Connie Mason (28 page)

Though they could not pinpoint the precise place where Mariah had last seen the wounded man, Edwina’s keen sense of intuition told her they were close.

“Stop, Father!”

“Are you sure this is the place?”

“Every instinct I possess tells me that something foul took place near here.” She slid off the horse’s rump. Father Francis dismounted and handed Edwina the chest. Edwina entered the forest as if she knew exactly where she was going. The priest tethered the horse and followed.

They found the clearing that Mariah had described. Edwina spied blood on the ground and stooped to inspect it. The sound of swords being unsheathed warned her scant seconds before they were surrounded.

“Edwina, Father Francis! Thank God you’ve come,” Sir Dennis cried, sheathing his sword. “Our prayers have been answered. Come quickly. Sir Falcon has been sorely wounded and hovers near death.”

Edwina and Father Francis followed Sir Dennis through the forest to Falcon’s campsite. Edwina spied Falcon immediately. He was lying on the ground on a blood-stained cloak.

“What happened?” Edwina asked, falling to her knees beside Falcon.

“We don’t know,” Sir Dennis replied. “When Falcon failed to return after he left camp to take a look around, I organized a search party. We found him lying in a pool of blood at the place where we encountered you and the priest. He was alone, though there was some indication that a horse had been tethered nearby.

“After we brought him back to camp and made him comfortable, we returned to the place where we found him, hoping the culprit would return. Then you and the priest arrived. Can you help him?”

“Remove his shirt,” Edwina ordered. “I can’t tell you anything until I examine the wound.”

Sir Dennis carefully removed Falcon’s bloody shirt, revealing a knife wound on his left side, just below his heart.

“I need hot water. Does anyone have a pot?” Edwina said.

“I have a kettle,” a man said. “I’ll fetch water from the brook.”

“I’ll build a fire,” Sir Dennis offered, “even though Falcon forbade it.”

Edwina probed the wound; it was still bleeding but not excessively. “ ’Tis not so bad,” she said. “Falcon’s rib deflected the blade from his heart. No vital organs were damaged.”

When the water was heated, Edwina removed a wooden bowl and clean cloths from Dame Helen’s medicine chest. Then she filled the bowl with water and dipped the cloth into it. As she cleaned the blood and meticulously picked bits of material from Falcon’s wound, he remained blissfully unconscious.

“Shouldn’t he be coming around?” Sir Dennis asked worriedly.

“Falcon has suffered a shock to his body,” Edwina replied. “He’ll regain his senses soon enough.”

While Edwina worked over her patient, Father Francis remained on his knees to pray for Falcon’s life.

Once the wound was cleansed to Edwina’s satisfaction, she rummaged in the chest for needle and thread. After dipping the needle in boiling water, she threaded it and painstakingly sewed the edges of the six-inch-long wound neatly together. Then she smeared a generous amount of marigold salve over it and bound it with strips of clean cloth, blessing Dame Helen for having a well-stocked medicine chest.

After she had finished caring for Falcon’s wound, she
placed her hand over it, closed her eyes and listened to the drone of the priest’s prayers until her hand began to tingle. When she opened her eyes, she found Falcon staring at her.

“Edwina?” He glanced around, suddenly aware of the anxious faces watching him. “What happened?”

Sir Dennis dropped to one knee beside him. “We hoped you could tell us.”

Falcon’s brow knitted. “I was with Mariah; I encountered her on the road not far from our campsite.” He tried to rise. “Where is she?”

Edwina placed a hand on his chest and gently pushed him down. “Is that all you remember?”

“Aye. I was going to bring Mariah to our campsite and went to fetch her horse. I heard a twig snap behind me and turned. That’s all I remember. Is Mariah all right?”

Edwina exchanged a speaking glance with Father Francis. The priest must have understood what she wished him to do, for he said, “The man who stabbed you was Sir Osgood’s mercenary, my son. He mistook you for one of Lady Mariah’s guardsmen. Apparently, Sir Osgood believes you are still in London.”

“Where is Mariah?” Falcon’s gaze shifted between the priest and Edwina, fearing the answer.

“At Mildenhall. Walter returned her there early this morning,” the priest said gently.

Falcon struggled to sit up. “We cannot leave her there. She may be in grave danger. Prepare to storm Mildenhall immediately.”

No one moved.

“Sir Dennis, help me to my feet. I will lead the assault myself.”

Dennis shook his head. “Nay, you are too weak. We will wait until you are able to sit a horse.”

Falcon was unaccustomed to being thwarted; his pale face flushed with anger. “I can do this without your help,” he growled.

But it was not as easy as Falcon thought. His arms collapsed beneath him when he tried to lift himself. “Edwina, do something. Brew one of your concoctions to return my strength.”

“You need two days and mayhap more to recuperate; even longer than that if fever sets in,” Edwina replied. “And a rich meat broth to straighten your blood, and herbal tea to ward off fever.” She glanced at Sir Dennis. “Are there hunters among you, sir?”

“Aye, Dame Edwina. Fear not, Falcon shall have his broth.”

Immediately several men fetched their bows and arrows and fanned out into the forest.

“You must return to the keep,” Falcon begged Edwina. “Mariah has no one to protect her.”

Edwina gazed off into the distance, her eyes clouding over. When she returned her gaze to Falcon, her eyes had regained their natural sharpness.

“You need me more than Mariah does right now. Osgood won’t hurt her, for she holds the key to his legal occupation of Mildenhall. He knows the king will intervene once he learns what has transpired here, so he is eager to find Robbie and wed Mariah to his son. If you wish to save Mariah and your son, you must regain your strength.”

“What did you say?” Falcon’s ears perked up.

Father Francis cleared his throat. “She said you need to
recover if you wish to save Mariah and her son from the fate Osgood has planned for them.”

Falcon knew his thinking was still fuzzy, but he could have sworn Edwina had called Robbie his son. Nay, he had heard wrong. Father Francis was a man of God; he wouldn’t lie.

“I pray you are right about Mariah’s safety,” Falcon muttered, “for I shall never forgive myself if she is harmed because of my failure to protect her.”

Mariah refused to believe that Falcon was dead despite Hugo’s insistence that his blade had struck a fatal blow. She had to believe that he lived in order to survive Osgood’s plans for her. Mariah had no idea what direction Osgood’s anger would take. She doubted he would kill her, at least not until he found Robbie. But he certainly could make her life miserable for refusing to place her son in his keeping.

Walter had been so angry with her that he had thrown her upon his horse, mounted behind her and raced his mount toward the keep. The ride was a short one. Minutes later they rode through the portcullis and into the courtyard. Mariah’s blood froze when she saw Osgood standing on the steps to greet them.

“I’m glad I’m not in your place,” Walter goaded. “Father isn’t going to be pleased. This little rebellion of yours will only prolong the inevitable, for in the end we’ll find Robbie and our marriage will take place as planned. Once you are my wife, you will learn obedience or pay the consequences.”

“You will never have Robbie, no matter what you do to me,” Mariah defied.

“You are naught but a willful bitch. My mother would never defy my father like this. She knows better.”

“What is this?” Osgood roared when Walter reined in before the steps. “Where is the brat?”

“Mariah lied, Father. She won’t tell us where he is,” Walter said.

Reaching out a long arm, Osgood pulled Mariah off the horse. She fell with a thump, bruising her hip. Grabbing her long hair, Osgood pulled her upright.

“Hugo said he found you speaking to one of your guardsmen in the forest. He didn’t tell me how you got there, but he’s been severely punished for letting you escape.”

Mariah stumbled and righted herself as Osgood shoved her up the stairs. Sir Martin saw her enter the hall and immediately came to her aid.

“Release Lady Mariah,” he ordered Osgood.

“Keep out of this, Martin. ’Tis none of your affair,” Osgood snarled.

“It’s all right, Sir Martin,” Mariah soothed. “Sir Osgood won’t hurt me. He and Walter need me.”

Osgood flung Mariah into a chair while Sir Martin hovered nearby, wringing his hands. “You lied to me!” Osgood shouted.

Mariah’s chin rose defiantly. “I had to do something to free my people. You were stupid to think I would place my son in your vile hands.”

Osgood backhanded Mariah so fast she was unable to avoid a direct strike. She reeled sideways and would have pitched from the chair if Sir Martin hadn’t rushed forth to steady her. She clutched her cheek, feeling it swell beneath
her cupped palm. But she could take Osgood’s abuse. She could survive anything to keep Robbie safe.

“Take her to her chamber, steward,” Osgood ordered. “I cannot stand the sight of her. Being deprived of food should go a long way to quell her recalcitrance. If you change your mind, Mariah, let me know and food will be forthcoming immediately.”

Sir Martin helped Mariah to her feet and escorted her up the stairs to the solar. Two burly men trailed behind.

“I’ll try to protect you as much as I can, my lady,” Sir Martin whispered. “Trust me to see that you don’t starve.”

“I believe that Falcon and his men are camped in the forest nearby,” Mariah whispered so only Martin could hear. “He plans to attack Mildenhall.”

Martin barely managed to contain his joy. “When can we expect him?”

“There’s more. Hugo found us together in the forest. He attacked Falcon and left him for dead; fortunately, Hugo didn’t realize it was Falcon he’d stabbed. Though I saw Falcon lying on the ground in a pool of blood, I cannot believe he is dead. I sent Edwina and Father Francis to help him.”

“Pray God he is still alive,” Martin said piously.

“What are you two whispering about?” one of the guards asked.

“Naught that would interest you,” Mariah replied.

Martin opened the door. Mariah walked inside. “Stay strong, my lady,” he murmured. “I am sure Sir Falcon is alive and well.”

“Tell no one that Sir Falcon is camped nearby.”

“Get out,” the guardsman ordered Martin. Martin had scarcely cleared the threshold when the door slammed behind him. Mariah didn’t need to be told that both burly mercenaries had remained in the corridor to guard her door. This time there would be no escape.

One day without food didn’t bother Mariah. The huge breakfast Dame Helen had forced on her at the inn would stay with her the rest of the day. She walked to the washstand, looked into the water pitcher and found it full. At least she wouldn’t die of thirst. Not for a few days, anyway.

She sat down on the bed, her thoughts returning to Falcon. Would Falcon’s men attack Mildenhall if he was too hurt to lead them?

What if Falcon was dead?

Falcon was alive—she had to believe that or go mad. And Robbie was safe. Edwina and Father Francis knew where to find him and would take care of him if she . . . Nay, she had to remain positive.

The day progressed, and night came creeping in through the windows. Mariah had no choice but to try to sleep.

She didn’t feel hunger pangs until late on the second day of her captivity, but she ignored them. No one had entered her chamber since the day before, not even a maid. Never had she felt so alone, so abandoned. The solitude left her with too much time to think and fret.

She missed Robbie. Did he miss her, cry for her? Was Becca taking good care of him? She tried not to dwell on Falcon, for thoughts of him only brought tears, and she couldn’t afford to give in to grief. She needed to concentrate on getting herself out of this mess.

But no matter how hard she tried, she could not banish
from her mind the image of Falcon lying on the ground, blood seeping from beneath him. Falcon had provided a miracle for her when he had given her Robbie; perhaps another miracle would occur, one that would give him life.

If Falcon lived, Mariah swore she would tell him the truth about Robbie. She dropped to her knees and fervently begged God to spare Falcon. She was still praying when Osgood entered her chamber a short time later.

“Praying for your supper, Mariah?” Osgood goaded.

Mariah opened her eyes. “Nay, I’m praying that you and your evil son will be banished from this earth forever.”

Osgood moved away from the door; a servant bearing a tray of food entered the chamber and placed it on a table. Mariah eyed the food with misgivings. What kind of torture did Osgood have in mind now?

“Are you hungry, Mariah?”

“Not really.”

“I thought you might like to share your supper with Walter in your chamber. Starving you is futile; you are too stubborn to admit you are hungry. This could go on for days, and your death would solve naught.”

A tantalizing aroma drifted up from the dishes arrayed on the table. There was roasted game, fish, vegetables simmered in cream, thick slices of warm bread accompanied by a pot of sweet butter, and a jug of ale to wash down the food. Mariah’s mouth watered, but she was made of sterner stuff. A few skipped meals weren’t going to sway her.

“Ah, here’s Walter now,” Osgood said as Walter strode into the chamber. “And look, the lad has cleaned himself up for you. You could do worse than casting your lot with my son, Mariah.”

“And I could do much better,” Mariah retorted.

Though Walter wore clean clothing and appeared to have shaved and bathed, he still didn’t appeal to her. The thought of any man but Falcon touching her made her stomach roil.

“You can leave now, Father,” Walter said. “And take the guards with you. Mariah and I wish to be alone.”