“That dim-cockled lout,” the Healer muttered to herself. “I warned him that this journey to Rosehaven would bring him low, but would he listen to me? Does any man ever listen? No, the cocky little bittle sticks just strut about and expect all to transpire as they wish it to. I told him not to go. Even Alfred jumped on him and tried to hold him down.”
Hastings could but stare at her. “But you did not tell me that the journey would bring me low, Healer. Yet you told Gwent. What is this?”
“I did not know about you, Hastings. You are here, after all, standing in front of me all smiling and well, and Gwent is likely in some dungeon somewhere rotting like a meat under maggots. By the Devil’s shins, I will make the overgrown pus-head regret this once he returns.”
“Saint Catherine’s eyebrows,” Lady Moraine gasped, staring at the Healer, “I see the truth now. You are besotted. You are acting just like Hastings does with my son. You and Gwent. But how can that be? He hates Alfred. I suspect he even fears him. He jumps whenever the cat leaps at him.”
The Healer’s chin went up. Hastings saw that her neck was firm. No, the Healer wasn’t old at all. Certainly no older than Lady Moraine or Hastings’s own mother. “Gwent now has great affection for Alfred. Alfred even once sat on Gwent’s legs whilst he ate some of my special broth. Alfred did not try to steal the broth. There is now a bond between them. That miserable crockhead.”
“Healer,” Alice said, “Alfred would steal the meat off your plate. Surely he would not show pity to Gwent?”
The Healer turned on Alice. “You will not talk about my tender Alfred like that. He is a sweeting. It is Gwent that is a hulking cretin, so sure of himself and his prowess that he must needs follow Lord Severin. Now he will die in a dungeon, rotting.”
“But I thought you hated men,” Lady Moraine said.
“Of course I do,” the Healer said, staring darkly at Lady Moraine. “They are all useless, windy bladders, concerned only with themselves. But you, lady, you blather nonsense. You will say no more about it. I will leave now. I will return tomorrow to see if there is any news. That lack-witted oxhead had better return to Oxborough well enough so that I can fix him.”
Without another word, the Healer marched out of the great hall, everyone staring after her, even one man who was too weak a moment before to raise his head.
“Well,” Hastings said, shaking her head, “this is a remarkable thing.”
“Aye,” said Alice, “more than remarkable. Gwent kept his distance from me when I told him I would consider bedding him and giving him a man’s pleasure. He did not seem interested. Well, he was interested, but something held him back. I could not understand him. By the Devil’s horns, does the wind blow that way?” She just shook her head and carried a mug of milk to one of the ill men, saying a silent prayer now for Beamis, who rode with Lord Severin.
Hastings was laughing even as she lightly rubbed her palm over her belly.
Within two days fifty men from Severin’s other keeps had arrived at Oxborough.
“We will starve if they long remain,” MacDear said as he stirred a giant caldron of stewed pheasant with cabbage, onions, and leeks.
Steam curled up about his massive head, wreathing him in gray mist.
“I will tell them they can only eat every other day,” Hastings said, poked his huge arm, and returned to the great hall. The sick men were nearly well, the one man who had died shortly after the Healer had come had been buried in the Oxborough graveyard.
Sir Alan was dealing well with the three castellans, drawing Sedgewick keep on a large square of parchment so they could see what they would face as soon as Lord Severin returned.
The Healer returned the morning of the third day.
“I am sorry, Healer, but there is no word. But Severin said I was not to worry. He will bring them back safely.”
“He is a man. His horse brings him back, not his small brain. Gwent’s brain is even more shriveled. I will grind borla root and stir it into his ale. It will make his toes numb and his manhood as flaccid as the onions in MacDear’s soup. I will tell my sweet Alfred to grant him the weight of all his affection.”
Hastings was holding her stomach she was laughing so hard. “But Healer, if he is flaccid, then what pleasure is there for you?”
“You speak like that silver-haired bitch, failing to give me proper honor and respect.”
“Oh nay, never that. Please remain, Healer. Please.”
But the Healer had already turned on her heel. She raised a hand, but did not turn around.
Hastings was not laughing that afternoon as she lay in her bed, the cover pulled to her chin, staring up into the darkness. She could hear the wind howling, feel the coldness of it in her bones even though she was warm.
She missed Severin. She was afraid for him. What was happening?
Sir Alan had sent a dozen men to camp in the woods near Sedgewick to keep watch and report back if Richard de Luci did anything untoward. Another dozen men followed the route back to where Gwent and the other men had lain unconscious. The remainder were guarding Oxborough as if it were the king’s residence.
As for Eloise, she did not leave Lady Moraine. She was pale and silent, a little ghost who missed that damnable Marjorie.
Hastings turned onto her side. Severin had wanted a curve in her belly—just a slight curve to please him, he’d told her—and now she had one for him to feel. She wanted his hand pressing lightly against her.
Suddenly, the bedchamber door burst open and Lady Moraine flew into the room, shouting, “They’re back!”
33
“WHERE THE DEVIL IS GWENT?” SEVERIN ASKED AS HE strode into the great hall, Sir Alan by his side. “Alart told me he was riding into Pevensey Forest just a bit ago. Why would he leave? Where is he?”
Lady Moraine said with great composure, “He is visiting Alfred.”
“What? That is unlikely, Mother. He is terrified of that beast.”
“Very well, then, it is the Healer he visits.”
“Why? He is well, he swore it to me. Come, Hastings, my mother is jesting with me. What is going on?”
“Gwent and the Healer are in love.”
He stared at her, brought to an utter and complete silence. Then he began shaking his head. He reached inside his tunic and pulled Trist out. He began to stroke the marten’s chin. Trist mewled. Severin just stood there, staring at nothing in particular.
“What is this?” Sir Alan asked, accepting a goblet of ale from Alice.
“The Healer hates men,” Severin said finally.
“Mayhap that’s true. You should have heard her cursing Gwent. She called him names that I have never even heard you use, Severin.”
Severin shook his head, stuffed Trist back down into his tunic, and called out to his three castellans, “Everyone quench his thirst. We have a lot of talking to do before we leave in the morning.”
It was only after he had settled all the men that he came to Hastings. He pulled her against him, saying nothing, just held her, his cheek against her hair. Hastings felt Trist between them. She said against his throat, “Truly, Gwent and all the men were in the forest near to Sedgewick?”
“Aye, they were trying to decide how to come inside to rescue me. They didn’t know that I was no longer at Sedgewick. None suffered anything save watery bowels and headaches from the drug. Hastings, does Gwent really have tender feelings for the Healer?”
“I believe so. Do you believe he will live in the forest with her?”
“I still cannot believe it. Do not ask me such a question. Do we have any food left?”
She laughed, pulling back in the circle of his arms. Trist stuck his head out of Severin’s tunic and mewled at her. “It is good that we will kill de Luci soon. All MacDear can talk about is that we will starve during the winter.”
He pulled her again against him. Trist slithered out and wound himself around Severin’s neck. “Severin?” Hastings said against his chin.
“Aye?”
/>
“How will we kill de Luci?”
“I have decided to take Sedgewick. He has only twenty men at most. It should not take long with the men I have. I hope Graelam doesn’t come with me, for we will have no need for them.”
“And will you try to save Marjorie?”
He sighed, kissing her ear. “You know, Hastings, she is guilty only of wanting me. I am a brave knight, a man of fine parts, a man who gives of himself to a woman even when he is not completely aware of all his giving. I am magnificent in battle. Can you blame her for still desiring me beyond all reason?”
She had no leverage, but she tried. She shoved her fist against his belly. He grunted for her, but his laughter didn’t stop. “What do you say if I have her marry Sir Alan? With the king’s approval, of course.”
“Her silvery hair would still be very close to Oxborough.”
“I prefer a wench with hair with so many shades I still have not managed to count all of them. Look at this—it’s the color of dirt. Isn’t that interesting?”
“My lord.”
“Aye, Beamis? Speak, man. My wife here is bereft of words. It is unexpected, but I bask in it for the seconds it will last.”
“My lord, you are jesting. All are wondering what will happen and here you are, jesting.”
“Beamis, I will tighten my jaw very soon now. We will have our evening meal, then we will all come to agreement on Sedgewick.”
“Come away, Beamis,” Alice said, dragging at his tunic sleeve. “Leave them be. They are newly married—well, not that newly—and they wish to play for just a moment. Why don’t you come with me and I will show you what this play is all about.”
To Hastings’s surprise, Beamis turned his ugly face upon Alice, found something akin to a smile, and gave her his hand. “Not too much play,” they heard him say to her. “Lord Severin must have my head clear so that I may give him superior council.”
Trist waved his paw after them.
When Severin and his soldiers arrived at Sedgewick the following afternoon, the keep was deserted. There were but a few servants milling about, a very old porter who scratched his bald head and muttered about the blackness of men’s hearts, and a dozen chickens who were squawking loudly because they hadn’t been fed. Children and women were nowhere to be seen.
Severin turned to Sir Alan as they came to a halt in the inner bailey.
“He is gone,” Gwent called out. “He and all his men are gone. The old porter tells me he rode out yesterday.”
“Was Lady Marjorie with him?”
“Aye, she was. Riding beside him, pale as an angel, the old man said.”
“Where would he go?” Severin said aloud. Then he realized that he had left only twenty soldiers at Oxborough. Only twenty, but still it was enough. The gates were closed and barred. No one unknown could enter, no one.
Severin remembered that day so long before when two of de Luci’s men had managed to get into the inner bailey. He had been stabbed in Hastings’s herb garden. No, Beamis had orders. No one unknown would be allowed into Oxborough.
Still he worried. He worried more when they questioned some farmers on the return route to Oxborough and discovered that de Luci had come this way.
Severin cursed, plowing his fingers through his hair.
“My lord,” Sir Alan said, “de Luci can do nothing.”
“He is mad and he is smart. I don’t trust him.”
“I hope he has not harmed Marjorie,” Sir Alan said, and all could see that he was smitten.
They rode hard back to Oxborough.
“Please show me where the Healer lives, Hastings. My belly hurts and Lady Moraine told me that the Healer could make even a dying pig well again.”
“We can’t leave Oxborough right now, Eloise,” Hastings said, coming down to the little girl’s eye level. “Lord Severin wants us to pretend that this is a siege. Now, let me try to make you feel better.”
But Eloise’s bellyache went away before Hastings could give her a rather sweet-tasting potion of pounded daisy powder mixed with wine.
Hastings was mending one of Severin’s tunics—a pale blue one—when Beamis came running into the great hall. Edgar the wolfhound raised his head and growled deep in his massive throat.
“It’s the Healer,” he shouted. “By Saint Ethelbert’s elbows, de Luci has her!”
Hastings didn’t at first understand, then she rose quickly, the tunic falling to the rushes at her feet. “Oh no,” she said, “oh no.”
“He is outside the walls, the Healer held in front of him on his warhorse. He has a rope around her waist and a knife held to her neck. He says he wants to speak to you or the Healer dies.”
Hastings ran out of the great hall, through the inner bailey, to the outer bailey and up the wooden rampart stairs. She stared down at a sight that scared her to her toes. The Healer was seated tall and straight in front of de Luci. So, de Luci had decided that if he had threatened Marjorie, Hastings wouldn’t have cared. He could be right about that. But the Healer . . .
“Healer,” Hastings called down to her. “Are you all right?”
“Aye, Hastings,” the Healer shouted. “This man is mad. You are not to trust him. Do not do anything he says.”
For that, de Luci cuffed her hard against the side of her face.
“Don’t touch her, you miserable whoreson!”
“Then you will give me what I want, Hastings, and you will do it now.”
He wanted Eloise. No, she wouldn’t give her up to that monster. “You may not have Eloise. You would only abuse her. She will remain within the walls, safe.”
“I don’t want that miserable little Devil’s spawn. No, Hastings. I want you.”
Hastings saw one of Beamis’s men gently pull back on his bow. “No,” she whispered, “no. You could harm the Healer. We can’t take that chance.”
Beamis shouted down, “Lady Hastings goes nowhere. You will take your wretched band of outlaws and leave Oxborough. Lord Severin will return soon.”
“I count on that,” de Luci shouted back. He then lifted the knife and set it against the Healer’s neck. He sliced. A thin line of blood appeared, beading and flowing down into the Healer’s gown.
The Healer didn’t move. “Don’t come out, Hastings,” she shouted.
De Luci hit her again, this time knocking her unconscious. She sagged against him.
Hastings couldn’t bear it. “I will come out if you will release her. I will also come out if you release Marjorie.”
De Luci slewed his head upward at her words. “ Marjorie? You want that bitch? She has done nothing but try to do you in. She hates you, she always will. But I will release her. I have no more use for her once I have you.”
“I will come,” Hastings called. “But hear me, de Luci, it will gain you naught. I am with child, Lord Severin’s child. There is nothing for you here. Leave the Healer and take your leave.”
De Luci shouted back, his voice clear and hard, “I know you are not with child. Marjorie told me. Do not lie. Come to me and the Healer goes free. Marjorie as well, if you really wish to have her near your food.”
“I will come,” Hastings called.
Beamis blocked her way. “No, Hastings, you will remain within the walls. If the Healer dies, then so be it, but Lord Severin will not return to find his wife gone.”
“I do not intend to trade myself over like a helpless damsel, Beamis. I do not intend to place myself at de Luci’s mercy, such as it is. No, I have a plan. I will have that monster’s head on a plate before Severin returns.”
“Lord Severin won’t like it. He was furious when Lord Graelam denied him de Luci’s death. Now you would do the same? I cannot allow it, Hastings. Damnation, why didn’t the madman die when he tripped on those rabbit bones?”
But Hastings wasn’t listening to him. “I must speak to Alice. I need her.”
“Do what? Alice, you say? I don’t want Alice involved in this, Hastings.”
Hastings smiled behind
her hand. “No, there won’t be any chance of danger to Alice. After I’ve spoken to her, then I need to gain your agreement, Beamis.”
Her heart was pounding as she ran up the solar stairs. So the bastard still wanted her, did he? What on earth did he believe he would gain? He must know that Severin would hunt him down and kill him with savage pleasure.
But she didn’t have time to put her plan into action. At that moment there were shouts and screams. By the time Hastings got to the ramparts to see what had happened, Eloise was already well within the ranks of de Luci’s soldiers. Then she was in Marjorie’s arms, clutching her fiercely.
Hastings cursed.
What to do now?
De Luci sounded like a happy man when he shouted up to her, the knife point still at the Healer’s neck, “You see all that I have now, Hastings? Give over. Come to me and all three of them can come into Oxborough. They will all be safe from me.”
“You may not go, Hastings, but I can.”
She turned to see Lady Moraine. She was smiling even as she said, “You are very close to my plan. Come, we need to scheme very quickly. I do not want that madman to hurt the Healer more than he has already done.”
They walked quickly toward the keep. Hastings had to duck around Gilbert the goat, who was chewing on an old gauntlet. Lady Moraine said as she took double steps to keep up, “Why did the child flee? Has she no wits at all?”
“She loves Marjorie very much. She must have become afraid for her when she saw her with de Luci. She escaped through the postern gate. Was no one guarding it?” There was no answer. Hastings hurried into the great hall, Lady Moraine on her heels. Hastings knew she didn’t have long, knowing that de Luci would stick that knife point in the Healer’s throat with as much indifference as he would dispatch a chicken.
Alice appeared at her side. “There must be something we can do, Hastings,” she said as she looked toward the ramparts, at Beamis, who was staring down at de Luci. “I wanted the lout to give over, but now he fancies he owns me and can tell me what to do.”
“He cannot say nay to my plan. Tell me what you think, Alice, Lady Moraine.”