by Alexa Aston
Had he died?
Surely not. He’d asked Father Dannet once if people felt pain after death. The priest assured him that pain did not exist in Heaven. That Hal would get a new body from the Christ and spend his days glorifying the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
Unless he’d gone to Hell. Now that was a place where pain would be constant. But not like this. Hell was supposed to be a lake of burning fire, utter agony with souls constantly screaming for relief. As far as he knew, he was lying in the snow. And the pain was manageable. Not nearly what he would expect from hellfire and damnation.
He studied the face hovering above him. The woman was no angel, for she had no wings of pure white. Still, she was a welcomed sight with her warm brown eyes and heart-shaped face.
“I am so sorry,” she apologized. “I was trying to move you to the wheelbarrow. It’s just that you are . . . so . . . heavy. So large.”
Hal noted she was of medium height and slender and dressed as a boy, just as his sister, Nan, often was. He pushed himself up on one elbow, the one opposite the knife wound in his right side, biting back the foul words that came to mind.
“Are you the one who straightened my leg?”
“Aye. And bound your side. I will do better for you once I can get you back to the cottage.”
“I doubt I can walk anywhere at the moment.” He paused. “And I’d rather not be dragged through the woods if it’s all the same to you.”
She brightened. “I won’t need to drag you. As I said, I’ve brought a wheelbarrow. If I can get you into it, you can ride in comfort.”
A dimple flashed in her left cheek for a moment. Hal’s heart skipped a beat. He looked about and spied the cart only a few feet behind him.
“Help me to my feet,” he said. “I can stagger the few steps to it if I’m standing.”
The woman lifted material that rested on top of him and set it aside. He still held his baselard.
“May I take this?” she asked, indicated the dagger.
He hesitated a moment and then handed the weapon to her. Elinor put it in the wheelbarrow then knelt and gripped his upper arm tightly. She might be slender but her fingers were strong. Using his right leg to push off, somehow the two of them manage to bring him to his feet. He didn’t think he could hop on the good leg because he didn’t want the bleeding that had subsided to start up again.
“Stay,” she ordered.
Hal swayed when she released him but managed to remain upright as she rolled the wheelbarrow behind him and lowered it flat again.
“Lean on me,” she instructed.
He slipped his left arm around her waist, his weight remaining on his right leg. The broken left one now throbbed angrily. His right side also pulsated, protesting the movement. The woman lowered him until he sat.
“Push back some,” she instructed him. “Move as far as you can. Then you can lean back and most of your leg will be able to be out straight in front of you.”
Following her suggestion, he eased back. The snow that had collected in the cart sank into his pants but at least he wouldn’t have to walk to her cottage.
Retrieving what he recognized now were tunics, she laid them on top of him. He looked over at two dead bodies resting in the snow and realized she’d stripped them in order to bind his wounds and keep the cold away. His savior had proved to be not only beautiful but intelligent. Hal wanted to laugh, thinking how his brother, Edward, would tease him unmercifully for noticing a woman’s beauty in the midst of a crisis. He knew better, though, and bit back any laughter, afraid it would aggravate the wound in his side.
His rescuer definitely proved to be strong. It couldn’t have been easy to push his weight as she did but she kept a steady pace as she transported him through the woods. They hit a few bumps and he bit his tongue to keep from cursing, knowing she did her best—and then some.
They arrived in a clearing. Hal spotted a small cottage in the center, with a coop for hens nearby. A large group of cages sat next to the cottage but he didn’t see anything inside them although a door was swung open to one of them.
“What are those for?” he asked, pointing to the wire structure.
“Those are mews,” she replied. “For our falcons.”
“Your husband is a falconer?”
“Nay.” She paused. “I am the only falconer—now that Jasper is dead.”
Rolling him to the cottage’s door, she rested the wheelbarrow on the ground and opened the door.
“The doorway isn’t wide enough to push you inside. Let me help you.”
She helped Hal stand. Leaning heavily against her, he hobbled inside, wondering who Jasper was.
Hoping he hadn’t been the man on the road.
No, he couldn’t have been. The balding, lean man was much too old for this woman to have been her husband. Yet, Hal knew oftentimes women married men decades older than they were, be they serfs or nobility, merely to have a man’s protection.
Helping him to a corner of the room, it took several awkward moves before she was able to lower him to the straw pallet. He shivered, his wet pants and gypon now soaked through.
“Let me build the fire up again.” She stirred the embers and fed in twigs until the flame began to grow.
He saw in the corner that one wall of the cottage had the same type of cages he had seen in the clearing.
“Do your falcons sleep inside?”
“Only in the coldest of weather. And when they are waiting for their eggs to hatch. We take the best of care of them.”
Hal knew the Kinwick falconer treated his birds as if they were his own children. Though he’d never spent much time with Joseph, he knew the falconer played an essential role at Kinwick.
The woman stood. “While I am gone, you need to loosen the splints I attached to your leg so that you can remove your wet clothing. Keep your leg as still as possible.” As she spoke, she retrieved a large blanket and handed it to him. “You can wrap in this.”
“Where will you be?” He wanted to point out that the wound in his side needed to be tended to immediately, washed and doused in healing herbs. Hal had played an invalid many times for his sister, Alys, who had grown up to have a great knowledge of the healing arts, as did their mother. Alys would already have started water to boil to cleanse the wound.
The woman studied him a moment, uncertainty in her eyes.
“I will help you once I fetch Jasper.”
So she had known the man on the road.
“Who was Jasper? Besides being a falconer?”
Her eyes filled with tears. “He was my . . . father.”
With that, she turned and swiftly left the cottage.
Chapter 6
Elinor only went a few steps before she realized she could not abandon the injured man. Jasper was dead. He wasn’t coming back. She’d already moved him away from the road and doubted in this weather that if anyone stumbled across the bodies of the highwaymen, they would scour the nearby woods for more. Jasper should be safe where he was. She could return later and bring him back.
But the man inside the cottage needed her now. Elinor knew any type of wound which bled could bring serious problems. Infection might set in. Fever could take hold. It was foolish to walk away and leave him to suffer after all she had already done to help him survive. She would push aside her grief for the man who took her in and do everything in her power to save this stranger.
Going to their well, she lowered the bucket and brought it up, pouring the water into a pail sitting beside the well. She filled all four empty pails since the snow showed no sign of easing up. She’d rather have the water on hand than to find the well had frozen by morning. That meant walking to the stream to retrieve water, something she wished to avoid.
Elinor lifted a pail in each hand and brought them back to the cottage. Setting them down, she opened the door.
And gasped.
The stranger had done exactly what she suggested and stripped his clothing away. He sat naked as a newborn
babe on the straw pallet as he inspected the slash in his side with his large hands, a frown on his face. It wasn’t the wound her eyes went to.
It was everywhere else.
Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed upon his physical beauty. She’d never thought of a man as beautiful. She’d seen Jasper numerous times over the years, stripped to his waist in the hot summer.
This man looked nothing like that.
His shoulders seemed broader than the wall he leaned against. Thick, powerful muscles corded his arms and chest. A fine mat of dark hair covered his chest, tapering down below his waist. Elinor couldn’t see where it went because he had one foot propped flat on the floor, revealing a bronzed leg that she longed to stroke.
He looked up in surprise. “You came back.”
“Aye.”
Thankful that her pails hadn’t crashed to the ground as she gazed upon his splendor, Elinor brought them close to the fire. Without another word, she left again and returned with the remaining buckets and closed the door, slipping the bar into place. She busied herself setting water on to boil, avoiding looking in his direction since she felt the heat warming her cheeks.
At least she tried to keep her eyes off him—and proved unsuccessful. She stole a few glances when his head bent, examining where the blade had pierced his skin. Finally, he moved away from the wall and returned to a prone position, pulling the blanket she’d provided over him.
Elinor went to him and deliberately stared at his face, avoiding the rest of him, which the blanket barely covered, thanks to his great size.
“I’ve put water on to boil so that I can cleanse your wound. I also want to wash your leg and wrap it tightly in clean linen before you dress again. Then I can stabilize it once more with the wood but, this time, I’ll tie it more firmly with jesses—leather strips. ’Twill hold better that way.”
She picked up his clothing and draped it atop the wire strung near the fire, spreading it out so it would dry move quickly.
“Where’s my baselard?” he asked.
“I’ll fetch it.”
She unbolted the door and stepped outside. The wheelbarrow stood next to the door. The blade still rested in it. She picked it up, her fingers grasping the hilt as she stared at the blade, traces of blood lingering on it. Elinor shivered, knowing only a short time ago the weapon had been used to take a life.
Shutting and bolting the door again, she brought the knife to him. As she held it out for him to take, he shook his head.
“Drop it in the hot water,” he ordered. “It will need to be boiled before we heat the steel.”
Elinor wondered what he meant for her to do and then realized what he asked. “You want to burn your skin with it?”
“Aye, once you’ve cleansed my wound, that is. My mother and sister are both healers. They would be the first to tell you that the wound must be sealed so nothing harmful can enter. Fire will purify it. I cannot leave it alone to become putrid. That would mean certain death. As it is, there’s a good chance infection has already set in.”
She did as he requested and placed the knife in the water, wondering if she had the courage to hold the hot steel against his flesh. Elinor busied herself by gathering clean linen and strips of leather to use on his leg.
As she worked, he said, “The thief’s knife entered just below my waist. He didn’t strike anything but flesh and it didn’t go as deep as it could have. I suppose you could say I was lucky.”
By the time she had the needed supplies, the water had boiled. She let it bubble some before removing it from the fire, thinking the wound was much deeper than he let on and that he tried to reassure her. Ladling out some into two wooden bowls, she would let the water cool slightly before applying it to him. She also retrieved the dagger and rested it atop a clean bit of linen, dreading what she would do to him with it.
Elinor brought everything to her patient and rested it on the ground beside him. She pulled the blanket away from his chest, lowering and folding it back until she had access to his pierced side.
Why was it so hard to breathe?
Because, despite the ugly slice marring his skin, he was perfection.
Anticipation rippled through her, knowing her hands would now touch him. It caused her heart to race. A strange, unknown fluttering filled her, confusing her.
She shook it off and dipped a cloth into the water. Focusing on the task at hand, she thoroughly cleansed the area of blood and dirt, trying not to aggravate it so that the bleeding started up again.
The man studied the area. “You did well. Now wrap the hilt of my baselard in cloth and hold the blade in the flame of the fire. Be careful not to burn yourself.”
Reluctantly, Elinor left his side and did as requested. “How long do I rest it here?” she asked over her shoulder.
“I’ll tell you when to remove it.” He paused. “You don’t have to do it if you’re squeamish. I can seal it myself.”
“I’m not squeamish,” she insisted. “I merely have never done anything like this before. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You will if you don’t cauterize my wound. A burn can heal. I’ve had this done before.” He pushed the blanket away from where it rested on his upper thigh and indicated an area on the side. “An arrow pierced me here. Once it was removed, I had to sear the flesh. If I could survive that, which was much deeper, I will manage this.”
Elinor fought from reaching out to stroke the marred flesh. She had never had any inclination to touch a man. Then again, the only man she had ever encountered for years was Jasper.
But this man—this brave stranger—made her feel things she’d never experienced.
Keeping her fingers to herself, she heard him say, “You can remove the blade from the fire now.”
Elinor did as he said and walked steadily toward him. Kneeling, she steeled herself for the moment she dreaded. Her eyes met his blue ones, which had darkened and were now a darker shade than before.
“We will do it together,” he reassured her and placed his hands atop hers.
A jolt of lightning seemed to strike her as his hands guided the blade to him. Elinor stiffened.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
She did as he asked.
“Keep your eyes closed. I’ll guide our hands.”
Elinor swallowed and nodded, doing as she was told. Their joined hands moved. Then she heard a sizzle and smelled his flesh burning as the dagger branded him. She tried to rip the blade away but he held fast. She squeezed her eyes tightly as she heard his gasp of pain.
Then the pressure eased and he lifted their hands away. She opened her eyes, seeing agony on his features as he expelled a long breath.
“That’s the worst of it,” he said, trying to smile and failing as his eyes clouded over.
“What can I do?” she asked, feeling small and helpless.
“You can tell me your name,” he whispered.
Her lips parted to do so but his eyes closed. His hands fell away from hers and dropped to his sides.
Elinor rose and put more water on to boil before returning to his bedside. She needed to immobilize his leg once more so that he wouldn’t damage it further moving about in his sleep. But to do that, it must first be cleansed. Her hands reached out tentatively and folded the blanket back, revealing his broken leg. Dipping her cloth into the warm water and rubbing it against soap, she washed his leg carefully so as not to jar him from the rest he needed.
The odd tingling started up again as she bathed the long limb. She determined the only broken bone was in his lower leg. That meant she could saw off the wood and only be concerned with the area between his knee and ankle. That would be easier to confine than the entire length of the leg. After cleaning the whole limb, she dried it and wrapped the lower part tightly in linen before restraining it with the splints she sawed off to match.
She recovered him with the blanket and then brought another one from her pallet. She worried about fever developing and decided to sit by
his side and watch him closely. Sure enough, within the hour, he had started to tremble from chills. Another hour passed and he threw off the blankets in his sleep. Elinor touched his brow and found it scalding.
Glad she had brought in a large amount of water from the well, she set aside the blankets and began bathing him, trying to cool down his body. Constantly, she dipped the cloth into the water and drizzled it across him, wiping and kneading his burning flesh. At times, his manhood began to stir. She tried to push it back down at first but her touch only sparked it to grow in size. Elinor had never seen anything quite like this and became fascinated by it. She longed to grasp the rod and decided that would be too personal.
“I need to leave you a moment to check on my raptors,” she said quietly, touching his shoulder lightly.
She had spoken to him the entire time she bathed him, needing the sound of her own voice to calm her sudden bout of nerves, something she rarely experienced. She brushed away the dark hair that had a tendency to fall across his brow, again drawn in by his handsome looks. Elinor began to spin tales in her mind about him and why he had been coming down the road when he did. She only hoped the fever could be controlled and then evaporate, for only then she might learn who he truly was.
Leaving the cottage, she crossed the yard to the mews. Horus sat inside the cage he favored while Cleo flew down from a branch and began circling the open area. When she refused to land, Elinor knew it to be a sign that the falcon was ready to lay her eggs. She motioned for Horus to follow. He hopped from the cage and flew to the door just as she opened it. Cleo swept in, followed by her mate. Both birds flew to the smaller version of the mews located inside the cottage, each landing in a separate cage.
Knowing the time drew near, Elinor had helped in feathering the nest where Cleo would lay her brown, speckled eggs. If nature took its course now, within a couple of days, Cleo would have laid all of her eggs. Usually, a fertile peregrine falcon produced three or four but since Cleo was three and ten and nearing the end of her reproductive years, Elinor would be happy with one or two eggs. It would give her new falcons to train. Horus was two years older than his mate and would soon need to give up the hunt. Though he still soared with an unmatched beauty through the skies, it was time he and Cleo made way for a new generation of falcons at Whitley.
