Read Online The Whispering Night by Kathryn Le Veque - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kathryn Le Veque
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stitches. He swept Derica
into his arms and carried her into the tower. By this time, the place was in a
panic and there were several anxious faces to greet them. Garren ignored the
worry, more concerned with tending Derica than answering foolish questions. He
snapped orders to the servants and sent them running for healing supplies,
ignoring Derica's family as they tried to stop him and inspect her injury for
themselves.
"What
happened?" Bertram demanded. "How was she struck by your sword, le
Mon? Give me answers, I say!"
Garren growled at him.
"She was trying to save me from your foolish brothers. If you have anyone
to admonish, better spend your breath on them. Were it not for their stupidity,
none of us would be in the position we now find ourselves in."
Bertram cast Lon a long
look. Alger refused to look at him at all, appearing more concerned with his
niece. Garren shoved past Bertram and the others, mounting the steps to the
upper floor; he would have been angry about the blockade were he not more
concerned about Derica's mental state at this moment. She was pale and weepy,
trying to be brave. He doubted she could have handled a confrontation of any
kind.
Once in her chamber, he laid
her upon the bed. The menfolk were crowding in behind them and once she was out
of his arms, he was more forceful about chasing them back. Aglette squeezed in
through the door, bearing water and witch-hazel.
"I will see to my
daughter, le Mon," Bertram insisted. "You will not stop me."
Garren was not to be
trifled with. "I have no time to waste with you, so I will make this
clear. Derica does not need a gaggle of men hanging over her right now and I
can guarantee that I have treated more battle wounds than you have seen in your
lifetime. Leave her to me and trust that she will be properly cared for."
Bertram glared at him.
"She is my daughter. You have no right to touch her, in any fashion, more
than I."
"She is my wife, in
the eyes of law if not yet in the eyes of God. But that, too, shall be reckoned
two days hence." He planted a big hand squarely on Bertram's chest and
pushed the man back, through the chamber door. "Be gone. I shall send word
when she is well enough for visitors."
He slammed the door and
bolted it before Bertram could respond. Ignoring the raving on the opposite
side of the door, he returned his focus to Derica.
She was sitting up in
her bed, pale, but the tears had subsided. Garren smiled gently as he
approached, all but shoving Aglette aside and taking the stool from her. He
peeled away the remaining material as Derica sucked in her breath, pained by
his touch.
"I am sorry,"
he murmured. "I know it hurts."
She shook her head,
biting her lip and looking away from the blood that stained her gown. "Not
much, it doesn't."
He knew she was lying
but he would not contradict her. He inspected the wound more closely, seeing
bits of material in it. He had to clean it out quickly and sew it up.
"Derica," he
said softly. "I need to clean the wound and put a few stitches in it. Be
brave just a while longer and we'll be done with this foolishness. Are you with
me?"
Derica had tended wounds
before like this, on her brothers and uncles. She knew they healing sometimes
hurt worse than the injury, but she nodded to his question.
"Aye," she
whispered. "Hurry and get it over with."
Up until this moment,
Garren had ignored his guilt at having done this to her, however accidental.
Now he was seized with remorse. Tending her wound was going to hurt him far
more than it would hurt her.
"I brought this, my
lord," Aglette shoved a bottle at him. "If we get her drunk on wine,
she'll not feel a thing."
Garren knew that wasn't
quite the truth, but he took the bottle from her anyway. "My thanks,"
he held it up to Derica. "It might help, my lady."
Derica took a few large
gulps, as if the faster and more she drank, the less the shock and pain. It
was strong and tart. Garren watched her take another gulp before moving in
into his arms and carried her into the tower. By this time, the place was in a
panic and there were several anxious faces to greet them. Garren ignored the
worry, more concerned with tending Derica than answering foolish questions. He
snapped orders to the servants and sent them running for healing supplies,
ignoring Derica's family as they tried to stop him and inspect her injury for
themselves.
"What
happened?" Bertram demanded. "How was she struck by your sword, le
Mon? Give me answers, I say!"
Garren growled at him.
"She was trying to save me from your foolish brothers. If you have anyone
to admonish, better spend your breath on them. Were it not for their stupidity,
none of us would be in the position we now find ourselves in."
Bertram cast Lon a long
look. Alger refused to look at him at all, appearing more concerned with his
niece. Garren shoved past Bertram and the others, mounting the steps to the
upper floor; he would have been angry about the blockade were he not more
concerned about Derica's mental state at this moment. She was pale and weepy,
trying to be brave. He doubted she could have handled a confrontation of any
kind.
Once in her chamber, he laid
her upon the bed. The menfolk were crowding in behind them and once she was out
of his arms, he was more forceful about chasing them back. Aglette squeezed in
through the door, bearing water and witch-hazel.
"I will see to my
daughter, le Mon," Bertram insisted. "You will not stop me."
Garren was not to be
trifled with. "I have no time to waste with you, so I will make this
clear. Derica does not need a gaggle of men hanging over her right now and I
can guarantee that I have treated more battle wounds than you have seen in your
lifetime. Leave her to me and trust that she will be properly cared for."
Bertram glared at him.
"She is my daughter. You have no right to touch her, in any fashion, more
than I."
"She is my wife, in
the eyes of law if not yet in the eyes of God. But that, too, shall be reckoned
two days hence." He planted a big hand squarely on Bertram's chest and
pushed the man back, through the chamber door. "Be gone. I shall send word
when she is well enough for visitors."
He slammed the door and
bolted it before Bertram could respond. Ignoring the raving on the opposite
side of the door, he returned his focus to Derica.
She was sitting up in
her bed, pale, but the tears had subsided. Garren smiled gently as he
approached, all but shoving Aglette aside and taking the stool from her. He
peeled away the remaining material as Derica sucked in her breath, pained by
his touch.
"I am sorry,"
he murmured. "I know it hurts."
She shook her head,
biting her lip and looking away from the blood that stained her gown. "Not
much, it doesn't."
He knew she was lying
but he would not contradict her. He inspected the wound more closely, seeing
bits of material in it. He had to clean it out quickly and sew it up.
"Derica," he
said softly. "I need to clean the wound and put a few stitches in it. Be
brave just a while longer and we'll be done with this foolishness. Are you with
me?"
Derica had tended wounds
before like this, on her brothers and uncles. She knew they healing sometimes
hurt worse than the injury, but she nodded to his question.
"Aye," she
whispered. "Hurry and get it over with."
Up until this moment,
Garren had ignored his guilt at having done this to her, however accidental.
Now he was seized with remorse. Tending her wound was going to hurt him far
more than it would hurt her.
"I brought this, my
lord," Aglette shoved a bottle at him. "If we get her drunk on wine,
she'll not feel a thing."
Garren knew that wasn't
quite the truth, but he took the bottle from her anyway. "My thanks,"
he held it up to Derica. "It might help, my lady."
Derica took a few large
gulps, as if the faster and more she drank, the less the shock and pain. It
was strong and tart. Garren watched her take another gulp before moving in
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