William stared at the flames of the fire in the alehouse but saw only Cristiana. He couldn’t believe he’d had to let her go. Every bone in his body told him it had been a mistake. She might not be in danger now, but she would be soon.
He was certain of it.
How could he have missed that streak of cruelty when he’d first met the bishop? He was normally an excellent judge of character, a skill that had been formed in his childhood, growing up with Nicholas. He’d gotten in the habit of evaluating each person who came into their lives to see if they intended any harm to his brother. Apparently his judgment had been dulled when he’d nearly died.
While the bishop could not be described as kind, it had never occurred to William that he’d be ruthless. He rubbed his hand over his face then took a long draught of ale.
For what seemed like the hundredth time, he asked himself why he’d been given a second chance in this world. He’d convinced himself that serving Bishop Duval would pay back God for the gift he’d been given but hadn’t deserved.
But that was not true and he could no longer pretend it was.
“William, you think overmuch.” Henry refilled William’s cup from the jug before them.
He raised a brow at his friend. “How do you know I’m thinking?”
“When are you not? Most men can sit before a fire with a cup of ale in hand and their mind completely empty. But not you.”
William smiled. Henry did not share his desire to understand what his purpose in life was. He insisted he already knew: to fight, to drink, and to love. In that order.
“I think—” Henry started.
“I thought you were opposed to that.”
Henry glared at him before continuing, “That you are missing your true purpose when it’s under your very nose.”
He studied his cup as a dawning awareness spread over him. “I’m supposed to save Cristiana. That is why I’m here at this moment.”
Henry sat back. “Exactly. It makes perfect sense.”
“But she won’t let me.”
“Since when have you let someone else set your course?”
William scowled. “Never. At least not when I’ve had a choice.”
Henry took a long sip. “Why else have we been put in her path?”
“I think you have the right of it, Henry.” Something deep inside him eased as the notion sunk in.
“Of course I do.” Henry touched his cup to William’s. “That’s why you and I work so well together. I’m here to point out the obvious when you start thinking.”
William chuckled. Trust his friend to speak the truth. “Now we only have to determine how to rescue the lady when she doesn’t want to be rescued.”
“I leave that in your capable hands,” Henry said as he rose. “My work here is done. There’s a game of dice calling my name.”
William’s thoughts continued to circle as he watched Henry approach a table of men playing dice. As he already knew, Cristiana was a determined lady. When she set her mind to something, it was difficult to stop her.
What could he say or do to convince her to leave?
***
Cristiana followed the bishop into his chamber and Father Markus closed the door behind them. Three others waited in the chamber, all strangers.
As she looked at them, her stomach dropped to her knees.
One was a thin woman, her roughly woven clothing marked her as a peasant. Another was a young priest with a faint sheen on his forehead, his face pale. The last was a ragged young girl, her clothes consisting of strips of cloth tied together, brown eyes too large for her thin face.
All looked ill.
“What is this?” She spun to face the bishop, afraid she already knew the answer.
“A simple test. We must better understand your abilities before we can proceed with our plans,” the bishop explained. He spoke as though they’d already agreed upon them.
“What plans?”
“We’ll discuss the details later. Now tell me which of these people you’d pick to heal.”
“What?” She looked again at the three strangers, unable to believe what he was asking of her.
“Pick. From what you said earlier, I understand you can’t heal all of them, so who would you help?”
“I couldn’t possibly choose.” Cristiana was horrified at the situation in which he’d put her. A sick feeling built in her stomach and bile threatened the back of her throat. Never had she been put in such an impossible predicament.
He frowned. “That’s unfortunate. You’d send all of them away just so you wouldn’t have to make a difficult decision?”
She stared at him, wondering if he were mad. Why else would he ask this of her? She thought they’d come to an understanding about what she would and wouldn’t do, but obviously she’d underestimated his cruelness. Not only was this not fair to her, it wasn’t fair to the poor souls standing before her.
“Perhaps you need additional information to aid you,” he said with that terrible smile of his. He stepped forward and gestured toward the woman, careful not to touch her. “This is Mary. She’s been feeling poorly for over a fortnight, is that right?”
Mary nodded, her hazel eyes huge in her thin face. Tears filled her eyes. “Please help me, my lady. I have four children and I need to be better so I can work. We’re runnin’ out of food already and winter is comin’.”
The woman’s plea squeezed Cristiana’s heart.
The bishop nodded and gestured toward the priest. “This is Robert. He is new to the diocese.”
The sick priest bowed his head and smiled weakly. “Pay me no mind, my lady. These other two are more worthy of your...skills.”
“Now, Robert, that’s not true. How can you care for the people in your church if you are ill, or worse, dead?”
The priest seemed to grow even paler at the bishop’s words but said nothing more.
The bishop gestured to the small girl. “I’ve forgotten your name, child.”
She looked up at him dully. “Rebecca. May I go now?” Her voice was raspy.
“Tell the lady what’s wrong,” the bishop bid her.
The poor child acted as if blinking was difficult let alone speaking. She coughed hard, swaying slightly and Cristiana reached out to steady her.
“Nay.” Bishop Duval grabbed her hand before she could aid the little girl. “No touching until you decide whom to heal.”
She stared at him in disbelief. Surely this was some sort of malicious jest on his part.
“Well?” he asked impatiently. “You can’t keep these sick people waiting. Who will it be?”
“I can’t possibly choose. They are all worthy of healing.”
“Excellent. That is what I was hoping you would say. Let us try something.” He gestured for them to come forward. “Hold on to Lady Cristiana. Hold her arm or her hand. Nay, not her clothing, you must touch her person.”
None took her hand, but instead held her arm or shoulder. The woman and the little girl looked at her with hopeful eyes, but the priest seemed embarrassed to touch her.
“I’m sorry,” she told the three ill people then turned to the bishop, a mixture of anger and hopelessness filling her. “It doesn’t work this way.”
The woman squeezed tighter as she started to cry.
“I think you need only try harder, Cristiana,” the bishop said. Keeping his distance from the sick people, he put his own hand on her shoulder. “I will pray for you as you heal.”
Cristiana watched as his eyes closed and his lips began to move. She waited a long moment, but felt nothing. She knew what she needed to do, how it worked for her. There was no other way. And she also knew she could not heal multiple people at one time.
Yet what to do now? How could she choose only one?
Ignoring the bishop, she told the three, “I will do what I can, but you may have to come back on the morrow. My skills are not that strong.”
“Silence!” the bishop commanded. “Do not interrupt a pray
er!”
“I meant no offense. Please continue,” she told him as she removed his hand from her shoulder, “but do not place your hand on me.”
His blue eyes narrowed. She turned her back on his anger. His touch distracted her and she needed all the focus she could gather.
She took the woman’s hands into her own. “You have others who depend on you, so let me help you first.”
“Oh, thank you ever so much, my lady,” the woman whispered with tears in her eyes.
“Cristiana—”
She ignored the bishop and continued to speak to Mary. “I cannot promise anything. I will try my best and see if it aids you.” She pursed her lips, wondering if she could request a favor in return. “I would ask that you not speak of what happened in this room. I cannot help everyone. In fact, I can only help a few.”
“Cristiana, if you would do it my way—” the bishop began.
“I tried but to no avail. I’ll use my method instead.”
As the bishop sputtered in protest, she bid Mary to sit on the bench, then touched her shoulders, proceeding along her body, asking the woman questions to at last find the problem near her stomach.
The woman trembled beneath her fingers, sobbing as Cristiana worked. When it was done, Cristiana sank to the bench, much weakened from her efforts.
“Thank you ever so much, my lady,” she said as she continued to cry. “I mean no offense, but I must ask. Are you a witch?”
Cristiana shook her head, already exhausted. “I am not,” she whispered, wishing she could say it more firmly.
The young priest made the sign of the cross on his chest, not meeting her gaze.
“I am not.” She said it with more conviction this time.
“I must insist—” the bishop began.
She held up her hand, palm out, to hold off whatever he intended to say so she could rest a moment. He jerked back as he stared in alarm at her hand. Did he think something would shoot out at him? For a brief moment, she wondered if he feared her ability. All she knew was that his words would be of little help.
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough, but let us try you next, Rebecca,” she said.
The little girl’s eyes grew wide with fear as she shuffled forward. “Will it hurt much?”
“Nay. It won’t hurt at all.”
“Then why is she crying?” Rebecca eyed Mary warily.
“I’m just so pleased,” Mary said with a watery smile. “I feel much better. I can’t hardly believe it.”
“Come sit by me,” Cristiana said to Rebecca, offering a smile despite her tiredness.
The little girl eased up on the bench and took Cristiana’s hand. “’Tis all right. I will help you.”
Cristiana couldn’t help but smile at her earnest expression. “Thank you. Now let me see where the problem is.”
“Here.” Rebecca took both her hands and put them on her chest. “Right here is the worst of it.”
Cristiana felt heat and a wheezing sensation with each breath she drew. The little girl was right.
“Tell me what to do, please,” Rebecca whispered, her gaze steady on Cristiana’s. “I would help you, my lady.”
“Draw a nice deep breath.” But that small request seemed too much for her as it brought on a fit of coughing. Cristiana took advantage of it and with each cough, pulled out the illness until her own lungs burned. The shallowness of her breath took her aback, causing a moment of panic.
“Stay calm, my lady,” Rebecca told her. “When I get upset, it grows much worse. Take little breaths.”
Cristiana took her advice and tried to quell the fear. Soon the feeling eased and she was able to draw a deep breath. “Thank you,” Cristiana said.
“Nay, ’tis I who thank you.” Color returned to Rebecca’s face and a look of wonder came over her. “I feel better already. It didn’t hurt at all.”
“I’m so glad. You’re very brave,” Cristiana said, meaning every word. Exhaustion slipped over her, pulling her down. She turned to the priest. “I’m afraid I must ask if you’d return on the morrow, Father.”
Her world darkened, narrowed. Then she remembered nothing else.
***
William paced back and forth behind the potter’s, his patience gone. For two days now, he’d sent Aldwin to deliver a message to Cristiana but with no success. William was beside himself with worry.
“Slow down,” Henry nudged him as he passed by. “You’re drawing attention.”
William glanced around, realizing Henry was right. Some of the townspeople walking past stared. That was the last thing they needed. Even now, the bishop would be wondering why they hadn’t returned and send someone looking for them. They wouldn’t be able to remain hidden in the city much longer.
“What could’ve happened to her?” he asked as he came to stand beside Henry.
“Maybe it’s as Aldwin heard, that she’s ill. Everyone gets sick now and again.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Nor do I.” Henry sighed. “If Aldwin has no luck today, then what should we do? Perhaps I could see if Sister Mawde—”
“Nay. She worships the ground the bishop walks on. She’d appreciate a chance to do him a favor and tell him whatever we confide in her.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“What of Branwen?” William asked. He’d nearly forgotten about the maid.
Henry scratched his scar as he thought on it. “Her loyalty lies with Lady Cristiana. Of that I have no doubt. Surely she could get a message to the lady.”
“Or at least tell us if she’s truly ill.”
“Let us have Aldwin find the maid.”
William breathed a sigh of relief. Soon they would know what was going on. Somehow he was certain all was not well with Cristiana.
***
Cristiana sipped hot broth, propped against the bolster in her bed. She was beginning to worry she’d never regain her strength. Apparently she’d slept most of the past two days but still didn’t feel well. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment.
“My lady? Are you all right?” the maid servant asked.
“I’m so tired,” she whispered.
“Try more of the broth. Mayhap it will give you some strength. You haven’t eaten enough to feed a bird.” Her smile was kind and her brown eyes warm.
Cristiana drew a deep breath, determined to do as the maid suggested. She took another sip, but exhaustion weighed so heavily on her, she could hardly fight it. Never had she felt so poorly.
Why had she risked healing two people so closely together? She knew she couldn’t manage it. She’d attempted it once before and nearly paid for it with her life. Fear filled her that this time, she’d pushed too far.
But she couldn’t die now. Not when she hadn’t yet attained vengeance for her mother’s murder. Not when William was waiting for her. She had too much to live for. Somehow she had to find the strength to recover. With renewed determination, she took a chunk of bread, dipped it in the broth and chewed it slowly.
“Did it stop raining?” she asked the maid, hoping a bit of conversation would distract her from her bone-deep weariness.
The discussion on the weather lasted long enough for her to drink the broth and eat the bread, but not much longer.
“Perhaps you could bring something more than broth for supper,” she told the maid.
“How does a brewet sound? I’ll tell the bishop you’re starting to feel better. He’s been most anxious to hear progress of your recovery.” The maid started to leave the chamber, but turned back. “Oh, and there was a woman asking for you. She said her name is Branwen and she needs to speak with you. What should I tell her?”
Cristiana didn’t answer as she was already asleep.
***
The moon cast shadows near the stables where William waited. Branwen had told him she’d at last gotten a message to Cristiana to meet him there. The maid confirmed she’d been ill but did not know the cause of it. William had little doubt of
the reason and he was certain it had to do with the bishop.
He intended to convince Cristiana to come away with him. As far as he was concerned, the situation was growing more dangerous by the day.
His brother, Nicholas, and wife, Elizabeth, would welcome them. They’d be safe at their holding which was just over a day’s hard ride. From there, they could...
Christ. He didn’t know what they could do. All he knew was that he wanted Cristiana to be safe. He wanted to spend more time with her. He wanted...
What did he want? The woman had wrapped her way around his heart. The truth of that statement sunk in as he stood there waiting in the dark.
A cloaked form approached and his heart jumped, but the slow pace of the person filled him with trepidation. Mayhap it wasn’t her after all.
“William.” Cristiana’s soft spoken tone set his heart thundering.
“What is wrong?” William stepped forward and pushed her hood back, drawing her into a patch of moonlight so he could see for himself. Her face was pale and drawn, and dark shadows marked her eyes. Some of the life seemed to have been drained out of her. “What has happened? Are you ill?”
“Nay. I’m still recovering from a healing three days past.”
“What sort of healing leaves you weak for three days?”
She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “’Tis my own fault, really. I know better.”
“Tell me what happened.”
His blood turned cold as she related the story of the bishop presenting her with three people, insisting she choose which one to help.
“I know I can’t heal two times in one day. It’s too much. But the woman had small children at home depending on her and the little girl, Rebecca, was so sweet. She did her best to aid me.”
William drew her into his arms and held tight, wishing he had some way to lend her his strength. Instead, he could only hold her. “Bishop Duval put you in an impossible situation. How could you choose?”
“Yet how could I not?”
His heart squeezed as she laid her head on his chest, grateful to have her in his arms at last. After hearing this, he was more convinced than ever that she needed to come with him.
“Let us leave this place,” he whispered as he pressed a kiss into her soft hair. “We will go to my brother’s. You’ll be safe there.”
Vengeance 03 - Believe In Me Page 18
