Authors: Johanna Lindsey
A
T dawn, the camp outside the walls of Wroth Keep was quiet. Dreams of victory had followed the men into sleep. The watch reported hourly to Thorpe de la Mare, but the news he was expecting had still not been sent. The camp stirred and came to life just after dawn, but there was little to do. Most of the preparations had been made the night before, so the men waited for word, talking among themselves and getting restless.
At midmorning, Thorpe approached Rolfe inside his large tent.
“It appears the plan has worked. There is so little activity on the walls that they seem deserted.”
Thorpe said it so grudgingly that Rolfe laughed. “You were hoping for different news?”
“I still do not believe your wife would help you.”
“I told you, she wants to spare lives, both ours and those inside Wroth.”
“More likely only those inside Wroth.” Thorpe grunted.
“You will not stir up my anger this morning, my friend. I’m in good spirits. Leonie’s concoctions have worked! Let us go and take Wroth now.”
“You will be careful?”
Rolfe chuckled at the large man’s concern. “You are acting like an old woman, Thorpe. I am not here
to take tea. I’m here to secure this keep. But I promise not to sheathe my sword until you tell me it is safe to do so. Does that satisfy you?”
The taking of Wroth was ridiculously easy. As the ladders were scaled, moans were heard. The foulest stench greeted them when they reached the top of the walls. Everywhere men were bent over with cramps or puking up their food. Some of the men tried to fight Rolfe’s men, but they had no strength and resistance was quickly quelled.
In short order, the keep was emptied and the prisoners taken to an area Rolfe had set up away from his main camp. The knight, John Fitzurse, would be held for ransom. The rebellious vassal might have been killed, but Rolfe was feeling a little guilty over the easy conquest, and so was inclined to be lenient.
It was still morning when Rolfe entered his tent and tossed his helmet to Damian. Then he settled down at his improvised desk. It was on his mind to send a message to Leonie, but she might know there was no clerk there, and he didn’t want to write the note himself. He didn’t want her to know he could read and write with ease. That would give her an excuse to refuse to act as his clerk. The sooner she began doing wifely things, the sooner she would accept him.
Thorpe entered the tent, and Rolfe asked, “All is secure?”
Thorpe nodded. “Will you offer the soldiers here what you offered the others?”
“Are they mostly recruited serfs, or hired men?”
“Serfs I think, since most speak only English,” Thorpe replied.
“Then I will offer them what we offered the Axeford and Harwick soldiers. They can stay and fight for me or go. The hired men, too, because the fewer of our
own men we have to leave here the better. Who do you suggest I put in charge?”
“Walter Wyclif. He has asked for Wroth, and since Richard and Piers and Reinald want to stay with the army—”
“But I would have given Sir Walter a larger keep, one of those we’ve yet to win.”
“He wants to be settled now. He’s tired of riding back and forth from Axeford Town where his wife is staying. He wants Lady Bertha with him, because he says she causes too much mischief when she’s left alone.”
Rolfe chuckled, but Thorpe frowned. “I would not laugh, my friend. You yourself have a wife who is prone to mischief-making.”
“She’s caused no trouble since she married me,” Rolfe said defensively.
“Not yet,” muttered his friend.
Rolfe was in the midst of defending his wife when they heard horses galloping into camp. As they left the tent, a rider dismounted, nearly bursting with news.
“My lord, Nant Keep has surrendered!”
“What terms?” Rolfe demanded.
“No terms. Their food supply ran out, and it seems they had rationed it so long, they were too weak to fight. The vassal simply begs mercy.”
“I believe my luck has turned, Thorpe,” Rolfe said, grinning.
But as the words left his mouth, another rider skidded to a halt and shouted, “My lord, your mill at Crewel has been set afire!”
Rolfe glowered at Thorpe. “Have five men ready immediately, but you stay to lead the army to Warling Keep.”
“Sir Piers can lead the army—”
“I do not need a keeper! I will see to the fire myself. Do as I ask, Thorpe.”
Less than ten minutes later Rolfe was riding toward Crewel, five men-at-arms following in his wake. Fifteen miles separated the two properties, and they rode hard, the ancient road leading through forests and open fields.
Rolfe’s large destrier was not bred for speed, yet he reached the area of the Crewel mill well ahead of his men. Pausing beside the rapid stream that cut through the woods north of the village, Rolfe saw dozens of village men as well as several of his soldiers. They were moving slowly, so he guessed the fire had been put out.
He urged his horse ahead, but there was no longer any need to race the wind. He was barely within shouting distance when the arrow struck him. It tore through several chain-mail links and then it lodged in his hip. Rolfe caught a fleeting glimpse of forms slithering away into the shadows of the woods before a full measure of pain washed over him.
L
EONIE was accustomed to seeing blood, even as much blood as this. She had treated many wounds, but she became almost hysterical at the thought of treating Rolfe.
Their eyes met as he was carried, conscious now, into the hall. The look in his eyes froze her. There was fury in that look, furious accusation.
Why?
“My lady?”
Wilda and Mildred were looking at her anxiously.
“Yes?”
Wilda said, “Sir Thorpe wants to move my lord Rolfe to his—your—room. Will you see to him?”
“Has he asked for me?”
Wilda could not meet her eyes. “He asked for the leech.”
That hurt more than his accusation. “Then that is that.”
“But, my lady,” Mildred whispered, “Odo is only a barber! I know many barbers have some knowledge of healing and serve as leech, but Odo is a fool. He would rather let a man die than admit he cannot help him. You remember Odo, my lady. He is the one you chastised when he nearly let my mother die.”
Leonie stared hard at Mildred, then turned away. Had she mistaken Rolfe’s look, or did he truly believe she had somehow contrived to wound him?
Upstairs, she found a guard in the antechamber, barring her entrance. She tried to pass him and he moved quickly to block her way.
“I am sorry, my lady,” was all he would say.
“Did my husband order you to keep me out?” she demanded.
He looked down at his feet without speaking. That was answer enough.
“Is the leech with him now?” she asked.
“I—”
He was interrupted by a bellowed curse and a crash from behind the closed door. Leonie turned stark white, and then the color rushed back into her cheeks as her temper exploded.
“I could have saved him that pain!” Her eyes stabbed the guard with her fury. “Let me pass now before he suffers more.”
“I am sorry, my lady, but you must not—”
“You have no more sense than that fool in there who dares to call himself a healer. Do you hear that, Odo?” she shouted at the door. “If you harm him or maim him with your ignorance, I will see you hanged by your thumbs until they fall off! And if he dies, you will wish a thousand times that you had died instead!” Then she whirled at the guard, now staring at her wide-eyed. “And so will you!”
Inside the room, Odo had heard her clearly. He hesitated as he bandaged the gaping wound where he had ripped out the arrow. But it was quiet outside the door now, and as long as the lord was now unconscious, he could bandage him easily.
Leonie had been heard below the stairs, and she received many strange looks when she returned to the hall. She paced, in anger and frustration, striding back
and forth before the cold hearth. No one dared speak to her.
Sir Evarard refused to go against Rolfe’s orders and admit her to their room, although
he
was allowed inside. Leonie finally sent a messenger to Thorpe de la Mare, hoping that Rolfe’s friend, an older and wiser man, would put an end to this foolishness.
But Sir Thorpe arrived early that evening and closed himself in the room with Rolfe, not emerging until late that night. Leonie waited for him in the hall, and attacked him the moment he came down the stairs. “How is he?”
Thorpe eyed her coldly. “Sleeping.”
“And the wound?”
“He will mend—no thanks to you.”
“You too?” she hissed. Knowing she was too angry to restrain herself, she turned aside, staring at the ceiling, reining herself in. Then she turned back to him. “Sir Thorpe, no matter what you think—no matter what
he
thinks—I was not responsible for what happened. Nor would my people attack him now. He is my husband.
Why
do you believe I caused this?” she demanded.
Thorpe settled into a chair and bellowed for a servant to bring food. Not until food and wine had been given him did he pierce her with his dark eyes…eyes so like Rolfe’s. “He saw whoever fired the arrow moving off through the woods toward Pershwick. Evarard says that you have returned to Pershwick since coming here.”
“That is true. My aunt Beatrix continues to live there. I have every right to visit her. How does that condemn me?”
“You had time to plan your husband’s death while you were there. It is well known that you did not want
to marry him and are still not reconciled to the marriage. It is equally well known that before you even met him, you caused him much grief. The conclusion is obvious. You want to rid yourself of him.”
“If that is so, why did I help him take Wroth Keep? Also, I could have poisoned him myself at any time and blamed it on that filthy kitchen. But I had his kitchens cleaned instead.”
“
You
did that?”
“Oho! So another one is quick to believe that the changes were Lady Amelia’s doing. After living here in this filth hole for so long, she all of a sudden decided to take his property in hand, is that right? Oh, believe what you like. Believe also that I would leave to a chancy arrow what I could easily have done properly. I do not do things in half measures, Sir Thorpe. If I had wanted my husband dead, he would be dead.”
“You have always been against him, Lady Leonie. Can you deny
that?
”
“I shall neither make denials nor offer excuses for what I felt in the past. I was told the Black Wolf was a monster. Alain Montigny was my friend and your lord meant to kill him if he could find him. Yes, I despised him for coming here. Alain, whose home was stolen from him, had to flee for his life. I would even have gathered my people to help Alain keep what was his, but he chose not to fight.”
“But
you
chose to do so, Lady Leonie.”
“There you are wrong,” Leonie said frigidly. “I cursed the Black Wolf for the usurper he was, only that. My people did the rest, taking my anger as theirs. It became their cause. But the only harm I have ever done him was when I wounded him on my wedding night.” She added hastily, “And that was an accident—one he doesn’t even remember.”
Thorpe scowled blackly. “Then it is good that Rolfe doesn’t want you near him.”
Leonie gasped. “You have not heard a word I’ve said! I wish to help him. I can ease his suffering. I can—”
“You can stay away from him. Even if he would relent and let you treat him, I do not trust you, Lady Leonie. It is because of my foolish tongue that you are wed. Once I saw you, I was foolish again, thinking it was not so bad that you and he marry. But I was wrong. And he is wise enough now not to trust you again.”
“You are a stubborn man, Thorpe de la Mare, and I will pray for my husband’s sake that you do not remain so. Odo will do him more harm than good.”
“The leech? He is finished now, and Rolfe will heal quickly, as he has always done. Did you think this was his first wound?” Thorpe shook his head.
“I hope you are right.”
As he watched her walk away, Thorpe’s eyes narrowed. Mildred, who had waited in the shadows, listening, saw his look and made her decision. Stepping forward, she hissed, “You are wrong about her.” She received the full impact of those dark eyes, but she steeled herself, adding, “She knows all there is to know about healing and giving comfort. And she would not harm my lord Rolfe. She even threatened Odo, knowing his bumbling ways. Ask Sir Evarard if you do not believe me.”
“Women defend each other whether or not there is cause,” Thorpe said disdainfully.
“As do men.”
“He does not need her help!” he growled. How did this woman have the temerity to challenge him, he wondered. Were the Pershwick serfs even worse?
“She would not harm him!” Mildred insisted. “She was furious when she learned he was being falsely accused of beating her. She has made the truth known, for his sake. Is that the action of a woman who bears him hatred?”
Mildred left then, amazed by her outburst. And like Lady Leonie before her, Mildred was the recipient of Thorpe’s narrowed gaze until she was out of sight.
A
FTER four days, Rolfe was worse. Thorpe was at wit’s end. It had seemed a simple wound. Rolfe had received worse than that and recovered quickly. This wound actually seemed to be sapping his strength. A fever started the second day and climbed until Rolfe raged in delirium, calling for his wife one moment and cursing her the next. He didn’t recognize Thorpe at all.
Odo, that cur, had sneaked out of the keep, escaping before he could be blamed for Rolfe’s worsening condition.
Thorpe did not know what to do. No, that was not the truth. There was one thing he could do, and finally he did it, sending a servant to fetch Rolfe’s wife. When she came into the room, her servant Wilda with her, he had the grace to look ashamed. He flinched when she let out a stream of curses.
“Why did you not call me sooner?” she demanded of Thorpe. “The dirt within the wound is killing him.”
“I did not change his bandages,” Thorpe replied defensively. “So I haven’t seen the wound.”
“You should have! I warned you Odo would do more harm than good.”
“Can you help him?” Thorpe asked humbly.
Looking at the pus-infested wound, she said, “I truly do not know. How long has the fever been this bad?”
“Three days.”
“God’s mercy.”
Thorpe lost his color. The hopelessness in her manner said all he needed to hear. Praying, he moved closer to the bed and watched her. First she forced liquid down Rolfe’s throat, succeeding in getting him to swallow. Thorpe felt respect well up in him. Then she began crushing leaves to pack onto the wound along with some foul-smelling stuff. Water was set to boil and she began mixing together the contents of several bottles.
When she brought a little knife out of her basket, Thorpe gripped her wrist. “What is that for?” he demanded.
She eyed the large man. “His wound will have to be opened so I can search for what is causing this fever. Would you like to do it?” she asked him pointedly. Thorpe shook his head and let go of her wrist.
Leonie cleaned the knife, then very carefully removed the leaves she had packed against the wound. Using the knife, she started to probe inside the wound, cleaning it. There was complete silence for several long moments, and then she let out a horrified cry.
“Death is too good for that leech.” Leonie glared at Thorpe in a way that made him feel wholly to blame for Rolfe’s condition. “He removed the arrow, but he left inside a piece of Rolfe’s chain mail that the arrow carried with it!”
She extracted it slowly and carefully, then resumed cleaning the wound. When clear blood finally began to ooze from it, she sighed gratefully. With the wound now clean, she covered it with her concoction.
At last she sat back and looked at Thorpe, her expression no longer anxious. “The blood must be
allowed to seep from the wound until his fever abates, so we know the illness has left it. I will not sew the wound until then. He will be weakened more by this, but I dare not stop the bleeding until I am certain the wound is clean. I have tonics to aid him in fighting the fever, and to restore his strength.” Thorpe nodded and she went on. “I will give him something for the pain too.” When he remained silent, she asked, “Will you let me stay and watch his progress and do what needs doing?”
“He is out of danger?” he asked softly.
“I believe so, yes.”
“Then stay, my lady.”
“If he wakes enough to realize I am here, he may not like it.”
“Then he will not like it,” Thorpe said stubbornly, too grateful to care what Rolfe would think.
“Very well.” She sighed. “But I ask you not to tell him what I’ve done.”
“Why not?”
“I do not want him upset while he recovers. Let him think the leech healed him as he should have done.”
“I would not lie to Rolfe.”
“You do not have to lie. Just say nothing about it. I will try to leave before he awakes.”
Late the next day she was bandaging the wound after pulling its jagged edges together, when Rolfe’s eyes opened and locked with hers. The fever had ravaged him, and there was a heavy growth of beard covering his face. He looked terrible, and his eyes grew dark with anger when he saw her.
Leonie said not a word, but finished what she was doing and left the room. Thorpe, sleeping in a chair
by the hearth, woke when he heard the door closing. He approached the bed.
“So, you are back with us?”
“Where have I been?” The voice was very weak.
Thorpe smiled at his old friend.
“You came very close to dying.”
Rolfe eyed him skeptically. “From a little arrow hole?”
“That little hole was stinking with disease. You had a very bad fever.”
“Never mind that. What was she doing in here? Is this how you guard my back, by letting in the very one responsible—”
“Easy, Rolfe.” Thorpe cut him short. “I do not think her guilty of this. I am sure she is not.”
“I told you what I saw.”
“Yes, and that was damning—but not conclusive,” Thorpe told him obstinately.
“You defend her now? You wouldn’t trust her at all before this. I don’t
want
to believe her capable of this, Thorpe. I believed I was making progress with her, and now this.”
Thorpe shook his head. “You haven’t had time to consider what happened without the pain of your wound clouding your thoughts. Think well before you place the blame on her, because anyone could have fired that arrow. It could have been a man turned out from one of the keeps we won, or even someone from here for that matter. Did Pershwick ever attack with weapons before? Then would they do so now, when you have their lady firmly in your power?” He moved away a bit and eyed Rolfe carefully. “Do you know why she was against you before? Did you ever ask her about it?”
“What difference would it make?”
“
Did
you, Rolfe?”
“No,” he said curtly, “but I suppose you have learned why. Else why would you be badgering me like this?”
Thorpe grinned. “I see your mood is improving.”
“Do you have something to tell me or not?”
Thorpe shook his head. “We were wrong about her, you know. And she has been misled about you. It is up to the two of you to work together to clear things up, Rolfe.”
“Riddles, when I am lying here suffering.” Rolfe sighed. “Where is that cursed leech anyway? My hip feels as though there’s a fire in there.”
“No doubt, after all you’ve been through. As to Odo, he left two nights ago, fearful of losing his thumbs.”
“More riddles?” Rolfe said, exasperated.
“Your wife was very clear about what she would do to Odo if he caused you harm, and as it was Odo’s incompetence that nearly killed you…”
“You keep telling me I was at death’s door. With the leech gone, I suppose I have you to thank?” Thorpe was shaking his head emphatically. Rolfe’s eyes widened with sudden understanding. “She used her knowledge to make me well? To help me again? Why did you not tell me that before? Why, Thorpe, I do believe the lady is beginning to care for me.”
“I would not make too much of this,” Thorpe said hastily. “She may have saved your miserable life, but I believe it is simply her way to help others if she can. Don’t see more in it than you should. It will only cause you trouble later.”
But Rolfe was not listening. He was delighted. He
was ecstatic. She had come to care for him. Did that mean he would soon be able to make her love him?
That question occupied Rolfe completely, until he fell into an exhausted sleep.