Gentle Warrior

  The door to the bedroom burst open and the two guards rushed inside, swords drawn. Fear and confusion showed in their expressions. The vassal shook his head and told them to put their weapons away.

  "It must be done." The words from Elizabeth calmed the guards and they retreated to their posts outside the door.

  "He would never cry out if he was awake," the vassal said to Elizabeth. "He does not know what he is doing," he explained.

  "Are you thinking it makes him less a man to vent his agony?" Elizabeth asked while she placed a second cloth over the wound.

  "He is a fearless warrior," the vassal replied.

  "The fever rules his actions now," Elizabeth answered.

  The companion's nod made Elizabeth want to smile. She turned back to her patient and lifted both strips from the wound, bringing yellow and red residue with them. She repeated the procedure countless times, until only bright red blood oozed from the deep opening. By the time she was finished, her hands were as red as the wound, and blistered. She rubbed them together in an effort to ease the sting, and then reached for her bundle. Speaking more to herself than to the vassal, she said, "I do not think there is need to seal the wound with a hot knife, for it bleeds clean and true and not overmuch."

  The leader was unconscious, and for that Elizabeth was thankful for she knew that the medicine she must pack the wound with was not soothing. She applied a liberal amount of the foul-smelling salve and then bandaged his entire back. Once this was done, the companion turned the leader for her and she forced water containing crushed sage, mallows, and nightshade roots down his throat.

  There was nothing more to do. Elizabeth's muscles ached from the strain and she stood and walked to the window. She lifted the fur blocking the wind and was surprised to find that darkness had descended. She leaned wearily against the stone and let the cool air revive her. Finally she turned back to the companion, noting for the first time how tired and haggard he appeared. "Go and find some rest. I will watch over your leader."

  "Nay," he replied. "I can sleep only when the Hawk has recovered. Not before." He placed another log in the fire while he spoke.

  "By what name are you called?" Elizabeth questioned.

  "Roger."

  "Roger, why do you call your leader the Hawk?"

  The vassal looked at her from his bent position in front of the fire and then gruffly answered, "All those who fight in battle with him call him thus. It is the way of things."

  His noncommittal reply made little sense to Elizabeth but she didn't want to irritate him by questioning him further on the matter. She would get to the heart of the need now. " 'Tis said there is a boy here who does not speak and that the Hawk saved his life. Is this true?"

  "Aye." Suspicion was back in the vassal's expression and Elizabeth knew she would have to tread softly.

  "If he be the one I am thinking of, I know of his family and would be willing to take him with me when I leave."

  The companion eyed her thoughtfully. His lack of reply was maddening but Elizabeth forced herself to remain calm. "What say you, Roger?"

  "I will see what I can do, though only the Baron can make that decision."

  "But Baron Geoffrey never travels here! It would take a month of masses before word returned that I might take the boy. Surely he would want the child reunited with his parents. Can you not act in his stead? I am sure he would be pleased not to be bothered, for Montwright is but a small, insignificant holding compared to his others." Elizabeth almost added that she had heard her father say so on countless occasions. And she knew it to be true, for Baron Geoffrey had never paid her father a visit. No, Lord Thomas always traveled to the Baron's main holding when business needed to be conducted.

  The companion was surprised by her vehement outburst. "A month? You have only to wait until the fever leaves and he awakens to ask him," he argued. "And you are mistaken, lass. There is no such thing as a holding too insignificant for Geoffrey's inspection. He protects all who pledge fealty, from the highest to the lowest."

  "Are you telling me that the Hawk can give me permission? He can act in the Baron's stead?" Elizabeth asked, her voice hopeful. "Then of course he shall," she rushed to answer herself, "for I have taken care of him. He can do no less." She smiled with relief and clasped her hands together.

  "Do you not know who you have just tended?" Roger asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  Elizabeth frowned at him and waited.

  "The Hawk is Lord Geoffrey, overlord of Montwright." Roger sat down in one of the chairs and propped his feet up on the other, waiting her reaction.

  "He is Baron Geoffrey?" Astonishment sounded in her tone.

  "Aye," Roger acknowledged. He crossed his ankles and smiled. "Why are you so surprised? All know of the Hawk," he said with arrogance. "His reputation is well known."

  "Yes, . but I thought him to be old… older than…" She motioned to the sleeping warrior and studied him a long minute, her mind racing with this turn of events. Her father had never mentioned that his overlord was so young. Elizabeth had just assumed that he was an old man, like the lesser barons she had met. She leaned back against the cold stone and looked back at Roger. He seemed amused by her ignorance.

  "He is the youngest and the most powerful under William," Roger answered. Pride underlined his words.

  "If the lord mends, then he will be under my obligation, will he not?" Elizabeth asked. She said a quick prayer that it would be true, that Geoffrey was an honorable man, for then perhaps he would listen to her. She could convince him of her uncle's evilness. She must convince him! If he mended…

  A loud rap on the door interrupted Elizabeth's thoughts. Roger motioned her to stay and went to open the door. He spoke in whispered words to the sentries and then turned back to Elizabeth. "Your servant wishes to speak with you."

  Elizabeth nodded and followed one sentry to the end of the corridor where Joseph stood waiting. She could tell by his expression that he was upset. "Joseph, it is the Baron himself who I am caring for."

  "Aye," Joseph said. He waited until the sentry was well out of earshot and back at his post before continuing, "Will he heal?"

  "There is a chance," Elizabeth said. "We must pray now. It is Thomas's only hope," she added.

  Joseph was frowning more ferociously and Elizabeth shook her head. "This is good news, Joseph. Can you not see that the lord will be under my obligation whether I be a woman or not. He will have to listen to me…"

  "But the one in charge," he said, motioning toward her bedroom, "the vassal…"

  "His name is Roger," Elizabeth informed her servant.

  "He has sent for Belwain."

  "What is this?" Elizabeth demanded. She lowered her voice and said, "Why? How do you know this?"

  "Herman the Bald overheard his orders. The messengers left an hour ago. It is true," he said when Elizabeth began to shake her head, "Belwain will be here in a week or more."

  "Dear God," Elizabeth whispered. "He must not arrive before I talk with Geoffrey." She clutched at the servant's sleeve, panic in her voice, and rushed on, "We must hide Thomas. We have to get him away from here until I can be sure of Geoffrey. Belwain must not know we still live."

  "It isn't possible, my lady. Belwain will know as soon as he is within the walls. Too many have seen you return. He will know. And it is only a matter of time before this Roger learns the truth."

  "I must think," Elizabeth whispered. She realized she was pulling on the servant's tunic and dropped her hand. "Talk with Herman. He is faithful and will keep his silence. And he is a freeman, Joseph. The two of you, you must take Thomas, hide him. There are many places. Can you do this?"

  "Aye," Joseph answered, straightening his shoulders, "I'll not fail you. I will find a place."

  Elizabeth nodded, placing her trust in the humble servant. He would not fail her. "It will only be for a short time, until Geoffrey awakens," she said.

  "But what of you? If the lord does not awake, if the sle
eping spirits continue to hold him and Belwain gets here . . and if the lord dies…"

  "I will have to leave," Elizabeth said, more to herself than to Joseph. "I'll not be here when Belwain arrives. If the lord awakens soon, perhaps I can speak with him before Belwain has a chance to weave his lies." She shuddered and then said, "If not, and he dies, then you must bring Thomas to me. Somehow we will make it to my mother's father. He will know what to do."

  "Will you return to the waterfall?" Joseph asked, fear in his voice. He would not be able to ride with her now that he was given the duty of taking Thomas, and his worry for his mistress was tremendous.

  "I will not stay here," she whispered in a harsh voice. "Belwain has violated these walls. I'll not be here to see him return. I'll not."

  "Aye, my lady, calm yourself. Surely the warrior will awaken before you must leave, before Belwain arrives, and he will listen to you," he said, his voice soothing, as if he were speaking to an injured child.

  He waited while his mistress calmed her breathing. The change that came over her whenever her uncle's name was mentioned frightened the old man. He knew that she had witnessed the slaughter, understood the anguish and torment pulling at her soul, and believed, as she did, that Belwain was behind it all. Still, he wished she could speak of it, tell to let some of the pain out… She was so very different from her two half sisters, Margaret and Catherine. Perhaps it was because she was half-Saxon.

  When Master Thomas had arrived at Montwright with his two little daughters, he was a hard, unhappy man. But all that had changed within six months, for he had met and married a fair-haired Saxon beauty. His Saxon wife was a hellion, to be sure, but Thomas had a way with her, and soon all could see the couple were coming to terms with each other. A year later, little Elizabeth was born. Thomas decided he was not destined to have a son and poured his love into the little blue-eyed babe. Those two held a special bond between them, and when, ten years later, little Thomas was born, the bond still remained.

  While Elizabeth did not copy her father's masculine traits, she did imitate his reserved manner, his way of masking his feelings. Both Catherine and Margaret would wear their emotions on their faces, for all the world to see, but not Elizabeth. Joseph believed that Elizabeth was the thread that held the family together. She was so fiercely loyal, and family was the most important thing to her. She was the peacemaker and the rebel-rouser, her father's pride when she rode beside him on the hunt, her mother's frustration when she tried her hand at sewing. Aye, it had been a happy, contented family, until now…

  "Did I tell you that Herman has sent three men to Belwain's holding? Mayhap they can gather the proof we need, for it they talk with Belwain's servants…"

  "Herman is a good man," Elizabeth interrupted. Her voice was relaxed now, and the servant let out a little sigh of relief. "But I do not think Belwain's servants will speak the truth. They fear him too greatly. Joseph, tell Herman I thank him for his effort," Elizabeth whispered.

  "He loved your family too, my lady. It was Thomas who freed him. You were just a babe and probably do not remember, but Herman will not forget the debt to the Montwrights."

  "Yes," Elizabeth returned, "I have heard the tale." She smiled and added, "I could not understand why everyone referred to Herman as the Bald, for his head was thickly covered with hair, and my father would grow quite embarrassed whenever I asked him the reason."

  Joseph assumed that she still did not know the reason, and blushed. He hoped she would not ask him to explain. It was a silly men's joke and he certainly would not damage his mistress's delicate ears with the truth.

  The happy memory with her father helped to lift Elizabeth's spirits. She whispered, "We will get through this, Joseph. Now I must get back to the Baron. Pray, Joseph. Pray Geoffrey heals. Pray that he will listen to me. Listen and believe."

  She patted the servant on his stooped shoulder and slowly made her way back to the bedroom. Her stomach was churning again and she fought the urge to throw up. The thought of Belwain returning to Montwright was overwhelming. Had there been no little brother to consider, then Elizabeth would have welcomed the news. She would have planned her trap, and met Belwain with an eager embrace, her dagger at the ready.

  She would bide her time. Revenge would be hers. Her resolve kept her upright, her steps sure. It kept her sane, in this insane time, this insane situation. Revenge and her duty to her little brother. Only when her brother's life was protected and his lands secure and only when Belwain paid with his life for his mortal sins could Elizabeth allow the abyss of desolation yawning before her to make its claim. Only then.

  When Elizabeth opened the door to the bedroom, she found her two animals had taken up vigilance on either side of the lord's bed. They had taken to the warrior, Elizabeth surmised from their watchful attendance. She resumed her seat on the wooden stool next to the bed and once again sponged the lord's forehead.

  For two more days and nights Elizabeth continued her vigil beside the lord. She changed his dressing countless times, saying the Paternoster twelve times each and every time she sprinkled marrow and sage upon the healing wound, just as her mother had taught her.

  She took her meals in the room and only left the leader's side when absolutely necessary. On one such occasion, as she made her way down the steps, she spotted Thomas in the great hall. He looked up and gave her a glance, and in that fleeting second, Elizabeth recognized that he did not know who she was. She did not let that disturb her, for there would be time in the future to help him mend. And perhaps it was for the good that little Thomas did not remember. He too had seen his family murdered, and if God was indeed a good and compassionate God, then mayhap little Thomas would never remember any of what took place.

  Elizabeth turned her attention to Joseph, standing next to her little brother. The servant looked pointedly at the boy and then nodded to Elizabeth. With a little nod of her own, Elizabeth acknowledged that he would do what was necessary, and continued on her way.

  She had made up her mind that she could wait only one more day. Then she would leave. And tonight, while the soldiers slept, Thomas would be taken by Joseph. If only the Baron would cooperate! If he would just wake up and listen to her! With these thoughts Elizabeth returned to her patient.

  Roger had taken control of the dogs, seeing to their food and exercise, a task he disliked immensely if his grumblings were any indication. The reason was the dogs' strange behavior whenever Roger approached the sleeping knight. "They act as if I would harm my lord," he muttered with disgust.

  "They protect him," Elizabeth said, smiling. She too was surprised by the animals' obvious loyalty to the warrior and could not explain it.

  Several times during the second day Roger left her alone with his lord and Elizabeth acknowledged that she had finally gamed his trust.

  It was the middle of the second night when Elizabeth, sitting beside the sleeping form, again took up the damp cloth and bathed his brow.

  The warrior now lay in a deep, seemingly untroubled sleep, his breathing no longer shallow. Elizabeth was pleased with his progress but thought that the fever still held him prisoner.

  "What manner of man are you," she whispered, "that so many are so loyal?" She closed her eyes then, for the quiet was soothing, but when she reopened them, she was shocked to find the warrior's deep brown eyes intently watching her. Elizabeth's reaction was instinctive; she reached out to touch his forehead. His left hand intercepted hers and slowly, effortlessly, he pulled her toward him. When her breasts were pressed tightly against his bare chest, and their lips were but inches from each other, he spoke. "Protect me well, nymph."

  Elizabeth smiled at his words, sure that he spoke with delirium.

  They continued to stare at each other for an eternity of seconds and then the lord's other hand moved to the back of her neck. With gentle pressure he forced their lips to meet. His mouth was warm and soft and the feeling was not unpleasant, Elizabeth decided. As soon as it began, the chaste kiss ended, and again
they studied each other.

  Elizabeth could not seem to draw her gaze away, for his eyes, rich and velvet and as dark as his hair, seemed to hypnotize her with their intensity.

  Like a child who knows he will not be caught, Elizabeth grew bold and gave in to her innocent curiosity, carefully sliding her hands behind the knight's neck to rest entwined in his hair. The softness against the hard muscles surprised her and she slowly began to massage his neck. Still they watched each other. If Elizabeth had been more astute, she would have noticed that his eyes were no longer glazed over with fever.

  She made her decision. This time it was she who pulled him to her and touched his mouth with her own in a sweet, gentle caress. She did not really know how to proceed, for she was totally unskilled in the art of making love and was much like a struggling toddler taking his first cautious steps as she experimented against his lips. A warm tingling sensation began to spread through her limbs and she enjoyed this novel feeling.

  Her curiosity satisfied, she tried to pull back but the lord was no longer passive in her embrace. His hold tightened and he became the aggressor, his mouth suddenly hard and demanding as he forced his tongue deep into her parted mouth, bruising her tender lips in his assault. Elizabeth's body reacted swiftly to his sensual attack, tentatively touching his tongue with her own in the beginning of the duel as old as time. It was an amazing moment. Feelings Elizabeth had never known she possessed fought for recognition, urging her onward in this new unsatiable quest. Alarmed more by her uninhibited response than by his assault, Elizabeth jerked back from his rapidly weakening hold. She fought to control the trembling of her body, rubbing her swollen lips with her fingers, looking everywhere but at his face, for she knew her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment.

  Finally she willed her gaze to return to his face and sighed with relief. The warrior was falling asleep. Within seconds his eyes were closed.

  With a soft laugh she whispered, "You burn with fever, my lord, and will remember none of this."