‘You need to rest,’ Louve said, coming up to Bied in the winding hallway that connected the private chambers.
It was late—most of the household had gone to bed after a day he never wanted to repeat. Balthus’s hand and Ian’s death had scoured Louve’s heart all day. Regret battered his every deed until he second-guessed even the most basic of directions he gave.
They’d whisked Balthus to a room where a healer could help him recover. The guards had carried Ian’s body to the chapel. For reasons that he couldn’t address, the priest laid his body near that of the Steward’s. Their funerals would have to be discussed tomorrow, decisions he’d have to make. He hoped this time, they were the right ones.
When he wanted only to stay at Balthus’s side, he’d been plagued with immediate emergencies. The first was to get his own mercenaries out of the forest and into the fortress. Something which made Louve feel more secure for the safety of Balthus, Bied and Margery, but which caused more unrest with Ian’s men. Ordering Ian’s men to follow him was no easy feat. Twice he had had to prove his worth via sword, a sword he wanted never to see again, it being the same one he had to use to sever Balthus’s hand.
It’d only taken moments after the healer unwrapped Balthus’s hand to know it could not be saved. It was swollen and almost all black. Bied had wept at his side, asking all the questions he should have, but his throat had closed.
When she turned her broken gaze to his, he knew what had to be done and done swiftly while Balthus remained unconscious. But...the agony of Balthus’s scream before he succumbed back into that darkness still echoed in Louve’s mind.
The only good, if there could be any, was that Balthus had a chance to live and the guards, ever loyal to a Warstone, kept their duties which he increased in case Ian’s parents came charging back. He’d also sent a messenger out to Troyes, to tell Reynold that his brother was dead and Balthus gravely injured. When Reynold arrived, he’d let him know both were his fault.
There were times when he tried to bring up his desires of a wife, a home, peace, just to get him through, but the words only pained him more and he knew why. None would ever actualise for him. He could imagine no wife other than Bied, though too much separated them and, after what happened in the Hall, what should always separate them.
He loved her. Even if she could accept him as a mercenary, as a man with no home, would he allow it knowing that with the Warstones, and Ian’s last words, there was so much more to do and it was up to him to do it? No. He couldn’t.
That brought him to the other truth. The one Bied mentioned when they talked of trust and trusting himself. The conversation with Ian about him liking the games.
He said he wanted a wife, a plot of land, peace, but Bied was right, he never chose that for himself. He fooled himself, thinking it was because the right woman wasn’t at Mei Solis, but had he ever pursued anyone else other than the widow Mary, who was unavailable?
And he wasn’t just good at the games, of the thoughts and intrigue, he was fascinated by them. He’d pursued a friendship with Reynold of Warstone because he wanted more late-night conversations.
He wanted Bied with every breath he would ever take, but she didn’t want a husband. Even if she did, she loved her family, and the life he led, the one that spilled blood and wine in a Hall, would never be good or safe for her and the ones she loved.
So he went about his duties, knowing that, soon, he’d say goodbye. But not now.
Most of the torches were unlit, but the one flickering behind her in the hall was enough to see her swaying on her feet. She’d changed clothes since this morning, her hair was unbound and damp. Refreshed, but there was a slump to her shoulders, her walk uneven. A hollowness around her eyes that likely mimicked his own.
All day, she’d overseen the cleaning of the Hall, the comforting of the servants, the multitude of questions. He’d watched her all day, stolen moments to talk with her about the fortress care, to enquire about her hand, which was only scraped. But it’d been hours since he’d seen her this close. It felt like centuries since it was just them in the linen room.
‘I’ll rest now,’ she said. ‘I was visiting with my sister again. Evrart’s been with her since this morning. Did you know there’s a tunnel to the private chambers? When he left the Hall, he just came back in and up the stairs, and...’ She stopped. ‘Don’t mind me. I’m relieved that she was never alone today.’
‘Will they stay—’
‘No, they moved to Evrart’s room which is a door down. That bed is enormous.’ She yawned. ‘There were men outside his door I didn’t recognise.’
‘Balthus and I came with mercenaries—they’ve been paid to wait in the forest this whole time.’
‘And they did?’
‘They’ve been promised more coin.’
‘To wait in halls?’
He heard the humour in her voice, but it didn’t carry given her eyes kept closing.
‘To guard your sister. We’ll have some of our own outside my room. Come,’ he said, clasping her wrist and escorting her to his room.
Bied didn’t protest when Louve brought her to his room. The bed was large, the room thankfully private. Needing quiet, she’d been reluctant to return to the quarters where she slept with Tess and everyone.
Louve stayed silent as he dipped a linen in a basin and wrung out the water. Walking carefully over to her, he gently washed her face and neck. He gave her no words, simply a cool gentle touch. Then he did the same to himself with more brisk efficiency.
She didn’t know how he liked to sleep, but she hadn’t any spare strength to ask or to wait so she crawled into his bed and pulled the quilt over her.
Only a moment later it was lifted and Louve adjusted himself beside her. Less than that when his arm wrapped around her and pulled her close. She settled further in his arms, further into the soothing silence he created. It was as if he knew just how to care for her. She was exhausted, but her mind could not rest.
‘I thought it was for us,’ Bied said.
‘What was for us?’
‘The ale. When three goblets were handed out. You, me, Evrart and, somewhere upstairs, I imagined Margery was handed one as well.’
‘You drank it anyway.’
‘If Margery was drinking it, if you—’ She didn’t want to finish those thoughts. ‘I was relieved it wasn’t handed to Evrart—at least I kept my promise to my sister.’
She felt him rubbing his chin against the top of her head. Felt the pull of her hairs caught in his dark whiskers that were never completely gone no matter if he shaved. She loved that part of him. She loved... She was scared she loved him.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ he said.
‘I know.’ She closed her eyes. ‘This is the life you chose.’
‘I might not have known the extent of this dark world, but, yes, I did volunteer.’
She adjusted herself to see a bit more of him. ‘You told me of the danger, but a man was poisoned in front of so many and then...carried out like filthy rushes.’
‘It is difficult to explain danger and I wish I could have protected you from all of it.’
‘You’re awfully good at it,’ she said. ‘Louve, I’m only here because my sister wrote me a rescue message. Even with this Evrart, I will continue to beg her to return home. To be done with it all. He can come, too.’
‘I know.’
‘Are you certain you only want a wife, peace and small plot of land?’
‘I thought about the words you said. About the choices I’ve made and what I truly want.’
When it got quiet, she wondered if he’d fallen asleep. She knew he was as tired as she, that they only spoke because there was so much to say.
‘You’re right to have doubts. What I say I want and what I do are contradictory. But I still want those things...just differently than I thought.’ He touched the small scar under her chin. ‘A hot turnip, huh?’
Part of her wanted to keep talking, but the warmth and security of the room was already lulling her. Words and thoughts were harder to form and there would be time to talk before she left. It seemed with Louve’s abrupt subject change he felt the same.
‘A turnip popped out of the boiling pot and landed all over me. It hurt.’
She felt him trace the small, thin scar there. Felt him wondering about her words and what he saw on her skin. ‘Then I scrambled all over the place to get away from the offending vegetable and hit my chin on a table or chair or...something.’
His low chuckle vibrated through her as his finger continued to trace along her jawline. It felt...soothing, as did his body against hers. She was grateful she wasn’t alone today; she was grateful it was him beside her.
Yawning, she adjusted the quilt some more. ‘I think we need to talk about you and me.’
His finger stopped its caress. ‘Is there an us?’
A warm bed, long legs for her icy feet. Her body begged for sleep. ‘Did you mean those words you said to me in the Hall? The ones you said without sound?’
Long moments as he no doubt shifted throughout the entire day and she regretted her choice of words. She was so tired.
But when he eased against her back, when he gathered her more securely in his arms and brushed his jaw against her head in that caress she was beginning to crave, she knew he remembered the right words.
‘Very much,’ he said.
She knew what his answer would be. She did. It was in the way he gathered her in his arms now, the way he protected her as best he could. But even if she had feelings for him, where did that leave her or her family? They needed her to work. Margery’s coin would stop now and, with Mabile’s pregnancy, there would be difficult days ahead, especially since she needed to find work elsewhere.
Louve said his pursuits hadn’t changed, only became different. How different could they be when he, too, had to work for coin? And Louve...he would be chasing after danger for ever, not peace.
Even if he managed a home, she could never stay in kitchens or till fields. It would be reliving her worst nightmare. Yet, Louve had been good to her and he deserved some answer. Even if the words were slurred and barely audible.
‘I don’t see how we can be together,’ Bied replied, barely getting the words out before succumbing to sleep.