She ran to him, her eyes a-fire.
“Lord, what have you done?”
He lifted his face to her, a face that was grey and moist in the sunlight. She saw that the linen swathings over his shoulder were red with vivid stains.
“I have time—yet.”
Denise bent over him.
“You are mad, you are bleeding anew.”
“Give me wine, Denise; I can crawl, if I cannot walk.”
She put her arms about him and tried to lift him to his feet.
“No, no, come back to the cell. They are beating the woods. I saw men flying for their lives.”
Aymery clung to her, and gained his feet.