Les Fleurs du Jardin

by smartgamerchick

Robin dePiaget finds himself away from home, warring in France with his brother, Nicholas. This is the tale of a young woman who befriends our hero.

Les Fleurs du Jardin

A de Piaget novella by Tina Marie

Author's note:

I became a lover of romance novels when I picked up a copy of "A Dance Through Time," a time-travel love story by Lynn Kurland. After falling half in love with James MacLeod and his brutish yet somehow gentle medieval self, I proceeded to read every single one of Ms. Kurland's books-and eagerly awaited the ones to come.

If you are here reading this, you know that the MacLeods and dePiagets are like family to so many of us. Their world, their times, and their characters live in our hearts. When I hear the term "book boyfriend," I always imagine it was coined by a reader of Lynn's books. Her heroes are strong and handsome, her heroines are smart and beautiful, and her stories are filled with gentle romance and sweet endings.

From the first time traveller, Patrick MacLeod, to the continuing adventures of Sam and Theo of Wyckham, the MacLeods and dePiagets have become part of a universe that we love. The fan club has over 700 members, and many of us share stories-real and fictional-over discussions of which castle is better, and whose men are more desirable. We cast a fantasy movie of Ms. Kurland's characters, and we play games and share fun pics and facts with each other. We have truly become a community of fans, yes, but also of storytellers. And like the bards of olden times, we keep the MacLeods and dePiagets-and select McKinnons, too-alive and well.

When I set out to write this story, I had a different ending, a different middle, and no idea what to call it. I thought about it for years, but I never did anything. And one day I decided it was time to let the story in my head out, to share with people and to have it on paper for myself. This is not the last story I intend to share, but it was the hardest as it is the first.

I must include the appropriate disclaimers: the characters of Robin and Nicholas dePiaget, as well as all other dePiaget characters, belong exclusively to Lynn Kurland. The characters of King Philip II of France, Louis of France and King John Lackland of England are historical figures. The characters of Mathilde and Aalys, however, are my own. I write this not for profit or to harm any portion of Ms Kurland's work, existing, future or implied. I write it merely as "fan fiction," a unique telling of an untold portion of the story of Robin dePiaget.

I can only hope that I have done him justice. He is, after all, my book boyfriend.

I hope you enjoy this little novella. Feedback is welcome at smartgamerchick gmail.com, or you can find me in the Lynn Kurland Fan Club on Facebook, as I am one of two moderators for the club's page.

Tina Marie

A final note to Lynn Kurland, the greatest romance author of all time:

Thank you for the endless hours of escape and joy I have gotten from your stories. Thank you for men I can get lost in, and women I can aspire to be in my mind. Thank you for taking me on your travels through time, so that I can experience Elizabethan England and medieval Scotland with a braw lad by my side and excitement in my heart. Thank you for the gift of Artane, that imaginary home and fortress by the sea where so many of my book family has lived and died. Thank you, also, for the wild forest surrounding the MacLeod keep, and Moraig's house, and Robert MacLeod playing his pipes for me so that I might feel safe. I believe that all in all, every one of us-your fans-owes you a debt of gratitude for the chivalrous knights and daring warriors you have given us, and for the hours and hours of invisible cups of ale and sword fights among the Boar's Head Trio, and all of the other delights you have shared with us.

For when we read your stories, we are as fierce as Gwen, and as hopeless as Iolanthe, and as frightened as Gillian. We become those ladies for a few hours each time, and the passion and detail of the story becomes our own for a little while.

Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Your stories bring us such joy. I could only hope to imitate a fraction of your talent, and I hope that you are not distressed by my humble offering with this tiny work of fan fiction. It is an honor to create something of my own that stems from something I love so well.

Thank you, truly.

France, July 1223

Prologue

He heard a noise behind him, and turned in time to see yet another enemy bearing down on him, sword raised. He swore with great enthusiasm as he drove his blade deep into the enemy's chest, then pulled it out and spun around to deflect yet another blade aimed for his head. Saints, where was Nicholas? He hadn't seen him in at least a pair of hours, and the sun was nearly set.

Robin de Piaget, favored son of Rhys de Piaget, formidable ally of King Phillip and an accomplished swordsman in his own right, stopped as he realized there were no more enemies to slay. He wiped his sword on a bit of less-than-disgusting tunic on the dead man at his feet, and then swore again.

He was bleeding.

After all his sire had taught him about swordplay, he was going to die anyway, in this mud- and dung-filled cesspit of a battlefield. Here, in a war-ravaged area of France, with bodies on the ground and sweat in his eyes, he would meet his end. Although the slash of a dagger through his already filthy tunic caused him to frown mildly, the slice across his belly was more than a mere nuisance. Each time he put his hand to his belly, it came away with more blood than dirt.

He knew his death was near, because he thought he saw his brother Nicholas approaching in nearly clean garments. How could he be so clean, when they both were fighting in muddy conditions these past few weeks?

Nicholas de Piaget sheathed his own sharp blade and started toward his brother. He noted the scores of dead men littering the field, credited most of them to Robin's and his own handy skills, and then clapped Robin on the back a few times.

"It is a bit too early to begin boasting of your accomplishments on the field today, Rob," Nicholas said with a grim smile. "It looks like they have no further need of us now. Let us find our rest elsewhere. Looking at so many dead bodies makes me ill, and I've a mind to sweeten my humors with a cup of ale and a rest."

Robin nodded, and began to walk forward with his brother-only to find himself falling into the muck at his Nicholas' feet. The last thing he saw was Nick leaning over him, true worry in his eyes as he shouted for aid. Then Robin knew no more.

Chapter One

Mathilde sighed and made her way to the healing room. She didn't particularly feel like mending anyone today, but when it was not often that her sire asked her to heal one of his men personally. When your sire was the King of France and asked this of you, however, you went willingly and with a smile. It was a small price to pay, really, as she was indeed a healer, although not usually of wounded soldiers. Still, her sire had settled her rather comfortably. She had her own home, her own staff of servants, and even a little stable with a few horses, should she care to ride. She came and went as she pleased, had new gowns of the finest material fashioned whenever she wanted, and lacked for nothing-although she rarely needed much beyond what it took to run her house and feed herself and her servants.. Her maid was obedient and did not gossip much. And Philip treated her like a princess-which, fortunately, she was not.

The only thing Mathilde lacked as far as royal trappings was that she did not reside in the king's palace. Born on the wrong side of the blanket to a village healer Philip used to frequent, Mathilde was neither princess nor pauper. Philip did not claim her publicly, but she was accustomed to that. She understood the ways of court and its vicious intrigues, and she had no desire to be paraded about in front of the world like a mare on display. No, Mathilde was perfectly content to be spoiled in private and enjoy her life of luxury without politics and current events touching her.

She entered the healing room and gasped aloud. There, lying on her finest chaise was a man so bloody and filthy she wondered if he was alive. Standing next to him was another man, not nearly as filthy and far less bloody, but his bleak countenance told her that he must care for the wounded man very much. Perhaps they were brothers, she thought.

The cleaner of the two men executed a small bow and gave her a grim smile. He handed her a letter, sealed with her sire's own signet.

"My dear lady," he began. :I am Nicholas de Piaget, and this is my brother, Robin. He has been sorely wounded, and your sire bade me bring him here with all due haste to receive your personal attentions."

Mathilde sat in a chair and broke the seal on the missive. Indeed, it was written in her father's bold script, and indicated exactly as this de Piaget man had said. She was to use her very skilled knowledge and heal this man, and help him recover posthaste.

"Good morrow to you, sir de Piaget. I suppose you know my name," she added.

Nicholas took a chair across from her and nodded.

"Indeed, Lady Mathilde, your sire described you perfectly. How long before you can examine my brother? The medic gave him a small cup of something foul to sedate him, and spared a moment to sew his wounds, but I fear he will not remain asleep for long. And when he awakens, I also fear he will bellow in pain, though don't tell him I said so," he finished with a grim smile.

Mathilde resisted the urge to fan herself. She stood and went to Robin, made a cursory examination, then pulled the cord for her servant.

"His wounds are not fatal, but they will require better stitching than I can see has been done here. Once he has been properly stitched and the wounds cleaned, he will need to rest for several days to regain his strength and allow the stitches to completely heal."

Nicholas breathed a sigh of relief. Cavalier he may be, but not even his father knew the depth of love he felt for his brother Robin. To lose him would be unthinkable.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "Is there somewhere I can wait? Or may I assist you?"

Mathilde thought for a moment.

"Non, I am capable of seeing to him myself. Perhaps you would care for a bath and a rest while I see to your brother?"

Nicholas took the hint. He had come directly from the battlefield, urging the cart bearing his brother's lifeless form to breakneck speeds in order to see this healer that the king commanded to attend his most favored soldier. He was tired, filthy and likely smelled still of the blood and gore of battle. Yes, he would like a bath immediately.

A maid came and ushered him to another room, where she proceeded to fill an enormous tub with steaming water for a bath. He relaxed a bit as the comely maid poured heated water over him, but when she offered to scrub his back, he declined, sending her away.

Saints, what was wrong with him! Only the thought of Robin, lying so still and covered in blood-his own and that of his enemies, no doubt-could drive him away from the attentions of a lovely woman. His thoughts were melancholy as he washed the grime from his body, and when he was clean he did not linger. He rose from the bath, dried himself and found that fresh clothing had been laid out while he was wool gathering in the bath. He dressed with haste and made his way to find his brother and see how the lovely Mathilde was faring with the healing.

Chapter Two

Mathilde wiped the sweat from her brow and let out an enormous sigh. The stitching was done, although she had been very afraid for a time that she could not complete it. Whoever had almost run this man through with his blade had also very nearly severed his vital organs. As it was, he had lost a lot of blood, even more so as she had had to reopen his wound and sew it again properly. These battlefield surgeons were not known for their skill, only their ability to sew quickly so that soldiers might take up their swords again and return to their fighting.

She dropped the cloth in the bowl of water and sat back on her heels. Now that she was finished, she was exhausted, but not too much so that she could not look upon the visage of Robin de Piaget.

Oh, she had heard stories of the de Piaget brothers, sons of that wily and shrewd lord Rhys de Piaget, whom her sire called friend and foe in the same breath. The story went that Rhys was a self made lord: he had tourneyed for years to win gold to buy his land and his wife, and then kept Philip's coffers filled so Philip could see to funding his war and Rhys could remain across the sea in England. 'Twas rumored that Artane had been built for the comfort of Gwennelyn of Segrave, the most beautiful of all England's lasses at the time, and that the de Piagets had a brood of children all as handsome and fierce as their parents.

The two eldest were surely the stuff of legends, if their reputations were anything to believe. Oui, even here in France the sons of Rhys de Piaget were known to men and women alike across the country. The men spoke of their skill with the sword with awe and respect, and occasionally envy and even hate, as though they would like to meet them on the battlefield one day and defeat them over blades. The women, however, told tales of their own, although not so many of Robin, the eldest. But of Nicholas? Ah, Nicholas de Piaget...the stories of his handsome visage and skill between the sheets were most vividly detailed. Mathilde was sure much of it was merely exaggeration, for how could one really rate the talent of a man in the boudoir? She could readily see for herself that he was more than passing fair, pleasing in both form and manners. Likely even more so when he was not burdened with worry over his brother's condition.

The brother before her, however, was a pleasant surprise. Robin's reputation strode before him twenty paces before he entered any hall. It was rumored that no man could stand against him in a fight, and that he had slain more enemies than even Philip could count.

What she did not know until now was that he was fashioned just as nicely as his brother. True, his hair was dark, not light as Nicholas' was, but it was a deep color, sinfully thick and probably very lovely when it was clean. His face was not the arresting beauty of his brother's, but more of a rugged, manly look. She wondered if they shared the same lovely gray eyes, or if Robin's were a different color to match his dark hair.

Well, no matter. She was here to tend him and get him well so he could go back to the battlefield, not moon over him like a lovestruck ninny. She gathered her basket of stitching tools and reached for the arm of the chair to lever herself up when a hand came into view.

"Allow me," said Nicholas, as he helped he to her feet.

"Thank you, my lord," Mathilde breathed. Goodness, was she out of breath from merely standing up? "Your brother will live, but his wounds were deeper than I thought. I stitched and cleaned them as best I could. There is a salve on them to help them heal faster, but I fear all we can do is wait for them to bind properly and then you can be on your way."

Nicholas breathed a sigh of relief.

"How soon do you think we may be able to leave?" he asked.

"Likely a fortnight, as the wounds will open again if not healed properly."

Nicholas shook his head. "Philip will not like this, but I will take your word. Robin will stay with you until you give him leave to depart."

Mathilde thought of the long hours of tending a recovering patient and sighed.

"There are rooms aplenty in my home, lord de Piaget. You may stay until he is well, if you like."

Nicholas quirked an eyebrow up, and smiled his first genuine smile in days.

"I think, under the circumstances, you may call me Nicholas."

Mathilde resisted the urge to fan herself yet again. Saints, but the man was as pretty as they claimed, with lovely manners as well.

"Very well," she said. "And you may call me Mathilde. If we are to be in close quarters while your brother recovers, I suppose the formalities of court may be put aside. For a time," she added.

She gathered the rest of her things and looked again at Robin, sleeping peacefully.

"You may stay in here if you wish. There is an extra chaise to recline upon, and you will be near your brother. Or if you like, I can have my maid show you to a room where you can lie down. "

Nicholas agreed, and after a long look at his brother, he followed the servant girl to a room where he might take a short nap.

Chapter Three

Robin bellowed and swung his sword for all he was worth. The bloody louts in front of him were coming three and four at a time. Damn Nick, where was he? Certainly he could dispatch these pitiful fools himself, but it would be a sight easier with Nicholas' help. He slew three, four, five, and kept swinging until he stood alone. Finally he spied Nicholas coming toward him, but something was wrong with him. Nick's face was contorted with fear, and he was shouting most fiercely at Robin, though for the life of him he could not divine what it was his brother said.

Robin opened his mouth to call to Nick, and a fierce pain moved across his belly. He gasped, and then opened his eyes.

Robin lay perfectly still as he looked at his surroundings through slitted eyes. One thing was sure: he was most certainly not on the battlefield. Aye, he must have been dreaming, for above him were bed curtains, and when he turned his head he saw the flame of a candle burned nearly to the end. He opened his eyes a bit more, frowning as he could not place where he was. Not in his tent, he knew. Not in Philip's tent, either, luxurious though it was. Nick didn't have a tent, preferring to spend his evenings under the stars or in the arms of a wench. So if he wasn't on the field, where, by all the saints, was he?

He tried to turn over and immediately was assaulted with a searing pain in his belly. A woman jumped up from across the chamber he was in and rushed to his side.

"Good evening, monsieur." Mathilde said. "I see you have awakened. Please do not move, for you have been grievously injured, and it is my task to see to your care."

Robin frowned, a bit confused. Wounded? Mayhap he had been. The last thing he remembered was Nick running towards him, and then he saw black.

His voice croaked as he tried to speak. "My brother…"

"Do not worry, my lord," she whispered. "Your brother Nicholas is here, but he sleeps. He fared much better than you, and only needed a wash and a rest. If you wish I will wake him, but he is in another chamber down the hall sleeping. If I may venture to say so, he needs the rest as much as you do," she finished.

Mathilde placed her hand on Robin's forehead, then she lifted the sheet and checked his wound. Something was amiss, to be sure, for he could not even muster up a protest. Instead, he lay there weak as a kitten.

"My good woman," he croaked some more." Might I at least have some water? My throat is parched."

Mathilde left and fetched a cup, filling it with water from a pitcher across the room. She returned and held the cup to Robin's mouth.

"Drink, but only a small amount. I will bring this to you as often as you like, but for now you should begin with a little until you are rested."

Well, this made no sense to Robin. He tried to reach for the cup, instead finding that his arm would not move as quickly as he would like.

"What has befallen me?" He rasped.

Mathilde frowned a frown of her own. "I dressed your wounds, my lord, and for that you should be grateful, for they were both very deep. Your left arm sports a gash from shoulder to elbow, and the slice across your belly would have felled another man, surely." She leaned over and pulled up the sheet so Robin could see.

"Look you here and see the stitching. This will take some time to heal, as it is not a small wound, and then I promise you will be like new."

Robin looked down to the bandages on his belly and frowned some more. It was as this woman said: apparently he had been sliced clear across his middle. Perhaps she had it aright and he needed a small amount of rest.

"My lady, I apologize for not believing you. Indeed, it seems I have been wounded, and I thank you for your tender care. Might I know the name of the one who stitched me back together?"

"My name is Mathilde, my lord. Philip is my sire."

Robin laid his head back on the pillow and thought. He knew that Philip generally sired no bastard children that anyone had ever heard of, but this woman did not seem a liar. Indeed, although the candlelight was dim, he could make out a few of her features, and although she did not greatly resemble the French king, there was a small likeness. He also knew that Philip had, at one time, been very close with a healer, visiting the town of Bayeux frequently to see her. Whether she had been Philip's mistress, he knew not, and didn't really care. All he knew was that he was alive, and apparently needed to stay here and heal for a few days.

"Thank you for your care, mistress Mathilde," Robin offered.

"It is my pleasure, my lord Robin. Here, drink a little more. It will help you rest."

She slipped the cup to his lips and he drank, nearly spewing out the concoction everywhere. The herbs were foul, and he guessed they were to help him sleep. He managed to ingest enough to satisfy his healer, then he lay back against the pillows.

"I believe I will attempt a small rest. Please wake me if Nicholas comes."

And with that, he promptly fell asleep.

Mathilde stayed with Robin a little while longer, then made her way to her own chamber. It was well past midnight, and the events of the day had worn her to the bone. What was she supposed to do with two members of the de Piaget clan in her household? Two grown, strapping men not much older than she, handsome as the devil himself? At least one would not trouble her overmuch, for Robin would be abed for at least a handful of days while his stitches mended. Nicholas, on the other hand...she was not a silly bricon, a witless maid prone to falling for a handsome visage and rakish smile. No, she would resist his obvious and famous charms and remain chaste.

She went to bed and dreamed of a young man with hair the color of night, wielding his sword in the dark grey of a storm.

Chapter Four

Nicholas woke to the most horrible bellowing imaginable. He threw his arm over his eyes and cursed his brother aloud. Couldn't a body get some rest? What foul deeds would bring Robin awake at this hour with curses on his lips and enough noise to wake the dead?

Then he froze. Robin! Nick remembered now,. They were at the home of Philip's illegitimate daughter, Mathilde, who was the king's most treasured healer. He threw the bedcoverings off and strode down the hallway to the room where Robin lay, barely remembering to put on his trousers. Yes, if Robin was shouting thusly, it meant his humors were good and they would be on their way soon.

He entered the room and came to an abrupt halt. Robin was indeed shouting, but his eyes were closed. He was thrashing about on the bed, tangled in the sheet. Nick turned to call for mistress Mathilde, but he saw there was no need-she had obviously heard Rob's screams and come running herself. She was dressed in a shift and robe, her feet bare, her hair in wild disarray.

She moved closer to the bed and managed to get her hand on Robin's forehead. He was hot!

"Nicholas, pray hold him down so I can see the wound. I fear it may have become infected."

Nick moved to hold Robin down, but even in his delirium he was strong as an ox. Nick neatly dodged a fist to the eye, then grabbed both of Robin's arms and pinned them above his head while Mathilde untangled the sheet and peeled off the bandage.

"Oui," she said, "it is as I suspected. No doubt some field surgeon had his filthy tools in your brother's wound before me, and this is the result of his work. Merde," she whispered under her breath, "this is foul. I will have to cut the wound yet again and clean it. I thought I had cleaned it well, but apparently there is still some infection. I will need to fetch my maid, Aalys, to help with this."

Two hours and a bruised nose later, Nick sat in the healing chamber with a cup of strong ale, weary to his bones. Robin was not a good patient: he had thrashed and bellowed for what seemed like hours before Mathilde had finally gotten enough herbs in him to get him to sleep. She had reopened the wound and poured the foulest smelling substance he had ever had the misfortune of smelling into the wound, wiped it with a cloth, then stitched him with a very fine needle. Thankfully Robin stayed asleep: Nicholas wasn't sure how he would have managed had Robin awakened during the ordeal. As it was, he was exhausted, and heartsick. Robin had a raging fever from the infection, and Mathilde and her servant were taking turns bathing him with cool cloths. He felt like a slug, sitting in the chair drinking ale, but after one too many of Robin's fists in his face, he felt justified in taking a small rest.

Mathilde watched the second de Piaget son from the corner of her eye as she bathed Robin with cool cloths. Oui, Nicholas looked weary, and was sporting a very pale visage to contrast with his bloodied nose from where Robin had punched him in his fever. She thought Nicholas might fall asleep, or even faint, but he was apparently stronger than he looked for he merely sat in silence and drank his ale.

She rinsed out the cloth and applied it to Robin's head again, gently wiping the sweat from his brow. One thing was for certain: he would be cleaner after this ordeal was over, for she had washed him and applied cool cloths almost constantly since the last stitching.

She turned to Nicholas. "You know, monsieur, if you need to rest, that chamber is yours for as long as you are here. I am accustomed to tending patients at all hours, so it will not bother me if you go."

Nick shook his head. "Non mademoiselle, I will stay. At least for now. I would like to make sure my brother has no more shouting matches with his invisible foes before I retire to sleep in comfort."

"Very well," Mathilde agreed. "If you would be so kind, then, would you watch over him while I see to a few things? I shall not be long in returning, but there are a few things I must do."

"Certainly, " said Nick. "Is there aught I can do, or should I merely await your return?"

"Non, but please call for me if he awakens. I do not think he will, for the fever is still hard upon him, and he will likely sleep for a few days. If we are lucky," she whispered.

They shared a mutual look of grim understanding before she gathered her things and left the room. Nicholas knew what she did not want to say: if the fever did not abate, Robin could die.

He grabbed his pitcher of ale and moved the chair closer to Robin's bed, looking at the pale features of the brother he knew so well. As he drank, he recalled many a time when he and Robin had been at odds. Most often they had wrestled over who was the better swordsman. Where Nicholas congratulated himself on his finesse with the blade, he knew Robin was the more fierce fighter. He would never admit that of course: Robin's ego was nearly as big as their father's, though it was with good cause. Robin was easily the best swordsman on either continent. But they would be quaffing ale in hell before he would say the like to his brother.

Nicholas leaned his head back on the chair and rested his eyes as he thought more on Robin. He remembered the day that his parents had found him. On the day he met Rhys and Gwen, he had been lying in the dirt, bloody welts on his back from the leather strap his cold-hearted uncle wielded with ferocity.

His mother had been sick, and he had been frightened of what would happen to him if he did not work for their keep.

As he lay sprawled in the dirt, he looked up at the sound of a rather large company of people speaking to his tormentor. And who should be standing before him, but the lord of the castle up the way and his angelic wife, along with several other men and a pair of children. While his uncle attempted to disparage Nicholas' own mother, the fair lady had asked Nicholas if aught was wrong with his mam. And when he told her that his mother was dying, she followed him into their little hovel, while her fierce husband and his party kept Nick's uncle outside.

His love for the lady of Artane had begun immediately, as she came and sat with his poor mother, offering her solace in her final moments. It still brought tears to Nicholas' eyes to think of the soft words of comfort and love Gwen had whispered to his mother as she lay dying on her bed. He remembered with perfect clarity the look that had passed between the two women when Gwen promised his mother she would take care of him, Nicholas, for always. And he remembered how Gwen had looked when his mother had confessed her secret to Gwen-although he did not recall hearing the actual secret, he knew it was of great import, for Gwen had looked startled, then merely smiled and held his mother's hand and promised to love him all the same. His mother had called him over to the bed and bade him lean over for a kiss, and then holding his hand, she had closed her eyes with a smile and passed on.

The lady Gwen had taken him by the hand and drawn him outside, and that's when he met the future lord of Artane. He was tall and fierce looking, and Nick had been shaking in his child's boots when Gwen had snatched some coins from the lord's purse, handed them over to Nicholas' uncle, and declared that Nick was now hers. He had thought surely that the great lord of Artane would have said her nay and left him to fend for himself, but Rhys de Piaget had actually asked him-him, Nicholas, a nobody, if he would like to come home with them. And when he said aye, the lady Gwen had taken his hand and they had gone home.

But what he had never told anyone was the feeling he had gotten when he first laid eyes on Rhys' son. He later had learned that Alain of Ayre was Robin's sire, but he could not have looked more like Rhys if he were his own son, and so Nicholas always thought of him as such. That day in the streets of the village, Robin had been deposited atop the shoulders of what surely had to be actual Viking warriors, to be carried home to his castle. And as the blond giants walked away, Robin had turned around and looked at Nicholas, the dirty urchin that he was, and winked. And Nicholas knew his very first friend.

He remembered the first time Rhys had given Robin a wooden practice sword and taught him to use it. He had watched with great envy, as Artane's great lord had patiently taught Robin how to hold the sword, and how to draw it from the scabbard so as not to cut himself. He had glued his eyes to the two before him, watching with longing their first attempts at swordplay. And when Rhys and Robin had come to the side of the lists for refreshment, Nicholas was overjoyed to see Robin's expression of triumph.

What Nicholas hadn't been prepared for was Rhys handing him a wooden sword, the exact replica of Robins, and asking him if he wouldn't like a turn as well. He had had to work very hard to swallow the lump in his throat as Rhys led him out to the lists and showed him the exact same things he had Robin, with the same patience and love. And he remembered clearly the grin that had split Robin's face when Rhys asked him to come practice with his brother Nick.

Nicholas rubbed his hand over his face and shook his head. Nay, maudlin memories would not serve him here. What Robin needed was a show of strength, a brother who would be ready to help or stand aside as he needed when he rose from this new battle. He stood up as Mathilde entered the room, bearing fresh cloths and a basin full of clean water.

"Nicholas...go on with you now," she chided gently. "Go rest. I will tend your brother. There is nothing else to be done except keep him cool and pray," she urged.

Nicholas nodded his assent and turned to the door. He took one last look at his brother, steeled his spine, and left. He would rest, because Robin would need him.

Chapter Five

For three long days, Robin's fever raged. He thrashed about, he cursed in his delirium, and he became so physical in his agitated state that Nicholas had been summoned to tie him to the bed-with the help of Mathilde's staff. It took three of them to hold Robin still while Mathilde tied his legs and arms to the bed, a task she did not relish but conceded must be done if his wounds were to ever heal.

Now, on the evening of the fourth day, Mathilde was faint from exhaustion. She had not left Robin's side, preferring to bathe his flesh herself in order to keep watch over him in case the fever did not break. She was sitting on a stool next to the bed where Robin lay when she heard a groan come from her patient.

"Be still, my lord Robin," Mathilde said gently. "You have been abed with fever, but everything is going to be just fine now."

She felt his brow, which was surprisingly cool to the touch. Sighing in relief, she stood up to stretch her cramped muscles. As she began to cut away Robin's bindings, his hand reached out and grasped her wrist.

"Lady Mathilde," he rasped. "Have you tended me these hours I was asleep?"

Mathilde's eyebrows rose in disbelief.

"My good sir, you have been abed nigh unto four days. You were restless and delirious, and your brother and I feared you would reopen your wounds. This is why you were bound, but I Can see you are awake now so there is no further need."

She cut his bindings and tossed them into a pile with the sweat-soaked rags she had been using to bathe Robin's skin. Ringing for Aalys, her maid, she waited until the cloths and basin had been taken away, ordered a fresh pitcher of ale, and sat down once again next to the bed.

"Your brother will be relieved to know your fever is broken," Mathilde stated softly. "He was very worried about you."

Robin snorted, although it was not quite accomplished before he coughed a little.

"My brother only worries that my infirmity might delay his return to the arms of whatever wench has taken his fancy. No disrespect intended, my lady." Robin finished with a small smile.

Mathilde smiled a brilliant smile, patently false but blinding in intensity.

"My lord Robin, she began haughtily." Your brother has exhausted himself watching over you the entire time you were lazing about in this bed. I watched him sit in that chaise," she pointed across the room, "and fret over your condition while fighting sleep. The only reason he is not in this salon as we speak is because I forced him to go bathe, lest his odor cause you undue stress in your delirium. He went most unwillingly, and has pestered me for updates on your condition at all hours. So you see, he does care," she finished abruptly.

With that declaration, Mathilde stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Robin took a moment to contemplate her words. Nicholas, fretting over his brother? Robin gave another snort. Preposterous. More than likely Nick was itching to bed a few women and then return to battle to show off his lethal sword skills. Never mind that they had been side by side during all of the battles they fought for Philip: Robin knew that Nick cared more about his pretty face than he did about whether or not Robin was in fighting form.

The door to the salon opened and Nicholas himself strode in, a lazy grin on his face.

"I see you are feeling better," he drawled. "Or rather should I say, I hear you are doing better. When I heard mistress Mathilde slam the door, I knew you must have been awake to irritate her thusly, and so I am here to see how you fared."

Nick sat down in his usual chair and waited for Robin to respond.

"I thank you for your concern, brother. As you can see, I am awake, although I still feel weak as a mewling babe. My appreciation for your efforts in securing my limbs to the bed, that I might not bloody any more innocent souls during my delirium," he added with a trace of sarcasm.

Nicholas laughed. "It was my pleasure, truly," he said with a small smile. "Mathilde was afeared you would bloody my nose again as you did the first night, so she bade me secure your arms and legs. She was also afraid your stitches would come loose again."

Robin frowned at his brother. "Well, it appears I am recovering, so you need not stay. I am sure there is a French lass or two awaiting your attentions," he said meaningfully.

Nick looked at his brother and saw that indeed, his color was improved. His humors appeared to be recovered to their usual level of arrogance, and that alone told Nick all he needed to know.

"Well, brother, if you don't need me here, I do indeed have a thing or two I must see to. But I will return in a se'nnight, for Philip has already sent a missive asking when you will be fit to return and slay more of his enemies.,"

Robin looked at Nicholas and smiled grimly.

"If I must stay and recover, then I must, though I do not like it. You, however, may go as you please, and I will see you in a se'nnight." Robin shifted slightly so he could gain a more comfortable position.

"Very well then, "Nicholas sighed. "I am for Falaise. I have a friend who would be most pleased to have the care and feeding of me for some days whilst I await your recovery."

He stood and turned towards the door, pausing with his hand on the latch. He turned to look back at Robin, to find his brother watching him with a look he could not recognize.

"Rob? What is it?" Nicholas asked.

Robin chewed on his words for a moment before he spoke.

"I...I wanted to ask…" he could not ask, even though Nicholas was his closest friend. He could not be such a woman! "Never mind."

Nicholas turned to go with a shrug, and paused yet again.

'Robin...I...I am glad to have you alive and on the mend. I shall return in a se'nnight to retrieve you so that we might take up our cause yet again."

The door opened and Nick started to walk through it. He heard Robin's voice as he closed the door behind him.

"I look forward to it, brother."

Chapter Six

A pair of hours later, Robin discovered he was starving. He was nigh unto fainting from hunger. He did not know when last he had eaten, but he surmised that since he had been unconscious for pretty much the entire time he had been at Mathilde's, it had been several days.

The woman herself entered his room with a small knock. A servant came behind her bearing a platter with a small amount of food on it. The smells alone nearly drove him insane. Finally, some food!

Mathilde dismissed the servant and brought a bowl to the bed, sitting on her usual stool next to him. She handed him the bowl.

"Tis merely a bit of broth, my lord. If you feel well enough later, I have other things you may eat, but to begin we should try the broth."

Robin frowned at her. "Lady Mathilde, I am nigh unto starving to death. I need meat, not broth for a child. Have you nothing more substantial?"

Mathilde clucked her tongue at him and gently pushed the bowl closer to his lips.

"After all we have been through, you may as well call me simply 'Mathilde'. And yes, I have meat and bread, as well as some cheese, but first you must try the broth. When a body does not eat for so many days, it is best to ease into the reacquainting of food with one's stomach, rather than shoveling food into it."

"Very well," grumbled Robin. "I will drink your broth. And you may call me Robin," he added.

"Oui, Robin it is. Now, it is still too early for you to rise from the bed, but mayhap we can pass the time with some speech that does not involve death and bloodshed," she added with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Tell me of these Fitzgerald characters and why you want to throttle them," she coaxed.

Robin proceeded to tell her stories of the Fitzgerald twins, his father's fiercest guardsmen for as long as Robin could remember. He told of their exploits around the castle, and how they could intimidate nearly any soul who ventured near them merely with a frown. He also told stories of them practicing swordplay with him and Nicholas, and how they would take turns playing at being various animals for his sister, Amanda, and her foster sister Anne when they had been but babes.

Mathilde noticed a different look in Robin's eyes when he spoke of Anne. Curious, she asked him about her.

Robin hastily downed the rest of his broth and asked for more food. While Mathilde was getting him some cheese and ale, he thought about Anne for a moment before he spoke.

"She has been my foster sister for as long as I can recall. She was a playmate to Amanda, and she spent much time learning womanly things from my own mother, as she had no mother herself." he said.

Robin did not want to think on Anne's person too long, for it left him uncomfortable.

"Now, Mathilde, tell me what it is like to be the favored daughter of the king, yet not recognized at court," he commanded softly.

Mathilde smiled and brought him his ale and cheese.

"Well, as you can imagine, when I was but a girl I did not know him as my father. He was merely

il roi, and I did not understand that he was not supposed to pay attention to me. I enjoyed him, even though he was not particularly fatherly towards brought me gifts and trinkets, when he came, and that was enough I suppose.

"As I grew older, I realized he was my father and I was angry, for a time. Merde, but I was angry! I did not want to be une batarde, an unwanted girl-child born to an obscure healer who held the king's favor merely for her skill with herbs. Non, I wanted to be a princesse, a royal daughter living in splendor, with all the accoutrements that came with such a title."

Mathilde shook her head and laughed softly.

"Ah but I was a fool, because I already had the love and affection of my sire. He did bring me to court once-one time only, and that one time was enough. I watched ladies of stunning beauty, wearing lavish clothes and parading about with more jewels on their persons than I had ever imagined in my wildest dreams. And underneath the layer of glamour, beyond the pretty faces and the music and the exquisite foods, I saw ugliness. I saw women who lied, who used men for their own pleasure and flung them away like refuse when they were finished. I saw many intrigues, tiny contretemps that became wars within the royal house and its court.

And I bade my sire to return me to this village that I might live in peace, even if it meant in poverty."

Mathilde took a sip of ale from her own cup and continued.

"Non, Robin, court life was not for me. My sire, bless his heart, recognized that and built me this little manse, that I might practice my healing arts from time to time and live in peace and solitude in the little village of my birth.

"He does, however, endow me with a great many luxuries, as you can see." She swept her arm to encompass the room. "One would think I actually were a princesse, with all that you see here, but in reality I live quite the normal life outside of a few frivolities that my sire sees fit to bestow upon me."

Robin listened intently as Mathilde shared her story, thinking that she was a brave soul to present herself at court, then walk away as though none of it mattered. He himself avoided court at all costs, preferring to let Nick handle the intricate dance that was life mingling with royalty. Philip did not seem to mind, as he got both the finesse of one de Piaget brother and the ruthless sword skill of both: in the end, everyone was happy with the arrangement.

Robin finished his cheese and emptied his cup, then sat back with a sigh. Mathilde leaned over and grasped the sheet covering his middle.

"I just need to check the bandage, if you would be so kind as to lie back a little more?"

Robin complied, and Mathilde moved the sheet down far enough so she could see the bandage. She lifted it gently from the wound, noting that this time there was no foul odor or bleeding. Non, the wound was healing, and would be complete in a few days' time.

As she placed a fresh bandage over Robin's middle, she was suddenly conscious of the fact that he wore nothing on the top half of his body. Shaking her head slightly, she moved the sheet up to his chin, then sat down on the stool with a thump.

Robin noted the change in Mathilde's behaviour, but could not fathom why it was there. She had tended him these past days, nearly a se'nnight, and suddenly she was uncomfortable? He knew it was not his smell, for she had said that she had cleaned his wound with cloths frequently over the past few days. Nay, he did not smell, and he was reasonably sure he had not offended her. So what could it be to make her act so oddly?

Mathilde busied herself with arranging the empty cups and ale pitcher on the tray and piled the old bandages on the table to be removed later. Robin was looking better now that he had eaten, but she wanted to make sure he did not overdo it. His wounds were deep, and the insides would take time to heal just as much as his flesh.

She turned to Robin as weariness descended upon her.

"Well, my lord, I think we have had enough speech for one night, no? I must advise you to stay abed. There is a chamber pot next to the bed, should you find you have need of it. I shall return to check on you in a little while, if that is ok?"

Robin shook his head in agreement.

"That will give me a chance to rest a little," Robin agreed. "I vow, I did not realize this wound was so deep. My flesh burns from where I am stitched, and my innards feel as though they have been turned outside my body. Oui, I will do as you say and rest, for it will not be much longer before your sire has need of my sword arm again."

Mathilde left Robin, her arms full of empty dinnerware, preferring to carry the items down to the kitchen herself rather than wake Aalys at this hour. Truth be told, she was a little giddy. The eldest de Piaget lad was a fine looking man, once she had cleared the sweat and filth from his form.

More than that though, she had enjoyed their conversation. Never had anyone asked her why she prefered to stay away from her sire's court. She imagined they assumed that she was not welcome, but in fact that was not the case. Non, she could go anytime she wanted-which was never. The peaceful existence she led here in the village was more than enough to satisfy her needs.

Mathilde brought the dishes to the kitchen and then made her way back to her bedroom. She changed into her night rail, blew out the candle, and crawled under the sheets, all the while praying that her patient did as he was told so that he might recover faster.

Chapter Seven

The sunlight streamed across his face as Robin struggled to open his eyes. His mouth was dry as dust, and he had needs to see to immediately. Remembering Mathilde's instructions, he fumbled around for the chamber pot and made quick use of it, then fell back upon the bed with a grunt. By the saints, he was weary! Surely his form was not in such poor shape as he felt this morning. One would think he had been trampled by a stray horse, instead of taking a slice to the belly. Aye, he thought, as he peered down at his bandaged form. Perhaps today he could convince his hostess to let him out of bed and into a chair. He hadn't wielded a sword in nearly a se'nnight, for pity's sake! What would his sire say if he knew Robin was lazing about in bed instead of using his recovery time to sharpen his skills further?

Like as not, Rhys would bellow his disappointment at Robin, then haul him out to the lists for a bit of early morning exercise. Had he been recovering at Artane, Robin had no doubts as to what his plans for recovery would include. Coddling by his mother, and extra training by his sire, with rest enough only to feed and water his poor form before being abused in the lists once more.

Robin stroked his chin, noting the course stubble that had grown there. True, his sire was a demon in the lists, but Robin thought he might just be equal to the task of taking him down. While Rhys was no longer a young man, he was every bit as wily and fierce as he had been in his youth. Robin, however, knew a few tricks he had not seen fit to share with the old man last time he had been home.

Trick he had learned, ironically, from watching Nicholas fight.

It was true that Robin was the better swordsman. After all, he had trained not only with Rhys, but Montgomery and the Fitzgeralds as well. He could fight with either hand or both, and had the occasion to learn about other types of swords over the years besides his customary broadsword. Aye, he remembered fondly a duel he had fought a mere few months back. Nick had been bedding some wench of Spanish breeding, or so he surmised, while Robin was quenching his thirst in the tavern. A pair of unsavory lads had thought to relieve Robin of his purse-light though it was, for he never carried all his wealth on his person-when they found themselves suddenly facing a calm but deadly foe.

Robin had divested the one on his left of his falchion and used it in his left hand as he wielded the broadsword in his right, cutting the two would-be thieves in dozens of places. He had seen Nick use this maneuver once in a similar situation, and it seemed to be working for him now. Many years of training with the Fitzgeralds had taught him the value of using two swords in a fight, and he was pleased with the outcome. Eventually the ruffians had cried peace, running away without even attempting to get their weapons back.

Aye, Robin thought to himself, he had the mastery of a dozen weapons at his disposal, and felt sure he could best nearly any man.

Nicholas, now, there was a puzzle. Robin knew his brother appeared soft, even pretty to look upon-but he was almost as deadly with a blade as Robin himself. Truly, Robin thought, Nick could likely best their sire as well, should he feel compelled to bestir himself to do so. That was always the problem with Nicholas: he was ever at the ready to guard your back, but given the choice he would prefer the soft life.

Robin shook his head and chuckled. Nay, Nicholas was not soft: his life had been hell until their parents had rescued him from daily beatings and punishments. Robin remembered fondly the times he and Nick had pretended to be knights or mercenaries, depending on their mood, and run about the castle as though they were truly fighting enemies by the scores.

He remembered the day Nicholas had come home with them. Bloody, filthy, and crying over his lost mother, Nicholas had been a pitiful sight. Robin recalled being hoisted upon Jared's shoulders -or was it Connor's? He never could remember which- and turning to see Nicholas looking lost. Robin, too was lost, though he would never have admitted the like. His father, Alain of Ayre, paid scant attention to him, and so Robin became his mother's pride and joy. Still, though, he preferred to spend his time learning the intricacies of battle and the finer points of sword play from his protectors, the Fitzgerald twins, and Montgomery, captain of his father's guard.

But time spent with men his father's age to learn the tactics of war was one thing: boyish endeavors and the pursuit of adventure required a partner, someone his own age. Amanda tried to go with him often, when she was not playing dress-up in his mother's solar with Anne of Fenwyck or persuading cook to sneak her a pasty or two. Nay, Amanda was not an ideal companion, for she was merely a girl, and a spoiled one at that. Saints, she cried if she suffered so much as a splinter! No, he had needed a brother, someone to share his adventures, to stage mock battles with his toy soldiers, to pretend they were great knights defending their keep.

So when he was hoisted onto the shoulders of a Fitzgerald that day, and Nick stood there in the dirt and watched him with that piercing gray gaze he had, Robin knew he had found someone to share his adventures with. He would call Nicholas his brother, adopted or no, and together they would conquer the world.

Robin ran his hand over his face again, leaving his maudlin thoughts behind. Nick was his brother, no matter the circumstance, and even though they had not spoken of it, Robin was grateful that Nicholas had brought him here to heal and stayed with him to make sure it was done. It was a fine thing to have a brother to guard your back, even when it was only against the potions of a healing woman.

Nicholas drained his ale, wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his very fine tunic, and belched discreetly. He was enjoying the minstrel plying his trade over in the corner of the tavern whilst thinking on his next move.

He had left Robin merely a pair of days ago, certain that he had plenty of time to find a willing maid to lose himself with before going back to retrieve his brother. Instead, what he had done was drunk himself from one side of France likely all the way to the other, with no wenches in sight. Truly, he was nigh unto becoming a monk: between abstaining from the pleasures of the flesh and consuming meals and ale as though the world would be empty of them on the morrow, he felt sure he would be gelded and fat before much longer.

He stood up from the table and stretched his tall frame, more weary than he should have been. Robin had best be ready when he returned to fetch him from lady Mathilde's house, for Nicholas was very familiar with the fickle nature of King Philip. Oh, the king was currently resting on his laurels at Mantes-la-Jolie, but who knew what sorts of foolishness he might venture to ask for next?

Nay, thought Nicholas, I am done with warring for France for naught but a few tokens and poor suppers. Perhaps Robin should consider coming to Beauvois. Nicholas had recently acquired a keep there, complete with a small garrison and several residents awaiting his arrival. The king did reward his friends well-and the sons of friends, apparently-but saints, but he was tired of Philip's wars. The French crown would sit atop whomever had the head and the sword to keep it there, and if that man paid in gold then Nick and Robin would perhaps fight again, or perhaps not.

But for now, Nicholas thought, he wanted a wash and a rest, and he would make his way back to fetch his brother and be off to this new keep he had recently acquired.

Chapter Eight

Three days later, Mathilde woke to the sound of a pounding on her door that lasted several minutes. She rose quickly and wondered where Aalys had gone to. As she dressed in the near-dark of the early morning, she spared a thought for Robin, and hoped he had at least gotten some rest.

She threw a robe on over her night rail and left her bedroom, headed for the front door. Aalys, her maid, was already speaking to someone, the door half-opened in the early morning twilight.

"What is it, Aalys?"

The maid turned around and opened the door a bit wider to reveal a messenger. He handed a missive to the girl, bowed and left. Aalys closed the door and handed the letter to Mathilde.

The seal belonged to Louis, king Philip's son. Mathilde hastily broke the deal and read the brief letter.

Her sire was dead.

No details were included, only a short note saying that Louis would send someone to her to inform her of the details when it was convenient for him. Mathilde knew little of Louis save that he spent much of his time pretending to be king of England, and that he was constantly on the move. She did not hold out hope that he would send any details regarding her sire's passing.

She bid Aalys fetch some ale and bread and bring it to the room where Robin was recovering. Non, she had no time for thinking on her sire at present: she had a task to see fulfilled, and finish it she would. Her father's last command had been to see to the care of his most precious soldier, and she would make sure Robin left her house a whole and healthy man.

She knocked softly on Robin's door, then entered. He was awake and sitting up in bed, frowning as was his usual. Aalys came in moments later with a small tray bearing ale and bread, then left to see to the household.

Mathilde poured two cups of ale and brought one to Robin along with the bread, taking a seat on the side of his bed.

"How do you fare this morning, my lord? She asked of him, checking his bandage.

Robin had heard the knocking and wondered if anything was amiss. Certainly Mathilde looked to be her usual self, although something was not quite right in her face.

He took the ale and swallowed a mouthful or two before he answered her.

"I do feel much improved this morn, thanks to you. I feel that in another day or so, I should be able to rise and return to my training. Hopefully Nicholas will return in a few days and we can go back to earning our gold as hired swords for your sire."

At this statement, Mathilde's eyes began to tear. She struggled mightily, but she could not stop the tears from slowly leaking.

"Mathilde? What ails you?" asked Robin.

Mathilde sniffled and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

"My sire...is gone." she whispered

Robin blinked a time or two, not understanding. "Gone?" he repeated. "Gone where? Last I saw him he was making for Mantes-la-Jolie to draw up more plans for the repairing of streets in Paris, or some such thing."

Mathilde swallowed hard before she spoke.

"Non, my lord Robin, he is...he is not gone. He is dead."

Robin was stunned into silence. He did not have any particular love for Philip: although he was knighted by him and had raised his sword for Philip's cause, to Robin he was merely an employer of sorts.

To Mathilde, however, he was obviously much more. Robin reached out and laid his hand on Mathilde's shoulder. He spoke quietly as the tears coursed down her face.

"I cannot imagine your loss, but I am sorry for it just the same," he whispered.

Although she did not move closer to him. She did place her hand over Robin's, the tears flowing more freely as she spoke.

"I remember this one time he took me with him to Normandy. He wanted to show me land that he said he would claim for the crown. He has forever been arguing with John of England about whose land is whose, as I am sure you know. Anyhow, he bade me spend as much of his gold as I desired, for there was a street fair on the outskirts of the town we were in. He handed me a purse with what I thought was a king's ransom in gold. It was likely nothing to him, but I was merely a girl of six or seven summers, and I thought he was the richest man in the world. I did not realize then, as I do now, that he only ever wanted those around him to be happy."

Mathilde sniffled a bit and continued her tale.

"I took the gold and stuffed it into my gown, lest some unsavory lad try to snatch it from me. My maid and my guard escorted me around the fair, and though there were many fine items available, I saw nothing I wanted. Then, just before we were to leave, I saw it: a ring, fashioned of gold, with an enormous gem set inside it. My sire enjoyed flashy things, you see, and though he only possessed but a few, they were very fine indeed.

"My guard came with me to look at the ring. I had no idea how to tell if it would fit his hand. What did I know of jewels and rings? I bargained with the market seller to let me look more closely at it, and he shooed me away like a piece of vermin. He claimed I was trying to steal the ring, and that he would see me beaten if I did not leave."

Mathilde took a moment to compose herself as a fresh wave of tears coursed its way down her cheeks.

"My sire happened upon the scene, and when the market seller saw him he bowed and scraped, begging my sire to take anything he wanted as a gift to the crown. He made a lot of noises about his loyalty and love for the greatness of France, all while he was trying to shove me away with his hand.

"My sire bent over me and asked what it is I had been looking at. I pointed to the ring, sure that my sire was going to run the seller through for his impertinence. The seller handed the ring to my sire, accompanied by more bowing and scraping and the kissing of my sire's hand. My sire handed me the ring and informed this fool that I was a princess, and should be accorded the respect due the royal family. The man's eyes grew large in his head. He looked at me, and at my sire, and whatever he saw must have convinced him my sire told the truth-for he came out from behind his stall and got on his knees in front of me, begging my pardon."

Mathilde sat up a little straighter, wiping her nose on her tunic again.

"My sire was a brilliant warmonger and a ruthless swordsman, but he could also be very sweet, and even diplomatic. It is how I shall choose to remember him.":

Robin reached over and gently wiped the tears from her eyes with his thumb. His father had always told him that women were precious creatures, and should be treasured. And though he could be very hard-hearted, Robin was not a man who wished to see a woman suffer.

He was, however, not very well versed in the exact manner of relieving a woman of her distress. He cast about for something to say and decided that distraction was the best tool he had at the present moment.

"Did I perhaps see you enter the chamber with aught to eat as well? Mayhap we can break our fast together and take our minds from this tragedy for a bit. If you like," he added solemnly.

Mathilde rose from her perch next to Robin and retrieved a small trencher with bread and cheese on it, returning to sit next to him. In case he needed help. After all, he was recently wounded. Yes, perhaps he would need assistance.

They chewed on bread and cheese in silence for a few moments. Robin found that although he was famished, he simply did not have the desire to fill his belly, preferring to eat a small amount lest he be unable to rise and visit the garderobe. He was not sure how to proceed with this wound: never in battle had he suffered the like. Truly, he had not been at his best.

"So, my lord Robin, your appetite is increasing. This is good. Food will help you regain your strength more quickly, although I see you are cautious about stuffing your belly full to its capacity," Mathilde said with a small smile.

"Aye, I am afeared to overeat lest I stretch my wound and tear the work you have accomplished," he admitted. "Tell me, how long do you think before I may leave?"

Mathilde glanced down in the direction of his belly for a moment, then quickly met Robin's eyes.

"Well, monsieur, I dare say that this time the stitches will not become infected, as I spent a considerable amount of time cleaning your wound and your person before I plied my needle upon your flesh. I would say perhaps you might leave in a fortnight, although you could not engage in any strenuous activity for at least another fortnight thereafter."

Robin's eyebrows went up nearly to his hairline. Another pair of fortnights with no swordplay? Saints, he would be fat and soft as a newborn babe by then, with skills as dull as a child's practice sword.

"Nay, Mathilde, I cannot remain abed for a fortnight, much less a pair of them. Nick is surely waiting for me, and we are perhaps to make a journey to Beauvois to view a castle he has recently acquired. I will need to leave on the morrow, and that is final.

Mathilde stood up, taking the empty trencher with her.

"You cannot leave tomorrow! You have hardly had time for the stitches to bind your flesh together. Non, my lord, you will remain abed for at least a se'nnight, after which time I shall determine if you are fit to travel. But not before!"

Robin glared at Mathilde with his fiercest frown.

"May I remind you, good woman, that you are the healer and I the patient. If I say I shall leave tomorrow, then I shall!" Robin was nearly shouting, but he did not notice.

"You cannot!"

"I can, and I will!"

Mathilde stomped to the door and yanked it open, turning narrowed eyes at Robin's bellowing.

"Fine! I am through with you. You are the most ungrateful cur I have ever had the misfortune of sewing together! Leave as you will: it matters not to me!"

With that, Mathilde slammed the door with a resounding thud, stalking her way to the kitchens to deposit the trencher. Tomorrow, my arse, she thought. Let us see who is the victor in this argument when he tries to rise and cannot walk without pain in his belly!

Chapter Nine

It was midafternoon when another knock sounded at her door. She had sent Aalys to the market for a few things, and Pierre, her butler, was away visiting family. She put her mending in the basket next to her chair and left the salon to see who was at the door.

She opened it to find none other than Nicholas de Piaget standing there, a clutch of wildflowers in his hand, dressed as though he had been traveling. He made her a small bow, smiling as he handed her the flowers.

"Mistress Mathilde, I am glad to see you again. How fares my brother?"

Really, thought Mathilde, she would be in trouble if she did not pay better attention. Flowers, indeed! She took them with a smile and opened the door for Nicholas to enter.

"Your brother is a great horse's arse, although he is feeling better today. Please, come in and see for yourself."

Mathilde closed the door behind Nicholas and walked with him into the salon.

"Pray, have a seat while I put these in some water. Thank you, by the way. They are lovely."

Nicholas smiled as he settled himself comfortably into a thick-cushioned chair.

"They ought to be, as I must confess that I stole them from your very garden," he admitted with a sheepish grin. "In truth, is my brother well?"

Mathilde nodded as she pointed down the hallway.

"He seems to be under the impression that he will be leaving today. Wait one moment while I put these in water, and I will tell you of it."

Nicholas sat back in the chair and glanced around the salon, noting the quality furnishings, the elegant draperies, the finely sewn pillows that seemed to adorn all of the places to sit. He wondered if Mathilde was a seamstress of cloth as well as people. Nay, he decided, although she was most likely talented enough, he also knew she was a favorite of the king, and therefore not given to much menial labor. Like as not she was given most of her household items and made do with what she did not have.

Ah, the king, he mused. Nicholas was not particularly grieved by Philip's loss, although it did rather leave himself and Robin at loose ends for the moment. He had heard of the king's passing while passing through Rouen, but no details had been forthcoming, and he did not stir himself to seek those details. Nay, he had been thinking on Artane a lot lately, and how best to go about getting Robin to agree to come home with him. He missed his home, true, but what he really missed was his family. Yes, perhaps when Rob was recovered enough to travel, they could buy passage across the sea and go home for a while.

Mathilde returned with a vase and his flowers and placed them on the small desk near the front of the room. She sat on the settee across from him and clasped her hands together in her lap as she began to tell him of all the trials of caring for a reluctant Robin de Piaget.

"And then he said to me, in a most arrogant fashion, I might add, that he would be leaving tomorrow. Tomorrow? Nicholas...he cannot move about so. He will surely tear the stitches in his belly, and I cannot keep sewing him together."

Nicholas frowned a bit and cocked his head to one side.

"So, what you are saying is, he must needs stay abed for another se'nnight?"

"Oui, at least, if we are to see any success in his recovery."

Nick stood up and clapped his hands together.

"I will see to it, mistress Mathilde. Please continue with your plan for his recovery. I shall see to it that he stays abed for the required time."

And with an unholy gleam in his eye, he strode off towards Robin's sickroom to speak to his brother about what an arse he was being.

Chapter Ten

"Bloody hell, Nick!" Robin bellowed. "I cannot stay in bed like an old woman! You surely have heard about Philip's death by now. John will likely be looking for ways to take advantage, and certainly Philip's son Louis will be attempting to meet him somewhere in the middle. Nay, I want no more of this country right now. Perhaps a journey to Beauvois to look at this bit of land and rocks you have told me about?"

Nicholas was sitting in the chair next to Robin's bed, elbows resting on the arms,

his fingers steepled together. He looked at Robin for a moment or two before he spoke.

"Robin," he began. "Mathilde has been most insistent that your belly needs no activity for at least a se'nnight.'

"But-"

"Rob! Listen to me, for just a moment,"Nick interrupted. "You did not see what happened on the field, but I did. I saw two men coming for your back whilst you fought off two in front of you, a sword in each hand. Do you remember losing the sword in your left?"

He watched Robin's face as he strove to recall the event.

"Aye, I seem to remember having a pair of blades at one point, but I do not recall when I lost the one. Go on."

Nicholas took a deep breath and continued.

"Well, I was fighting a pair of my own would-be assassins at the time, or I would have come to aid you sooner. And before you say anything, "he said, anticipating Robin's protest at needing any sort of aid whatsoever, "I was merely hoping to ease your labors so that we might get out of this situation as quickly as possible.

"There you were, fighting the two in front with two coming to the rear. Your left hand blade ended up buried in the chest of one of your opponents, and the other attacker slipped in the mud and fell on top of his friend.

"At this point, you turned and barely stepped out of the way as one of the ones behind you struck out and very nearly took your head off."

"Aye, I remember now," said Robin with feeling. "I severed his head as he tried to duck under my blade," he said with satisfaction.

"Yes, and you slew the other as well with your backstroke. However, you did not see the one from the first pair, the one who slipped and fell on his companion. As you turned back, he had both swords in his hands, and as you deflected the one and stabbed him in the eye, he managed to take a swipe at your belly on his way into the afterlife.

"I had dispatched my pair and was hastening to aid you when I saw the last bit happen. I ran towards you, but you were busy wiping your blade on the last one's tunic. When I reached you, you fell."

Robin said nothing as Nicholas took a long drink of ale, thinking on his narrow brush with death. Apparently his brother was thinking as well, for they were both silent for a goodly while.

Finally, Robin spoke.

"So, this wound has made its mark, I am positive, although our good healer has yet to show me. Perhaps I will take a look myself." He began to unwind the bandage around his middle when Nicholas spoke.

"Robin. She is a skilled healer. She was Philip's favorite, and not only for her healing skills. She is a very intelligent woman, from what I have seen so far. And if she says you must stay abed for seven days and nights, then you must, and there is no saying otherwise."

Robin stopped unwinding and looked at Nicholas.

"Think you I enjoy being cooped up like a pig in the pen? Saints, Nick, I am bored out of my mind, and likely going daft while I am at it. I have naught to do but lie here and be tended to as though I were a babe! "

Nicholas looked at his brother with a grin.'Well, Robin, it might do you some good to be helpless and tended by a beautiful lady for a change. I myself prefer a lass who can tend my hurts, fetch me ale, and give me sweet kisses, all whilst I recline in comfort. What is so poor about that?"

Robin glared at his younger brother. "I will tell you what is wrong, you lazy whelp. Whilst I sit here and go to fat, my sword lies gathering dust, and I need to train. If we are not to be fighting for Philip, then surely somewhere is a tourney we can enter, or some mercenary work where we might earn a bit of gold while we sharpen our skills."

Nicholas laughed and took another sip of ale.

"Robin, you are ever predictable. All you think of is swordplay and gold. One would think you a lowly pauper with naught to your name but the clothing on your back, the way you carry on. Nay, brother, do not look at me thusly. I merely jest."

Nicholas took another sip of ale and his features sobered before he spoke again.

"I understand your need to train and to keep your skills sharp, Robin. But you must understand that a sword to the belly is no small thing. If Mathilde says you must rest, then you must. In a se'nnight I will endeavor to convince her that I can care for your poor abused form, and we will make for greener pastures."

Robin sighed a long-suffering sigh of one used to getting his way, but not doing so at the moment.

"Fine. I like it not, but I will stay. But only for a se'nnight. No longer. I am tired of France and her eternal skirmishes. Let us be away to somewhere else for a change."

NIcholas nodded.

"Aye, we are agreed then. And have a bit of a care with the lass, will you Rob? She just lost her sire, yet she is still tending to your poor form, though why she puts up with your grumbles is a mystery. Perhaps you could be a bit nicer to our hostess, aye?"

Robin grumbled out a reply. Just then, the door opened to reveal Aalys and Mathilde entering with trays of food. They set them down on a nearby table, Aalys pouring wine into cups for the two men. She brought one to Robin first, who thanked her, and then to Nicholas, who kissed her hand and made her blush. He winked at her as she left the chamber.

Mathilde brought trenchers of food to the two men, setting Nick's down on the table in front of him and handing one to Robin, who almost dropped it.

"We do not usually eat in such informal settings, but in light of the circumstances I thought it wise to feed you here. When you are finished," and she turned and looked at Nicholas as she spoke the last part, "pull the bell pull and Aalys will come take everything away. I have a few things to do."

Robin did not miss the pointed looks Nick was giving him. He cleared his throat a time or two and then spoke.

"Mistress Mathilde, might I have a word?"

Mathilde turned to look at him. "I believe, my lord, that I have had enough words from you for one day," she said haughtily.

Robin sighed and looked at Nicholas, nodding towards the door.

"Oh, nay, brother, I would not miss this apology for all the world," he said with laughter in his eyes.

"Apology?" asked Mathilde

Robin took a deep breath and looked back at Mathilde, a serious expression on his face.

"Aye, it seems I owe you an apology for my rudeness earlier. I am not accustomed to lying abed and being waited on like a sick child. I fear I was angry yet at being felled, for you see I am also accustomed to besting everyone who comes against me. The very idea of lying here for a fortnight is incredible, and I apologize for doubting your assessment of my form. If you will still have me, I shall remain for the se'nnight and allow you to see to my care."

Robin could see Nick smirking behind his cup as he drank more ale.

"You, however," he said to Nicholas, "will not remain. I do not need two nursemaids, and of the two you are surely less pleasing to the eye."

Mathilde thought that Nicholas might want to throttle his brother for such a slight, but he merely laughed.

"Well, Rob, as we both look similar, I can only imagine how you arrived at that conclusion," he said. "Nay, I merely came to see how you fared. I shall leave on the morrow and travel to Beauvois to have a look around there, and return in a se'nnight to fetch you from your pampered bed," he said with a grin.

Mathilde held up her hand to gain their attention.

"First, Nicholas, you are welcome to spend the night in the same chamber as last time, if you would care to. Aalys will fix you something to take with you in the morning before your journey as well."

Nick needed no further encouragement than that. He stood and stretched, bowed over Mathilde's hand, and thanked her for a lovely meal as he left the chamber.

Mathilde turned to Robin and spoke softly, clasping her hands in front of her very tightly.

"My lord Robin, I accept your apology. Please know that I am not attempting to keep you here any longer than necessary. The wound needs to be seen to daily, if not more often, until I can determine that it is healing properly and you suffer no further ill effects. Also, my father wished you to come here for a reason, likely because he knew that I am very good at tending the wounds of soldiers. You are not the first of his to come to me, although I dare say you are the last...because of...well…" she trailed off, unable to say more.

Robin patted the side of the bed and motioned for he to come sit. After a moment, she did.

""Mathilde," he said with a grave expression."I did not mean to distress you, especially after having received the news you did. Truly I do not know what came over me, except that I seem to be full of vile humors since obtaining this wound. Come, let us have speech again as we did the other night, and let us put this quarrel behind us. I cannot promise to be a perfect patient, for I am unused to being tended by anyone since I was but a lad. But I promise to try, and to listen when you scold me. Is that fair?"

Mathilde made the mistake of looking at Robin's face during his apology. Oui, he would accept it, and be glad to speak of something less...disturbing. Perhaps they could speak of current events, or history, or she might even listen to stories of his former battles, if she could do so without weeping over her sire's death. Oui, she would try to be a better companion while he was on the mend.

She looked into his eyes to tell him yes, she would accept his apology, and realized his face was inches away from hers. It seemed her hands were not under her own control, either, for she reached out and touched his cheek softly. He looked startled for a moment, but he did not move away. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips.

Stunned, Mathilde could not move if her life depended on it. She had no idea why Robin had kissed her. Perhaps he was still with fever? She reached up to feel his forehead, but before she could, he took her hand in his own and simply held it, looking into her eyes. She thought he might kiss her again, but he merely sat there, looking slightly bewildered-almost as if he did not know why he had kissed her.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity but in reality must have been but a moment or two, she pulled her hand back into her lap. They both sat there in silence, neither willing to break the spell, but neither of them quite sure how to proceed. After a few moments, Mathilde stood and walked to the door, making sure a candle was lit for him before grasping the handle. As she stepped back to open the door, though, it was Robin who spoke first.

"Mathilde?" he called softly.

"Oui? Is there something you need?"

Robin held her gaze for a long moment, and then shook his head.

"Thank you for your care."

Mathilde nodded, gazed at him for one more moment, then left the chamber and closed the door. She walked down the hall to her own chamber and dressed for bed, climbing under the covers, exhausted yet again. It was a very long time before she fell asleep.

Chapter Twelve

Nicholas woke as dawn was breaking and wondered if he might ply his charms on the woman-any woman, for that matter-and get something hearty to break his fast before he made for Beauvois. 'Twas merely a day's journey by horseback, and as he understood it the keep was already in fine condition. Apparently, the previous lord had been out of favor with the crown, and so the lands-along with the lofty, if not uncommon title of count-had been sold for a paltry sum to Nicholas by Philip, in return for the promise that whenever Philip was traveling that way, he might rest his weary bones on a feathered mattress.

Alas, thought Nicholas, with Philip's passing, there would be no need to worry about the state of his mattresses or anything else at Beauvois with regards to a royal visit. Still, he should at least make an appearance so that his newly-acquired staff might know his name and face. Perhaps he would appoint an overseer to handle the organization of things to his liking. As much as he enjoyed France, he would much rather do so from the comfort of his own hall than on the dirty fields of battle.

He washed his face in a basin of clean water put there for just such a purpose, dried his face and hands on the fine cloth next to it, and went in search of food.

In the kitchens he found Aalys, Mathilde's maid, who was apparently also serving as cook. She stirred something that smelled heavenly at the fire, and with naught more than a wink and a grin he was seated at a little table with a cup of ale and a bowl of that fine-smelling porridge. The girl Aalys was pretty, in the way that many French lasses were, but as she looked to be about the same age as his sister Isabelle, he thought no more on it. He did, however, manage to get her to agree to provide him with some food to take with him for his journey, and escaped with merely giving away another smile or two and a courtly bow that made the girl's cheeks blush.

Nick made his way to Robin's room and opened the door quietly, in case his brother was asleep. He sat down lightly in the chair and contemplated the situation. He did not want to leave Robin here, truly, but it seemed as though he would be well enough in Mathilde's household. Indeed, if the wench could keep him abed long enough to see that his healing was a success, Nicholas might have to bring her a very great gift upon his return. It was true that Robin was the toughest lad he knew-excluding his own self, of course. But he had noted the discomfort in Robin's eyes as his brother tried to move about the last pair of days, and Nick wondered if a se'nnight was going to be enough time. Alas, he could do no more than what Robin asked, which was leave him and see to his own affairs, then return so they might take up their journeying once more. Perhaps he might even convince Robin 'twas time for a visit home. Surely his parents missed them, as he had read his mother's pleas often enough in the letters she sent. It did not matter if they were fighting in the crusades or simple field battles for Philip: somehow, Gwen's letters always reached Nick, and they were ever full of love and scolding at the same time. Aye, Artane would be a fine end to their travels once Robin was well.

"Are you going to just bloody sit there and stare at me all morn?"

Robin rolled to his side and sat up with a grimace. "By the saints, Nick, I can hear you muttering in my sleep. What has you up and about so early?"

"Well, brother, I am off to Beauvois, as you well know. I merely came to wish you a speedy recovery, that we might travel as soon as you are well."

Robin stretched his arms and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood with little difficulty, though he had been abed for what seemed like forever. His muscles were dusty from disuse, and his left arm hurt like hell. How he wished he could train!

He looked at Nicholas and smiled a grim smile.

"Well then, brother, I wish you safe journey. Let me know how you find the place when you return. I dare say I would be up to coming along, but I fear our lady Mathilde would be very angry indeed."

Nick stood up, stretched, and clapped his brother lightly on the shoulder a time or two.

"Aye, Robin, thank you for that. I shall endeavor to return swiftly. And just as swiftly, I must make haste. Beauvois is a day's hard ride from here, and already the sun comes up. Mathilde's maid has prepared me some food, I think, and so I must be off. I will be back before you know it," he added on his way out the door.

Robin padded in his bare feet over to the window, throwing the drapes wide. He flinched at the bright sunlight so early in the morning. Perhaps he should go find his hostess and see about something to fill his belly. Then perhaps a bit of exercise.

He walked towards the door as it swung open, barely missing his face. Mathilde came into the room with a tray and closed the door behind her. She set the tray on the table and turned to Robin.

"I see you are out of bed," she remarked. "How do you fare?"

Robin made his way to the table and sat, already seduced by the aromas coming from the tray of food.

"I would feel quite a bit more like myself were I to break my fast. Is all this for me?" he asked.

"Oui. I would like to see your stitches when you are finished, but I suppose you can eat first," Mathilde replied.

Robin needed no further encouragement. He tore off a hunk of still-warm bread and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing vigorously. He noted the bowl of porridge and other fine items and began to eat as though he was starving.

Well, he was starving, to be sure. At one point, he looked up to find Mathilde watching him from the chair, a tiny smile quirking the corners of her mouth.

He washed his mouthful down with ale and raised an eyebrow to her.

"Is something amiss?" he asked.

Mathilde laughed then as she answered. "Non, my lord. It is only that I did not realize how long you had been without food. Please, continue to eat."

She did not dare tell him what her actual thoughts were. Non, she could not say how she had tossed and turned all night, reliving his kiss over and over. She could not say how she had felt warm, her lips still tingling long after she had quit his chamber. Instead, she merely watched him eat, silently.

Robin finished what was left on the trencher and downed the last of the ale. He belched discreetly, then sat back in the chair, contented. Aye, he was feeling better already. A full belly did wonders for his attitude. Now, to see about training.

He stood up to find Mathilde right in front of him. Frowning, he made to go around her, but she placed her hand on his chest and stood firmly.

"Now, my lord, I brought you a fine meal so that you might regain some strength while improving your humors a bit. But before you leave this room, I will check your bandage."

Robin sighed. It was no use: she would not leave him be until she had her way. Muttering under his breath about feisty wenches, he went to the bed and reclined, his arms behind his head.

"Do what you will, mistress Mathilde. But I vow you will not keep me from at least picking up my sword and practicing a bit today, even if I must needs practice alone with my shadow."

Mathilde merely sat and began to uncover the bandage. The wound was healing nicely: her stitches were straight and even, and the flesh was merely a pale pink, not the angry red it had been. Bon, this was a good sign: if she could just keep him from ruining all her work, he might heal in time.

She picked up a jar of salve she had brought in with her and began to gently rub it into the wound. Suddenly, Robin's body jerked and he grabbed her hand.

"My lord, I must apply this healing salve. It will speed the healing of your stitches so that I might remove them soon. Please release my hand," asked Mathilde.

Robin looked at her and sighed anew. Foolish is how he felt. How could she know he was ticklish there? He would do his best to bear up manfully whist she spread her salve across his belly.

Mathilde felt Robin's hand release her, and she carefully dipped her fingers back in the jar. She spread a liberal amount of salve on the wound, careful not to apply too much pressure. When she was done, she wiped her hands on a cloth and began to apply a fresh bandage. Finally she finished, standing up and stretching her back. She looked down at Robin, who appeared to be asleep. Apparently he had opened the drapes at some point, and in the morning sunlight she began to see things she had not noticed before. Such as the long sweep of dark lashes, surely too beautiful for any man to have. Yet somehow, they did not take away from his abundant masculinity. Oui, he was fashioned most finely. His muscles were very defined, his face pleasing to the eye. Nicholas might have been renowned as the pretty one, but Robin was all man.

She put aside her scrutiny and made to leave the chamber. A waste of time it was, mooning over a man she could never have. He was likely pursued it as vigorously as his brother, although as to what sort of woman he preferred, she dare not speculate. Mathilde had no illusions about her own image. She was not fashionably slender, like so many women were these days. And although her clothing was of the finest quality, thanks to her sire, she did not order new gowns to be made merely for fashion. She lived a quiet life, albeit a wealthy one, and she did not care much for society. Non, the heir to that English keep across the sea-Artane, was it called? He would require all manner of things from a wife, none of which she was willing to give. The kiss last eve was merely a reaction, the sort of thing that sometimes happened when one has been wounded or ill and is tended by someone with care. Surely that was all.

Still, as she turned to look one last time before leaving, she could not help but wish for a moment that she was a different sort of woman. Perhaps she could engage in a brief assignation, as it were, if she had been different. She was who she was, though, so she stole a final glance and left him to go see about the business of her home.

Chapter Thirteen

Robin paced about the chamber, restless as a hound. He had been here far too long, and needed some sort of exercise before he went mad. He strode across the room and opened the door, and went in search of his hostess.

He found Mathilde in the salon, reaching up for a book that was far too high on the shelves for her small height. He selected the book for her, handing it to her with the merest brush of fingertips.

"Thank you, my lord," replied Mathilde. "I am not entirely sure you should be up and about. How do you feel?"

Robin waited for her to be seated on the chaise, then took the chair opposite her. She spied Aalys in the hall and asked her to fetch some wine for them both..

"My belly feels like someone sliced me open and then sewed me together again. I cannot feel the wound as much, but the stitches are beginning to itch. I wonder when I might have them removed?"

"Just a few more days, my lord. I need to be certain that the wound is closed for good. I apologize for the discomfort, but as I have told you, it must be endured.

"Now, since you feel so spry, how about a game of chess? That should occupy your mind for a while," Mathilde offered.

Robin looked to see if she was jesting: surely a man such as he could handle a few small thrusts and parries with his sword without ruining her fine work on his form! Before he could argue though, she was across the room, setting up the chess board on a table designed for such use. Saints, he was turning into a woman, what with all this giving in to this woman's silent demands that he not train. Sighing, he rose to go to the chess table, and sat down rather heavily in the chair across from her. Aye, he would give her but a few more days of this healing business. As soon as Nicholas returned, however, he would be going.

As she set up the pieces, she stole glances at him from under her lashes. Indeed, his color was much improved today, and he seemed to be moving about better. The stitches in his arm were also healing nicely, although that gash had not been nearly as grievous as the one on his belly.

Mathilde continued to set up the pieces as Aalys came in and delivered the wine, then curtseyed to Robin and left again, closing the door to the salon as she went.

The chess set had been a gift from Philip to her mother years ago, as payment for stitching up one of his many battle wounds. Before her mother passed on, she had given it to Mathilde.

Robin admired the chess board and pieces that Mathilde was setting up. Curious as to why a healer would have such a fancy chess set, he asked about it.

"These pieces are made from ivory and silver, are they not?" He asked.

"Yes, indeed they are. They were a gift from my sire to my mother, and she gave them to me. They are probably quite valuable, but I don't play often so they are not likely to become worn. I do enjoy a good game, though it has been many months since I played. You will surely best me handily, but I am game if you are," Mathilde said with a twinkle in her eye.

Robin smiled and rubbed his hands together.

"My lady, I do enjoy pitting my substantial wits against a worthy opponent. Think you we should wager a small token on the outcome? My father often says that the game is more exciting when played for a boon."

Mathilde thought it over. She was not much of a gambler, but why not? There was nothing else to do to pass the time other than read, or perhaps write a letter to her aunt in Paris. Oui, she would make a small wager.

"I accept your idea of a wager. What shall it be? " challenged Mathilde."I have a very fine brooch given to me in payment for tending the blacksmith's son when he burned his arm last summer. It is gold, with emerald and ruby set into it. I would be willing to offer that if you best me," she said with a smile.

Robin nodded his head, stroking his chin. "I accept. Now what can I offer you in return of you should happen to best me? Lessons in swordplay, though likely you would not want them," he grumbled.

"Non," Mathilde said with a laugh,"I have no interest in learning to fight with a blade. I know: if I win, you can see to my stables for me. They are not very large, but my stable boy left with my butler, who is his father, for a visit to the country. I dare say the horses could use a good brushing, and perhaps the stalls cleaned out some."

"Done," Robin agreed. "Let us play."

The game was evenly matched, and both Robin and Mathilde seemed to ponder each move with great care before moving a piece across the board. After what seemed an eternity, though, Mathilde tipped her king, swallowed the last of her wine, and stood.

"Well, my lord, it seems you have bested me fairly. Thank you for the game, but I think I would like to retire. Do you need anything before bed?"

Robin stood as well, and followed Mathilde to the door.

"No, I feel perfectly fine. It is late, though. Perhaps I shall retire as well. Nick should be coming for me in a few days, hopefully with a horse, and we would be on our way."

They walked down the hallway together, stopping at the door to Robin's room.

"Well, my lady, I thank you for the game. I shall see you on the morrow. Sleep well," he added.

Mathilde inclined her head, but did not move from her spot. Robin gave her a very short bow, lest he tear his belly open, then went into his chamber and closed the door.

Mathilde stood for a moment, then made her way into her bedchamber. She changed into her night rail, blew out the candle Aalys must have left burning for her, and climbed into bed. Within moments, she was asleep.

Chapter Fourteen

She woke to the sound of a man screaming. Disoriented, she stumbled from the bed, tossed on a robe and ran down the hall to Robin's room, where the noise was coming from. Aalys appeared at the end of the hallway, but Mathilde shooed her away. Carefully, she opened the door.

Once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see Robin thrashing about on the bed. Alarmed, Mathilde lit a candle and placed it on the table, then went over to the bed and tried to calm him. He was not violent, like had had been when he was feverish, but he was still tossing his head and writhing about. Fearful that he might yet pull his stitches out, she sat on the side of the bed and stroked his hair, crooning words of comfort to him. After a time, he quieted, and then was still.

She stroked his hair for long minutes, wondering what horrors he was dreaming about. He did not wake, yet she felt the urge to comfort him all the same. Perhaps they were nightmares, born of the death and bloodshed of war. Who was she to know of what men saw and did in battle? She had heard stories, although greatly edited, from her sire and his men on occasion. BUt never had she tended a man who wailed and bellowed thusly in his sleep.

She looked down to find Robin was awake, watching her. Hastily she removed her hand, unsure of what to say. She cleared her throat and looked at her hands, now folded in her lap.

"I'm sorry, my lord. I heard...that is, there was a noise, and...I believe you were dreaming. I only came to see if something was amiss."

Robin continued to look at her. She was fetching in the candlelight, and she had a soft touch that reminded him of the healer he had known as a boy at Artane. Berengaria was her name, and though many folk though she was a witch, Robin knew her only as a kind lady with healing hands and a soft and gentle way about her.

"There is no need to apologize. Indeed, it is I who should be sorry for waking you in the middle of the night. I know not why these dreams plague me, but I will endeavor to keep quiet if possible," he said.

Mathilde shifted on the mattress, unsure of what to say. Here was this handsome and virile man, suffering wounds to the flesh and to his mind, if the nightmares were as real as they seemed. Poor man, to suffer so and then apologize to her for the inconvenience of waking her.

"There is no need for apologies, my lord. I merely-"

"Robin, " he interrupted. "You may call me Robin, or have you forgotten my name already?" he teased.

Mathilde was glad for the dim light of the candle, for surely she was blushing like a maid.

"Fine then, Robin it is. You need not apologize for your troubles. I am, after all, a healer, and am used to such things. Only yours...they seemed so real.." Mathilde trailed off as she realized Robin was stroking her hand with his thumb, ever so gently.

"Mathilde,: he whispered. He slid his hand up to her neck and pulled her closer. She felt the nerves in her belly begin, and before she knew what he was about, he laid his lips on hers and kissed her.

Only this kiss was not a chaste kiss. Non, it was a kiss of fire, of passion, and it made her bare toes curl. She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him back, and they stayed like that for several long moments.

Finally, Robin pulled back, wincing in pain as he realized his belly was not in the position to be sitting thusly. He laid back on the pillow and sighed, closing his eyes.

"Mathilde," he began. "I am sorry...it is late, and I should not have taken advantage of you this way. Please forgive me," he implored.

Mathilde clasped her hands together and nodded, though she supposed he could not see her in the dark. She was confused, but she had heard that love often did that to a person.

Love? Oui, that must be it, she thought with a smile. Love it would be, then. She stood up and pulled the blankets higher over Robin's torso, then stepped back to give herself some space.

"Robin, there is nothing to forgive. I am not angry. In fact, I…"she stammered. "I quite enjoyed our kiss. But I do know you need to rest, so I will leave you for the evening." She left the room, smiling all the way to her bedchamber. She was in love!

Chapter Fifteen

The next few days passed in agonizing slowness. Every morning, Mathilde would come to check his wound, full of smiles and kind words. She made sure he had plenty to eat, and even provided him with a large tub in which to bathe,. She and Aalys had filled the buckets themselves, and then emptied the tub for him when he was through. She smiled, she laughed more, and she treated him like a king.

It was hell.

Robin realized near the end of his se'nnight that he never should have kissed Mathilde.

She was a very beautiful woman, it was true, though she was a bit more rounded than the harpies he had seen in Paris and at court. Still, it did not detract from her beauty, which shine through like a beacon of light. Her golden hair fell in soft waves about her shoulders, and she was always ready with a laugh or joke. She was smart, and beautiful, and any man would be lucky to have her.

The problem was, as Robin saw it, he was a horse's arse. For as lovely as Mathilde was, he knew deep in his soul that there was only one woman for him-and she did not live in France. Though he had not seen her in many years, Robin knew that no other woman would do. Anne of Fenwyck was a contrary girl, but they had been friends for more years than he cared to count. Never mind that she had barely spoken to him these last few years. Nay, Anne was not a silly miss prone to writing letters of love and other female foolishness. Like as not she was at Artane, the home of her heart, making mischief with his sister Amanda or helping his mother Gwen with her ladies' chores. And never mind that the last time he had seen her, he had been riding away from Artane with all due haste, ready to make for France and prove himself. She was the sun and the moon to him, though perhaps he might think on that some more when it did not pain his head to do so. Saints, what would Nick think? He would punch Robin in the teeth, call him a fool, and likely move along to his next cup of ale and willing wench, the idiot.

Nay, he could not be with Mathilde. His one foray into relations with another woman had not gone well, although he might die before admitting the like to anyone besides his poor self. Aye, it was best he save himself for the day when Anne admitted her vast and undying love for him. He was the best swordsman on two continents, after all, and he certainly was handy with a few other things. What more could she ask for?

The question was, how to let Mathilde know without breaking her heart? Twas obvious the wench was coming to care for him, for with each day that passed since their kiss, she spent more and more time trying to please him. He needed to find a way to let her know, and hopefully spare her feelings. His sire had always said that women were gentle creatures, so Robin thought it best to think for a moment on how best to turn Mathilde's affections aside without bruising them.

Saints, what a tangle he was in.

Chapter Sixteen

Mathilde hummed a lively tune as she helped Aalys prepare a mall supper for Robin and herself. Aalys was a good girl, and had taken extra care to be useful while the rest of the servants were off on holiday or visiting relations. Mathilde was not strict with her servants: most were well-paid by her sire, and were given leave to come and go for things like visiting family and such. This evening, Aalys had confided to Mathilde that she had a beau she was seeing across town, and that they met in secret for the boy's father was a nobleman. Mathilde thought it quite romantic, and vowed to watch over Aalys as if they were sisters.

The man in the other room was not so different from Aalys' young man. Both were of important families, and both lived some distance away, although certainly Robin would wish to remain in France after he was healed. His wounds were healing rather nicely, which left her with the thought that perhaps she should put forth a bit more effort in pleasing him. After all, even though he was from England-a cold and dreary place, no doubt-surely he had seen enough of her beautiful country that he might like to settle there. She had even overheard his brother Nicholas talking about a keep near Beauvois that he had recently come to own. Robin would have his brother nearby for company, and he could even venture back across the sea to England to visit his parents, if that was what he wanted.

Once the meal was ready, she brought it to Robin's room. She found his standing by the window, looking pensive. Smiling brightly, she invited him to sit and eat.

"Deep thoughts, my lord?" Mathilde asked with a smile.

"Aye," Robin replied solemnly. "Very deep thoughts indeed," he replied, as he took a seat.

Mathilde kept the smile on her face as she filled his trencher and then her own, taking a place across from Robin's at the table.

"Well, my lord, there is nothing like a hearty repast to replenish your strength. Here, I have given you the best pieces of meat, as well as a few vegetables and a large hunk of bread. Come and eat."

Robin sighed , then began to eat what was in front of him. There was no use wasting a good meal. 'Twas obvious Mathilde had put a lot of effort into it, and so he ate with her in silence. As he chewed on a piece of bread, he contemplated the best way to tell Mathilde what he had decided.

She sat across from him, taking bites of her meal, occasionally glancing up at him with a smile in her eyes and on her lips. It was as if the mere sight of his poor form brought her joy. When she was not looking, he studied her, waiting for an opportune moment to begin what he was sure would be a difficult speech. Perhaps if he spoke to her as he spoke to his brothers, she would understand. After all, she was a healer, used to meeting all sorts of people. Surely they did not all have fine courtly manners and tiptoe around the subject. Aye, plain speaking is what would serve him best. He swallowed a last bit of bread, then cleared his throat.

"Thank you for the meal, Mathilde. Have you a few moments that we might have speech? I have a most important matter to discuss with you regarding my...ah...my wound," he finished lamely. Well, he had been wounded, and so it was a logical conclusion that they must speak of it.

Mathilde looked at the man sitting across from her, her heart beginning to swell. Robin looked much healthier than he had when he was brought to her doorstep nearly a fortnight ago. Indeed, his color was much improved, along with his manners. She had not checked his wound in a few days, letting him see to it himself as he was now able to sit up and do so.

"Oui, although I must say you have healed rather nicely, all things considered. Really there is not much left to do except try not to get yourself stabbed in the belly. Not, "she said quickly, noting the gleam in his eye, "that you did so intentionally. I am merely saying that caution is wise at this point."

Robin took a healthy swig of wine and rose from the table, pacing. Damnation, but women were a puzzle. He spoke plainly to Amanda, why not to this woman he hardly knew? Although admittedly, Amanda was a different sort of gel, prone to waving various pointy tools about with a wild abandon that made him wary of being around her. He sighed a heavy sigh, and turned back to the table.

Only to find Mathilde had stood as well, and was now directly in front of him.

He cleared his throat and put his hands on her shoulders. He opened his mouth to speak-and she plunged her lips forward, kissing him with such intensity that he had to back up a pace lest he fall over.

"It is ok, my lord Robin," Mathilde murmured against his lips. "I do not need any words. Indeed, you seem to be a man of actions, and I am not the missish princesse many think me to be. You are truly a marvel, my lord, and I ...I care for you."

Robin was trapped between good manners befitting the treatment of a lady, and saving his soul, as it were. Mathilde kissed him again, then boldly ran her hands over his tunic. She clung to him, molding herself against him as though she wanted to crawl inside his skin.

The perplexing thing was, at some point he forgot to think. She was all woman, this French princess. She was curvy and voluptuous, and she kissed with passion that only the French could deliver. He found himself kissing her back with growing enthusiasm. At some point they both came up for air, and he realized she had backed him up against the bed.

Mathilde shook her head and stepped back a pace, but remained in the circle of Robin's arms. Alors, what had come over her? She did want this man, it was true: but what madness had caused her to be so...so forward?

She stole a glance at Robin's face. It was as though it was made of stone. He looked neither angry nor overjoyed. Still, his arms were around her, so perhaps she had not overstepped her bounds by too much. Hesitantly, she put her hands on his shoulders and pressed herself against him.

"Mathilde," he began. "I...that is to say...we must…"

Helpless for words, Robin could not get his muddled brain to function. This lovely woman who had taken care of him and likely saved his life was standing right here, with a most eager expression on her face. And it has been so long for him...unable to make any decision with his conflicted mind, he did the only thing he could think of.

He kissed her again. And again. And at one point, he found himself lying on the bed, Mathilde next to him, as they kissed and held each other. She was warm and female, and she made him forget all the blood and sweat and fighting he had been engaged in for the last few years. The only thing on his mind was how good it felt to have someone to hold.

Mathilde felt herself falling more and more with every stroke of Robin's hand on her arm, and every kiss on her lips. She dared not attempt anything else, not knowing how he would react. But this kissing...oui, Robin de Piaget was a fine kisser indeed. He made her heart flutter and her toes curl.

Chapter Eighteen

It was well after midnight when Robin was finally alone in his chamber. Mathilde had left to close up the house for the night, as the little maid Aalys had finally returned for the evening from wherever it was she had gone off to. Mathilde did not say whether or not she would return: now that his body had cooled down some, Robin was able to see what a mess he had gotten himself into.

I never should have kissed her, he thought. I simply must tell her somehow that I cannot be with her. He laid his head on the pillow and folded his hands under it, staring at the canopy above the bed. Honestly, he wasn't sure what had come over him. One minute he was gearing up to tell Mathilde he would be leaving anyway, and thanking her for her healing powers and her hospitality: the next he had an armful of woman kissing the boots right off his feet.

He didn't desire to hurt her, but he realized he must put a stop to this before she became any more involved. He did feel pretty low for having continued to kiss and hold her, even knowing he should not.

But he could not allow her to believe they had a future together. Aye, he would tell her in the morning. A good night's sleep was what was needed, and then he would do the deed and be gone. Nicholas was set to arrive tomorrow, and they would be leaving as it was the end of his agreed-upon se'nnight. He would tell Mathilde as gently as he knew how, await Nick's arrival, and be off.

It was nearly dawn when Robin awoke with a start. Someone was in his room. Carefully he opened one eye just enough to peek: in the darkness, without even a candle, he could tell it was Mathilde. She sat in a chair by the fire in his room, staring not at him, but into the fire, as though the answers to the world's most pressing concerns lay there.

Suddenly, she turned her head towards him.

"I know you are awake, my lord. I did not mean to disturb you: I merely wished to be here when you woke, so that we might talk a bit," she said.

Robin stretched and then rose from the bed. Since convalescing here, he had not bothered to take off his trousers at night, leaving them on instead. When Mathilde was nothing more than his healer, it had not bothered him: now that she was...well, whatever she was, he did not want to be naked and cause any undue alarm to the poor woman.

He crossed the room and took the seat opposite her. For a while, neither said anything: they gazed into the fire, each with their own thoughts. Finally, the silence was broken.

"Mathilde,"" Robin began.

"My lord," said Mathilde at the same time. She gave a small, embarrassed laugh.

"It appears we both have much to say. Go on, I shall listen," she added.

Robin took a deep breath.

"Normally I would allow you to go first, as you are a lady, and my mother taught me decent manners. However, I fear that what I must say is too important to wait even that long."

Unable to sit still, Robin rose and began to pace. Saints, but this was a complicated tangle! Every time he was sure he had the words to tell her, he stumbled in his mind like a lad first discovering girls. He was a man, for pity's sake: surely he could dredge up a few polite words to explain?

"My lord Robin," Mathilde said, interrupting his thoughts. "Please...hear me out. "

Robin turned to her and began to speak. "My lady," he began.

"My lord. " Mathilde stood and went to him, grasping both of his arms with her hands and holding him still.

"Robin," she began again in a quiet voice. "There is no need to explain. I...I understand," she finished quietly, her eyes suspiciously bright by the light of the low fire.

Robin looked at her, puzzled. "You do?" he asked.

Mathilde let go of his arms and sat back in the chair.

"Indeed, I do. I apologize for my...untoward actions. I did not mean to distress you."

Robin sat back in his chair and studied her face. He noted the unshed tears in her eyes, and the way she clasped her hands in her lap, as though perhaps they resembled.

"Mathilde...forgive me, as well. You are quite lovely, and a good woman. You have tended my wounds and saved me from certain death, I am sure. I owe you a debt that can never be repaid," he declared.

Mathilde did begin to tremble then, very slightly, although Robin was watching her closely so he knew. When she spoke, however, her voice was steady.

"I should have known you were not for me, when I heard you murmuring the name of another in your sleep," she confessed. "I heard it the other night when I came to check on your dreams,as I have every night since they brought you to me. When you first came, they were dreams of war, and bloodshed, and battle. This last two nights, however," she continued, breathing deeply as she went on. "The last two nights," she repeated, "you did not cry out in victory or in battle rage, but you spoke the name of a woman several times. And I...I think I knew, by your dreams that she is someone special," she finished sadly.

Robin felt like the lowest hound, to have kissed this woman and led her to believe his heart was free when it was not. He sighed and leaned forward, closer to Mathilde, his elbows on his knees.

"Mathilde...what can I say? I have known my Anne since we were children. She is stubborn, and contrary, and she often does things that puzzle even my own sire, who has been her foster father since before Artane was built. But she is also…" he trailed off, realizing that perhaps the woman in front of him did not want to hear about another.

Mathilde wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, sniffed a time or two, then raised her eyes to meet Robin's. And then she gave him a small smile, one of understanding, and compassion, and maybe even a little love. She knew, even if he did not, that this Anne was the woman meant to be his. Far be it for a mere French princess to come between two people destined to be together.

Mathilde rose from her chair with a bright smile and headed for the door.

"Well, my lord, your brother is set to arrive this morn, and I should think you would like to break your fast and perhaps have a wash and some clean clothing to get you on your way. I will see to it."

Robin reached for her hand, stopping her from leaving.

"Mathilde," he said, a trace of sadness in his own voice. "I did not mean to lead you on, or to hurt you. I was...carried away by passion. You are a beautiful woman, and for a few moments I lost my head. Dare I hope that you can forgive me?" he asked, uncertainty on his face.

Mathilde clasped both of her hands around the one Robin was using to hold her and smiled.

"There is nothing to forgive. We enjoyed a moment or two of something...intimate. I understand, and I am only a little hurt. But perhaps we can be friends, non?"

Robin gave her a little smile of his own and nodded.

"Friends it is then. And something to eat sounds excellent, as Nick tends to be early when he has a plan in mind. I assume he will be here before noon, as it is now nearly light outside."

Just then a knock sounded at the door. Aalys poked her head in, then opened the door further to reveal Nicholas himself standing there, looking entirely too bright for such an early hour.

"Rob! Make haste, you dimwit. I thought you would be ready for travel by now," he added.

Mathilde let go of Robin's hands and stepped back. She smiled at Nicholas in welcome, then went to fetch a meal for the men with Aalys, closing the door behind her.

Chapter Nineteen

Later that evening, Robin sat on his borrowed horse in the courtyard of Beauvois and stared at the keep. Nay, it was not a keep, it was a bloody palace! The place was enormous, with many outbuildings and towers enclosed within the walls. People milled about everywhere, looking very busy. No wonder Nicholas had wanted to keep tourneying or warring. Surely he would need all his gold, and likely most of Robin's as well, to keep this place running.

He dismounted, handing his reins off to the stable boy with a frown. It had been a long ride to Beauvois from Mathilde's place, and he was tired and hungry. He also wanted to train more than anything, but perhaps he could wait another pair of days or so. Mathilde had bade him be careful, and out of respect for her healing skills and his promise to do so, he intended to wait.

There was, however, no sense in denying himself a bit of exercise. He cast about for a likely person to ask, finally looking up as Nick walked out of the stables.

"Rob, come inside and see this fine little hovel I have managed to acquire. The larder is passable, although I shall have to find a better cook soon. Still, we may eat something and have speech together. I have a mind to ask your opinion about the condition of the stables here."

They walked together to the great hall and sat at one of the tables. Apparently, Nicholas was already known well, for a comely lass immediately brought wine and cheese to the table, blushing shyly as Nicholas thanked her with a wink and a smile. Damnable rogue, was his brother Nick, yet all the ladies did seem to swoon rather more often in his company.

They sat for a while and talked of horses, and rebuilding the decrepit stables, and the idea of finding a couple of local boys to help there. Nick had discovered a passion for horses, and was considering the notion of breeding them in the future. Although before he could breed horses, he needed a structure in which to shelter them, and the wooden disaster outside would not do at all.

"Robin," Nicholas said, interrupting his thoughts. "Do you care to tell me what ails you?"

Robin snorted before he thought better of it. "Nothing ails me, dolt. I was merely considering the sorry state of your enormous keep here, and how you may as well call upon Father for some of his gold as well in order to fix everything that needs it."

Nicholas smiled that irritating smile he had when he thought he knew something important.

"I daresay it is not my horseflesh that occupies your mind, brother." He paused and took a healthy sip of wine, draining his mug. Which was, of course, immediately refilled by yet another blushing wench with no sense, obviously.

"What else would I be thinking of? Were we not discussing your stables, or lack thereof I should say, moments ago?" Robin picked up his own ale and took a drink himself, although nobody came running to refill his. Damn Nicholas anyway.

Nicholas sat forward and leaned on his elbows on the table.

"Rob, I have known you for most of my life. I dare say I know when you are troubled. You have not spoken of the lady Mathilde since we left her house of healing. What happened whilst I was away?"

Robin looked away from the genuine concern in his brother's eyes, eyes that were laughing and carefree yet saw too much sometimes.

"You will have the entire tale, I suppose? I ought not to tell you, as you have a tendency to be free with your tongue, and for once in your life I would like that to not be so."

Nick's eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. "So, something did happen. I swear never to speak a word, Robin. Tell me."

Robin looked around for someone to bring more ale, but apparently either his brother had consumed the last drop, or all of the serving wenches were mysteriously and suddenly away. He sighed, and then looked up at his brother.

"She kissed me. She bloody kissed me, and nearly declared undying love. And I, the witless idiot you see in front of you, kissed her back," growled Robin. "There, are you satisfied now?"

Nick sat still and thought for a moment. "Do you have feelings for Mathilde?" he asked.

"Nay!" Robin nearly shouted. "Nay, I do not. I mean, she is a lovely woman, and I owe her my life. But I do not...that is to say...by all the bloody saints, Nicholas, you will have me babbling like a woman before much longer," Robin said, his frown becoming deeper and deeper on his face.

Nicholas merely sipped his wine and waited for his brother to finish.

Robin heaved an enormous, long-suffering sigh and finished his tale. "We shared a few kisses, nothing more. I could not, in good conscience, allow her to think there could be anything between us. I told her that, she accepted it, and now we are...friends," he finished rather lamely.

"Friends?" Nicholas' eyes were twinkling now. "And why is it, brother, that you could not pursue a romantic courtship with his lovely specimen of womanhood? Hmm? What think you is the reason?"

Robin could take no more of Nicholas' smirks and knowing glances. "I vow, Nicholas, you are a most troublesome brother. Even Amanda would not dare to speak to me in such a fashion.":

Nicholas sat and waited some more. He knew Robin would not say it, and it fell to him as the youngest brother to torment Robin until he admitted what was in his heart. Nicholas knew why Robin had been attracted to the pale-haired healer. Aside from her obvious beauty, she was a kind and caring person-much like another fair haired lovely they knew of in England. Aye, Nicholas knew it would only be a matter of time before Robin came to his senses. How long that time would be, however, was anybody's guess.

"Well, Rob, if you have no more to say on it then I shall leave it alone. For now," he added. "Let us see who graces the garrison hall here and see if there is any sport to be had."

Robin rose with Nicholas and the two of them went out the doors to see what men could be found. Hopefully Nicholas had inherited at least a few decent lads who could not only protect Beauvois, but perhaps also provide Robin with a sword or two in opposition, that he might train in a few days. As it was it had been a se'nnight since he had held a sword for anything longer than it took to sheath it and buckle it about his waist. He was itching to train: he trained every day of his life. One did not become the best on two continents by laying about all day.

Chapter Twenty

Four days later, Robin was finishing off the last of Nicholas' newly-acquired garrison of knights, laughing himself into a delirious state of happiness in the rain and mud. The lists at Beauvois were rather pitiful when one compared them to those at Artane, or even Ayre, but they were better than nothing. The garrison was comprised of six strong men who each pledged loyalty immediately upon meeting Nicholas. Philip of France had been an inspiring leader of men, and all six had fought at one time or another for the king. They came as a gift, and each was strong and in prime fighting shape. Nicholas had done well with these men. Perhaps his training might help some of them improve their swordplay, for surely none of them came even remotely close to standing against Robin of Artane on his worst day. Still, they showed promise. Only the future would determine if they learned anything useful, and Robin intended to meet them in the lists every morning and fight until they were as good as he could make them.

A fortnight later, Robin was fortifying himself with a small meal before returning to the lists when a messenger came bearing a letter for him. Curious, he thanked the lad and told him to seek something in the kitchens before leaving.

Nicholas was off doing heaven only knows what, so Robin had some privacy to read. The seal was one he did not recognize, but that did not trouble him in the least. He broke it and opened the letter, revealing a note from Aalys, Mathilde's maid. He read the note twice, then dropped it on the table. He needed to think, and he needed to plan to go back to Mathilde's right away.

Nicholas was coming into the great hall when he spied Robin at the table, a missive lying open in front of him. He walked over to where Robin sat, picked up the letter and glanced at Robin. Robin merely nodded silently, so Nick took that as permission to read. He shook his head and put the letter back on the table.

"What are you going to do?" he asked his brother. "Aalys says she does not know what to do, and Phillip was Mathilde's only family, really. Apparently there is a midwife come to help, but that is all."

Robin nodded. "I read the same letter, Nick. I know not how she could have been so healthy when we left her last, and now she is ill. I think I had better go see if there is aught I can do to help."

Nicholas nodded. "I will ask cook to have some provisions made ready, and then go outside and see which lads are about to ready us some horses. If not, I will do it myself. We can be there by nightfall if we hurry."

Robin looked at his brother and grimaced. "You do not have to come, you know. I was the patient there. You may have things here that need doing."

Nick slapped his brother on the back. "Yes well, remember my generosity, should I have need of you for something in the future. Now, let me arrange things. Get yourself out to the stables as soon as you can and we will be on our way."

Chapter Twenty-One

They arrived at Mathilde's after dark. Nicholas stabled their horses while Robin went to knock on the door. Aalys opened after a few moments, her eyes red and swollen.

"My lord Robin! I am so glad you came. Mathilde, she is getting worse, and I...I do not know what to do. Alors, she will not tell me of a remedy for what ails her, and the midwife knows nothing about it. Can you help?"

Robin went inside and let Aalys lead him to Mathilde's room. She was lying on her bed, her head propped up by several pillows, blankets and furs piled on her. The fire blazed high in the room, and as soon as Robin entered he knew: Mathilde was indeed quite ill. He noted the bleeding, black masses on her neck and arms, the swelling, and the awful smell that permeated the room. He knew that no amount of baths or poultices were going to work: all that remained was to see what he could do for her.

He heard Nicholas come in behind him, and both men took chairs on either side of the bed where Mathilde lay. She was awake, and she smiled at both of them, but she did not speak. Aalys brought her a cup of something to drink, and she took a few small sips before coughing some more. Aalys took the cup away and closed the door behind her.

Mathilde coughed yet again. Nicholas handed her a cloth, which she used to wipe her mouth, and kept by her cleared her throat, and attempted to speak.

"Well, how lucky am I to have two handsome men attend me," she began, coughing up some more fluids.

Robin glanced at Nicholas and then spoke. "Mathilde...how did this happen?"

Every breath was painful, but she made the effort to tell them. "Well, a few days after you both left here, my lord Louis-my father's brother-sent a messenger saying he would arrive in a fortnight. Apparently he wishes to continue as my protector as my sire is no longer alive to do so. His letter was long and full of good intentions. I believe he means to see me retain my position here in the village, except that he may occasionally send for me to come to court and show my face.

"I wrote back to him, thinking he did not need to travel all the way here. The news was enough, and I bear no ill will words my sire's brother, so I asked Aalys to get me a messenger to take the note back to Louis. Other than Aalys and myself, and the two of you, I have come in contact only with the messenger. So I do not know how it happened, but I do know what it is."

Exhausted, she laid her head back on the pillow. Nicholas took her hand in his and kissed it, stroking her palm.

"My dear Mathilde, what can we do? Is there another healer we can fetch for you? Surely Louis has someone he can send." Nick added.

"Non, my lord Nicholas, Louis is already on his way. He would be here any day, and perhaps when he arrives he can send for someone better than the midwife who attended me yestereve. But I know he will not arrive in time."

Robin and Nicholas shared a glance. Nick stood up and made Mathilde a bow, and excused himself on the pretense of helping Aalys in the kitchens.

Robin looked at this woman who had saved his life, and felt only helplessness. He was not a healer, knew nothing of what to do. Yet he knew he had to try.

"Mathilde, "he began. "I have seen men on the field with this same condition. It takes a long time, but one can recover. I do not, however, know what exactly it is they did to accomplish that. If you could but tell me, Nick and I would make sure you had everything you needed."

Mathilde coughed some more fluid into her cloth and then laid her head down again.

"Robin...I have been drinking tea and water and wine and God only knows what else Aalys has prepared me the last few days. I have been bathed and rubbed and exercised. I have vomited up everything they have fed me, to the point where I now have nothing left to purge. I have had a priest bless me with holy water, and they even brought in a leech, though I did not let them bleed me. I have suffered enough, Robin."

Mathilde began to cough in earnest, coughing up still more fluids and making herself hoarse. Robin was definitely out of his realm of expertise: he had not even the slightest notion of how to help this brave woman who had saved his life. He stroked her hair, and he helped her sit up when she had to cough. He told her stories of his childhood, which sometimes made her laugh, causing her to cough even more. He did not know what to do except be with her, and so he sat with her through the night and into the morning.

Robin opened his eyes and squinted. The candle on the table was almost burned down: Mathilde was asleep, snoring softly. He looked around and saw Nicholas sleeping in a chair by the fire, and Aalys was on a pallet on the floor nearby. He rose and stretched and took himself off to use the garderobe.

He returned but a moment later to find Nicholas helping Mathilde sit upright in bed. Together the two brothers plumped the pillows behind her back, arranged the blankets to her liking, and then sat down again on either side of her. Nick had unearthed a chamber pot from beside the bed, and his normally fastidious brother did not even bat an eyelash when Mathilde took it from him and vomited her morning drink into the pot.

They took turns stroking her hair and wiping her sweat away, talking to her and each other. When she slept, they spoke of their brothers and sisters, and of Gwen and Rhys, and how they really should go home for a visit. They spoke, too of current events, such as when Louis might declare himself king, and what would befall the people of France without Philip there to claim territory for them, and other things that were important and unimportant alike.

Mathilde woke in the late afternoon and asked for a glass of water. Aalys had fallen asleep again, this time in a chair by the fire, so Nicholas offered to go get it.

"This is a good sign," said Robin hopefully. "You haven't really been thirsty at all. I am glad to see you are getting better," he offered.

Mathilde smiled and took his hand. "Robin...thank you both for coming here. It has meant a lot."

Robin gave her one of his rare smiles, the ones he reserved for family on most occasions. "Well, my friend, you saved my life a short time ago. How could I not come and grace your presence with my own sweet self to hasten your own recovery?"

Mathilde smiled again and then coughed for a long time, this time coughing up blood. She spat into the chamber pot again, and this time the blood was more obvious.

"Robin...would you do me a favor? A very great favor. If you please.," Mathilde asked him.

Robin nodded. "Of course. What would you like?"

Mathilde adjusted her pillows a bit and reclined. "I would very much like something fresh to look at in here. I have tended enough...sick people..and I know how I must look. Would you perhaps go outside in the garden and pick some of the wildflowers I have there? Aalys will find you a vase for them. I should like to look at something that also smells good," she joked.

Robin stood up and hastened to the door. "Not to worry, my friend Mathilde. I am not the least bit concerned with it being a less than manly pursuit. Flowers you desire, so flowers you shall have. I will be but a moment," he said, as he left the bedroom.

He passed Nicholas in the hall, who was carrying a pitcher of water and a glass.

"I am going on a small errand in the garden for Mathilde. I will be but a moment," he informed Nick.

Nicholas nodded and continued on while Robin went outside to pick flowers.

He knew nothing of flowers, of course. So he chose the ones that had the biggest...well, the biggest flowery parts. He chose a few that made him sneeze, which he then hastily dumped in a pile somewhere out of sight. No sense in making Mathilde sneeze as well. He gathered until he thought he had a sufficient amount, then turned to make his way into the house.

Halfway to the door he ran into Nicholas.

"Move aside, dolt. I am finished with this business of flowers and I am going to take them into Mathilde," Robin ordered.

"There is no need to, Robin," said Nick.

"What do you mean, there is no need? She asked me for them, you idiot! Now move aside," he commanded.

Nicholas put his hand on his brother's shoulder and looked him straight in the eyes.

"Robin," he began. "Mathilde does not need flowers."

It was then that Robin noticed the tears standing in Nick's eyes. Nay...she wasn't…

"Nicholas, I vow, if you are toying with me, I will-"

"Robin!" Nick all but shouted. "Rob," he said more softly this time. "I am sorry. She is...gone."

Robin grasped his fistful of flowers and strode past his brother and into the house. Naym she couldn't be gone! He opened the door to her room and there she was, sleeping. Yes, she was just sleeping. He walked to the bed and called her name.

"Mathilde! I brought your flowers. I didn't know which ones you liked, so I got a few of them all. Here, you must hold them so you will smell their sweet fragrance. I will fetch Aalys to get something to put them in.":

He picked up her hand and tried to close it around the flowers, but the damnable woman was asleep, so she could not grab them. He called her name a few times, but she did not wake up. He wiggled her hand a few times to no avail as well. Finally, in frustration and rage, he roared out her name at the top of his lungs.

"Robin!" It was Nicholas, who grabbed him from behind and slapped him in the face quite forcefully.

"Robin, damn you. Aalys is already distraught, and the midwife is here as well, and the two women are in the salon weeping their very hearts out. Think you that you might be a bit quieter?" he asked sternly.

Robin blinked, and noticed Nicholas for the first time. He turned to look back at the bed. He had thought...that is, he hoped that Mathilde was sleeping. But...he knew. She was indeed gone.

He turned back to her lifeless body and picked up the flowers he had nearly crushed when trying to get them in her hands. Clutching them in his clenched fist, he left the room, his head bowed.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Nicholas found him nearly an hour later, leaning against a stall in Mathilde's small stable, rooting around in his saddlebags. Robin looked exhausted. He looked up at Nick's approach, his eyes red but dry.

"What now?" he asked Nicholas.

"The midwife has been sent home, an she took Aalys with her. The girl has family nearby, and I believe she will go stay with them. I took the liberty of sending a messenger to Louis, as I believe he must be the one to take charge. And the priest from the village is here," he added.

"Good, " Robin responded. "Louis has offered to be her guardian-or had-I don't know. But he should know. The priest is handling...the rest?" has asked Nicholas.

"Yes. We should go, Rob. There isn't anything left here to do," he added quietly. "Come back with me to Beauvois. " he offered. Nicholas paused a moment, and then continued solemnly: "I know she loved you, Rob. She told me that you made her happy for the short time you were here. Let that be your last memory of her, and not this...this sickness. Let us take ourselves away from the madness that will surely ensue when Louis arrives. Remember her for the kind person she was."

Robin nodded. "If you don't mind, see if there is anything left to do. I will saddle the horses and await you here, and then follow you to your keep," Robin agreed.

Nicholas nodded and made his way back to the house to see if there was aught left for them to do. He disappeared around the corner and went inside.

Robin looked back at the house, and sighed deeply. He had not loved Mathilde, but they had indeed forged a special kind of friendship during their short time together. He would miss her laughter, and her smiles, and even her fiery temper when she was yelling at him. She had been a good healer and a remarkable woman.

He took the yellow roses still clutched in his hand and lopped the flower buds off, throwing the stems away. He had met a soldier once whose wife had sent him a rose from their garden, and the man had carried the dried petals with him in a small cloth sack everywhere he went. Robin plucked a few of the petals off the roses and placed them in a small cloth pouch, then put the pouch inside a wooden box and placed the box in his saddlebag. It seemed the best way to remember his friend. Perhaps he had not loved her, but maybe a small piece of his heart would always hurt for what he could never give her. And he would carry that piece of her with him, like the flowers from the garden.

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