THE EARL (A HAMMER FOR PRINCES) by Cecelia Holland Read Free Book Online Page A

kingdom.”
    She laid her limp hands in her lap. “No one listening to you would imagine you are such a great knight.”
    The back of Fulk’s neck and ears grew hot, and he plucked furiously at the coverlet. “I will take that as praise.”
    “It was intended so.”
    In the little silence that followed, he heard men calling to each other on the walls; he smelled the fragrance of the flowers crowding the room. He was reluctant to break the good will between them, but there was something he had to get her to do.
    “I want Rannulf to come with me when I go back to the prince’s army.”
    “He never will. He is King Stephen’s man.”
    “He will if you tell him to.
    “I won’t.”
    “You have to. He goes if I must drag him. I’d prefer him to come willingly. Wouldn’t you?”
    She said nothing; she blew her nose and lay still, her eyes elsewhere.
    “You must see the reason in it.”
    “The king may yet deal with this prince. He has done so before. You make too little of the king.”
    “I doubt anybody could make too little of that king.”
    She coughed, and the harsh, ripping sound developed into a spasm. Fulk lay still, waiting for her to subside. Finally she lay back, her faced blotched with red, and gasped for breath, and her eyes moved toward him.
    “You have met Stephen only at court,” Fulk said. “I’ve talked to him in councils, fought against him, and been his prisoner.”
    “I’m not going to argue.”
    “Good. Tell Rannulf to come with me.”
    She closed her eyes and lay still, inert on the bed, her graying brown hair scattered on the pillows. Fulk sat up; the rasp of her breath alarmed him.
    “I have to see Rannulf,” she said. “Could no one else have run this errand?”
    A shock passed through him. This was no simple cold, when talking exhausted her so much. He picked up her fevered hand.
    “He’ll be back in a day at the most. You’ll be better by then.”
    “Perhaps.”
    “Margaret, I’m sorry. I’ll let you rest.”

She looked at him without moving her head, and her mouth twitched upward into a smile. “Without finding out what I mean to tell him?”
    “I’ll send for a physician.”
    “Hawisse is capable. We have to talk later, I have some things to settle with you.”
    “When you’re well,” he said stubbornly.
    “I’m not going to get well.”
    He said nothing; their eyes met, and he saw that she read on his face what he was thinking. She touched her lips with her tongue. He had never seen her frightened before. He realized he was gripping her hand and relaxed his fingers.
    “I’ll go.”
    “Stay until I fall asleep.”
    “I will.”
    She turned her head a little and closed her eyes. Sliding off the bed, Fulk moved over near the window, into the sunlight’s warmth. I have seen enough people die to . . .
    Through the window, beyond the yew thickets that the wind combed back, he saw the thatched roofs of the town at the foot of the hill.
    “Where is Hawisse?”
    “I’ll get her,” he said, turning.
    “No. Stay.”
    She could be long in dying or she could die now. In her sleep. Before Rannulf came. She would live until Rannulf came, if she could. He’d seen men fight off death for days. What made her die? No wound, no gush of blood, nothing but a cold. That pierced into her body and attacked the organs, heart, spleen, lungs, belly, all those things I have laid open to the air with a sword. He remembered saying she took advantage of being sick, and heat washed over him. I am so clever, I deserve whipping. He heard her rough breathing and turned to see her lying there, her mouth gaping, her eyes shut. Get a physician. She should be bled.
    He went to the door and opened it, and Hawisse nearly fell through.
    “Listening again? I’ll find a leech.”
    Hawisse looked down her nose at him. “Better a priest, my lord.” She passed him, moving toward the bed, her wooden heels clicking on the floor. Fulk went out into the antechamber. I should send for Hugh and