Bliss(33)
Author: Lynsay Sands

Hethe almost snarled in response. "Like hell, actually. My head is pounding like the blacksmith’s hammer."

"Your head?" Helen asked, then glanced at Joan. "Should his head not be better by now? It has been two days."

"It is probably from the tincture," the healer answered. "Several days’ use can cause headaches."

"Oh." Helen relaxed somewhat, then caught a glimpse of her husband’s shock. She gave another "Oh!", this one a little guilty.

"Did you say two days?"

"Oh, dear," Helen breathed.

"And what tincture? I did not take any tincture." He glared at Joan, who was peering at Helen.

"I told you you should not slip it into his drink that way," Lady Shambleau murmured, drawing Hethe’s gaze to her before it shot to his wife in accusation.

"You dosed me without my knowledge?" he roared.

Helen jumped slightly. Her hands picked nervously at their trencher as the entire great hall went silent.

"You needed to rest and recover," she whispered, flushing under all her subjects’ eyes.

"I told you I did not want any damn tincture! How long… two days!" He answered his own question as he recalled what Helen had said a moment before. "You have been dosing me for two whole days?"

"Now, husband," his wife anxiously replied. "I was just – "

"I do not want to hear it!" Hethe snapped, rising.

"Where are you going?" She asked.

He heard her gasp in alarm as he turned away; then, pausing, he swung back and snatched a chicken leg out of her trencher. "For some fresh air. I need to think. By myself," he added coldly when she started to rise. He needed to be alone.

Helen sank slowly back onto the bench and watched unhappily as her husband left. At least, his anger appeared to have energized him, his pace was steady and strong, he no longer swayed as he strode away.

"You know, I do believe you may be right," Aunt Nell said, from beside her. "He did not react at all to the news that you have been drugging him as I would have expected. Perhaps he really did not order those punishments."

"I told you he did not," Helen snapped.

"Aye, but…" Aunt Nell paused, her gaze moving past her niece.

Turning curiously, Helen was shocked to find Maggie. She hadn’t seen the woman for the past two days, as Maggie’s daughter had gone into labor the morning after Hethe’s tumble down the stairs. The mistress of chambermaids had gone down to the village to help out, first with the labor, then in the tavern while her daughter and the baby recovered.

"Hello, Maggie," Helen began. "Is something wrong?"

"Nay, nay," the maid assured her quickly, then frowned. "Well, I am not sure. As you know, I have been helping out in the tavern these last two nights…"

"Aye, I know. That is fine. We will make do till your daughter can manage on her own again."

"Aye. Thankyou, but…" She hesitated, then blurted, "Stephen was in the tavern the night His Lordship took that tumble."

"What?" Helen stiffened with alarm.

"Aye. I wasn’t going to tell you, but it kept bothering me. Then, when I learned today that His Lordship didn’t fall down the stairs but was bashed over the head and tossed down them, well…"

"How did you know about…" Helen whirled to glare at her aunt accusingly. Nell was the only one she had told.

"Well," the older woman said with an apologetic look, "I went down to see the baby and it just sort of slipped out."

"Anyhow," Maggie continued, "I just thought as you should know that Sir Stephen is around. I should get back now. It was busy when I left, but…" She shrugged and turned away.

Helen watched the old woman go with a frown. Stephen had been in the tavern the night of Hethe’s accident. Had he been at Tiernay during the day, as well? She had to tell her husband and warn him.

Hethe leaned against the castle wall, his gaze roving over the star-studded sky. Much to his relief, the headache with which he had awoken was passing as he breathed in the fresh air. A few more minutes and it would be completely gone. It must have been caused by the tincture, as Joan had suggested.

Hethe grimaced at that reminder of his wife’s perfidy. The blasted woman had dosed him with the potion, sneaking it into his drink despite her knowledge of his wishes. He shifted, grimacing at the stiffness in his shoulder and side. Even after two days, he was terribly sore, and for a moment he was grateful he hadn’t been awake.

He laughed at himself wryly. So, was he angry or grateful? A little of both, he supposed. The woman was too smart for her own good. He rather liked that about her, but at the same time found it frustrating as hell.

The scuff of a foot was the only warning he got. Stiffening, Hethe started to turn when he was struck.

Blinded by the stabbing white lights shooting through his head, he stumbled under the blow, then felt himself lifted and pushed. Air rushed past him. He was falling, flying through the air. He heard a shout, then a splash as he crashed into water and sank into darkness.

Helen was halfway across the great hall when the keep doors crashed open. Pausing, she turned curiously, her eyes widening when William and her man Boswell stumbled in with a sopping, sagging Hethe held upright between them.

"What happened?" she cried, rushing forward.

It was Boswell who answered. "He tumbled off the wall into the moat," her chatelain said breathlessly, shifting Hethe’s arm which he had draped over his shoulder to help hold the unconscious Lord Holden up. "I heard what sounded like a shout and glanced up in time to see him falling through the air and into the moat."

"What?" Helen cried in disbelief.

"Aye, I was returning from the village when I saw it." Boswell added. "Had to run and pull him out. He swallowed a good bit of water before I could get to him, though."

"Do you want us to take him upstairs?" William asked pointedly, and Helen realized she was blocking their path. She stepped out of the way at once, then followed when they dragged him forward.

She was silent, her mind racing until they reached the bedchamber and William and Boswell moved her husband toward the bed. Then her practicality reasserted itself.

"Nay!" she shrieked as they went to lay him on it. Both men froze and turned to her questioningly.

"He –  Here, just set him in the chair until we get him cleaned up."

She glanced around, relieved to see that her aunt and maid had followed. "Ducky, have a bath brought up, please."

"Aye, my lady." The maid fled.

"Where do you two think you are going?" Aunt Nell demanded when Boswell and William started moving toward the door. "We will still need some help with bathing him."

"You want us to bathe him?" Boswell asked in surprise, and Helen caught the way her aunt rolled her eyes.

"Nay, you need not bathe him," Helen said patiently. She began tugging Hethe’s sodden tunic up his stomach. "But we will need your help getting him in and out of the tub. In fact, you can help me strip him while we wait for the water."

"I can strip myself."

Helen glanced down sharply at her husband at those husky words. "Husband, you are awake."

He lifted his head slowly, revealing open eyes that were a little dazed. "Aye. More’s the pity. I feel like hell. And I smell worse."

"Aye, you do," Helen agreed, then smiled apologetically when he grimaced at her. "What happened?

How did you end up in the moat?"

He lifted a hand to his forehead, frowning in concentration. "Someone knocked me in. Hit me over the head first."

"Again?" Helen cried in alarm. How many times had her husband suffered an injury to the head lately?

Was it three times? And the man still lived. He obviously had a skull as thick as the castle wall.

"Aye. Again. And it is all your fault," Hethe snapped, catching Helen’s attention and drawing a gasp of outrage from her.

"Mine?"

"Aye. If I had not still been a little fuzzy-headed from your potions, I would have heard the man approach."

Helen gaped at him for the accusation, then her eyes narrowed in fury. "Well, then it is a good thing you are such a hard-headed bastard."

Aunt Nell gasped in horror, and William and Boswell both shifted uncomfortably as silence filled the room. In response, Hethe asked with deadly calm, "And just what is that suppose to mean?"

"Nothing." Helen said sweetly. "Nothing at all. Though I should like to point out that you went completely unharmed while you were sleeping. However, since you won’t continue to rest and recover up here where it is safe, perhaps you should wear your helmet should you intend to wander about any more. It would appear you need it."

"You – " Hethe began furiously, but Aunt Nell saved Helen from his words by asking quickly, "Did you see who hit you?"

Hethe paused and glanced over at her. He started to shake his head, winced in pain, then said, "No,"

instead.

Her anger dissolving at seeing his pain, Helen released her pent-up breath on a sigh and reached out to caress his cheek. "Do you hurt anywhere besides your head?"

Hethe hesitated, then apparently decided to take the olive branch she offered. He reluctantly admitted,

"My chest and my throat."

"The chest and throat must be from swallowing moat water," she explained. Glancing at his damp, matted hair, she was disgusted to see something move in it. She wasn’t sure, but it seemed better to bathe him before checking for any more head wounds.

"You mean I swallowed that filth?" Hethe asked with horror.

Helen nearly laughed at his expression, but managed to swallow it back. "I fear so." She glanced around as her maid came back into the room, leading a contingent of servants carting a bathtub and pails of water. "Ducky, could you get a servant to fetch up some ale?"

"Aye, my lady."

Aunt Nell stopped her, saying, "Nay. I shall do it. Helen may need your help with bathing Lord Hethe."

She was gone before anyone could protest. Not that such seemed likely.

Helen turned back to Hethe. "Perhaps we should get you out of those clothes and into the tub."

Boswell and William immediately moved forward, and Hethe scowled from one man to the other. "I said I can do it myself."

"Aye," William agreed soothingly. "We’ll just stick around in case you’re needing a strong arm to get you to the tub. Better one of us than you sully Lady Helen’s clothes, too."

Hethe seemed to notice then that both men were as wet and filthy as himself. He turned an inquisitive look on William. "Did you pull me out?"

"Boswell got there first and did most of the work. I just helped."

"Oh." Hethe glanced to the man and nodded solemnly. "Thankyou, Boswell."

Helen’s man shrugged uncomfortably, but managed a grim "Milord," when she nudged him.

"Shall we get you into the tub now?" Helen prompted. The servants had finished their business and filed out.

Grunting, Hethe pushed himself to his feet… and nearly tumbled onto his face. Boswell and William each grabbed an arm to steady him, then began to help him undress, despite his protests, which grew fainter as the moments passed. It was rather obvious that he was growing weaker by the moment, and Helen was relieved that the men ignored his assurances that he could manage alone.

A servant arrived with the requested ale just as they helped Hethe to the tub. The girl handed it over to Helen, informing her that her aunt had arranged for baths to be prepared also for Boswell and William, so that they might clean up as well. Thanking her, Helen waited until Hethe was settled in the water, then passed on the news about the baths.

As the two men left, Helen moved to hand Hethe the mug of ale. He was so weak, he nearly dropped the drink in the water, but he refused to allow her to "feed him like a babe." Holding it with two hands, he gulped down some of the liquid, then handed the mug back.

Helen set it on the floor, then with Ducky’s help began to bathe him. They washed his hair first, grimacing at the bits of slime and ooze that came out. Everything and anything got dropped into the moat, from animal carcasses to the contents of chamber pots. Both women did their best not to think too hard on that as they scrubbed. Once Hethe’s hair was clean, Helen examined his head until she found the spot where he had been hit. The skin was split, and another goose egg was forming on his scalp. He was getting quite a collection.

‘ Tis a good thing he is so hardheaded, she thought dryly, pleased to see that he appeared to have fallen asleep.

Working as gently and quietly as they could to keep from disturbing him, Helen and Ducky continued washing him until he was once more pink and healthy looking. Or as pink and healthy looking as they could hope, considering his past few blows to the head.

"Ducky, mayhap you had best go fetch the men back to help us move him to the bed," Helen instructed, but Hethe promptly stirred, his eyes blinking open.

"Nay. I can manage," he said stubbornly.

Helen rolled her eyes at the foolish pride of men, but there was little she could do. Shrugging at Ducky’s questioning gaze, Helen, who had been kneeling beside the tub, slowly straightened and offered him her hand.

Ignoring it, Hethe braced his hands on each side of the tub and hefted himself up. Much to Helen’s amazement, he did gain his feet. Barely. But then he began to sway like a sapling in the wind, and Helen and Ducky both moved forward to brace him from either side. Afraid he would not be able to stay on his feet long, they left drying him off for later and helped him stumble out of the tub and to the bed. He collapsed there with a small sigh, his eyes immediately closing.

"Go make sure Sir William and Boswell are not waiting around to help. He is abed," Helen said to Ducky. As she set to work drying her husband, she heard the door close behind the departing maid. She turned her attention to Hethe’s feet and legs, then slowly moved her way upward. When she reached his thighs, her eyes widened. Her husband might be out of it, but his manhood was wide awake. She closed her linen-wrapped hand around it and squeezed gently, smiling when Hethe’s eyes popped open and he growled.