by Barb Hendee
I still wouldn’t.
A few miles up shore, I could hear the rush of a river flowing into the ocean. There was a bridge across and a narrow road leading inland.
We took the road inland.
“How far now?” I asked.
“A little over a half day’s ride. We should reach Chastain by early afternoon.”
I’d been hoping the town was further away. Once there, I’d need to start looking for reasons to keep Christophe from leaving.
* * * *
As he’d predicted, we reached Chastain in the early afternoon, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight. It had been a good-sized village, and at least a quarter of the buildings had been burned.
Some cleanup was underway, but there were dead cattle and horses lying about the outskirts. People still in shock were limping around as if uncertain what to do. The captain had sent some troops the day before, probably to make the people feel a little safer and to offer assurances that more help was on the way. Hope could do much in the face of tragedy.
Yet, as we arrived, people turned to watch us with dazed expressions. I could only imagine what had happened here.
A tall de Fiore soldier came walking from the edge of town, moving straight toward us. Christophe and the captain both jumped off their horses. The man stopped and nodded in respect to both of them. “My lord. Sir. We know how the raiders got through.”
“How?” Christophe asked.
“They didn’t leave any boats on the shore. They came straight up the river.”
The captain breathed in sharply. “That’s not possible.”
“It is, sir,” the man said. “People here are all giving the same account. The raiders came upriver in three boats, ravaged Chastain, and then headed back downriver and out to sea.”
Christophe turned to the captain. “Boats that can cross the sea and move up rivers?”
This frightened me on more than one level. Back home, we had a river running right past White Deer Lodge.
Still on my horse, I said softly, “Christophe, my father needs to be warned.”
Turning, his face awash with concern, he reached up to lift me down. “Yes. I’ll have someone sent right away.”
“Thank you.”
Though I knew little to nothing of sea travel, even I had a difficult time imagining a boat that could cross an ocean and traverse a river.
Christophe spoke directly to the captain. “Some of the cleanup can wait. Our first two priorities should be distributing food and seeing to the wounded. You oversee distribution of food and I’ll help Lady Nicole set up someplace where she can begin tending injuries. I’ll try the common house first if it’s still standing.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Walking to the first wagon, Christophe lifted my chest filled with supplies, and then he walked down the main path of the town. I trotted along behind. He appeared to know where he was going, and I followed him past charred buildings and people who were moving toward our caravan of supplies.
“It’s still there,” Christophe said in relief, leading onward to a large log building with a double front door.
“My lord!” a voice called.
A stocky man with silver hair limped toward us. He had a dark bruise on his forehead.
“Antoine, it is good to see you,” answered Christophe, sounding even more relieved. “Nicole, this is Antoine de Portiers, Chastain’s elderman. Antoine, this is the lady Nicole Montagna, my wife’s sister.”
The man offered an exhausted nod. “I wish we could meet under better circumstances.”
“My corporal tells me the raiders came upriver in their boats,” Christophe said.
Antoine de Portiers nodded. “There was no stopping them.” He glanced at me, hesitated, and then said, “They took eleven of our women.”
Christophe’s body tensed. “We’ll find a way to stop them if we have to block the rivers.” After a moment, he collected himself and said, “Lady Nicole is a trained healer. I’m going to help her get set up in the common house. Can you spread word for people to bring their wounded here?”
As Antoine listened, his eyes were wet. “Yes. Good. I’m glad you’ve come.”
“I’m sorry it took us until this afternoon. We were putting supplies together.”
Antoine began limping away. “Don’t be sorry.”
“I’ll want to look at his leg later,” I said to Christophe.
Together, we went inside and I thought this space would work well. There were long tables and plenty of room.
“We’re probably going to need splints,” I said. “A slender chair leg can work well. I may need you to break up some chairs.”
“All right.”
Picking a table, I opened my chest of supplies and began setting up. For the time since arriving, I wished my mother were with me. Though I knew many of her skills, I did not know them all.
But I was determined to help here and do my best. Among the medicines my mother had sent, I was most glad for the bottle of poppy syrup to help numb pain; the jar of adder’s-tongue ointment for cleaning wounds; and the mixture of ground garlic and ginger in vinegar, for staving off infection.
Not long after, people began arriving and Christophe began to pick out those in the most need and place them at the front of the line. Right away, I was faced with a mother carrying a five-year-old girl with a badly broken arm.
“My lord,” I called, thinking it best to be formal among so many of his people. “I’ll need two small splints.” Holding up my hands, I illustrated the correct size.
He nodded and began breaking up a chair.
While he worked on that, I turned back to the mother and child. The little girl was frightened and her mother appeared caught between hope and caution. I needed to remember these people had been through a traumatic experience.
“Will her arm be crippled?” the mother asked.
Gently feeling around the break, I answered, “The bone needs to be set, but I think it will heal.”
Opening the bottle of poppy syrup, I poured a tablespoon and held it near the girl’s mouth. “Can you drink this for me? It will make you sleepy, but your arm won’t hurt so much.”
She swallowed the spoonful and I gave her another.
Looking up at the mother, I said, “We need to wait a little, to let the syrup take effect and dull the pain. Then I can set the bone.”
The woman began to relax a little. “Thank you.”
While the poppy syrup took effect, I glanced at the next two injured people, both with wounds that would need to be stitched in order to heal properly. But neither was bleeding badly—as any people with gushing wounds would have died the day of the attack. I tried not to think on that.
Christophe brought me the small splints and we laid the little girl on a table. He held her shoulders and talked to her quietly as I readied to set the bone in her arm. Glancing up at him, I nodded once.
“We brought some fresh apples,” he said to her. “Perhaps your mother can make you a tart.”
I snapped the bone into place. She jumped but did not cry out. Then I set the splints and began wrapping them to her arm. Once this was done, we took a curtain from one of the windows and used it to fashion a sling.
Touching the mother’s shoulder, I said, “I’ll check on her tomorrow, but so long as the splints remain secure, her arm will heal.”
“Thank you,” she said again.
After this, I began cleaning wounds with the adder’s-tongue ointment, then sewing the wounds, and then applying the vinegar and garlic mix to stave off infection. I set and splinted three more broken bones. Christophe remained with me the whole time, and he did whatever I asked.
By sundown, we’d seen to everyone in dire need and I was exhausted.
“That’s enough for now,” Christophe said, looking at me
.
“I’ll want to check on most of these people tomorrow.”
“I know.”
After cleaning up, we headed back to the caravan of wagons and horses. The captain and his men had done a good job of distributing food, but rather than troubling the townspeople for lodging, the soldiers had set up a camp outside the town, and several of them were cooking pots of stew over open fires.
For supper, Christophe and I ate bowls of stew while sitting on the back edge of a wagon.
“Is the food all right?” he asked.
“It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
He smiled. His smiles were so rare that this one touched me.
“You were astonishing today,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“You should see my mother in action. Her stitches are better than mine.”
“You did well.”
His praise meant a great deal to me. I cared for his opinion and his feelings, and this only increased my guilt over the reason I’d brought him here.
That night, he pitched a small tent and had me crawl inside onto a bedroll. Then he laid his own bedroll just outside. “I’ll sleep right here,” he said. “You’ll be safe.”
I always felt safe with him.
* * * *
The next four days were a blur.
There was so much work to be done and I had no trouble keeping Christophe at the village. I checked on my patients every day to make sure wounds and bones were healing. He helped to clean out burned homes and shops and to start rebuilding new ones.
I helped to prepare and bury the dead.
We set up some communal cooking in the common house and I also helped with meals. The most confusing element of all this was that everyone called Christophe “my lord” and they all called me “my lady.” None of them had ever seen Chloe and they viewed me as their lady, as the lady of Whale’s Keep.
At first, both he and I tended to correct this, but then we just…stopped.
It was not uncommon for me to hear someone call, “Have you see my lady?”
I allowed myself to become lost in the illusion that I was their lady and that my place was at Christophe’s side—and his place was at mine. Though I knew it was wrong, I could see him doing the same thing.
But then, on the morning of the fifth day, though, he said, “I think the captain has things under control here and I don’t want to leave Mildreth managing everything and looking after Chloe for too long.”
Mildreth.
Chloe.
The world waited. But I hoped to keep Christophe away from the keep as long as possible. If the child had come in our absence, every day that passed would make a difference.
“There’s a woman here who is with child and near the time of giving birth,” I said. “Her husband was killed in the raid and the village lost its midwife. Could we not wait a little longer?”
“Yes. Of course.”
He agreed so readily that I wondered how much he wanted to go back.
The next day, the woman went into labor. I delivered the baby and then wanted to stay a few days to help them both. Christophe agreed.
In the end, I kept him away from the keep for eight days, but then we had to start back.
* * * *
As Christophe and three other men rowed us from the shore to the island, a knot began forming in my stomach. I’d had no contact with Chloe and had no idea what I was about to find.
Though quiet by nature, Christophe had been unusually quiet on the journey home, and my mind had been occupied with worry over whether or not my desperate ruse would succeed or fail spectacularly.
As the boat reached the bit of passable shore on the island, men came out to pull us partially in. Christophe jumped out and reached back in, lifting me out and setting my feet on solid ground.
“Are you up for the climb now, or do you need to rest?” he asked.
“I’m fine. Let’s go up.”
We passed through the gatehouse and started up. This time, the climb didn’t feel quite so long—perhaps because I knew what to expect. Before I knew it, we were passing through the upper gatehouse and making our way through the village toward the keep.
Along the way, people greeted Christophe and asked about Chastain. He stopped several times to make assurances that everything possible was being done to help survivors and that he and the captain were making plans to ensure that such an attack would not happen again.
Finally, we made it to the courtyard and then through the front doors of the keep.
I drew in a long breath, anxious to learn what awaited us.
As we stepped into the foyer, two people came walking down the main passage toward us: Erik and Jenny.
Christophe stopped in alarm. “Erik—what is it? Have your people been attacked?”
Shaking his head, Erik smiled. “No, nothing like that. Nicole had written to me that Chloe was missing her maid, Jenny, so I thought to bring her. That’s all.”
“Oh,” Christophe said in relief. “That was good of you.”
“But there is news,” Erik said. “You have a son. He came a few days after you left. We had only arrived that day ourselves.”
A son. The knot in my stomach tightened.
For moment, Christophe didn’t respond. Then his alarm returned. “Chloe delivered? So soon? Is she all right? Is the child all right?”
Erik held up one hand, still smiling. “They are both well. Chloe took a fall and it caused the child to come early, yet no harm was done.”
“The child was small, my lord,” Jenny put in. “But he was born nearly a week ago now and my lady’s milk came in strong. He has been feeding and gaining weight.”
Clasping Christophe’s shoulder, Erik said, “I’ve been watching him put on weight every day.”
“I’m so glad you were here,” Christophe answered, embracing Erik. “I didn’t know. How could I have known? I need to see them both.”
He ran off down the passage and Erik met my gaze.
I should have been elated and wildly relieved. This could not have gone better. Erik and Jenny had arrived the day Chloe went into labor. Jenny had clearly delivered the baby and now she and Erik had said all the right words to Christophe: That Chloe had a fall to bring on early labor and the child had been born small, but had been eating well for days and putting on weight. Erik had been acting as guardian to the young heir of Whale’s Keep. Christophe trusted Erik more than anyone in the world.
There would be no question in Christophe’s mind that the child was his.
Slowly, I walked away, past Erik, and followed the path through the keep up to Chloe’s room.
There, I walked into a pretty sight. She sat in a chair with the baby in her lap. Christophe was on his knees beside her, looking down with an expression of unconditional love.
“Look at him,” he whispered. “He looks just like Erik and your father.”
“He does,” Chloe answered.
Entering the room, I went over to see the new arrival. He had a pale skin and head full of red-blond hair. Even as an infant, his features already resembled the men in my family. He was a son of White Deer Lodge.
“Where is Mildreth?” Christophe asked. “Did she help with the delivery?”
“No, I wish she had,” Chloe answered. “Poor Mildreth. She’s been ill, sick to her stomach for a week. She’s not even seen him yet. But don’t fear. I’ve been kept informed and she is recovering.”
“I’ll go and see her,” he said, “but I want a few more minutes here.”
So even that part of my plan had gone well. I’d instructed Chloe to dose Mildreth’s tea with four drops of an areial roots mixture. One drop of this mixture could be used to make someone vomit—to help with a case of accidental poisoning. Four drops would make someone sick for a week.
“Could I hold him?” Christophe asked.
“Of course you can,” Chloe said. “He won’t break.”
Carefully, Christophe lifted the baby and held him out for me to see. It was like looking at a tiny version of Erik or my father. I knew his eyes would stay blue. There was nothing of Julian Belledini in this child. Christophe’s face was alight with love. “Chloe, have you named him?”
“No. I thought it best to wait for you.”
“Gideon,” he said instantly. “After your father. Gideon de Fiore. It’s a strong name.” He beamed at me. “Nicole, I have a son.”
I tried to smile at him, but the knot in my stomach only grew tighter.
Planning a deception was one thing. Watching the result was quite another.
* * * *
Two days later, Erik said he needed to get back home—and that I should come with him. Though I was sorry to leave Chloe, I was not sorry to be able to go home and try to forget the part I had played here.
Shortly before we left, I went up to say good-bye to Chloe in her rooms.
She sat in a chair, gazing out a narrow window. The room was quiet.
“Where’s Gideon?” I asked, looking around for the cradle—which was nowhere in sight.
Turning her head, she seemed to take a moment to recognize me. “Where is Gideon? In the nursery, I think.”
“You’ve put him in the nursery? So soon.”
“I hired a wet nurse. She has him.”
Walking in, I said, “Erik, Jenny, and I are about to leave.”
“I wish you would stay.”
“I know, but we all need to get back home. Mother has been missing me and I have duties at home.”
“Yes. Home.” She paused. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. No one would have stood by me as you did.”
But she didn’t sound thankful. She sounded alone.
“It’s going to be all right, Chloe,” I said. “Christophe already loves the child and he will be kind to you. Mildreth has lost and she knows it. Christophe would never hear a word spoken against you or Gideon now. Your honor is safe and you are safe.”
She nodded. “Yes. Safe.”
Not knowing what else to say, I kissed the side of her face. “I’ll write soon.”
