She glanced out the window to the deepening darkness. Jasper had mentioned they were at St. Thomas’s again. She wasn’t familiar with all of the churches in Canterbury, but St. Thomas’s was one of the closest to the cathedral. Why had Ellen and Harrison gone there? When Marian had done research on St. Sepulchre, she’d studied some of the other churches in the area. St. Thomas’s hadn’t been constructed until the mid-1800s. It had sustained damage during the Blitz during World War II. But otherwise, she hadn’t found anything significant about it.
Were they hoping to use it as a decoy to get their pursuers to think something was located there?
With exhaustion weakening her again, she returned to the bed and climbed beside Will. Her thoughts tumbled together with confusion and distress. Maybe with some sleep, she’d gain clarity on what she needed to do next.
* * *
Will stretched, and he didn’t feel even the slightest twinge, almost as though he’d never been injured. God had truly worked a miracle through the holy water. He could explain his healing no other way.
He opened his eyes to the faint light of dawn beginning to chase away the shadows. How long had he slept? One day? Two?
The quietness of the manor and the outside grounds told him everyone was still asleep.
What of Marian?
He glanced at the chair next to his bed. It was empty. Bracing himself for pain, he pushed up, only to realize once again he didn’t feel anything. Anything, except the warmth and softness of a body next to his.
Marian’s long hair was unplaited and spread out in waves around her. He reached for a handful, lowered his face into it, and breathed her in. She was turned away from him, but he could see that she’d shed her gown and was attired in only a shift.
He brushed his fingers across her shoulder and then down her upper arm. Swift desire jolted through him. Ere he could stop himself, he lowered himself against her. His rational side admonished him to wait, to allow her to sleep. She was likely exhausted from endless hours of tending to him.
But another part of him couldn’t keep from reaching for her. He’d squelched his desires and had tested the limits of his patience for long enough. With all they’d been through together, surely she would accept him now, even welcome him into her arms. She’d never given any indication she didn’t like his touch. Rather she seemed to burn for him as much as he did her, if the soft sounds of her pleasure and the way she melded against him were any indication.
He bent his head, parted her hair, and found the sleek column of her neck. His lips made contact with her smooth skin, and he almost groaned. He circled his hands around to her stomach, waiting for her to waken and sense his presence. He wanted her to arch into him, slip her hand over his, and give him permission to keep going.
Even though he had every right to claim her as his wife—always had—he wouldn’t move forward unless she was equally ready and rested. For now he would refrain from touching her any further. After all, he would have time later. The servants wouldn’t expect him to rise, not after his severe wounds. They could stay in bed all day if they wanted to.
Gently, he brushed a final kiss behind her ear and then forced himself to relax. He expected her at the very least to snuggle back into him sleepily. When she still didn’t move—not even slightly—a disturbing unease pricked him, and his warrior’s sixth sense told him something wasn’t right.
He stiffened, sat up, and listened.
Again silence prevailed. A distant clang of a pot told him a kitchen boy or the cook was awake. But otherwise, the manor was at peace.
No, the turmoil was within. Through the growing dawn, he assessed the room, his sights returning to Marian. He grabbed her shoulder and turned her so that she was lying on her back. She didn’t resist. Instead, her arm flopped to the mattress as though she were made of straw rather than flesh.
His heartbeat slammed into his ribs.
“Marian.” His voice was hard and demanding.
She didn’t respond.
“Marian.” This time he shook her shoulders. “I command you to awaken, wife.”
Her chest rose at the same slow, even pace that seemed to indicate she was slumbering. But somehow, he guessed she wasn’t asleep, that something had happened to her during the night. Something terrible he couldn’t explain.
He shook her again and called her name to no avail.
Panic erupted in his chest, the same kind of panic borne the moment he’d discovered Thomas had been taken for ransom by Arnaud de Cervole.
Thomas had sacrificed himself. Will had long since guessed Cervole would have released Thomas when Will demanded the exchange. But Thomas refused to go, had probably decided he was sick and dying and should be the one to suffer—not Will, who was healthy and had a family awaiting him back home.
Of course, Will had done everything he could to make the substitution. In the end, Cervole sent him away and kept Thomas. Will had been angry at Cervole, but in reality he’d been angry at Thomas too, for giving up and for leaving him. He’d tasked himself to guard Thomas and make sure he returned from the war alive. And he’d failed. Because he hadn’t tried hard enough. And because Thomas had loved him too much to let him die in his stead.
Frustration ripped at Will’s insides and his throat. He wanted to scream out to Marian that she shouldn’t have sacrificed for him too. Even though he didn’t understand how the holy water would have helped Marian, one thing was clear—she’d used her portion to save his life. And now he was alive and she was unresponsive.
He lifted her limp body into his arms and cradled her against his chest. “Marian.” His throat ached with rising pressure. “Do not leave me, my love. Please. I beg of you.”
More than aught, he wanted her to open her beautiful brown eyes, smile up at him with that teasing glimmer, and assure him she loved him and would stay with him forever.
But hadn’t she said she was from a different time and place? He suspected wherever that might be, she’d gone home. All he knew was once again he’d failed to save the person he loved.
~ 27 ~
WARMTH STOLE THROUGH MARIAN, a warmth so encompassing she didn’t want to awaken. At the voices nearby, she could feel herself rousing. Had the servants already come to help her dress? Maybe the surgeon had returned again to check on Will.
Her mind rolled as she attempted to organize her thoughts into some coherence. She hadn’t meant to sleep all night. But she must have been more tired than she realized.
How were Will’s wounds this morning? With how quickly they’d healed, he’d likely be out of bed and back to normal in no time.
“Nothing is happening.” Even though the voice was distant, it was distinctly Ellen’s.
“We might not know if it works for some time yet, love.” Another voice sounded like Harrison’s. “Your father’s notes are dreadfully inconclusive.”
Marian’s heart gave a leap of hope. Somehow she’d slipped back to the present again. And this time Ellen and Harrison were in the room. She had to warn them to be wary of Jasper. Maybe if she could just lift a finger and point it at him if he was still in the room. Or try to mouth his name.
Focus, Marian. She didn’t have long. She never did before the holy water wore off—maybe seconds. Mustering all the strength in her hand, she attempted to lift it. She was unprepared for the ease with which it rose into the air.