The Seasons Series; Five Books for the Price of Three

by Domning, Denise

  With one arm clutched around his chest, Temric released the crossbow’s catch. Jesus God, but he’d forgotten how much a broken rib hurt. Ahead of him on the road, Lindhurst arched at the bolt’s impact. Although his sword lowered, the man didn’t fall.

  Gasping, Temric grabbed the dead soldier’s mount and threw himself into the saddle. Lurching against the sickening pain, he struck his heels into the horse’s side and tightened his grip on his sword. Each hoof beat joggled his rib, the pain threatening to drive him into unconsciousness. Fighting to stay alert, he let his focus narrow until Lindhurst was the only thing in it.

  With one hand grasping the saddle to brace himself, Temric drew back his blade for the same sweeping blow Philippa’s husband had meant to use on him. As the horse reached Lindhurst, he swung, letting the beast’s momentum carry his blow forward.

  Teeth gritted against the agony, Temric felt Lindhurst lift on his weapon’s edge. He heard bones snap, but didn’t know if they were his own or the other man’s. Pain washed over him, too great to be controlled. Swathed in darkness, he was falling. Too soon! Damn him, but what if Lindhurst wasn’t finished?

  Filling her starving lungs with great gulps of air now that Roger’s foot was off her chest, Philippa rolled onto her side. The sharp scent of blood filled each breath. Somewhere nearby, a horse snorted and blew. Sparrows chirped, squirrels chattered in the distant trees. No swords clashed. There wasn’t even the shuffling footsteps of one wounded and falling.

  Panic burst in her. Where was Temric? She scrabbled to her knees, still fighting to keep her vision steady.

  Her husband lay arm’s length from her, his head twisted to an impossible angle. As she looked lower, Philippa gulped back her stomach. Mary save her, but he’d been nearly torn in two! Oh, Lord, if Roger was dead, why hadn’t Temric come to her?

  “Temric,” she cried, her voice lacking power as fear for him brought her to her feet.

  Knees trembling, she looked to where Temric and Roger’s soldier had fought. Lindhurst’s man lay near Roger’s slaughtered horse, their blood mingling. Fear grew. She turned to look up the desolate road.

  Temric’s big brown steed stood just inside the line of trees, shivering and snorting as it tossed its head back toward its bloody shoulder. To her surprise, the soldier’s horse now stood far ahead of her, just off the road in the bracken. On the road near it, something glinted. A sword, rusty with blood.

  Her heart now banging in her chest, she raced toward it. Temric lay face down in the bracken, nigh on buried in that thorny stuff. With a cry, she knelt beside him and turned him onto his back. His eyes were closed, his face still. Philippa’s heart broke at the blood stained his sleeve and shoulder.

  With trembling fingers she pressed at his throat and found his pulse. He made a tiny sound. Relief made spots again dance before her eyes. He wasn’t dead, only unconscious.

  Her need to make certain he stayed alive made her tear at the laces of his hauberk, seeking his injuries. As she worked, she glanced at his arms and legs to verify they were yet whole. Save for the blood on his chest, everything seemed to be as it should.

  When the vest was loosened, she pulled back the stained edge, her lips moving in silent prayer. His shirt wasn’t sodden with blood as she expected. Not daring to hope, she struggled to open the hauberk wider still. As she did so, she jostled him. He groaned more loudly this time, instinctively reaching for what gave him pain.

  Philippa followed where his hand led and pressed gentle fingers along his left side. Something moved that shouldn’t; he’d broken a rib. Putting her ear close to his lips, she listened, only to sigh in relief. His breathing was labored, but there was no bubbling rasp to suggest he’d torn a lung.

  Now assured that he wasn’t seriously hurt, she leaned back on her heels and gave way to a joy so deep that her eyes filled. As impossible as it might have seemed this morn, they would both live beyond this day.

  Groaning again, Temric’s eyes flew open. He jerked upward as if he meant to rise, only to fall back just as swiftly, his eyes pinched shut. “By Christ’s holy cock, it hurts,” he gasped out as he regained the full awareness of his pain.

  “Temric!” Philippa cried, shocked by the curse.

  This time, he lay where he was as he opened his eyes. For a brief instant, he studied her, his eyes lightening to gold as his lips curved in a smile. “Praise God. You live.”

  She returned his smile with her own. “As do you,” she replied, tracing her fingers along his cheek. When she touched their tips to his lips, he kissed them. Philippa laughed. The sun was warm, the day beautiful, Roger was dead and they would live!

  In the next instant, Temric’s jaw firmed. “Help me up,” he said, reaching for her shoulder with his right arm. “My rib’s broken.”

  “I know,” she replied, aiding him as he gasped his way onto his seat. She waited for him to catch his breath. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  “Nay,” he said, then his eyes narrowed in mock chide. “This rib is your fault. You came when I said stay. You called out and he turned his horse into me.”

  “Oh, Temric,” she cried, remembering now the glancing blow Roger’s steed had struck him. “Pardon, I thought I was saving your life.”

  All trace of condemnation melted away, leaving only love in its wake. “Woman, meddle not where you know not,” he said, then leaned forward to touch his lips to hers. It was a gentle caress, made all the sweeter by the knowledge that they would continue past this day.

  “Enough of that,” he said leaning back. “We’ve got work to do before we leave this place. We need to see if anything Lindhurst or his horse carries might lead the sheriff from him to us when the bodies are discovered. Help me up.”

  With Philippa carefully bracing him, they went first to Roger. Although it made her gag, she did for Temric what he couldn’t and squatted beside her husband to search the ruins of his garments for purse or pouch. Roger carried nothing but a wee sack filled with barely enough coin to cover the cost of food and an inn.

  From there, they went to Lindhurst’s man. To Philippa’s surprise, the commoner carried a larger purse. When she held it up for Temric to see, he only smiled.

  “I’ll guess it’s the purse Lindhurst gave him to assist in murder. I’ve also no doubt Lindhurst meant to reclaim it once you and I were no more. He’d need to eliminate the man to keep his secret safe.”

  That left only the fallen horse. There were no pouches or purses, only Roger’s mantle, rolled and tied to its saddle. As Philippa rose, crossing herself against what she’d done, Temric sighed in relief.

  “Praise God that Lindhurst was as determined as we to keep your continued existence hidden,” he said. “Now, we must be away from here and returned to Stanrudde as swiftly as possible, praying all the while that no one realizes we ever came this far.”

  Turning, he scanned the roadway, both up and down, then loosed a sound of impatience. “May God take my mother’s poor choice in animals. I daresay that horse of yours is already back at his stable. That leaves but one horse between us.” He indicated the beast Roger’s man had ridden.

  Philippa frowned at him. “But, we have two,” she said, pointing to where Temric’s steed stood in the trees.

  His face sad, Temric looked toward his horse. “You pig-headed fool,” he whispered, his voice rough and aching. “You know better than to run when you’re hit. This is no way to repay you for your years of loyal service.”

  Breathing in astonishment, Philippa stared at him. “You’re going to leave him? But, he’s injured.”

  Pain darkened Temric’s eyes. “Not leave him, finish him,” he said quietly. “To bring him back bow-shot, ties us to what happened here and that will damn us.”

  Even as he spoke, hoof beats echoed in the distance. Temric whirled, then groaned at the pain it caused him, only to groan again at what he saw. Out of the dust appeared four mounted men, members of Stanrudde’s town guard. All of them wore steel-sewn vests with metal caps u
pon their heads.

  A different sort of moan left Temric’s lips at this. Utter panic filled his face. “God take us! After all we’ve done and we’re still exposed. I’m sorry, little one. I truly believed we could escape.”

  Philippa frowned at that. “But, they don’t know it’s Roger who lies here. If we don’t tell them, they’ll never know.”

  Temric only shook his head. Philippa gasped in understanding. He didn’t intend to lie to the guard. Whether this was because he didn’t wish to, or didn’t know how to, she didn’t know. With that came the realization that it was her turn to save them, using the weapons she knew best, subterfuge and manipulation.

  As the four men reined in their mounts before them, Philippa glanced across their faces and found she knew two of them. One was the spice merchant’s oldest apprentice, the other was a journeyman cabinet maker. Barely more than lads, they scanned the carnage around them with wide eyes.

  “Master Richard,” said their captain as he dismounted, “what happened here? Are you injured?”

  “Thank God you’ve come,” Philippa cried, before Temric could speak. Her love gaped at her, his brows lifted in surprise. Philippa shot him a silencing look, then turned her attention back to the captain. “These men came attacking us, bent on murder, for no cause we know,”she said, seeking the right tone of distress to color her words.

  “So we already know, Mistress Philippa,” the soldier said, offering a comforting look. “These two went first to your mother’s house to do their violence, only to escape before we arrived to answer the call.”

  Beside Philippa, Temric caught his breath. “My mother?” he demanded in harsh question.

  “Is well,” the man assured him. “By chance, all the household save Master Jehan were at mass when they came. It’s fortunate for your brother that Master Gerard happened by during their attack and called for us. At any rate, when Master Jehan said these men were now seeking you and that you’d left the city, we came rushing after in the hopes of catching them before they found you.”

  Here, the captain paused, a disgusted look on his face. “What sort of days do we live in, Master Richard? A man and his wife should be able to travel in peace to give praise at any shrine they wish without worrying over an attack.” He followed his complaint with a grin. “Glad I am to see you yet live to make your holy journey. My felicitations on the news that you’re to be a father.”

  Temric blinked. Philippa choked back a laugh. Alwyna’s fingers showed in the man’s words. Leave it to another woman to provide the right reason for their departure from Stanrudde.

  “Thank you kindly, captain,” Philippa replied, needing no pretense now as her words filled with gratitude.

  Turning, the captain signaled his men to dismount. “Come, then, we haven’t all day. Roll the bodies into their own mantles and we’ll take them back to Stanrudde for the sheriff to see, if he chooses.”

  Once the lads were down, the captain glanced at Roger’s remains, then back to Temric. “By all that’s Holy, Master Richard, as grateful as I am to see you yet alive, this wasn’t what I expected to find. True, I’ve seen you practice in the yard, but two men against one!”

  Again, Temric opened his mouth to speak. Philippa caught his arm and squeezed, her look warning him to silence. This was no time for trading compliments over killing; they needed to probe for the rest of the tale the guard had been told, for returning to Stanrudde without that knowledge and the guards’ support might prove dangerous, indeed.

  As Temric stared at her in surprise, she threw a brilliant smile toward the captain. “Aye, my husband spent long years soldiering before he came to Stanrudde and took up a gentler life with his mother.” Then, she pasted a frown of confusion on her face. “What befuddles me is that you say they came hunting us, not just any victim. Why should they do this, when we know them naught at all?” This was another lie to add to her already lengthy list of sins. She begged God to be patient as He waited for her penance.

  “Ah, that,” the captain said, eyes brightening as he warmed to the tale. “That’s what had Master Jehan so upset and why he pleaded with us to come after you. It has to do with those notes of promise that Master Jehan bought this summer from another merchant dearly strapped for coin. Master Richard, your brother tells me he only recently sent messages to all the debtors, informing them of their new lender. In the same message, he told all that you would soon come collecting what was due. Master Gerard believes that this one,” the jerk of his head was aimed at where the young men were gathering up what remained of Roger, “was trying to delay repayment of his debt by frightening his lender, then destroying the collector. Since none of your household had ever met him, you’d have no reason to suspect him when he came knocking on your door with murder on his mind.”

  “Ah,” Philippa breathed, with no need to pretend awe. It was quite the story Jehan and Master Gerard had concocted between them. “That would explain all.”

  Now that she was certain their secret was safe, the full meaning of what he said registered. Philippa gave a worried cry. “But, you said Master Jehan was alone when these men came! Is he hurt?”

  “It’s a cruel beating he took,” the captain said with a sorrowful shake of his head, “but he’ll survive.”

  “God be praised,” Philippa sighed and meant it. It was hard to be angry at Jehan now, when it seemed what he’d done had finally freed her of her past.

  “Indeed, we should praise God and all His saints,” Temric seconded, grinning broadly at her. To the captain, he said, “Would you mind sending a man to fetch my horse? He’s over there in yon copse, injured. I’d go, but I’ve broken a rib, and the ride home will be agony enough for me. He’s more approachable than most of his breed.”

  The captain scanned the trees, his eyes widening as he saw the big, brown steed and he recognized a knight’s war horse. “I don’t know many a simple soldier as can ride so fine a horse.”

  Temric gave a dismissing movement of his head. “In my last position, I was master of arms for a fine lord. One night, he made the beast part of a wager, one he was certain I could never win. He lost.”

  “Why do I not doubt that?” the captain said, awe creeping into his voice. “Two men against one, and only a broken rib? It’s a good thing the council doesn’t know this about you, or I’d be jobless.”

  Philippa was aching for Temric by the time they reached Alwyna’s courtyard. Although he made no sound, the whiteness of his face said how much every jolt and bump pained him. She had a taste of it in herself, for her own bruises throbbed.

  The yard was silent, the warehouse closed up tight against the day’s strange events. But, as they drew their mounts to a halt, Tom appeared out of the house as if he’d been awaiting them. The older man looked none the worse for wear after his encounter with Jehan this morning.

  “Come, help him down,” Philippa called as she dismounted. “His rib’s broken, so take care.”

  Even with the two of them to help him, Temric was gasping before he reached the ground. When they released him, he swayed unsteadily on his feet. Tom reached for his arm.

  “Nay, don’t touch me,” Temric snapped, then panted over what his raised voice caused him. “I cannot bear it,” he said more softly.

  From the upper story of the house, a shutter slammed against the wall. Alwyna thrust her head through the opening. “Richard!” she nigh on shrieked. “You’re back!”

  Philippa laughed as she waved. “Aye, we’re well and whole and very gladly returned.” It was true. Temric’s rib would soon heal and they would own their lives. How incredible that she might have awakened this morn, thinking her time on earth was at an end only to elude death on two fronts and win freedom from her past before nightfall the same day.

  Only then, did Alwyna notice the blood that stained the front of Temric’s vest. “Oh, my poor lad! You’re hurt!” She disappeared from the window.

  Temric reached out with his good hand to catch Philippa’s arm. “Please,”
he nigh on begged, “hurry ahead of me and stop her. She won’t believe I’m well until she’s touched me and that I cannot bear just now.”

  “As you will, love,” she said.

  All else forgotten, she rushed into the house and up the stairs. She and Alwyna met near the hall landing. From the entry below, Philippa could hear Temric as he started up the stairs. It was step, stop, pant, shuffle, step.

  Alwyna heard as well. With a frightened cry, she tried to push past Philippa. “Let me by!”

  “Nay,” Philippa said, catching her arm and turning toward the upper stairs. “He’s as well as a man can be when he’s broken a rib. A few weeks of bed rest and he’ll be himself again. Just now, he aches so that he cannot bear to be touched. Come, let’s prepare his bed for him.”

  Relief gusted from his dam as she let Philippa guide her up the stairs to the bedchamber. When they reached the upper landing, she stopped and turned to look at the woman she called the daughter of her heart. New hope and fear tangled in her gaze.

  “And, what of the one who sought you?” she asked quietly.

  “He is no more,” Philippa returned, keeping her voice equally as low. Even here in Alwyna’s household, servants talked.

  “Praise be,” Alwyna breathed, her smile glorious.

  “Now, what is this tale of notes and debts the captain of the guards spun for me?” Philippa asked, turning the conversation to a safer subject.

  “That,” Alwyna said, her smile pleased and proud, “was sheer brilliance on Jehan’s part. You should have seen his frenzy of worry over what he’d done. I know you’ll find it hard to believe, but he wanted a way to correct it without revealing you or letting Gerard know you weren’t the escaped serf he thought you. Come. Despite your anger with him, he needs to speak with you. He’s been eating himself alive as he waited to hear the outcome of all this.”

  Philippa followed her to Jehan’s bedside. Her breath caught as she looked at him. It was quite a piece of work Roger had done. Both Jehan’s eyes were blackened, while blood crusted along his chin, seeping from his split lip. His head was wrapped in bandaging, a red stain marking where his flesh had been torn. One arm was splinted.