Chapter 11
“I—I haven’t yet!”
Leofric was fading. It’s a dream, it has to be a dream! Godiva shook her head wildly. But her husband only grew fainter.
I haven’t done anything. I haven’t told you I love you. I haven’t given you a child. Leofric! Leofric!
Her scream never found its voice.
Leofric, don’t go!
Sinking into a swamp of tears, Godiva fell endlessly downward. Her tears rose to her chin, so thick she could hardly breathe. She wept and wept without end.
* * *
“This is bad…”
Milton muttered under his breath. Though he dared not speak plainly of his lord’s condition, there seemed little hope. After the stitching, Leofric had simply lost consciousness as though from exhaustion. Even viewed kindly, it was clear this was no ordinary sleep.
“Madam’s sutures were well done.”
The barber leaned in from behind and spoke quietly.
“But he has already lost too much blood.”
They had used the best medicines available. Milton and the barber alike had done all they could. Yet in this age, no one could promise survival from such a deep and grievous wound.
“We must watch and wait.”
“Yes… but…”
Hours passed. The alcohol had long since left the barber’s system. No matter how he examined the wound, he could find no fault. The injury was not feverish; no red streak spread toward the heart.
Judging by the lord’s robust constitution, he should have regained consciousness by now. Yet six hours had passed, and he lay as still as a corpse. His fingers and toes were cold as stone. Only the faint breath slipping beneath his nose offered any shred of hope. The sun had long since set, and candlelight flickered over Earl Leofric of Mercia. The shadows cast upon his handsome, resolute face were terribly deep.
Bang!
The door burst open. All turned at once.
“Madam!”
It was Lady Godiva.
“Leofric, how is he?”
Her ragged breathing showed she had run all the way. Even unadorned, the lady of the manor was strikingly beautiful. Her disheveled golden hair shimmered, and her pale, strained face was tragically lovely.
The barber looked at her with unguarded admiration. When he had briefly supported her after she fainted once the stitching was done, the faint feminine scent that had lingered still seemed to cling to his fingertips. His cheeks flushed faintly.
“Miss…”
The tearful nanny greeted her.
“What is it, nanny…?”
Godiva’s voice still carried the trace of tears. Her violet eyes shone with lingering sorrow. It felt as though she were still trapped within that terrible dream.
“His Lordship’s condition… it is not good.”
The nanny, despite her sturdy frame, broke into sobs.
“Milton…”
“Yes, Madam.”
“His Lordship…?”
Godiva collapsed to her knees beside Leofric’s bed.
“By the barber’s judgment and mine, tonight is the critical hour. We have done all that can be done. Now we can only wait.”
“Ah…”
It is not too late. Not yet. With a soft cry, Godiva took Leofric’s hand. As in the dream, it was cold—so cold. She closed her eyes faintly.
Lord…
Thus began her long prayer. Godiva called upon the name of the Almighty.
Please, do not take Leofric from me.
She wished with all her heart that this was still a dream. Her chest still felt tight and chilled; she could not bear it if this were real.
“Madam, we will be in the adjoining room. Call if you need us.”
With that, Milton and the others withdrew.
Your lowly servant humbly beseeches You…
Godiva prayed. In the longing silence, the night deepened. The candle burned lower and lower, wax dripping like tears.
“Godiva…”
How much time had passed? Godiva was afraid to open her eyes at the sound of her name.
“Godiva.”
Surely this was not a continuation of last night’s cruel dream. She asked herself.
“….”
A hand touched her cheek—her eyes grew hot.
“Le… Leof—”
The hand was warm. As warm as her tears.
“Yes, my wife.”
That deep, familiar voice. Godiva’s eyes flew open.
“Y-you…”
Leofric’s silver eyes. Clear, luminous—fixed upon her.
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