Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,255

though you insisted upon doing it in Welsh and none of us could understand a word you said!”

“Were there prisoners taken?” When Warin nodded, Morgan resolved to see if the Saracen Good Samaritan was amongst them once he was able to do so, for he owed the man a few comforts. He still had questions, but sleep was beckoning again. Before he could answer the call, a sudden din erupted outside, and Warin grinned. “Either we’re under attack or the king has just ridden in and been told of the ambush!”

It was not easy to make a dramatic entrance into a tent, but Richard did it. He headed straight for André, stood gazing down at his cousin and shaking his head. “How in the world did you manage to get injured by a man you’d unhorsed and mortally wounded?”

André’s smile was sour. “How in the world did you manage to miss a battle? But I suppose you can ask Saladin to refight it for your benefit.”

Richard gave a shout of laughter. “What an excellent idea!” Sitting down on the corner of the bed, he lowered his voice for André’s ears alone. After exchanging a few words, he clasped the injured man on the shoulder and then made the rounds of the tent, pausing before each wounded knight to ask a question or offer a joke. He congratulated Morgan upon having such a hard head, teased Leicester for losing two horses in a single day, and spent so much time with Robert de Newburgh that it was obvious he’d been told of the knight’s heroic sacrifice.

Henri had entered almost unnoticed in Richard’s wake, and after brief visits with André and Leicester, he paused by Morgan’s cot. From him, Morgan and Warin learned that they’d abandoned their mission because Richard had an odd premonition of danger. “It is like another sense, one given to soldiers, at least the good ones. As it turned out, it is fortunate that my uncle heeded it, for on our way back to camp, we encountered two of our Saracen spies and they said Saladin had sent three hundred of his elite troops to Blanchegarde. We’d have run right into them.”

Henri stayed for a while, asking Morgan and Warin questions about the battle and rescue, for he knew men often needed to talk afterward, and then telling some comic stories to cheer them up, for he thought life would not be much fun for them as they healed. Their brief weather respite had already ended and they could hear the renewed drumming of rain on the roof of the tent.

Henri did succeed in cheering Morgan up, for he’d confided that Richard planned to return to Jaffa on the morrow and bring the women back with him. The young count was usually a reliable source and that proved to be the case again. Morgan awoke from a nap on Sunday evening to find himself the envy of the hospital tent, for two queens and the Damsel of Cyprus were at his bedside. Berengaria expressed flattering concern for his injury, Anna gave him a Cypriot good luck charm, and Joanna contributed an amusing account of their ride over the very muddy Jaffa road, making it sound as if their fifteen-mile trip had been an epic trek for the ages. But her real gift to Morgan was the screen that now enclosed his bed. Rising to leave, she explained that she thought he’d sleep better if he had a bit of privacy, and winked.

With a rustle of skirts and a fragrance that evoked memories of moonlit, summer gardens, Mariam slipped around the screen, leaned over the bed, and gave Morgan a kiss that was very different from those they’d shared in the past.

“That,” he said, “was worth—”

“Do not dare tell me it was worth getting your head bashed in!”

“Of course it was not worth that much,” he said with a grin. “But it was worth waiting for, cariad.”

His blanket had slid down to his waist, and her eyes were drawn to the ripple of muscles, a triangle of golden chest hair, and the skin that she knew would be warm and firm to the touch, unlike the soft, flabby body of her late husband, a good man but one well past his prime by the time they’d wed. “I think,” she murmured, “that we have been waiting too long, Morgan ap Ranulf, far too long.”

He reached for her hand, entwining his fingers in hers. “My sentiments exactly, my heart. Alas,