close presence brought him a peacefulness he had never before experienced. It was as if his thoughts hovered above his body. They were crystal clear and so unfettered they began to soar. Quite impassively Lynx wondered if this was what happened in the prelininary state of death.
He looked at Jane’s sleeping face and knew she was exhausted. What an exceptional woman she was. The qualities she possessed were so rare, he had never encountered them in a female before. Jane was totally selfless. She gave without taking. She had given him his heart’s desire, when he had always secretly feared a son was unattainable. But now he could die without regret, because Lincoln Robert had made him immortal. What more could a man ask for?
He knew Jane’s devotion to him was absolute. She had generously shared her body with him from the beginning, putting her trust in him, even though she had been an extremely timid and frightened girl. And now she had shared her body with him in every way that it was possible. This time it was not to give him pleasure, but to give him life.
This is what love is all about! Jane loved him and Lynx realized suddenly that he loved her in return. It was a strange and wonderful emotion. Then panic rose up in him. He had never told Jane he loved her. What if he died tonight without letting her know that he loved her? His glittering green gaze traced her delicate features slowly, adoringly. She was exhausted; he could not waken her to tell her of his love, it would be a totally selfish act. And not the first one he had committed. Silently, Lynx began to pray that he be allowed to live until Jane awakened.
Thomas and Taffy both held their breath as they watched Jane bravely hold her hand over Lynx de Warenne’s heart to see if it was still beating. She felt tears flood her eyes the moment her hand detected his heartbeat. To Jane, it felt amazingly strong. “He’s very much alive,” she said, smiling through her tears. “He’s sleeping.”
Lynx opened his eyes. “He was sleeping,” she amended, as his squires looked on with extremely relieved faces. “My love,” Jane murmured, bending over him tenderly, “I have to look at your wound … I’ll try not to hurt you.” As if touching a precious piece of porcelain, Jane opened the edges of the wound and looked into the abdominal cavity. She drew in a swift breath. “It’s clean! Look … look, both of you!” She moved aside, allowing Thomas to examine Lynx with his eyes.
“The putrid smell has gone!” he said joyfully.
When Taffy bent over to have a look, Lynx murmured something to him.
Taffy’s face lit up. “He must have retained some liquid … he has to pee! What was it he was able to keep down, my lady?”
For a moment Jane didn’t know what to say. “I believe it was your barley water, Taffy,” she lied sweetly, protecting the intimate secret she alone shared with her husband.
“I’ll get some more!” Taffy said, rushing from the room.
Jane handed Thomas an empty jug so tha
t he could help Lynx relieve the discomfort of his bladder. “I’m going to irrigate the wound again and leave it open to drain one more day. If it is still clean tomorrow, I intend to dust the cavity with sulfur and close it with sutures, then bind him up. What do you think, Thomas?”
“I think you have the true gift of healing, Lady de Warenne.”
Jane smiled down into Lynx’s eyes and placed her hand upon his forehead. “Your fever has lessened, darling.” The look she saw on his face was neither relief nor gratitude. The look she saw was love. A tear ran down her cheek and she dashed it away with trembling fingers. “If you die on me now, Lynx de Warenne, I swear I’ll kill you!”
After Thomas helped her change the bed linen and Taffy brought another big jug filled with barley water, she thanked them sweetly, but made it plain she wanted to be alone with her husband. The moment they were private Jane undressed and lay down beside Lynx. “Don’t you dare to refuse me. I rule the roost at Dumfries. When you are strong enough you will soon overrule me, but until then, my lord husband, you will do my bidding.”
Lynx raised his hand and with his fingertips stroked the satiny flesh of her lush breast. When his lips were close enough, he kissed it. “Love you, Jane,” he murmured raggedly.
Jane’s heart soared. Here indeed was a day filled with miracles! She stroked his temples as he took the nourishment from first one breast and then the other. “I will drink Taffy’s barley water. It will help make lots of milk for you, my love.”
* * *
Three days later, Lynx de Warenne had had his gaping wound sutured and he lay swathed in bandages from ribs to hips.
“Now, we are going to clean you up!” Jane informed him with hands on hips. Though her manner was confrontational, her hands were unbelievably gentle as she bathed him.