Page 23 of The Falcon Laird
“Are you cold?” He tucked the blanket higher around her and touched his unshaven cheek to her forehead. “You seem a bit stronger.”
“Tired,” she whispered. “Just that. You are so good to me.” She glanced up. “Why do you stay?”
“I want you to live. Just that.”
I will, she nearly said, but drifted to sleep even before the words could form.
Chapter Six
“By my faith,Lady Christian,” Dominy said, “ye’ve eaten two bowls of broth and a loaf of bread.”
Intently sopping thick salted broth with a heel of fresh bread, Christian scooped up the last of it, licked her fingers, and sat back. “That was delicious. Is there more?”
“My lady, Brother Richard said ye were to eat lightly if you could. He will be amazed at this.” Blinking in amazement too, Dominy picked up the bowl.
“I am still hungry. I feel much stronger.” She coughed, a congested sound, but the cough felt cleansing, bringing up the last of the illness. She drew a breath, savoring the sense of energy she felt since the night Sir Gavin had sat with her—two days now, or three?
Earlier, Dominy had said she slept through an entire day and half another. They had worried about her, Sir Gavin listening to her breathing and pronouncing it better. He had said the heavy sleep would replenish her strength. They were all astonished at the pace of her recovery, Dominy added.
This morning, waking to golden sunlight filling the little whitewashed room, the sense of well-being was still with her. She felt weak but peaceful—and so hungry, she could not seem to fill her stomach. She smiled in response to Dominy’s frown.
“I am better,” she said.
“Ye still have a cough. We cannot expect miracles. Barely a week has passed since we came here, and I swear the angelof death would come for ye. But with poultices and herbs and steam tents, ye’re recovering very nicely.”
“It is a blessing from heaven, Dominy,” she said softly. She was sure the dream was a fevered illusion, but it seemed to have brought a kind of miracle. She had glided past the worst of the illness and now needed only to regain her strength.
Giving a silent prayer of thanks, she added a word of thanks for Sir Gavin, who had stayed with her like a ministering angel, steady and kind. Smiling, she watched dust motes dance on a sunbeam, and shivered pleasantly. She wanted to see him and thank him again, wanted to feel his touch again.
Melodic and peaceful, she heard the chanting of the monks in the chapel, and sat up to move to the side of the bed. “I want to dress and go to chapel,” she told Dominy. “The plainsong is so beautiful.”
“It is, and ye listen to it from here.” Dominy pushed her back under the covers. “Your recovery may be heaven’s blessing, but ye need to go slow, or be ill again. Ye’re still weak as a newborn kitten.” She handed Christian a comb. “Here. Work this through that mass of curls. Let me tell you it was difficult to find a comb in a monastery.” She grinned.
Christian laughed as she drew the comb through her hair, still damp from the washing Dominy had given her earlier. She raised exploring fingers to the soft, short ends of her hair. With the weight gone, it curled freely. She felt light and unburdened.
Remembering that Gavin had cut her hair out of concern, she felt another urge to see him again, perhaps in the chapel. “Dominy, I want to get dressed.”
“Very well. I cleaned yer gown and plaid as best I could.” Dominy took the gray dress from a wall peg and helped her to slip into it. “Near rags, it is, but ye may feel more comfortable. But ye will keep to yer bed.”
“I want to go to the chapel and to the dining hall too. I am hungry.” Hungry, she felt surly enough to pout. Again she shifted her legs over the side of the bed, but a wave of dizziness swamped her.
“My lady, ye cannot leave this room.” Dominy took her arm. “I will fetch more food. It is a monastery. They do not allow women in their dining hall.”
Christian sighed, settling back under the blankets. “Ask Cook for some roast chicken,” she said hopefully, and closed her eyes to rest.
She dozed untila soft sound woke her and she opened her eyes, expecting to see Dominy returned with some food. At the chamber door, Sir Gavin stood taller than the lintel, broad shoulders near filling the opening as he leaned against the jamb. He wore a black tunic beneath a white surcoat embroidered with golden wings, and his hair glinted with gold touches too; his beard, growing daily, was darker than she had thought. Smiling sleepily, she sat up.
“God’s blessing, my lady.” His voice was compelling, peaceful as the chants that floated on the air. Immediately she recalled his gentle hands, supporting and soothing her last night. A delicate shiver coursed through her.
His kindness when she had been so ill, and his rescue of her from Carlisle, deserved her thanks. She even felt inclined to forgive him the dreadful hair shearing. “God’s greetings, sir,” she replied.
“You look improved.” His eyes sparkled with a little smile.
“I feel better.” She also felt suddenly aware of her gaunt appearance and ragged clothes. She raised a hand self-consciously to her cropped hair and thin neck.
“I came earlier to find you still asleep. Now I am amazed, my lady. You look—wonderful.”
She grimaced. “Dominy said I looked like a skinny lad.”
