by Amelia Brown
She didn’t answer him but continued to clean the wound. “Have you noticed any changes in your vision?”
“I saw spots for a while after I woke up, but they’ve disappeared.” He answered seriously.
Luveday was concerned that he had lost consciousness, but the fact that he had awoken from it, and was alert now was a good sign. “How long were you unconscious?”
“Unconscious?” He asked not recognizing the word.
“Asleep. Knock out, unaware.” She tried to rephrase her question, not knowing how to say it better.
“He was down for a good hour at least,” James answered. A few others agreed with that estimate.
Luveday hummed to herself. “Do you feel as if your thinking is slowed, or different in any way.”
“You mean other than the pain that is radiating down my spine? No, not really.” He was confused by her questions, but very aware of her concern for him.
The salve she put on was a numbing agent. And he immediately noticed the difference. “What have you done, lass? My head hurts a bit less than a moment ago.”
“It is an ointment to lessen the pain, it will last for a bit while I clean and stitch up this wound.”
“I hope your needlework is as good as my wife’s, lady.” He jested.
Luveday smiled though he could not see her. “I’ll be sure to make it look pretty, your grace.” The stitches were quick and neat, and with any luck, the scar would be lost in his hairline. “All done.”
It looked as if he wished to touch her handiwork, but could only raise his shoulders in a useless shrug. “I have to say that was as good a job as anyone could ask for.”
“Your welcome, your grace.” She looked at the men. “Who’s next?”
By the time Sterling returned it was getting on towards evening. The men were all seen too, their care as good as she could provide given her restrictions. She had come across some healing ointments left in the tent but didn’t even think of using them though she could identify a few by sight and smell.
Their captor didn’t look impressed, though he swept a sharp eye around the room. Luveday hoped Iain got the opportunity to take that smirk off his face, she’d settle for taking his head with it.
“Well, you have not killed any of them, so I believe that’s a start.” Luveday glared at him. “You will be taken to our healing tent and begin work on my men. If one of these lordlings perished during the night, you will meet a similar fate come dawn.” The men began to protest, but Sterling held up a hand to silence them.
“If I think you have harmed my people in any way, or do not care for them to the fullest extent the outcome is the same… but first I will let them have you, and if you somehow survive their ministrations then I will kill you myself.” His expression turned serious. “Are we understood?”
She uttered her first words in his presence. “Crystal clear.”
And so, it went. Two days she worked in the enemy’s tents, and at night she was brought back to sleep under the watchful eyes of her fellow captives. The men were unbound only long enough to relieve themselves every few hours. They rotated through the tent. Luveday visited them at mid-day to check on them and give them water. They ate little to nothing. Sterling would not free them and so if they wished to eat it would be like dogs, bent over scraps on the floor. Luveday used a few herbs she knew would give them strength, but even that would not last long if this situation continued.
Luveday was shadowed on many occasions by a large man, she learned he was the same one who had charged the line and taken her. He watched her like a hawk and hid his face though she would probably have nightmares about his dark eyes for the rest of her days.
It was on her third night in the camp that Sterling decided to play court in the prisoner’s tent. He served himself a lavish meal while the rest of them looked on in hatred and longing. The smells alone were torture enough, even for Luveday who had consumed the ale and stale bread she was given, she could not imagine what the others were going through. Luveday watched the scene unfold. No one spoke, Sterling merely ate with relish surrounded by a halo of light so that none of his audience would miss a morsel of his meal.
As the pages came in and out, Luveday noticed that a few of them gave the captives covert glances. Under further inspection, she saw that a few of them wore clothes that matched Frasier, Orland and Lord Stern’s own colors. Sterling had not only captured the lords but their squires as well. Usually, the lads were flag bearers for the men, staying behind the front lines so that the different groups knew where to regroup. Seething anger welled up inside her, as Luveday watched the boys, many of which were black and blue with bruises, serve the would-be king. She gritted her teeth and glared daggers at him. He looked up suddenly, met her eyes and was momentarily startled by her fiery expression. Luveday hoped he’d choke on a bit of food and perish. The irony would be delicious.
As the farce of a meal continued, and Sterling sat back to enjoy a glass of wine, the page at his shoulder caught her attention. There was something familiar about the boy, though he wore a scrap of cloth around his neck that hid a good portion of his face. It wasn’t his features, but the pose that struck a chord with her. She had seen that somewhere before, and it was very important.
The lad stood with his chin tucked to his chest, dirty hair hung in his eyes and dirt and bruises marred what skin she could see. He stole a glance at her, and their eyes met for a split second causing Luveday’s heart to stutter. She didn’t move, she didn’t breathe, for several heartbeats, she was a marble caricature of herself. When the boy was dismissed and left the tent, she forced herself to breathe normally hoping that no one caught her reaction, small though it was.
When Sterling left them to what little rest the night could provide, given that the nobles were still encased in armor and sitting in their spots with hands bound behind their backs as they had been since her arrival, it was little to no rest at all. Luveday debated whether or not she should share her information with the men, James at least, would have good counsel, but if someone overheard, and there were ears everywhere, then the boy’s life would be forfeit for sure.
What had happened that Prince Benjamin was captured on the battlefield? If he was with the other squires then perhaps he had snuck away from his father’s watchmen and ventured out beyond the line, beyond safety. How was she to get the boy out of here without anyone the wiser?
That question plagued her the following day, and it was only by sheer luck that she was back in the tent when Sterling and his men were quarreling.
“Vance can’t be trusted. Price will be shot on sight. Granger is an idiot; I wouldn’t have him clean my piss pot, let alone carry the message.”
The men grew angrier as Sterling insulted their brothers. Luveday listened carefully as she checked wounds and ladled out water. “Carter is wounded, he can’t even stand let alone mount a horse, My Lord. We could send one of the mercenaries to do it.”
“Don’t be a fool.” Sterling spat in his face. “This requires finesse and intellect; besides I wouldn’t trust them to not make a deal with the King for more coin and turn against us.”
“True, many are impressed with De Lane’s prowess on the field. I’ve never seen a man so bloodthirsty as he has been these last few days.” The other man said, only to be hit upside the head by his lord.
“Never praise that bastard in my presence, fool.” Sterling entered their section of the tent and looked across the space as if to reassure himself that his prisoners were still there. His eyes settled for a moment on her, but the man at his side was speaking again, leaning away just enough to give evidence of his fear.
“That leaves one of us.” His voice was shaky at best.
Sterling whirled to face them with such fury that Luveday feared for their lives.
Orland whispered in her ear, “They’ve been at this for hours. It seems they wish to make a bargain for our exchange. The mercenaries want more money, De Lane is delivering their heads to them.” H
e laughed, but it turned into a cough. Their health was deteriorating, and nothing Luveday could do would stop it.
An idea struck, foolhardy and something one of her heroines would do, but it was more of a plan than anything else she had come up with. So, she let the arguing continue and finished giving the men water, before planting herself in the middle of the room as she had been that first day. Sterling and his men paid her no mind, though the King’s men looked at her in confusion.
At the first lull in their heated argument, she put her plan in motion. “I will go.”
James shook his head, she could just see the movement out of the corner of her eye.
Sterling turned to her. “You?” He looked intrigued. “Why would I let you go, little healer? You’ve proved yourself to be useful to me and mine.”
“Useful enough to carry your missive to the King?” She countered.
He approached, eyeing her dirty garments, her smudged face, and her stony expression. If Luveday could read the look in his eyes correctly, he was giving her suggestion some serious thought, and that was the best she could have hoped for. “Brave, resilient, intelligent,” he paused before adding, “for a woman.” Grabbing her chin in his hand, he yanked her head up farther as he towered over her, though there was no need, she hadn’t looked away from him since their eyes met as he crossed the distance between them. He lowered his head, and Luveday thought he meant to kiss her, and she was ready to bite the bastard if he tried, but he merely turned her head a little before laughing in her face and letting go of her. “You’ve earned your freedom. My healer tells me he has learned your tricks, and you’ve proven you keep your word.” He looked at her as he took up his seat in the great carved chair. “If you stay you can make some handsome coin, without having to sell your other skills to my men.” There was some name calling from the nobles, but neither Luveday nor Sterling gave any indication that they had heard anything. “What do you say, My Lady?”
“No.” She looked at him and conceded only a little. “No, thank you.” That seemed to pacify him, as the narrowing of his eye lessened a fraction before his features resumed their usual dispassion.
He laughed after a moment of thought. “I am feeling suddenly generous, little healer. Let it not be said that I am not a benevolent man. You may take what you wish from my chests for your service.” The men began to protest. “But only what you can carry.”
Luveday looked at him, searching his motives. “Anything I can carry?” A movie reel played in her head as she remembered the scene from one of her favorite Cinderella stories.
He smirked again. “Anything you can carry!” He rose to leave. “Prepare yourself, choose what you wish quickly for as soon as we are done discussing this matter you will be on your way.”
The men left not only this room but the tent altogether.
The captive nobles looked at her with a range of emotions. Some were just wary, others wore hatred and disgust.
She did not have time to explain herself. “What can I carry back to the King that will let him know you are here?” She asked them, looking around the room. “Do you have a token on your person? A message, a word that will let him know I speak the truth?”
Henry looked at her and sneered. “Would you not rather fill your pockets with Sterling’s gold?”
Luveday didn’t give him a glance as she took the ointment that had been left there days ago, still unused. She chose a large and smelly pot. “I doubt any of that gold is his, Lord Henry.” She looked to James first.
“There is a ring around my neck, lass. Take it with you, the King knows it well.” Frasier tilted his head back as she took the chain from around his neck and dropped it into the clay pot. Orland had a worn silk handkerchief that Luveday shoved into her bodice. A few of the other men had rings that Luveday dropped into the pot, and words that she spent several minutes committing to memory. She moved quickly finishing the tasks she had set for herself and praying that this plan would not be in vain.
She heard movement around the tent and quickly shoved a few items in her pockets before she went back to James. Luveday hugged him as tightly as she dared, and whispered what bits of her plan she could. When the men entered the tent, she pulled away, and her friend looked at her with a little awe. She smiled, he had given her a bit of courage, and she knew that she had given him a bit of hope to see him through.
“Well, woman, your time is up.” Two of the mercenaries flanked one of the men Sterling had been arguing with. His eyes were hard, and his blonde hair hung limp and dirty in his face. His sneer told Luveday that he was not going to make this pleasant for her. Luveday had already put her belongings away in her pack and selected a few choice pieces from the horde with Orland’s quick help. She presented herself to them, and as she had guessed they searched her before leaving the tent. Sterling’s minion took a few of the items she had chosen, but not the ones she was determined to return to the King. They checked her pack and even her pots. “What have we here?” They opened the pots and looked inside.
“That is an ointment for fever and burns.” There was barely enough to hide anything in the bottom of that jar, but the men checked anyway. They checked all the jars until they got to the last one. It was nearly full thanks to the items it contained, Luveday had topped it off with another pot and mixed the two ointments together, the smell was so horrible that the men gagged as soon as the lid was off. It smelled like a cesspit covered in decaying flowers. The smell turned her stomach though Luveday thought she had become nearly immune to such things.
They clapped the lid back on the jar and handed it to her. “What is that fowl potion? It smells like the bowels of hell.” The lordling, or whoever he was, spoke from behind his sleeve, still trying to ward off the lingering fumes.
Luveday fought a smile and lied through her teeth. “Mirkwood ointment.” She stated in the matter of fact tone she had used with all the other jars. “Loosens the bowels and purges the humors.” They looked at her. “I’ve not had any use for it yet, but it works wonders.”
“I’ll take your word for it, lady.” Luveday was returning the items to her pack when he grabbed her arm and dragged her from the tent.
Luveday tried not to show her relief. Step one was complete. They stopped a few feet outside of the tent flap and waited. It was an opportunity to look around, and she spotted what she sought heading towards her. The group of pages marched with their jailer. Sterling leading a group of lads was such a laughable sight that she wanted to smile, but she saw the smirk on his face and kept her features schooled. If he saw any relief in her visage, she hoped that he would attribute it to her coming freedom.
“You will deliver this message straight to Edward.” He stepped closer to whisper in her ear, “We will be watching and if you make a move to run or turn from your path I will have an archer strike you down, and Edward can pry the letter from your cold dead fingers.” His smile as he stepped away was almost genuine. “Do you have what you want? All you desire?” Luveday had a tight rein on her emotions, otherwise, she would not have survived her captivity, for at every turn she wished to do Sterling bodily harm.
“Almost.” She said as Luveday stepped around her guards straight for the smallest squire.
“What more do you require?” He asked utterly confused by her reply, and curious to see what the lady was planning.
Benjamin locked eyes with her, and she hoped her expression conveyed her apologies at what was about to happen. She reenacted her movie scene to the tee. She took the boy by the arm, bent over and picked him up. He rested on her pack; she hoped the position wasn’t too uncomfortable and that they might forgive her manhandling a prince.
Luckily, the boy was only twelve, and a little small for his age or Luveday would not have hoped to carry him across the field. Turning back to her jailors, she straightened as much as she dared without unseating the boy. “Now I am ready.”
For a moment Sterling’s face was filled with fury and Luveday thought her plan had gotten
them both killed, that was until he doubled over in a fit of laughter. Even the mercenaries joined in. Once his mirth was spent the man stepped closer again, and Luveday knew another threat was pointed at her. “Do not think this will change anything, Lady Luveday.” He made a show of using her title. “The rules are the same, but now, if you put down the boy before you reach the other side, I will kill you both.”
“Understood.” Was all she said as she took the first steps to freedom under the sharp eyes of Lord Ladislaus Sterling, his men, the mercenaries and the best archer in all the land.
A bead of sweat made slow progress down Luveday’s spine as she repositioned the prince. She turned her head slightly to whisper to him. “How are you, your highness?”
A quiet voice answered in her left ear. “I’m all right.” They were walking straight through the battlefield where men still fought for their lives, but as the two approached their progress was noticed, and men on both sides began to stop and stare. As they entered the area where the fight was thickest, Luveday had to step over bodies, and on one occasion she dodged the backswing of a knight, though she couldn’t tell what side of the battle he was on.
She kept an eye out for Iain, and her steps light. Men stopped to help her, and she warned them off unwilling to do anything that might make those arrows fly for her and the boy. She knew that the enemy did not make idle threats. The men parted like she was Moses at the red sea and a hush fell over the battlefield that had not been heard in the light of day.
Luveday put one foot in front of the other, though the boy now felt like she was carrying Iain or Gregori on her back and not the young prince. Her shoulders drooped with the effort to keep him aloft. When the line of knights that had gathered before the tents after word spread that a woman was crossing the field came into view, she almost started to run. What little she could see with her stiff neck and slumped shoulders was hope enough to quicken her pace, but still, the threat of that arrow hung over her, and she could not risk it if she stumbled and dropped the boy. She had no idea how far an arrow could travel or how good a shot Sterling’s archer was.
