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“Then you must do what you think is right. You have a conscience. You’ll make the right choice.” The infirmary door stood before them, and Lady Corliss said, “Enough of that. What is your mission now?”
Do what she thought was right. Edlyn stumbled as she said, “I need a…gown.”
“What kind of gown?”
“Like we use for the sick men.”
Lady Corliss didn’t hesitate. “Wait here.” She disappeared into the infirmary and came back with a gown of rough brown weave. “Here. Now go and do God’s work.”
Edlyn walked away, and when she looked back, Lady Corliss waved, then walked toward the church.
“She’s probably praying for me again,” Edlyn muttered. She should have felt even guiltier. Instead, she felt relieved.
She didn’t want to return to the dispensary, but she couldn’t allow herself to consider. She just marched down the garden path and into the hut to find Wharton glaring like the toad he was.
“Where have ye been? Th’ master’s in pain!”
“Is the patient stripped and washed?” she asked.
“Washed?” Wharton sounded scandalized. “In his condition?”
Edlyn stepped around the oven and smothered a gasp. Hugh had been stripped completely, and if anything, he looked longer and meaner than he did in armor. The bruising and the thin film of mud formed from dust and sweat made him look as if he were Adam himself, created from the clay of Eden.
“Wash him.” She thrust the gown at Wharton. “Then put him in this. I’ll prepare something to help the pain.”
She didn’t stop to see if he did as she instructed, but her skin remained whole and without dagger wounds. Pushing a stool over to the table, she stepped up and rummaged around on the top shelf close to the thatch. From behind the other vessels, she brought out a small corked glass bottle and allowed herself a grin. From the bottles on the table, she plucked three, then in a cup she mixed their contents to her satisfaction.
“He’s washed an’ in that pitiful excuse fer a gown.”
Wharton might have been more surly, but Edlyn didn’t know how that could be possible.
“Good.” Cup in hand, she climbed over the woodpile to Hugh’s side. “Mayhap, Wharton, you should bring in more wood. A large pile would help disguise Sir Hugh.”
“’Tis Lord Hugh now,” Wharton said proudly.
With only the faintest hint of sarcasm in her tone, she said, “Of course. I should have realized a warrior as great as Hugh de Florisoun would have won a title by now.”
“He’s th’ earl o’—”
“That’s enough.” Hugh still maintained enough authority to silence his servant in mid-sentence. “Bring the wood.”
“What if someone sees me?” Wharton asked.
“Tell them you’re a mendicant at the abbey. ’Tis impossible to recall all who come and go here.” Edlyn knelt beside the fallen hero. “And leave the door open so I can see what damage you did when you moved your master.”
“I had t’ hide him!” Wharton opened the door.
Edlyn wasn’t in the mood to be fair, but Hugh reassured him.
“Did well, too.” Hugh’s voice sounded fainter now. He waited until Wharton’s footsteps faded, then said, “Hauling wood hurts his dignity as my man.”
“His dignity could use some adjustment.” Now that Edlyn could see the gown, she admitted Wharton might have a reason for being disgruntled about it. The sleeves hung only to Hugh’s elbows and the hem struck him at the knee. Edlyn would have to lift the hem to examine the wound, and she should have just done it when Hugh lay naked. It would have been less intimate than this undressing. But she hadn’t thought of that then; she had only wanted to get him covered.
“Don’t be alarmed. I’m going to look.” She kept her voice steady and soothing.
“Don’t you be alarmed,” Hugh answered.
But when Edlyn jerked her gaze to his face, his eyes were closed.
