Heart's Ransom (Heart and Soul) (13 page)

“Damnation, I think he pulled some tendons.”

Gwen turned her attention to the stallion, knowing the horseman in Talon would not let him rest until he saw to his mount.  “I don’t know much about horses,” she muttered.  “But muscles are muscles.”  She reached for the animal then stopped, looking at Talon.

Talon grabbed the reins and nodded.  “Stand forward, by the saddle,” he said, nodding with his head.  “That way if he tries to kick it is easier to dodge.”

Gwen sucked in a deep breath, did as he asked, then lightly ran her hand down the horse’s leg.  It snorted and jerked but did not try to kick.  “Aye,” she said softly.  “Nothing broken.  Is there a stream or a pond where you can lead the horse into it and soak him in cold water?”

Talon nodded.

“That will take the swelling down and help the pain.  Do this several times a day; keep him quiet, it will heal on its own.”

Talon and Gwen stepped back as a groom led the animal away.

“I feared I would have to put him down,” Talon said softly.

“I think he will be fine with rest.”

Talon drained his wine cup again which the page promptly refilled.

“Let’s get you inside.”

He stubbornly shook his head and strode to the shattered quintain.  Talon stared at the wood a long moment.  “The crosspiece snapped in half,” he said in amazement.

“You struck it a hard blow,” Marcus said.  “Perhaps the wood had a weak point we were unaware of.”

Talon crouched next to the wood, examining it closely.  “Perhaps,” he said softly but his voice sounded unconvinced.  “It broke along the grain.”  He peered closer, his frown deepening.  “This makes no sense.”

“Talon, please.  Come inside and let me tend to your shoulder.”

He nodded mutely and followed her into the keep.

Despite the enormous amount of wine Talon consumed the muscles around the injury remained tight.  Gwen feared she would not be strong enough to return the battered joint.  Instead she showed Marcus and Aaron what to do.  Then whispered soft instructions out of Talon’s hearing.  They nodded and Gwen moved to stand in front of Talon.  Aaron stood behind him and Marcus stood at his side.

“All right, on the count of trice, Aaron will hold you and Marcus will pull your arm back in place.  You must try to stay relaxed as possible, Talon.”

He nodded grimly but his body remained coiled.

She sighed and gently cupped his face in her hands, gazing into his eyes.  “Concentrate only on me, Talon.”

Marcus and Aaron moved into position.

“Hold a moment, lady,” Talon said with dry humor lacing his voice.  He downed the contents of his wine cup.

Gwen smiled.  He returned his attention to her.  She swallowed hard as his gaze threatened to ignite and inferno within her.  “Only on me, Talon,” she said.  “Take a deep breath and expel it slowly.”

Talon did so, as he inhaled, she counted one.

He exhaled slowly and she counted two.

Suddenly Marcus and Aaron both jerked at the same time. Gwen heard a muffled popping noise.  Talon roared in agony, recoiling in his chair.

Gwen quickly checked his shoulder, noting it had returned to its proper place.

“I thought you said trice,” Talon growled, sucking in rapid breaths.

“I’m sorry, Talon, but you expected it on that count and would have tightened at the last instant, only causing more pain.  I told Marcus and Aaron to do this on two instead.  We had to take you by surprise.”

He shook his head and took another drink of wine.  “It does feel better.”

“Good.  I’ll make a poultice for you and bandage it properly.  You won’t be able to move your arm for a few days.”

He scowled.  “You mean...?”

“Training, sword play, and riding are out of the question, Talon.  You must let your shoulder heal.”

He grumbled but did not argue.

****

The next two days passed quickly for Talon.  He mostly slept through them with the help of Gwen’s draughts and her cooling poultices.  The keep continued to run on an even keel with Marcus’ direction but the searches for Rose came to a halt.  They did not know where else to look.

Mid-morning on the third day, he dressed, wearing only braccas, Celtic-style leather leggings and padded on bare feet.  He sat in his chair before the large hearth of his solar and sipped a cup of wine.  He could not explain the new and strange feelings within him, centering on a young Welsh lady.

He still marveled at Gwen and her actions.  She was from an enemy castle, his prisoner.  But she had shown mercy and kindness to him.  In the Marches, that quality was rare indeed.

He could not help but remember Eleanor.  They had been married a short time when he had taken a deep wound in his right thigh while rebuffing a Welsh raid.  It had grown infected and he had struggled against a nasty fever.  For a time, the healers feared he would lose his leg.

Eleanor had not tended to him, nor had she visited him in his sickbed, unable to abide illness or injury.  He vividly recalled when his men brought him home.  She had taken one look at him and swooned dead away.  When she awakened, she locked herself in her solar with her weaving, waiting for word if her husband would live or die.

At the time, Talon had not thought anything of it.  She was a proper, noble lady and should not be subjected to such graphic harshness.  But he could not deny feeling so terribly alone, the constant pain beating down his defenses. 

But Gwen’s actions made him question his previous assumptions.  She had been raised
with as much rank and wealth as Eleanor.  Although Gwen owed him no duty, she had tended to him with gentle grace and learned experience.  He remembered clearly how the pain had eased with her touch and her soothing voice had calmed him.  She had not quailed from him.

A soft knock on the door startled him from his thoughts.  “Enter,” he called.

The door opened and Gwen peeked through.  “How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” he said with a bright smile and motioned her inside.

She entered carrying a small bowl.  “I brought you some broth with herbals.  It will help your pain without making you drowsy.” 

He flexed his injured arm and winced.  “It still pains me when I try to move it.”

Gwen gave him a wry smile.  “My lord, the body gives us pain for a reason.  Perhaps you should heed the warning.”

He chuckled softly, took the bowl from her and quickly downed it, cringing against the foul taste.

She smiled, her fingers touching his brow then smoothing his hair back.  “Sorry about the flavor but I did the best I could.”

He closed his eyes and shivered with her wonderful action.  “’Tis all right, lady.  It was better than most potions I’ve had shoved down my throat.”  He quickly took another swallow from his wine to rid himself of the taste.

Gwen chuckled and picked up a brush from the table.  She surprised him by stepping behind him and brushing the tangles from his long hair.  He relaxed, delighting in the new sensation.

“It won’t be long before you can begin exercising your arm again.”

“Thanks to you, lady.”

“I’m glad I was able to help.”  She fell silent, continuing to brush his hair.  “Talon, may I ask a boon of you?”

He stiffened, suddenly remembering her request for a picnic.  “If it is within my power, I shall gladly grant it.”

“I fear my herbals are somewhat depleted.  May I replace them from your gardens?”

“Of course, lady,” he replied, a bit surprised that it was something so simple.  “In fact, if you find the gardens of Montgomery lacking in any way, please feel free to remedy it.”

“Thank you, Talon, your kitchen herbs are well managed but I’ve noticed the ones for medicants are wanting.  It would be best if you had a room dedicated to the drying and storing of medicinal herbs.”

“I know not what sort of room would be best, but there are plenty vacant ones here, especially in the towers.  Of course, if Montgomery falls under siege, you can expect a tower room to be overtaken with soldiers.”

She chuckled.  “Aye.  The same happened with my father’s castle.  Usually I moved them if we expected to come to battle.  I will look around and see what I can find.”

Although his hair was now free of tangles, she continued to brush.  He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of the bristles against his scalp.  The action was strangely soothing.

“I do not mean to ask for too much at once, Talon,” Gwen said softly.  “But at home I always kept myself busy.  I fear idleness weighs heavily on me.”

“What is it you wish, my solace?”

The brush stopped as if he had startled her.  He smiled to himself and the brush resumed its action.  “I managed the kitchens, but your cook seems to have things well in hand and dislikes meddlers.”

Talon laughed.  “Aye, Gwen, even I do not dare tread on Cook’s territory.”

“When not in the kitchens or working with my medicants I spun, carded, dyed, and wove.  I made everything from the cloth for clothing to tapestries.”

A sudden pain shot through his heart.  Eleanor had kept herself busy with weaving but she purchased expensive dyed skeins from London and even as far away as France for her tapestries, not involving herself in the more mundane labor of creating the thread.  The wondrous tapestries adorning the walls in the great hall were mostly by her hand.

“Upstairs in the ladies’ solar is a loom I am sure you will find most serviceable.  It has an unfinished piece but I will have the servants put it away.”

She hesitated a moment.  “Perhaps I could finish it for you.”

“Nay,” he said more harshly than he intended.  He took a deep breath to steady himself.  “The piece shall remain as it is.  The solar hasn’t been used in years.  I shall have it cleaned and prepared for you.  Marcus will give you access to any supplies you may require.”  He paused and smiled up at her.  “It wouldn’t do to have you driven daft by boredom.”

She grinned down at him, a smile that stole his breath and fair lit the room.  “Thank you, Talon.”  She finally stopped her brushing and her hand fell on his shoulder, warm and soft.  He found himself captured in her gaze.

“One question, my solace.  Can you dye thread to such a rich emerald green that it would match your eyes?”  He grinned broadly when a bright red blush ignited, crawling up from her neck to her cheeks.

Another knock on his door interrupted her reply.

“Who is it?” he grumbled, annoyed.

“Marcus, my lord.”

“Enter.”

Marcus opened the door bearing a scroll case in his hand.  “Sorry to disturb you but this just arrived with Montfort’s seal.”

“Montfort?” Talon asked in surprise, taking the case.  “Thank you, Marcus, that will be all.”

Marcus bowed and closed the door behind him.

“Do you wish privacy?” Gwen asked.

“Nay,” he replied, awkwardly pulling the parchment from the case.  “’Tis probably only an inquiry as to the status of our borders.”  He paused and thought for a moment.  “Gwen, how much do you know of English politics?”

She muttered a very unladylike curse under her breath and Talon felt his lips tug upward.  “Not much,” she replied.  “My father was very good at keeping things from me.  Even though I am designated as heiress, he does not believe a woman has the intelligence to keep up with political affairs.”

“I beg to differ,” Talon replied, shaking his head.  “Women need to be aware of politics, especially if they are to manage lands under dower or if their husbands are away in service to their king.  She needs the knowledge to be chatelaine.” 

His own contradiction smacked him in the teeth.  Eleanor could have managed the domestic aspects of Montgomery if Talon was away - if she decided to lower herself to the duty of managing an orphanage, as she called it.  But as for political wrangling or warfare, Talon would have left that duty solely to Marcus.  If Eleanor had been more like Gwen however--

He abruptly stopped his thoughts and broke the seal on the scroll.

“I must admit it was probably best that I stopped your marriage to Fitzalans,” Talon said absently as he scanned the letter.  “He is a devout royalist and right now, King Henry has little power or control of his own kingdom.  Your marriage to him would have brought Fitzalans under Montfort’s scrutiny and displeasure.”

“What do you mean?” Gwen asked taking a chair beside him and gazing at him with avid interest.

He smiled, quickly explaining the situation with Montfort’s victory at Lewes and his role in the battle.  “The Provisions of Oxford must stand apart from the king,” he explained.  “The law must be an entity unto itself or we will have nothing but persecution and bloodshed as King John proved.  His son Henry seems to be following in his footsteps, not with persecution but with heavy taxes and disinterest in his people.  Do you know he cannot speak English, only
French?”

“You jest.”

Talon shook his head emphatically.  “There is hope that Prince Edward will be a much better ruler and will take at least the premise of the Provisions to heart, he speaks the people’s language and I see great potential in him, especially as a military leader.”