Chapter VIII: Friar Brando's Hermitage

Carlo sprinted up the riverbank, his feet slipping on the wet ground as he ran as fast as he could. Time was of the essence, and every second that passed felt like a race against death. Jacques' life hung in the balance, and Carlo had no intention of returning knew exactly where Friar Brando's hermitage lay: nestled within the forest just beyond the rocky slope. The hermit was renowned for his healing abilities, and if anyone could help Jacques survive his injuries, it was the good friar.

The landscape blurred as Carlo pushed his body harder, ignoring the burn in his muscles and the sting of the cold air in his lungs. He reached the small stone dwelling of Friar Brando, panting heavily as he banged urgently on the door.

The door creaked open to reveal an elderly grey-haired man, his face weathered by years of exposure to the elements, his eyes sharp and alert despite his age. "Carlo, what brings you here with such urgency?"

"'Tis Jacques Le Gris, our captain," Carlo gasped between breaths. "He's gravely injured – hit his head, cut deep in the leg. He's by the riverbank not far from here with the Countess. We need your help, Friar Brando, please! Now."

Brando didn't waste a moment. He grabbed a small leather bag filled with herbs, bandages, and tools for healing. "I'll come right away," he said, already moving out of the hut. "We'll need to make a stretcher to carry him."

Carlo nodded and quickly helped the friar gather two sturdy branches and some cloth to fashion a makeshift stretcher. With everything prepared, the two of them set off at once, racing back toward the Astico.

OOO

Back at the riverbank, Alisa clung tightly to Jacques. She was trembling, her body soaked from the river, but her concern for Jacques far outweighed her discomfort. She could hear his shallow breaths, and though he was still unconscious, the faint rise and fall of his chest gave her hope, a hope she clung desperately to.

As the minutes dragged on, Alisa found her distress growing to an almost unbearable level. She kept glancing toward the trees for any sign of Carlo's return. Then, at last, she heard footsteps – heavy and hurried – approaching. She judged it unlikely that it would be anyone else than her armiger and the friar but, for good measure, she clasped her dagger under the cloak covering her and Jacques.

"Countess!" Carlo called as he emerged from the underbrush, Friar Brando right behind him.

Relief surged through Alisa as the two men reached her. She moved away from Jacques, making room for the healer. Friar Brando immediately knelt by the captain, examining the makeshift bandages Alisa had applied. "You did well to slow the bleeding," he said, his voice calm and focused. "We need to get him to the hut. He can't stay out here in the cold any longer."

Carlo and Brando worked swiftly to place Jacques on the stretcher, carefully lifting him onto the cloth and branches. As they did, Jacques stirred slightly, his face scrunching in pain. His lips moved, but the words were barely a whisper. "Alisa... Alisa..." he mumbled, his voice weak and strained.

Alisa leaned closer, her heart pounding in her chest. "I'm here, Jacques," she said softly, brushing her hand across his brow.

"I... I didn't save you..." he muttered, his voice tinged with anguish. "I failed... I failed..."

Alisa's chest tightened at the sound of his words. He was delirious, lost in fevered dreams, but his concern for her was clear. She gently cupped his face, speaking in a soothing tone. "You didn't fail, Jacques. You saved me. I'm right here, safe, because of you."

His eyelids fluttered, but his consciousness slipped away again. Alisa bit her lip, holding back her emotions as she watched Carlo and Brando lifting the stretcher. She walked beside Jacques, her hand resting on his arm as they carefully made their way toward Friar Brando's hut.

OOO

The trek back to the hermitage was slow and arduous, the terrain uneven and slick from the recent rains as the men treaded it warily, trying to shake Jacques as less as possible.

Alisa walked close to her captain, never leaving his side, her heart heavy with worry as his feverish murmurs continued. His body was limp on the stretcher, but every so often he would shift, mumbling incoherently about her safety.

By the time they reached the hermitage, Jacques' breathing had grown more laboured. Friar Brando wasted no time in directing them inside, where they carefully moved Jacques on a cot near the fire. Alisa stood by his side, her eyes never leaving him as Brando began tending to his wounds. He cut his breeches to better reach the gash on his thigh, then applied there a poultice of vulnerary herbs to stop the bleeding, and a salve to reduce the swelling on the side of his head.

"He's strong," the friar said quietly after a moment, his hands moving with the steady precision of the practiced healer he was. "But we must keep him warm and watch for infection. The river is unforgiving."

Alisa nodded, her gaze fixed on Jacques' pale face. "He'll make it," she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else. "He has to."

Brando heard her and cast her a probing glance, but said nothing.

Jacques stirred once more, his feverish dreams pulling him back to the surface. "My lady... I'm sorry..." he murmured, his voice barely audible. His hand twitched as if searching for something.

Without thinking, Alisa reached out, intertwining her fingers with his. Hearing Jacques repeating his apologies for not saving her, for failing her, tore her heart in pieces. She couldn't stand that he felt inadequate, incapable to perform his duty. She squeezed his hand in the hope hecould feel her presence despite he was unconscious.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Jacques," she whispered, speaking softly to give her voice a resemblance of firmness, or otherwise it would come out broken. "You saved my life."

As she held his hand, watching him struggle through the haze of fever, Alisa's own feelings for him deepened. She wasn't ready to fully confront them, but in that moment, with his life hanging in the balance, all she wanted was for him to pull through. She was determined to stay by his side, waiting and praying for the moment when he would open his eyes again.

"My lady", Friar Brando addressed her respectfully. "You need to get off those soaked clothes, or you'll catch a cold or even worse."

Alisa opened her mouth to protest against such idea, but the friar held up his hand in an authoritative way. "'Twas no request, Countess", he said sternly, offering her a long cassock of rough, but warm woollen fabric. "Go in the next room and change. I will take care of your garb, hanging it to dry in front of the fire. Then, you'll have my special remedy to prevent colds. You'd be useless to your captain if you get ill."

Recognising the friar was right, Alisa accepted his garment and went to change, returning immediately to Jacques' side.

Meanwhile, Brando had busied himself with taking off Jacques' wet jacket and shirt, hanging them near the hearth and replacing them with a short linen tunic. He took off his shredded breeches too and threw them in the garbage, as they were irreparably damaged.

Carlo too had beneficiated of the friar's generosity and sported now another of his vestments.

"My humble abode has turned into a small monastery", Brando chuckled, eliciting a pale smile from Alisa as she accepted his fragrant herbal tea. It smelled good, and tasted as much, unlike some remedies Alisa had experienced in the past. Carlo too got a steaming mug of it.

As they drank, Alisa turned to the valiant armiger. "I haven't thanked you yet for saving Captain Le Gris from the river", she said apologetically. "I am very grateful. 'Twas a very brave gesture."

"I only carried out my duty..."

"Nay", Alisa cut him off, shaking her head. "You risked your own life, and I won't forget it." She took another sip. "Tomorrow morning you will start at daybreak", she then instructed him. "Go to Valdastico as quick as possible to get some men and horses to bring back Jacques at Malatesta Castle."

"Aye, my lady", the armiger nodded in agreement, then he glanced at her. "You will stay, I presume?"

"I will", she said, her tone brooking no argument.

As they spoke, Brando had concocted another of his beverages. He poured a small quantity into a beaker and added cold water to make it lukewarm. Then, the friar walked again to Jacques and, massaging his Adam's apple to trigger the automatic reflex of swallowing, had him drinking the remedy. "He will most likely develop a fever", the friar explained to his guests. "Which is not alarming in itself, as 'tis the way our body fights infection. However, this infusion of willow bark, chamomile and sage will help preventing it, or at least, keeping it at bay."

Alisa nodded, grateful to the healer and his renowned skills. "Thank you, Friar Brando. We owe you our lives."

"Nay, my lady, you owe them to the Almighty", Brando smiled gently at her before returning to the fireplace. A cauldron was suspended over it, giving out a nice smell of cereal soup. Brando stirred it, retrieving the long wooden spoon to taste it. He seasoned it with some herbs, then tasted it again. "Excellent", he proclaimed. "Our Lord never said we have not to eat well, just to not indulge into food. Gluttony is a sin, but not enjoying good food."

With that nugget of wisdom, he filled three earthenware bowls and handed them out to his guests along with a spoon.

Alisa was not hungry, consumed by worry about Jacques, however she was aware that she had to keep her strength, hence she ate without dispute. The simple soup of spelt and barley enriched with lentils and peas tasted delicious though, and she finished the whole content of her bowl.

As Carlo helped their host to wash up, dry off and place the crockery back in the tiny cupboard leaning against the wall opposite the fireplace, Alisa retuned by Jacques' side. A strand of hair had fallen onto his brow and she brushed it aside.

Brando caught the movement, which held a great tenderness; he kept a stone face, but he suddenly realised that the lady's feelings for her knight went far beyond simple affection. However, it was none of his business; hence, he looked away and kept his thoughts to himself, turning to Carlo instead. "I think you will start early in the morn to get to the castle?" he enquired.

"Aye, Lady Alisa instructed me this way", Carlo confirmed. "She will stay though. She's not going to leave Sir Jacques' side."

He turned pensive eyes on his mistress and his injured captain, and the friar realised Carlo too had guessed what he had.

"Very well then", he said hastily, to take the armiger's attention off the two. "If you're going to leave at sunrise, you'd better go to sleep. Come."

He led Carlo in a corner of the main room, giving him a couple of blankets to prepare a makeshift bedding. The armiger, used to sleep even rougher when needed, didn't complain and lay down at once.

Brando returned to Alisa. "My lady, there's another cot if you want to sleep more comfortably than in this chair", he tried, but was not surprised when the lady shook her head in the negative.

"I will stay right here", she said. "I can take naps leaning down onto the mattress at my valiant knight's side."

"Of course, my lady", the friar said, bowing slightly. "I will lay down on the other cot myself then. The fire is set to last throughout the night, but should it run too low, please call me to rekindle it."

"No need for that, good friar", Alisa produced a pale smile. "I can do that myself."

"As you wish", Brando said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth: he knew Alisa's fame as an everything but idle noblewoman. "Should Sir Jacques show signs of pain, however, or his fever raise, call me immediately."

"I will", Alisa said, giving him leave him with a kind, but firm nod.

As soon as Brando was gone, Alisa turned to Jacques. She studied his wan face, but now his features were peaceful, the remedies the healer had given him having kicked in to keep off pain and fever. She leaned down to him and caressed his pale cheek. "Jacques, my knight, my friend", she whispered. "If you can hear me, know that you haven't failed me, you haven't disappointed me in the least. You saved my life. Now fight and save yours. I don't want to lose you. Please, stay with me..."

Her voice broke off as a lump formed in her throat. She couldn't lose him, she simply couldn't... not after Riccardo, her mother, her father... she could not bear another loss...

"Oh Lord, God Almighty, please let him live..." she prayed softly, fervently. "Let him be with me..."

OOO

As night settled over Friar Brando's small hermitage, the only sounds that filled the silence were the crackling of the fire and the occasional rustle of the trees outside. Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of herbs that Brando had carefullyprepared to keep Jacques' fever at bay. The knight lay motionless on the cot, his breathing steady but shallow. Alisa sat beside him, her eyes drooping with exhaustion after the long, tense day. Finally, she allowed herself to close her eyes, drifting into a restless sleep, stooping on the mattress at his side, her brow resting on her folded arms.

Deep in the quiet hours of the night, Jacques stirred. His body ached, and his head throbbed with a dull pain, but there was something else... a presence, warm and comforting, right beside him. His eyelids fluttered, and for the briefest moment, he regained consciousness.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

His vision was hazy, the room around him dimly lit by the soft glow of the fire. But then he saw her – Alisa – curled up next to him, her head resting near his shoulder, her face peaceful in sleep. He blinked, his mind struggling to make sense of it. Was this real? Was she truly here, lying beside him? It couldn't be. It had to be a dream, but if it was, it was a dream he never wanted to end.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and without thinking, he whispered, his voice hoarse from disuse: "Mon amour... mia adorata...[my beloved]"

The words, half in French and half in Venetian, slipped from him so naturally, a confession that had been buried deep within his heart for so long, now finally surfacing in this dream-like state.

He couldn't tell if this was reality or just a fevered dream, but he didn't care. It felt too good, too right. His eyes fluttered closed again, as he was ready to surrender to the dream, but a slight movement beside him made him pause.

Alisa stirred, blinking as she woke. Her gaze fell upon Jacques, her brown eyes widening with a mix of surprise and tenderness. For a moment, she simply looked at him, as if processing what she had just heard. Her soft eyes gazed into his, filled with affection and something more... something that made his heart pound in his chest.

"Jacques..." she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I love you too."

His heart nearly stopped at her words.

She loved him.

He wasn't dreaming. The overwhelming joy that surged through him was almost too much to bear. Without thinking, he reached out, his hands trembling as they found her, pulling her toward him.

Alisa came willingly, stretching out next to him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she leaned closer. The moment their bodies met, Jacques felt like he was alive for the first time in years. His heart raced as she straddled his lap, her legs bracketing his sides as she settled against him. Even through the layers of the sheet and the tunic covering him, he felt the burning heat of her centre against his. His body instantly responded, hardening.

Her fingers brushed softly against his cheek, her touch sending a hot shiver through him, and he looked up into her eyes, his own gaze full of love, disbelief, and longing. "Alisa…" he whispered again, his voice rough with emotion.

She cupped his face, her fingers gently stroking his jawline as she smiled softly at him. "I love you. I've been too afraid to admit it, but I've always felt it, just like you."

His heart swelled, and without a second thought, he closed the small distance between them, capturing her lips in a kiss. It was tender at first, hesitant, as if testing the waters of a love they had both longed for but never dared to express. But soon, it deepened, their lips and tongues moving together with a hunger born of weeks, months of suppressed desire.

Jacques' hands rested on her waist, feeling the warmth of her body beneath his touch. He pulled her closer, needing her near, and in return, she leaned down, brushing her lips against his. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it quickly deepened again, becoming filled with the longing they had both denied for so long.

"Alisa..." he whispered against her lips, the word a plea, a prayer, as if speaking her name could anchor him to this moment forever.

Her breath mingled with his as she kissed him again, her fingers threading through his hair, while he held her tightly as though he never wanted to let her go. "Je t'aime," he murmured in French, his voice filled with raw emotion. Then, in Venetian, he whispered, "Te amo... più de quanto te possi mai savère. [I love you... more than you could ever know.]"

His arms wrapped more firmly around her, pulling her even closer against him as he buried his face in her neck. Here, she was everything: his love, his home, his world. He felt her heartbeat against his chest, steady and strong, and for the first time in a long while, there was peace. There was no distance, no hesitation, only the overwhelming certainty that he loved her, had always loved her, and wanted nothing more than to spend every moment of his life by her side.

She stirred then, hands quickly moving aside the sheet covering him, pushing up his tunic to expose his virility. Jacques thought that he should be astonished, that he had to stop her because this was completely inappropriate, that she had to think about her reputation... but it felt so right, so natural, that he hadn't the strength to oppose her. Besides, his would be only a formal resistance, because he wanted this as much as Alisa too seemed to want it.

A moment later, lifting her skirt, she straddled him again, their bared centres making contact for the first time. Both gasped, a thrill they had never experienced before washing over them.

She was so warm, so wet, so supple. She swayed her hips until he was firmly against her opening and then, slowly, she slipped down his length. Again, they gasped, then moaned in unison as they experimented the pleasure the friction was giving them.

Alisa started to rock her hips in a sweet, steady rhythm that sent shots of delight down Jacques' spine. He grasped her waist, his hands travelling up her back to urge her down to him. Her bare breasts came into his sight and their hardened peaks lured him like a spell. He craned his neck and captured one between his lips, sucking it, circling it with the tip of his tongue. Alisa threw her head back and moaned, delighted by his ministrations.

As the climax started to build within them, her rhythm increased. They climbed the heights of pleasure together, and when they reached the culmination, release was so overwhelming they hadn't even enough breath to voice the pleasure it gave them. They stilled as their centres shook uncontrollably, stars exploding beneath their closed eyelids, blood roaring in their ears, hearts racing.

Time stopped.

Then, they slumped into each other's arms, panting hard, incredulous at what they had experienced together.

"I love you, Jacques", Alisa whispered in his ear, her breath warm and sweet against his skin.

"Alisa," he whispered in return, his voice thick. "I will love you until my last breath..."

But as the dream held him in its tender embrace, reality tugged at him once more. His fevered mind began to fade, and the warmth of her presence slipped away like mist dissolving in the morning sun. Jacques tried to hold on to her, to the dream, but it was no use. Darkness closed in around him again, pulling him under, and the dream dispelled into nothingness.

Still, even as he sank back into unconsciousness, her name lingered on his lips.

"Alisa..."

OOO

Uncomfortable in the position she was, Alisa stirred in her sleep. However, it was not her stiff neck that half woke her up, but a soft murmur. A deep male voice was mumbling something in a loving tone. Although still asleep, Alisa sensed the words. Indifferent languages, someone was calling her tender names and confessing their love to her. Her heart throbbed in joy: Jacques was telling her he loved her, not like a knight loves his lady, or a friend loves a friend, but like a lover! Bliss overwhelmed her, taking her breath away. The world seemed suddenly full of light and warmth. This was right, this was what she had yearned for, for a time so long she didn't even remember. She hasn't been even aware of her longing, too buried in sorrow after the loss of Riccardo, who had been taken from her so brutally, then mourning for her mother, and then the management of the fief as her father's heir, and on top of it, Galeotto Malatesta's passing two years earlier. All this time, she had craved for someone who would love and cherish her, someone to rely on, who would offer her protection and respect as an equal; not only a lover, but a friend. Someone to whom she would mean everything, and who would mean everything to her.

This someone was Jacques Le Gris.

The realisation came as a blow to her head, leaving her dizzy, her head spinning. And yet, she felt at peace, an ecstasy in her heart as if she was in heaven, life finally worth living because Jacques Le Gris was in it.

Alisa's eyes fluttered open, on her lips the words I love you too, but Jacques was fast asleep.

Disappointment washed over her.

It had been but a dream.

She had fallen for Jacques Le Gris, but he had more than once firmly stated that he was not in the least interested in romantic involvements. During the time they had known each other, several women had thrown themselves at him, starting with Giselle during their trip to Aquileia, but despite his reputation as a ladies' man, he had refused them all, proving his words with facts.

Tears stung her eyes as she suppressed the sob threatening to escape her throat.

She had no hope.

Alisa closed her eyes as a solitary tear rolled down her temple into the pillow she shared with Jacques. She swallowed hard, gathering her will with all the fierce determination that characterised her.

This would be the one and only time she would allow herself to grieve about something – someone – she couldn't have. Jacques Le Gris would still be her fearless knight, a noble protector and a good friend, but nothing more. She had to erase her feelings of romantic love for him and replace them with benevolence, gratitude, camaraderie.

She wouldn't embarrass him with a different attitude.

She could do this.

She would do this.

Exhausted by both the long day and the turmoil in her heart and soul, Alisa fell into a troubled sleep.

OOO

After a frugal breakfast, Carlo started at dawn, again in his usual attire. Alisa too changed into her own clothes again, then broke her fast along with Friar Brando. On foot, Carlo would need at least two hours to get to Valdastico; Sergeant Roberto and Stefano would quickly prepare a rescue party and ride as fast they could to their aid, but it would take surely another two hours.

The rescue party showed up much earlier than expected, Roberto himself at the lead. He sprang down from his steed and hurried over to Alisa. "My lady! Thank the Lord you're safe and sound!" he cried, relief evident in his voice.

"I am", she confirmed briskly. "But Captain Le Gris is not. The good friar here has taken care of him, but we need him back home for a proper recovery. Friar Brando will come with us to ensure Jacques receives immediate care, should he need it."

Roberto gestured to a couple of the armigers, who unfolded a stretcher. "As soon as Giuliano reported the incident, I immediately put together a rescue party, but 'twas already too dark to set out. We started this morning at the crack of dawn and met Carlo halfway."

This explained their timely arrival, thought Alisa, very pleased with their efficiency.

Despite her great worry for Jacques, she hadn't forgotten about the rest of the convoy. "Are the others safe?" she asked.

"Aye, my lady", Roberto confirmed. "One of the drivers, Nico, is missing though, and two mules."

"Drowned in the Astico, sadly", Alisa reported sorrowfully. "Send men patrolling both riverbanks as soon as possible, in the hope we can retrieve Nico's body to give him a Christian burial."

"We saw one of the mules' carcass on the far riverbank, on our way here", Roberto told her. "Mayhap Nico isn't that far."

"Let's hope so", nodded Alisa.

Soon, the men had Jacques lying on the stretcher, wrapped in furs to keep him warm, and they set out at once.

Jacques remained unconscious for most of the journey back to the castle. His injuries, especially the wound on his thigh and the blow to his head, left him in a fragile state.

The trip was long and arduous, as they couldn't march on quickly, as they had to move him carefully. Friar Brando came along as promised, constantly checking Jacques' condition during the journey. He had offered to stay at the castle until Ruggero, the physician who had remained in San Pietro, would return.

As for Alisa, she refused to take a horse and leave Jacques' side. She walked alongside the stretcher, opposite to Brando, her heart heavy as she watched the knight she had come to fall for so deeply in such a vulnerable state. Though her thoughts were conflicted, she kept her focus on the task at hand: getting Jacques safely back to the castle, where he could receive proper care until full healing. Every step of the journey felt slow, the uneven terrain testing their patience and resolve. Alisa's determination never wavered, though. She knew that without Jacques, her life and her heart would be empty, and that nothing would fill them anymore.

By the time they arrived at the castle, Jacques' condition had worsened. He drifted in and out of consciousness, occasionally murmuring incoherent words that made little sense. Alisa was terribly concerned, but Friar Brando worked tirelessly to stabilize the French knight, administering herbs and remedies to control the fever and stave off infection.

Once Jacques was settled in a comfortable bedchamber adjacent to Alisa's, she took upon herself to watch incessantly over him, leaving him only sporadically when she needed to relieve herself. She instructed her maids as to bring her meals here, and asked her efficient steward Stefano to take care of whatever he could, postponing everything that wasn't urgent or strictly necessary. For anything demanding the lady of the fief's personal attention, she would perform her duties from here.

Time passed slowly in the mostly silent bedchamber. When not working, Alisa found comfort in reading a book as Jacques slept, the soft glow of the firelight casting flickering shadows on the walls. Frequently, she glanced up from her book to check on him, watching his chest rise and fall with laboured but steady breaths.

As night fell, Marta, one of the elder maids, came to Alisa. "My lady, you need to sleep", she said softly. "I can stay with Captain Le Gris tonight."

Alisa sighed: she knew that the middle-aged woman was right. "Thank you", she answered. "But I don't want to leave him... Bring me a camp bed from the barracks, I can sleep there."

Marta cast her a surprised glance, which soon turned knowing, but said nothing. "As you wish, my lady", she replied, and left to fetch the bed.

Friar Brando came to see his patient. He touched Jacques' brow for fever and checked his bandages, changing the cataplasm on his thigh. "He's doing fine", the healer told Alisa reassuringly. "The fever is diminishing, and the bump on his head is starting to going down. As for the cut on his leg, the cataplasm seems to work as to fight off the infection. Let's hope it will remain so and heal perfectly, leaving just one more scar for him to show off as a proof of his courage."

Alisa would pray for this to happen. "Thank you, good friar", she said softly.

Brando nodded humbly, then he started to gather his stuff. "I will come tomorrow morn to check on him again. Send for me if anything worries you during the night. I don't expect it, but he may have a bad dream and move too much, reopening the wound and making it bleed again, or his fever could go higher again."

Alisa nodded. The friar slung his bag over his shoulder and, with a respectful bow of his head, exited the bedchamber.

Alisa was again alone with Jacques. She lighted some more candles and seated herself again on the upholstered chair, taking her book again. Reading was only to pass time when she had nothing to do, and it was quite rare. To lighten her mood and take her mind off her deep heartache, she had chosen one of her favourites, Chrétien de Troyes' Lancelot ou le Chevalier de la Charrette, a novel about Lancelot du Lac, Knight of the Round Table, in French, one of the several languages she mastered and, above all now in her eyes, Jacques' native tongue.

She read for some time, then ate the evening meal Marta brought to her. Afterwards, Alisa sat on the bed next to Jacques and took his hand. "My brave captain", she whispered. "Come back. Please, my dear, dear friend... come back."

Don't leave me, my love, she added silently.

She would never tell him she had fallen in love with him, but she could still act as his friend. It would be hard, but she could do it. For his sake.

OOO

Three days passed. Friar Brando's exceptional skills kept Jacques' fever low enough as to not become a threat to his life while his body fought the infection. Alisa never left her knight's bedside, except for very short breaks to freshen up.

She had a barber coming every day to carefully shave Jacques, keeping his goatee and moustache in perfect order as she knew he liked to, and personally freshened him up with a cloth twice a day, thus helping Brando's remedies to keep the fever down.

On the early afternoon of the fourth day, Jacques stirred, his mind foggy with a combination of pain and the aftermath of his prolonged, albeit low fever. He wasn't sure if he was dreaming, but when he opened his eyes, he saw her: Alisa, sitting beside his bed. The sight of her brought warmth to his heart, and for a fleeting moment, he believed he was still lost in his feverish dreams.

But then, just moments before murmuring her name, repeating his heartfelt endearment for her, he blinked several times, trying to clear his vision, his mind slowly catching up with the reality that this wasn't a dream. She was truly here, sitting by his bedside, her focus on the book in her lap. The vision of her, dressed in a beautiful dark blue gown, her hair elegantly tied with a loose ribbon, made him catch his breath. She was the image of grace and nobility, and it struck him deeply.

In his dreams, she had been his: his lover, his equal, someone who had whispered promises of love into his ear. But now, seeing her as she was, a noble lady of the highest rank, the mistress of Valdastico, that dream seemed like a cruel joke. The woman in front of him wasn't his lover. She was his employer, his lady. And even worse, his heart told him she was far beyond his reach, a simple squire from Normandy who had become a knight just before leaving France in disgrace.

Jacques reached up, touching his face, feeling the smoothness of his freshly shaven skin. He was definitely awake. He sighed, realizing the truth of the matter: her attention and care were not personal, not unique to him. She would do the same for any of her subjects in his position. He was nothing special.

That bitter thought stung deeply, leaving him in silent turmoil. Memories of the first dream he had had came rushing back, haunting him. He had been foolish to imagine such things: Alisa in his arms, her lips on his, the declaration of love that had felt so real. The pleasure they had shared as their bodies melted into one while making sweet love. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and he silently prayed she hadn't heard anything he might have said in his fevered state.

He watched her from the corner of his eye, observing how peaceful she seemed, absorbed in her reading. A heavy weight settled over his heart as he realized what he must do. Once he had recovered his strength, there would be no choice left for him. He would have to leave. Staying here, so close to her yet unable to have her, to be with her the way he longed, was too much. The pain of watching her, knowing she was beyond his reach, would eventually break him. He couldn't endure his heartache forever...

Jacques shifted slightly in the bed, trying to adjust his position, but a sharp pain shot through his leg, forcing a gasp from his lips.

Alisa instantly raised her eyes from the book and her gaze met Jacques'. She realised at once that there was no trace of fever in his beautiful dark eyes and an inexpressible joy washed over her. Her face lighted up, the thin lines of concern fading from her brow, and she sprang up, dropping the preciously leather-bound tome and rushing to sit onto the bed. She grasped Jacques' hand and lifted it to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles before she could stop herself.

"You're awake, at last", she whispered, her voice raspy with raw emotion she was unable to suppress. "Praise the Lord... I prayed so hard this moment would come soon."

Seeing surprise in Jacques' eyes, Alisa closed hers and inhaled deeply as to recollect herself. Reopening her eyes, she placed his hand back onto the mattress and smiled friendly at him. "Welcome back, Jacques", she said softly, as poised as ever but with the usual warmth that spoke of the affection she always had for him, and never concealed. She was not starting to change that, as she had decided her attitude towards him would not be different from the past. "You had me worried about you, but now you're much better. Friar Brando was sure you would wake up today, and he has proved right."

Her smile was dazzling. "You have still quite a bump in the side of your head, and a nasty-looking scar will mark your thigh forever, but you're going to heal completely, just in time to dance with me at my birthday feast in two weeks."