by Amelia Brown
His hand slid up to cup her right cheek. “You can’t run around camp like you would the village. It’s not safe, Luveday.” The pain in his eyes hurt her physically.
“I know. I’m sorry.” She looked down, but he lifted her chin until she was forced to lock eyes with him again.
“I forbid you from going back there again.” The command was given as if he were carving it in stone.
It was the wrong thing to say to her.
“No.” She didn’t look away.
“What?” Shock straightened him back up to his full height.
Luveday repeated, “No.”
“Luveday.” He growled; this was how so many of their arguments began.
“The women have asked for my help. I am going back to help them in a few days.” She stated flatly.
“A proper lady…” he began, yet again the wrong thing went flying from his lips.
“Don’t.” She threw up her hands. “Don’t finish that thought.” Her anger was growing steadily.
“I am your Lord, and it is my duty to protect you.” He began in an indignant fury.
“I am a healer, and I will see to the ill, whether they are Princes or paupers.” Luveday was aware that she had just stamped her foot at him.
He was grinding his teeth, and she was close enough to see the lines at the corner of his eyes as they narrowed at her. “You will not associate with those harlots…”
“I will be helping them, not having tea.” There was no reason to tell him that was all Jane and she had done. You would think the woman had leprosy from the way he was acting.
“You are a lady of good repute, there is no need to sully…” he continued, but she couldn’t know that some of his anger was due to the fact that he was embarrassed by past associations with women of that nature and Jane in particular.
“How could helping a bunch of women sully my reputation? Do they sully yours or the men that visit them?” She countered, remembering their first meeting when he had insinuated that she was no better than a tramp looking to weasel her way into his house.
“I am not talking about this with you, Luveday.” He turned to retreat, but she wasn’t done.
“I want an answer, Iain.” She stepped into his space. “Or have you forgotten how close to them I might have come?”
He looked at her with a fury that was barely contained. “You are nothing like those women!” He yelled in her face.
“I could have been!” Luveday shouted back. “Do you think that they chose that life? That they aspired to be someone’s whore?” She pushed him, and he stumbled back a few steps. “Do you think they had a choice?” She pushed again. “They chose between living and starving to death, between working in the fields and breaking their backs in toil and trying to make coin enough to settle down on their own. They used their looks, their wits, and if they had had another choice you can believe, by God, they would have taken it, but all they had was their bodies and men are eager for a pretty face.” She looked at him suddenly lost. “We don’t have the choices you do. We can’t hold anything of our own, not even our own children… It all rests in the hands of men.” Luveday sighed and turned away. “I know,” she looked back at him. “I know what it’s like to fear for the future, with nothing to hold onto. I know how much a helping hand can mean when you have nothing else.” Iain turned her back toward him.
“Luveday.” He reached for her.
She sighed again as she looked deep into him. “I want to help them. You may not know it, but they are fighting too, and I may be giving them more than you think is their due but…” He embraced her. And for a little while, Luveday just let herself be held.
A throat cleared in the tent. Gregori had stuck his head inside the flap. “If you two are done in here, the King wishes to see us, Iain.” He added for her benefit. “Lady Luveday has some more injured to see to.”
Iain let go of her suddenly and moved to leave. “Of course.” He didn’t look back.
Luveday was at a loss, suddenly missing the comfort of his big frame. Coll got up from his spot, a little shell-shocked from the look of him, but the hug he gave her made up for Iain’s sudden absence if only a little.
Gregori stuck his head back in and smiled at the two of them. Luveday nodded over the boy’s head, signaling that she was fine. “Back to work then.” And he was gone. Coll dragged her out of the tent and ran off saying he was getting her something, but she couldn’t make out exactly what he had said.
The healing tent was full of activity, Luveday squared her shoulders and walked to the open flap with determination in every step.
The camp followers were more reluctant to come to her for help than the men had ever been. With Iain’s help, Clair and Luveday set up in a large tent and began treating women. There were a few with wet coughs, some with sprains and more than a few with their own share of bruises. The women were far from idle. While they did sell their bodies, they also provided other services for the camp; many washed clothes, cooked and sewed for their men. Knights paid to have garments repaired, some lonely men even paid for conversation though not many. More often than not it was a barter system rather than an exchange of coin, which told Luveday how desperate they were for her help when Jane had offered her that purse.
To her surprise, supplies arrived from tents around the camp. Extra blankets, packets of herbs, and a few skins of wine. It seemed that some of the men truly cared for these women after all. Jane watched with gratitude and not a fair bit of amusement. The women often joked at Luveday’s expense once they learned she was a maid. Her blushes had eventually given her away, and while the women’s humor could turn a little crude, they were a joy to be around. It made her miss Elli and Emmalyn even more.
In the days that followed, women would make the journey to the healing tents. Some helped change and dress wounds while other’s washed linens and learned to sterilize the healing supplies. Luveday liked the banter between the injured knights and the women. It was a pleasant change in the middle of so much misery.
It was another chilly afternoon when the fighting had settled for a time. Negotiations of some sort were taking place, but men still came and went from the healing tents. Thankfully many left on their own two feet, rather than being carried home. Many still offered their gratitude for saving the prince, and word came that the prisoners would be returned in an exchange, though Luveday hated to think of Sterling getting anything out of the deal.
Luveday walked the tent, putting away supplies, checking on the worst of her patients and chatting with others, when an unfamiliar man entered the tent. He looked around, but quickly found her, and moved to her side.
“Lady Luveday.” It wasn’t a question. Luveday noted the tan of his skin and the undertone of some accent to his words. He was a handsome man. “I have need of some supplies for my master.” She paused a moment at the word master. Most of the men referred to the nobles by their titles or the common milord, but not master.
“What ails him?” She asked. A few men still hesitated to come to her, relying on their own remedies.
“A gash to his leg and a slight fever.” He stated matter-of-factly. Luveday would have offered to go with him and see to the ill herself, but something stopped her from speaking. She looked around and saw that many eyes watched them, and it seemed her guest noticed that something was odd too.
“I have something for the fever and to clean out the wound. I will give you some of each, but please return the cups when you are done.” Luveday enter the back room, her operating room, now empty, which was secluded with all of the sides down to keep out the chill. She moved through the makeshift shelves to collect the ingredients, wondering about the man waiting beyond. Something wasn’t sitting right with her though she could swear that she had never seen the man before. She thought that perhaps her unease was caused by the sudden quiet, but when she turned back to the table, she found that the man had followed her inside, standing right inside the flap and almost screamed in fright at his
sudden nearness. He menacingly advanced on her, and she didn’t stop to give him a warning to back off, because, in that moment, she knew who he was. That unwavering gaze, so intent had watched her constantly during her stay with the enemy. It was the mercenary, her kidnapper.
“You think you can make a fool of my men and me, little healer?” His voice carried only so far as her ears.
Grabbing the first thing at hand, Luveday struck him upside the head. Her attacker was caught off guard by the strength of the blow and stumbled back a bit, but Luveday gave him no quarter. He moved, and there was a sudden stinging sensation in her upper left arm, but she struck again. He stumbled through the tent flap and tried to gain his equilibrium, and that was when Luveday saw the knife he carried and the blood on it. Someone yelled for help raising the alarm, but Luveday let loose a cry of her own and pelted the man with blows to his head and shoulders. There were men calling out and movement around her, but she was so focused on him that nothing else got through to her. The mercenary went down, and Luveday continued to hit him until arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her off him to carry her out of the tent.
Iain’s voice penetrated the anger and fear in her head until she could finally hear him as she was enfolded securely in his arms. Her breath moved the hairs at the base of his neck, she spoke to his shoulder as she told him that she was alright. The violence of her emotions subsided quickly leaving behind a dread and a dark epiphany. Luveday, who had spent so much time learning to heal, who had focused her life on helping others was capable of killing someone. The realization rocked the foundations of her being. She looked up at Iain as tears filled her eyes, unable to speak at the horror of her actions.
Iain hugged her fiercely but handed her off to Gregori who moved her to the fireside and wrapped her in the edge of his cloak as she melted into his side.
Luveday watched the fire and the world around her through the blur of her tears, but not a single drop fell. She could admit to herself with utter certainty that she could have, indeed she had tried, to smash in that man’s face with, she looked at her right hand and brought the metal pitcher to eye level. It was severely misshapen, having tried to conform itself to the shape of a man’s head. Gregori took the pitcher from her hand, and it disappeared somewhere.
Someone handed her a hot drink, it might have been Benedict, she couldn’t tell, but there was a lump in her throat that nothing, not even speech could get around, so she held it in her hands, savoring its warmth. At some point, Iain took up the space on her other side. Luveday finally found the ability and courage to ask, “Is he dead?”
“No.” Iain’s gruff voice resounded somewhere over her head. Both men felt the sigh that escaped her.
She fidgeted a moment later. “I think I need to go lay down.”
Iain stood to help her. “That is a good idea.” He untangled her from Gregori’s large cloak and grabbed her upper arms to steady her.
Luveday let out a hiss of pain, closing her eyes a moment.
Iain removed his hand, and they both looked at the blood that marred his palm. For the first time, they both noticed the blood and the gash on her arm. Luveday watched as his features went blank for a moment then began to distort. She had never noticed how white and straight his teeth were, which was a silly thing to take note of at the moment. A blast of breath hit her in the face, and she blinked, the Iain that stood before her now was not the Lord of Lander’s Keep, but the Wolf De Lane and she now understood why men ran in fear, though she felt no fear for herself. Iain was furious, more so than he had ever been with her. Flames seemed to burn in the depths of his eyes, as rage, the likes of which she had never seen, took over his entire being. His focus shifted from her arm to a commotion behind her as men hauled her attacker out of the healing tent. It looked as if the man needed a stretcher, but no one would offer to carry the prisoner. Iain was gone from her side in a flash. Gregori called after him, something very like panic in his voice. Benedict moved from his place across the fire, where he had been questioning some men. Neither knight could stop their friend, and none got in his way.
Luveday watched still detached, noting that Iain had drawn his sword and the guards had dropped the man to his knees and stepped aside. He was conscious enough to look up as Iain approached. Men called for De Lane to halt, that the King wished to speak to the prisoner, but Iain merely raised his sword until suddenly Luveday was there, standing near them.
Her hand was raised to stop him, but how she had gotten there, and what she said to him before that moment she couldn’t recall. “Stop.” She looked at him, and his eyes quieted. “Please.” The point of his sword dropped, and he looked at her in confusion. The man behind her groaned causing Iain to snarl at him, and grip his sword tighter, but he did not raise it again. He grabbed Luveday and moved them both back to the fire, breathing deep through his nose and mouth to regain some control.
Iain looked around at his men and saw an array of emotions ranging from understanding to wariness. They had seen the bloodlust over take him once before, no one talked of that battle in Jasper’s Wood, but none who were there would ever forget. Iain couldn’t focus, couldn’t think. Luveday, Luveday was hurt. He turned back to see her, he still held her by the upper arm. Blood marred her other sleeve. Thomas appeared and bandaged the wound. Luveday spoke to him softly, as much for Thomas’s benefit as for his own. He was hanging on to his sanity by a thread. The need to kill the bastard who had hurt her was still raging, but his concern for her was greater. The mercenary’s time would come, and soon.
At the moment, all he really wished to do was hold her close. When the call came out that the healing tent was under attack, he and his men had dropped what they were doing and ran. He had never run so hard in his life. To see Luveday, his kind lady, having to defend herself, while injured men tried to gain their feet around her, to see her commit such violence, had unloosed something inside him. His first priority had been her safety. Her attacker was too injured to speak, but some of the King’s men knew ways to get the words out of him. Someone had mentioned seeing him during the exchange. Frasier and his men had only just been returned to their tents. The prisoners had fared poorly through their days of captivity, and Master Pope was seeing to a few of them. Iain had been on his way to collect Luveday as Orland and Frasier had asked for her by name, refusing the old healer’s aid.
The time it took for him to reach her was mere moments, but his mind had been filled with terror at what could be happening to her. He had only felt that kind of panic once, his first time at battle as a young squire when war had been revealed as the chaos and blood driven madness that it was.
Iain turned to her, once again seeing the blood that marred her sleeve and for a moment his vision was tinted in that same hue. A small hand came to rest on his forearm, and the sanity slowly returned. What would he have done if something had happened to her? Without warning, he understood his need for her and the destruction he would have rained down on Sterling and his men if she had been seriously harmed, or worse. He couldn’t contemplate all that this revelation meant to him, instead, he turned her toward the tent, remembering that she had wanted to rest.
Guiding her to the tent, he watched her as they both looked around the space as if they were seeing it for the first time. Clair, the girl who assisted Luveday, came in to help and Iain was immensely grateful for it. He wanted to help, but what could he do that would not lead to her spending the night in his arms?
Luveday was being cared for, that was all he wanted. So, he left the tent to talk to his men. Benedict had returned, but the King kept him running errands of diplomacy as his brother in arms could charm the shirt off a saint. Both he and Gregori were eager to hear how the lady faired and Iain was happy to tell them that she was not grievously injured, and her spirits were as good as could be expected. He was aware of the long looks that they gave him. He answered their unspoken questions with a long look of his own, letting them know that he was sound in mind if not in heart.
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Without orders, his men took up posts around the area, as he and Gregori made their way to the King’s tent following the prisoner.
Luveday slept fitfully that night. After a quick nap, she had returned to her duties, even going out to see Lord Frasier and the Duke. Both men had heard of what happened in the healing tent, but though they gave her concerned looks, they treated her as if nothing had happened. It was a good thing because Benedict was treating her as if she were made of glass. Luveday was wondering what the punishment was for boxing a lordling’s ears.
She exited the last tent to find Benedict and Iain talking in hushed, but fervent whispers. It was obvious that she was the topic of discussion, but Luveday’s tired mind couldn’t quite catch the gist of their conversation.
Both looked up at her at the same time. She noted the scowl that De Lane gave her but wondered why Benedict looked so contrite. She did not have to ask to know that she was not going to like what they had to say.
Iain didn’t even greet her or ask how she was doing as he grabbed her upper arm and steered her back towards their tent. The light was growing dim as the night now outweighed the day. Winter had turned the days colder than Luveday could ever remember. In the light of multiple campfires, she could see their breath as they rushed through the camp.
She thought she should talk to him about a number of things that had happened today, but she couldn’t summon the energy for what she knew would be an emotional endeavor. So, she remained quiet and let him drag her along.
Clair waited in the light of the healing tent’s cooking fire and took Luveday’s basket and pouch as Iain quickly divested her of the items and handed them over to the girl.
“She is done for tonight. Tell Moore he is in charge. He will have to make do without her.” The girl only nodded and walked back into the tent.
Luveday saw shadowy figures watch their every movement as he escorted her beyond the last of the tents and toward the stream that supplied their water. The stream was wide, but not very deep and the water was icy cold no matter what time of day. On the pebbled bank was a blazing fire, a large wooden tub, and a stool. Large pieces of linens had been left to dry in the weak winter sun and still hung off the rope lines creating a three-sided privacy screen. In the light of a half-dozen candles, was Margaret, who finished poking the fire and looked up at their arrival. The old woman only nodded at them before taking her to leave.
