by Amelia Brown
Winter wore on, but the women kept busy. Luveday and Emmalyn planned and began work on a tapestry though the design was kept from everyone as a surprise. Word came that the King had returned to town signaling the end of his campaigns for the season. Iain and his men could not be happier for the rest, though that did not stop them from traveling for the Keep’s business. As the long winter days continued, thoughts of spring and the wedding grew in everyone’s mind. Many hoped that some divine intervention would stop the lord’s nuptials, but if the events to date had not sent the lady packing, then they feared nothing would. The current situation between bride and groom was sharply contrasted by the growing relationship between the favored couple of the castle. Ellie and Gregori spend a lot of their time next to one another. The couple’s growing affection affected all who saw them with a warm feeling towards the lovebirds.
“It won’t be long now,” Emmalyn said as they sat before the loom in the sewing room. Candlelight danced in the dark space, making the gray winter day bright.
“Yes, not long.” Henna laughed to herself as she continued altering the outdated gowns that had once belonged to Iain’s mother. The girl moped around the castle whenever some duty took the knight away from her. The last two days had been horrible for little Ellie as Iain and several men, including Sir Gregori were called to a nearby village, to settle some disputes.
Luveday had been spending a good deal of her free time thinking of ways to decorate the hall and chapel for the event. The approach of spring heralded Iain’s wedding, and though Christabel was all but ostracized from the castle, the wedding plans remained. Every time the thought crossed Luveday’s mind her stomach would roll uncomfortably, so she tried not to think about it at all.
A scramble was heard at the door as heavy footsteps came racing down the hall. Sir Fuller bust through the door, the women scrambled to cover the loom, not wanting anyone to ruin the surprise, but Luveday saw only the look in the old knight’s eyes and went running. Fuller had only enough breath to utter one word, and with such a desperate gasp that everyone, but Luveday was frozen to the spot. “Iain.”
Benedict trailed behind the group that carried their lord to his bed. He rested against the outer door of the solar and glanced at Luveday with a pale and glassy-eyed expression. Luveday felt it like a physical blow. She called for someone to fetch the healing kit, and gathered what courage she had to enter his room. Coll set on his window seat, looking lost. She stopped to place a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder, but he barely looked up. Men argued and swore in hushed tones which scared her more than if they had been yelling. The quiet meant that whatever has befallen Iain was deadly serious.
They parted like the red sea as Luveday entered the room. Someone lifted a candelabra so that she could look her patient over in the waning winter light. His bronzed completion was pale, with beads of sweat peppering his forehead. His collar was soaked with perspiration and their attempts to cool the fever that raged within him.
There was a single wound in his side, a cloth matted with blood had been pressed into a tight ball and still held its shape as the liquid dried, molding it into place. She didn’t look up as a bowl of hot water appeared at her elbow. She asked the room only one question as she began using the water to release the dirty cloth from the wound. “What happened?”
Gregori’s voice issued from over her left shoulder, and she belatedly realized that he was the one holding the light for her. “We were on our way home when we met up with Benedict and his men. A few miles into the woods west of Hough it went quiet. We were on our guard, and Iain gave the word to keep an eye out. In the next moment, arrows were flying, we kicked the horses and moved out of their range, but Iain was hurt. It pierced his armor, a wicked looking black arrow. Larger and heavier than anything I’ve seen. I have it still.”
“You took the arrow out?” Luveday slowly peeled away the matted material before picking up a knife to cut away at the ruined tunic.
Benedict stepped forward, his voice hard with frustration. “There was no choice, lady. There was still a day’s travel and nowhere to go for aid. Iain said he was well and told us to press on. We bedded down for the night, but no one knew how badly he was hurt until the next morning when he didn’t wake up. We cared for him as best we could.” The lady’s brow furrowed more as his tale continued.
“How long since he was wounded?” The cloth had come clear of the wound. An unpleasant smell emanated from the hole in his side. Luveday swallowed hard and looked to Gregori as the knight choked and turned away.
“A day and a half, maybe a few hours more.” Benedict continued to answer questions as no one else seemed inclined to. “We gave him something for the pain, some potion Warin had on him.” That was some good news at least. Anything Warin carried with him was brewed by Cassandra, and she had no doubt that the man-at-arms knew how to use it. “Luveday?” Benedict’s plea held a wealth of unspoken questions. Luveday wondered how their positions were now reversed; Iain was on death’s door and Benedict looking on worried and as helpless as Iain had once been months ago.
Luveday considered her course of action. The wound was infected and would need to be cleaned and sterilized. If nothing serious was punctured, then there was hope for a full recovery, but if something in the chest or bowls has torn, then an agonizing death was inevitable. Breathing deep, she focused passed the turning emotions and turned to the room at large. “You did the best with what you had.” She tried to reassure him, knowing that only Iain’s recovery would truly do so. “Let us get to work. The sooner we begin, the better chances he has. I cannot make promises, I will not, but I will tell you that he is strong, stubborn and in far better hands than mine.” Gregori and many others sent prayers heavenward. “We have knowledge and skill, but what is that in this life? All I know is that I will fight for him, I will pray for him, and I know you will do the same.” Luveday caught sight of Emmalyn as she hovered in the doorway, unable to take a step farther. Once again, her mentor looked haunted, and well past her years. Luveday could make no promises but hoped her eyes conveyed the depth of her determination to do all she could for Iain. The Lady nodded as if she understood, even as unshed tears made her turn away for a moment.
There was a resolute gleam in their eyes as the men nodded in turn. Some seemed encouraged by her words, which was all the comfort she could give them at the moment. Cassandra had joined the ranks, and the two women got to work. “Hold him down.” Luveday projected a steady facade, not letting one ounce of the turmoil inside cloud her logic. Cassandra directed the men on where and how to hold their lord, her brisk tone brooked no disobedience. Iain had remained unnaturally silent through their inspection, but the pain of cleaning his wound would reach him even in his unconscious state. Fuller, Benedict, Gregori, and Warin each took hold of a limb and leaned into the mattress. More men stood by to assist, knowing the unpredictable strength of a delirious knight. Every move was brisk and efficient as Luveday tied the scented handkerchief at the back of her head hoping the style would work to keep the stench of putrid flesh away.
Cassandra handed her a sterilized blade, she’d run the clean instrument through the flame of a candle a few times before she met the young lady’s eyes. The silent question that passed between them was little more than a look, but anyone could see that Luveday was determined and the older healer was relieved to have this task taken from her.
Luveday began using a clean cloth to remove the dried blood and debris from the outside of the laceration. The wound was in the abdomen on his right side. To her eyes, the hole looked large and deep, but she chastised herself, remembering that she had seen much worse not too long ago. Pus and blood oozed from the hole as she pressed down trying to gauge the extent of the damage. She washed her hands in water that was almost too hot to stand before digging past the skin. More gore flowed to be mopped up by hastily placed linens. While the wound bled, the stream was not increasing, the arrow seemed to have been halted by Iain’s armor and pierced into
his heavy abdominal muscles but not punctured his bowels. It was a great blessing. Still, something was not right.
A large bowl of steaming water and herbs was handed to Cassandra who held the vessel while Luveday took a small cup and transferred the water onto the wound. A milder version of the lye soap that was common here was used to help remove any impurities. As the two women conferred on their next course of action, a man appeared at the door. His boisterous voice was followed by a crowd of newcomers. “Step back, women.” The room fell silent at the venomous command. “Back I said.”
Familiar faces stormed through the door until the room was overly full. Lady Christabel was followed by her father, Lord Sumerland who was escorted by none other than the Mother Superior, Mary Odilia and a handful of other people that Luveday felt were somehow familiar to her and yet she couldn’t place them. The man, who has so rudely interrupted them, stormed forward pushing Cass and Luveday out of the way, causing hot water to spill over each of them. Cassandra sputtered her fury, as the old man looked as if he had traveled hard for several days. The journey had not agreed with his rotund physique. He started bellowing orders, but no one moved. “Did you not hear me, girl?” He yelled at the young lady, with clear exasperation he looked to Lord Sumerland and the Mother Superior.
“Do as the Physician says, woman!” Lord Sumerland looked down on Luveday with all the disdain she remembered. Several men looked as if they would move on the Lord at the insult to one of their own. The healing women and most of Iain’s men were soon ushered out of the room. Luveday looked around the great hall as if she couldn’t quite figure out how she had gotten there. She soon found herself beside Lady Emmalyn as another bowl of water was brought for them to clean the discharge from their hands. Emmalyn spoke soothing words to Cassandra and eyed the silent Luveday warily, as the other healer cursed the arrogance of court healers.
Above stairs, Gregori, Fuller, Benedict, and Warin held their ground, not leaving their master and brother in arms to this man, no matter who accompanied him. Lord Sumerland took one look at the men and left the room under the pretext of checking on the state of the castle. No one paid his departure any mind, nor that of his daughter as her pale face fled through the open door.
Mother Superior drew close to the physician. “How does he fare, Master Pope?”
“He’s lucky those women didn’t kill him. The sick room is no place for their superstition and incantations.” He grunted and wiped some gore off on to his dirty cloak before using his hands to probe the wound. “An arrow?” He looked at the men, as Warin nodded. “The damage isn’t too bad, his armor held. Leather or mail?” He asked.
It was Gregori’s deep calm that answered with time. “Both, a leather vest over a mail shirt.”
“Good, Good.” He said as if too himself. “The arrow would have punctured the bowels otherwise.” Pope poked some more before producing a bag from the folds of his cloak. He pulled forth a small tied satchel of herbs and began stuffing the wound. “We’ll see how he fares in a few hours, once the herbs had done their work.”
The good Mother, escorted Master Pope from the room, but the men heard her words clearly. “It’s truly a blessing that you would come to us at our hour of need Master Pope. Lord De Lane could not have asked for better than your capable hands.”
No one saw the looks of worry and dread that passed between the four knights as they wondered what sort of blessing the woman spoke of. More importantly, they asked themselves, a blessing for whom?
Master Pope barely made it up the stairs a few hours later. He had spent the last hour before the fire drinking the lord’s best wine and recounting his heroic deeds as a healer to the King. Emmalyn kept an eye on Mary Odilia and Lord Sumerland as Luveday stayed clear of the hall and kept busy preparing lodgings for their unexpected guests. While laughter rang through the hall, only the newcomers made marry as most of the castle’s occupants were focused on the Lord of Lander’s Keep.
By nightfall, the wind howled, and Iain had taken a turn for the worst. Luveday and the women were kept from the room as Master Pope employed darker measures to save De Lane’s life. By the next night, a blanket of despair had settled over the keep as everyone prepared for the worst. Sumerland and his men prepared to depart, Christabel begged to be taken with them, but her father refused, still holding to the betrothal until the Champion was dead and buried. Luveday could not muster any emotion at the sight of the young woman pleading and crying to be gone from them. Her father’s harsh words fell on deft ears, but many in the castle would never forget the tone and look of fury as he dragged Christabel to her feet. Spit flew into her face, but the girl was too distraught to care. “A woman’s place is by her betrothed’s side.” Sumerland’s hold on her arm looked as if it might snap the limb in two. “You will not dishonor my house by fleeing now. You will do your duty to De Lane. Stay here and bury the man, for you will not return to my house until he has breathed his last. Now go, you foolish girl.” He threw her away from him as the group turned to leave the hall. Christabel would have landed on the hard, stone floor if Mistress Adela had not rushed to catch her charge.
Mother Superior left not long after her companions, Luveday thought that Lady Emmalyn looked as if she fought the urge to do the woman bodily harm. Two nuns, a few of Sumerland’s ‘most trusted’ men, and two latecomers, another pair of physicians, where all that was left of their uninvited guests. More than one person wished the departing horde good riddance.
Shouts were heard echoing down from the solar. Luveday took a deep breath as the two aged physicians who had arrived a day later than Pope came rushing down the stairs. Word had traveled that the King’s Champion was seriously injured, over the last few days they had turned away any number of healers and crackpots that had come to care for the Lord. They were lucky Luveday was generous and let them take a meal before not so subtlety being told to leave and tell their fellow swindlers to stay clear of Lander’s Keep. Whether it was Lord Benedict or Sir Gregori who delivered the warning, the threat was like a flame that burned behind their eyes. If not for the lady’s presence, Luveday was sure that the healers would have lost more than the promise of good coin.
Pope stood at the top of the stairs shouting obscenities. “Damn you to hell and back, you tottering fools. Scullions! You practitioners of fallacy, of midnight superstations. Begone!” He wobbled, and a belch echoed through the hall as both men, belongings in tow fled the hall. “Begone!”
Luveday watched as Gregori headed up the stairs a dark look in his eyes. In the light of Iain’s doorway stood one of Sumerland’s men. The women watched as Pope swayed, turning back to the solar too quickly for his inebriated body to handle and completely unaware of the danger that followed him.
A hand gripped Luveday’s elbow like a vice. She turned to find Emmalyn at her side, and the look in her eyes spoke of fear and something that mirrored the darkness she had seen growing in the knights. A thread of unease snaked through Luveday breaking through the numbness that had surrounded her for days. Without thought, she followed Gregori up the stairs and into the solar.
Two men flanked the bed, swords drawn and poised on the tips of their toes. Gregori stood before her, his massive build in a similar fighting stance, sword drawn as a dark growl left him. No words were exchanged as the men eyed each other ready to do violence and yet hesitant to be the first to strike. Maybe they knew Gregori’s reputation and were smart enough not to start this fight. Luveday stood in the small outer room where Coll made his bed. The boy stood before her at the edge of the door half in shadows peeking around the doorframe with wide eyes. He watched Gregori’s back with intensity as if he might detect the subtle shift of muscle that would precede the attack.
Luveday’s small frame suddenly quaked with fury. The void that had grown inside her swallowing emotions as if someone had taken a spoon and scooped out her insides, her very heart, was suddenly full of fire and ice. She stepped through the arched doorway to push Gregori in the back. It was onl
y then that she noticed the man on the other side of the bed was flanked by Benedict who had taken over Iain’s bedside watch hours ago. Two on two, the thought was ludicrous, and Luveday had had enough. Master Pope stuttered as Gregori swirled to take her in. Somehow, he must have known the presence at his back was no real threat because he didn’t turn his sword on her, merely shifted his position to cover her as well.
“What is the meaning of this, you fools?” Pope tottered on his feet as he stood beside Iain at the head of the bed. The old man gestured wildly seemingly unaware of the small, wickedly-curved knife in his right hand. A bowl rested precariously on the edge of the bed, Iain’s outstretched arm rested beside it, and blood-soaked linen, dirty with matted clumps rested atop the ashen forearm. “Get out of here woman!” The Healer screamed; his voice cracked, sending the pitch up into regions reserved for hysterical women. “Devil take you, be gone! Sir Gregori, take her out of this room at once.” No one moved at his demand.
It was the first time Luveday had seen Iain since she had been kicked out of that same room days ago. The first thought in her head was that he was too close to death; there was no saving him. His skin was so pale it was almost white. His body was coated in sweat, but he no longer moved restlessly or moaned in pain. When Luveday’s mind finally registered what the man was about to do, the fury inside her, that had dimmed so quickly upon seen Iain’s current state, flared to new life burning inside her like a summer sun.
“Get out.” She said.
“How dare you…” Pope sputtered and took a step toward her.
“Get Out!” She cried and flung her arm toward the door as she advanced on him.
