by Aston, Alexa
“I’m only sorry Amaury will never see his son or daughter. He was bitterly disappointed that between his first two wives he only received Sabelina. If I don’t carry a son, I hope the king will make a good man the next Baron of Gaynesford. The people deserve a strong, kind liege lord.”
They fell silent after that and a quarter-hour later arrived at the gates of the abbey. Drake called up to the monk guarding the gate and they gained admittance, being directed to the stables. Another monk accepted Starlight’s reins and assured Drake that the horse would be cared for exceedingly well.
“I’ve been around animals all my life, my lord. They are the true gift of God to man. They make good companions to humans. Let me give you directions where to enter the monastery. Once inside, you’ll make your way to the right. The first room you encounter will have a brother to help you.”
They did as the monk instructed and ventured inside the stone structure. Silence blanketed the air. Drake led her to the room on the right and he rapped his knuckles against the open doorframe, getting the attention of a monk who held a quill in his hand and frowned as he scribbled on the page before him. The monk glanced up and smiled, setting his quill down and rising to greet them.
“Ah, welcome. Are you travelers seeking refuge for the night? I am Brother Cillian.”
“I am Sir Michael and this is Lady Mary. We are traveling east. Lady Mary is a recent widow and I am escorting her to her father’s estate.”
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. We can offer you a simple meal and a cell to sleep in tonight. Lady Mary, may I ask if you know much about the healing arts?”
“Most of my experience has been in helping women on my husband’s estate give birth, Brother Cillian, though I have tended to some who have fallen ill. Sir Michael, though, is well versed in healing, thanks to the lessons he learned from his mother.”
The monk looked at Drake with interest. “Would you be willing to examine a few of our sick, Sir Michael? Brother Paul, who knew about medicinal herbs and tended to our flock, recently passed.” The monk clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Gone much too soon from our midst. No one left at the abbey has quite the same skills.”
“I’d be happy to help in any way I can,” he offered. “I carry no herbs of my own, though. Might I visit your storeroom and see what is available? That will help me decide what to use for each of your ailing brothers.”
“Very well. Follow me.”
Brother Cillian led them through the quiet halls until they reached the kitchen. They passed through it, a few monks peeling vegetables and stirring pots, and then came to a large door which Brother Cillian opened.
“Everything we have regarding medicinal herbs is located inside. Brother Paul was very organized so you should easily be able to see what he collected from the garden he tended.”
“Do you know what each brother suffers from?” Drake asked.
“I’d rather you see them and decide for yourself,” Brother Cillian said. “I haven’t been ill a day in my life. I’m afraid I have little knowledge—or tolerance—for those who are sick.” The monk added, “I will give you a few minutes to familiarize yourself and then return for you. Lady Mary, do you wish to go to your cell? I can take you there now.”
“I will stay behind and see if I can help Sir Michael,” Faylinn told the monk.
“Very well.”
Once Brother Cillian left, Drake and Faylinn moved through the storeroom, looking at the labeled jars of herbs. Several times, Drake opened and sniffed to see if the stored herbs were fresh.
“This Brother Paul did an outstanding job at collecting and maintaining herbs,” he told her. “My mother would have been impressed with this vast collection.”
Faylinn wished she could have known his mother and remarked on it.
“Mother was the kindest, smartest woman I’ve ever known. Until you.”
She saw the warm regard in his eyes and had to glance away. Tears stung her eyes and she refused to let him see them.
Brother Cillian returned after a quarter-hour and led them to a faraway wing, telling them, “First, you’ll meet Brother Mendel. He’s been with us the longest.”
The old monk sat upon a pallet on the floor, his back leaning against the wall. His white eyebrows were wild and bushy but he had a kind face.
Brother Cillian introduced them and Drake knelt next to the aging man. “What ails you, Brother Mendel?”
Before the monk could answer, a harsh cough erupted and continued for a good minute. Brother Mendel spit into the rag he held in his hands.
“Both a cold and a cough?” Drake asked and the monk nodded. “What about a sore throat?”
“Yes, Sir Michael,” the monk finally managed and took a sip from the wooden cup beside him.
“May I examine your rag?” Drake asked. “I’d like to see what the phlegm looks like.”
Coughing into it again, Brother Mendel finally held it out to Drake, who looked at it carefully and then used his fingers to lightly touch the man’s neck.
“Has your stomach bothered you?” he asked.
“It has.”
“I will give you two herbs,” Drake revealed. “Ginger helps stomach ailments, as well as colds. Horehound will force you to cough up what’s in your lungs and clear them. I must warn you that horehound will cause you to sweat. That will help cleanse your body, Brother Mendel, and it will also be good for your sore throat.”
After another coughing fit passed, Drake told the monk he would be back after he’d seen his fellow brothers who were ill and bring the ginger and horehound with him.
“Thank you, Sir Michael. We have missed Brother Paul ministering to us. I appreciate your assistance in helping us to heal.”
After that, they met Brother Aaron, who suffered from an upset stomach and poor appetite. Drake decided the monk would receive marjoram to soothe and calm his stomach and mint to restore his appetite. For Brother Vincent, whose tooth ached painfully, Drake promised to return with clove oil, which would cleanse the area around the tooth, as well as numb the pain. He warned the monk that if further pain continued, the tooth would need to be pulled.
Faylinn returned to the storeroom with Drake and began grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle while he went to see about having water put on to boil. Together, they prepared the herbs and steeped some that the monks would drink. Returning without Brother Cillian, since they knew where each monk now resided, Faylinn aided Drake in caring for the three ill monks. Each thanked them sincerely and Drake promised to look in on them before leaving in the morning.
They found Brother Cillian waiting for them in the kitchen.
“The brothers are about to partake of their evening meal in our dining hall. We practice silence during those meals.” He waved a hand, indicating a small table with two chairs. “I have had this prepared for you. I’ll come to you once you’ve finished and take you to your cells. Thank you for looking after my brothers today.”
Faylinn and Drake seated themselves and enjoyed the simple fare—a hearty pottage stew filled with vegetables and grains, accompanied by a dark, crusty loaf of bread and a sharp round of cheese. A dish of stewed pears was a pleasant surprise and Faylinn’s favorite.
“We must ask if they have apples. It’s time Starlight had a nice treat. He’s done a good job of seeing us on our way,” she said. “I must compliment you on how well you tended to the ailing monks. Your knowledge of herbs is vast.”
“I followed Mother about from the time I could walk. She used every opportunity she had to teach me all she knew.” He grinned. “Then I discovered horses and swords and had little time for herbs. I was Father’s shadow after that.”
“You mentioned breaking your arm when training a horse. Did you enjoy working with animals?”
“Very much. I haven’t done so, though, since I became a knight.”
“You are a man of many talents, Drake. A knight. A healer. A trainer.” Sadness filled her. “You should have become Mal
lowbourne’s captain of the guard. I’m afraid after deserting your post and leaving with me that will be impossible.”
His hand covered hers. “Do not let it trouble you, Lady Faylinn. I have already been my father’s captain.”
Warmth filled her at the contact between them but what Drake revealed should be addressed.
“If you were captain of the guard for your father, why did you not remain so upon your father’s death?”
He withdrew his hand, his eyes shuttering. She knew something dreadful must have taken place for him to leave his home and a position many knights strove to earn.
This time, it was Faylinn who reached for Drake’s hand. “Tell me. Please.”
His gaze met hers. “My half-brother became the new Earl of Wakeland. He and his wife no longer required my services.”
Faylinn remembered Drake telling her that his mother passed almost immediately after his father’s death.
“You mean you lost both parents and your home at the same time?”
He nodded.
“I cannot understand such cruelty.”
“Be glad you have never met Baldwin and Gunnora. Baldwin was idle and wasteful. His wife, Gunnora, was hungry for power. I shudder at what Wakefield has become under them and feel guilty that I was forced to abandon our people.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Faylinn said firmly. “It sounds as if this half-brother was jealous of how capable you are and that he was afraid the people would bestow their affection on you. Not him.”
Faylinn gazed at the man she’d grown to admire for so many reasons and said, “I promise you will find a place of honor with my brother, Drake. You have sacrificed much to bring me to safety. I will repay my debt to you in full.”
Chapter Fourteen
Drake and Faylinn visited Brothers Mendel, Aaron, and Vincent again the next morning. All three monks had improved considerably. Brother Mendel could even carry on a conversation without coughing. Drake administered more of the herbs to each man and spoke to Brother Cillian about the continued care needed for each man.
“I cannot thank you enough,” Brother Cillian told him. “It was Providence leading you to us, Sir Michael.”
He felt a little guilty going by a false name in a holy place but only said, “We are grateful for the food and shelter you provided to us.” Reaching into the satchel, he withdrew coins to pay for their stay.
Brother Cillian waved him away. “No. We will accept nothing. You have come to the aid of three of our brothers. That is payment enough. I wish the Almighty Christ’s blessings on the remainder of your journey.”
They left the monastery and retrieved Starlight, who eagerly accepted the apple Faylinn awarded him, munching happily and then spitting the core out. Drake saddled the horse and tied on the satchel. Leading Starlight from the small barn, he swung up into the saddle and leaned over to bring Faylinn up with him.
They left the abbey, waving to a few brothers who tilled in a nearby field, and rode for a few hours until they came to a broken-down cart blocking the road. He started to ride around it but a man appeared on each side from behind the wagon and both called, “Halt!”
“They want us to pay a toll,” he murmured into Faylinn’s ear, his lips brushing the lobe, causing a pleasant sensation to run through her.
She turned to him, her brows knit in concern. “They are filthy. And so thin.”
“It is a way to collect money. Not quite begging but close.”
“Pay them, Drake. They obviously need our help. They are starving and desperate.”
He nodded and looked to the man on his right, tall and dressed in rags, his hair so filthy that it was a mystery what color it might be. “How much to pass?” he called out.
The man named a price, more than Drake was used to paying, but there were two of them and he wanted no trouble. Reluctantly, he reached into the satchel and pulled out a few coins. He tossed two at the fellow and turned to pitch another two at the man on the left, equally mired in dirt and short in stature.
The pair collected their coins and worked to move the cart, which was missing two of its wheels. Shoving it aside, they made just enough room for Starlight to pass. Drake’s arm held Faylinn a little closer as they rode past swiftly. He didn’t think these two would try and pull a knight and lady from their horse but it never hurt to be cautious in this type of situation.
He had Starlight gallop for a good half-mile before he slowed the horse to a more leisurely pace.
“I feel sorry for them,” Faylinn said. “To be homeless. Dirty. Starving. No family to turn to. It makes my problems seem small.”
Drake didn’t think a murderous stepdaughter was a small problem but he kept silent.
Hours later, they reached a city of good size and he asked if she would like to spend the night at one of the two inns he saw.
“It would be nice to have a hot meal in our bellies and a mattress to sleep upon,” she agreed, glancing from side to side. “Let’s go to The Spotted Hog. I like the name.”
“As you wish, my lady.”
Drake steered the horse to his right and dismounted, bringing Faylinn to the ground and wrapping Starlight’s reins around a post. They entered the inn and found a large crowd inside the main room, eating and drinking. Several rough-looking men leered in her direction and she moved closer to him. In turn, he brought his arm about her waist, keeping her near him as he glared. Immediately, those who gawked at her lowered their heads, not wanting to accept his unspoken challenge.
A serving wench approached them. “Would you like to sup, my lord? Do you need a room for the night?”
“Both,” he said.
“Bart!” she hollered, motioning a man over. “They need a meal and a room.”
“Greetings, my lord and my lady. We only have one vacant room left to accommodate you.”
Drake had told Faylinn that possibility might occur during their travels and that they were to pretend to be husband and wife if it did.
“We’ll take it,” he said. “Is it possible for my wife to have a bath?”
“Of course, my lord. I’ll have food brought to you now. The bath will await your lady when you’ve finished eating.”
Faylinn looked at him gratefully as Bart led them to a table in the corner and left them.
“I have dreamed of a hot bath,” she proclaimed. “Thank you, Drake, for being so thoughtful.”
He warmed at her gratitude. He would do anything for this woman. She was thankful for everything she received and kind to all they met. He only wished he could do more for her.
They ate roasted chicken and a leek soup, washed down with a few mugs of cold ale, and then retreated upstairs. As promised, a tub sat in the small confines of the room, a servant emptying a bucket of hot water in it.
“That’s the last of it. Here’s a warm one to rinse with on the floor, my lady,” the woman said. “Can I be of any help?”
“No, I’ll care for my wife. Thank you,” Drake said, ushering the servant from the room.
He only wished Faylinn were his wife and that he could undress her—and join in her bath.
“Can I help you from your cotehardie?” he asked. “I’m sure you can manage the rest.”
She hesitated a moment and then said, “Yes, please.”
Drake came to her and lifted the skirts. The backs of his hand skimmed her body as he raised the cotehardie from her ankles to over her head, pulling it free from her. The simple kirtle she wore underneath was plain in design. He saw color bloom on her cheeks and knew she must be somewhat embarrassed by his presence.
“I will wait outside our door,” he said abruptly.
She bit her lip. “Won’t they find that odd? You are my husband. You would assist me.”
Now, he felt heat rising up his own neck and face. “I cannot stay in this room with you naked, Faylinn. You ask too much of me.”
“Could . . . could you not remain and merely face the door while I bathe?” she pleaded and then a torrent of
words burst from her. “I’m sorry, Drake. I’m frightened. Many of the men downstairs were coarse-looking. I heard a few comments about me. I don’t want to be left alone. Vulnerable.”
He reached for her hands and squeezed them reassuringly. “I am your protector, Faylinn. Always. No one will get past me.”
Uncertainty filled her eyes. “You doubt my abilities?” he asked.
“I would rather you be on this side of the locked door and not the other,” she admitted.
He decided to give in to her request, knowing how difficult it would be.
“As you wish, my lady.”
The room was small and had no chair in it. If he sat on the bed, he would be able to see her. Instead, he went and stood before the door, his back to her.
“I hope this is to your liking.”
“It is,” she said cheerily.
Drake stood resolutely, his eyes trained on the wooden door before him. He heard every sound, however, that came from behind him. The swish of her kirtle and smock being removed and tossed onto the bed. A softer sound, which had to be her chemise. He tried and lost the battle, closing his eyes and imagining the layers coming from her—and what she now looked like without them. His eyes remained shut as he heard her enter the bath, one leg at a time, and then the contented sigh as she sank into the water.
Faylinn wasn’t a quiet bather. She splashed noisily, making his mouth go dry. He could imagine her full breasts, glistening with water. See her lather the soap and run it across her satin skin. Then she began humming and finally singing softly, a familiar tune he’d always loved. Not only did he long to touch this woman, but her song brought reminders of home to him, sitting before the fire in the great hall after the evening meal, as children played and people talked while some sang. He blinked rapidly at the tears that stung his eyes, missing Wakefield now more than he had during the past three years.
Her song came to an end and she began another one as the water stirred. She must have risen from the bath for he heard liquid coming from the bucket now. He could imagine it streaming down her limbs and over her breasts and slightly rounded belly. He yearned for more than his former home. He longed for Faylinn as his wedded wife. It didn’t matter that she carried another man’s child. His desire for her engulfed him. If only she carried a girl within her womb. If only he could be allowed to remain at Newbury Manor and that Sir Ashby would grant him permission to wed his sister.
