Knight of Westmoorland: The Queen and the warrior

by Toboorg, M. S.

  The fire consumed the added logs and began to settle down. And then, he heard the men add more wood to the fire and he knew…

  This was the way he would die. Not in battle, by dagger or sword. Not on the Rack, or by the Queen’s hand. Not even by fire itself; that would be merciful compared to this.

  No, he would slowly roast to death, surrounded by the steam of piss and sweat and dirty laundry.

  He closed his eyes.

  As if in a dream, he heard the Queen’s voice, raised in outrage. The sack was pulled from his head and Gaius was in front of him, the old man’s hands on his face and neck. Shadowy figures dumped buckets of water on the fire and the chamber filled with smoke.

  Sighing, he let himself go.

  Chapter Six

  THE WARRIOR DRIFTED IN AND on of consciousness. At first, his wakeful times lasted mere seconds, long enough to realize three things.

  He was lying on a bed in a strange chamber. Shackles bound his hands and feet, the chains running under the bed with his hands at his sides. He had slack to move around, but didn’t have the strength.

  Bandages covered his chest and thighs and the slightest movement brought pain.

  And he wasn’t alone. Every time he opened his eyes, Queen Gracelyn was there. Curled up in a chair beside the bed, reading or napping, or standing by the window, gazing outside.

  But always, she was there.

  A cool, damp rag touched his lips. Droplets of water landed on his tongue, causing him to swallow reflexively. He opened his mouth, craving more, and water dripped onto his tongue.

  He opened his eyes. Gaius sat on the edge of the bed. He met the warrior’s gaze and smiled.

  “Water…” The word came out a hoarse whisper, scraping across the warrior’s tender throat.

  Gaius used one hand to support the warrior’s head and held a mug to his lips, letting the water trickle into his mouth.

  Swallowing was painful.

  After taking all he could handle, he pressed his lips together. Gaius returned his head to the pillow, withdrawing the mug. Unconsciousness tugged on the fringes of his mind but he struggled against it, unwilling to surrender to sleep so soon.

  “How long…have…I been…here?”

  Gaius patted his arm. “You’ve been here, in my chamber, three days.”

  “…Dungeon?”

  “You were in the dungeon for four days.”

  His eyes wandered around the room. The sky outside the window was dark, the room lit by a few candles.

  On the other side of the bed, Queen Gracelyn slept in the chair.

  “The Queen…?”

  Gaius followed his gaze to the sleeping woman and expelled his breath. “She hasn’t left your side. I’ve tried to get her to go to her own bed at night, but…she refuses. Maybe now that you’re awake, she’ll go. She doesn’t rest well, here.”

  He struggled to keep his eyes open. Questions burned inside of him, answers he needed to know. The most important one…had she allowed it?

  But his abused body could fight the tide of unconsciousness no longer. He closed his eyes and drifted away.

  Pain awakened him. Pain from his ribs, his throat, the skin covering his chest and thighs…

  He felt something cool on his stomach and forced his eyes open.

  The bandages were gone. His skin was a fiery red, dry and cracked, blisters scattered across his upper chest.

  Gaius was applying ointment to his abdomen. He winced, drawing his breath through clenched teeth.

  A movement from the window caught his attention and he raised his eyes. Queen Gracelyn stood in a beam of sunshine, the light creating a halo all around her. She was facing him and she smiled softly, but her eyes were sad and her face was pale.

  She crossed the room and picked up a mug off the bedside table. With one hand behind his head, she held the mug to his lips.

  He swallowed the water, winced, and swallowed again.

  She returned the mug to the table and picked up a bowl. “Gaius, should I wait until you’re done?” she asked softly.

  “No, go ahead. We don’t know how long he’ll be awake.”

  The warrior couldn’t tell what was in the bowl but he opened his mouth when the spoon approached.

  He made a face. It was a thin gruel, milk-based and bland, but salty.

  Gaius chuckled, smearing the ointment gently on his chest. “I know it doesn’t taste very good but it is good for you. Your body needs nourishment.”

  The warrior nodded, accepting another spoonful from the Queen. He watched her face, thinking how different this was from the last time she’d fed him, and the question tormented him again.

  Had she known? Had she given the guard permission to do…whatever he wanted?

  After several spoons of the gruel, the Queen held the mug to his lips and he drank the water. When she offered him the spoon again, he shook his head.

  “Marcus said…you…”

  She silenced him with the spoon and he swallowed the gruel, watching her. When she met his gaze, anger flashed in her eyes.

  “It appears Marcus coerced his friends by saying he had my permission to be there, in the dungeon…to do…” She shuddered. “He lied. You must know that…you must! I would never allow anyone—especially him—to touch you. I had a standing order. No one else was supposed to touch you. You are mine and they all know that!”

  She fed him more gruel and he noticed her hand was trembling. She lowered her eyes to the bowl, refilling the spoon. When she met his gaze again, her cheeks were wet with tears.

  “I’m sorry. I should have had a guard posted, but I…I never dreamed…” She shook her head. “My orders have never been disobeyed. Not…like this, with such…insolence.”

  Sighing, he closed his eyes. The weight lifted from his heart. She hadn’t known, hadn’t allowed it.

  But…was she angry enough to punish the guard? Did it mean—did he mean—that much to her? He opened his eyes and looked at her.

  “What…will you do?”

  She growled softly. “I’d like to string him up by his thumbs, roast him slowly, as he tried to do to you. But…I can’t. What’s done is done.”

  He frowned.

  She searched his face and saw his frown. “You don’t know, of course. Marcus is dead.”

  His breath caught in his throat. Seeing the surprise on his face, the Queen nodded.

  “When we found you…in the chaos of dowsing the fire and bringing you up here, Marcus and Nathan escaped. It seems they argued. They were found, the next morning. Nathan’s neck was broken. Marcus…” she paused to clear her throat. “He was stabbed. Repeatedly. In the stomach. Nathan used the dagger Marcus had on him…your dagger. Marcus bled to death.”

  The warrior closed his eyes with a sigh. Stabbed in the gut, Marcus had bled out like a pig. Even though it had not been by his hand, it had been by his dagger. And Nathan was dead, as well. He was avenged.

  Gaius began dressing his wounds and the warrior winced. Queen Gracelyn’s hand slipped into his, giving him a gentle squeeze.

  “I know it hurts. I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

  Gazing into her eyes, he returned the squeeze and tried to smile.

  Gaius finished and walked to a table on the other side of the sunlit room. The warrior could see books stacked on the table, along with beakers and other equipment. Gaius retrieved a bottle from a cabinet and poured liquid into it from a beaker. Returning to the bedside, he slid his hand under the warrior’s head.

  “Drink this,” Gaius said softly.

  “What is it?”

  “Just a potion. It will ease the pain and help you to rest.”

  The warrior wasn’t much for taking medicine but he was in pain. Gaius poured some of the liq
uid into his mouth and he swallowed.

  It was bitter and burned his throat going down, but he soon felt the effects of the medicine. The pain faded and he drifted to sleep, his fingers still curled around the Queen’s hand.

  “Shhh, My warrior. Shh. You are safe.”

  Gasping, he opened his eyes and looked around. The chamber was dark, save for one candle, burning on one of the bedside tables.

  He’d been dreaming he was back in the dungeon, in front of the fire.

  Blinking, he recognized his surroundings but the nightmare was still fresh in his mind. His heart still raced, the rage and pain still twisted inside him. He turned his head, squeezing his eyes closed.

  He didn’t want the Queen to see the tears gathered there.

  “Have some water…”

  His eyes still closed, he felt her hand support his head and felt the mug against his lips.

  He drank.

  Lying back on the pillow, he tried to relax, tried to let his body sink into the bed. “There was a third man…”

  “Ah, yes. Donny.”

  A strange tone was in her voice. The warrior opened his eyes and looked at her.

  “He is downstairs. In a cell. I haven’t yet decided what to do with him.”

  “What do you mean?” The warrior frowned.

  “When he left you with Marcus and Nathan, he thought about telling someone, but didn’t. He said…” She stood up and began pacing. “Marcus threatened him and he was afraid. But as the night wore on, his conscience got the better of him and he went to the castle guard on duty, who woke Philippe. Philippe woke Gaius, and Gaius woke me.” She stopped pacing and returned to the chair, laying her hand on his arm. “If he’d gone to the guard sooner, it would have saved you…so much pain.” Tears filled her eyes and she let them fall unchecked. “But if he hadn’t gone when he did…” Queen Gracelyn slid her hand down the warrior’s arm, slipping her hand into his. “You would be dead, my warrior,” she finished in a whisper.

  He nodded. “I know.” His voice was as soft as hers was.

  She brushed her free hand across her cheeks, strength returning to her voice. “So I am torn between anger and gratitude. I haven’t been able to think clearly, to decide how to punish him.”

  Unsure how else to respond, the warrior squeezed the Queen’s hand.

  She smiled softly. “But I am forgetting…” She picked up the medicine bottle from the bedside table. “Gaius left this for you, in case you woke up.”

  The warrior made a face, but swallowed the potion without complaint. “Where is Gaius?”

  “He is resting in a guest chamber.”

  “You should be in your chamber, Queen Gracelyn. You need to rest, as well.”

  She stared at the bottle, still in her hands. “I can’t,” she said, so softly the warrior barely heard her. “I’ve tried, but…I can’t.” Setting the bottle down, she pressed her hand against his forehead and then his cheek. “You feel hot. It isn’t high, but I believe you do have a fever.”

  Fetching a rag from the table, she immersed it in a bowl of water and wrung it out. Returning to his side, she laid it across his head.

  The cool dampness felt good to him. He struggled against the effects of the medicine, trying to stay awake. As much as her presence meant to him, he didn’t want to be the cause of her falling ill. “Your Highness, you need to rest…”

  “Shhh, My warrior. Shh. You are safe. Right now, that is all that matters.”

  Slowly, day by day, the warrior’s body healed. Gaius faithfully treated his burns. They thickened his gruel and began adding small portions of meat to his diet.

  He slept much of the time, aided by the medicine Gaius prepared. Always, when he opened his eyes, Queen Gracelyn was there.

  Her concern for him was obvious, by her continued presence, by the way she held his hand whenever Gaius treated his wounds, and by the look in her eyes when she gazed at him.

  But, why? Did she just feel guilty for what had happened to him?

  This question haunted him now. He was afraid to read more into her actions than was really there. It was too easy to let himself hope.

  His eyes flew open, a scream caught in his throat. He rounded his shoulders, supporting himself on his elbows and looked around in panic.

  Gaius mopped the warrior’s face with a damp rag. “Another bad dream?”

  He sank back down upon the bed and closed his eyes.

  “I fear you have them often. You mumble a lot and sometimes cry out. Water?”

  When the warrior nodded, Gaius held the mug to his lips and let him drink.

  Candles flickered in the chamber, but the sky outside the window was growing light. It was morning.

  The warrior’s eyes fell on the Queen, curled up in the chair beside his bed, a blanket tucked around her body. “Does she ever go to her bed?”

  The old man sighed. “She has gone to her room…twice, I think. Stayed, maybe, two or three hours, each time. Said she couldn’t rest and then promptly fell asleep in the chair.”

  The warrior gazed at her, his heart pounding. “Gaius…why?”

  Gaius frowned thoughtfully. “Well, you were in her dungeon; Marcus was captain of her guards. She feels responsible.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  The older man studied him with knowing eyes. “What do you mean?”

  The warrior shifted restlessly on the bed. Questions burned inside of him, but he wasn’t sure how to put them into words. And he wasn’t sure if he could ask them of Gaius. “I mean…oh, hell, I don’t know what I mean. Never mind.”

  Gaius uncorked the now-familiar medicine bottle, but the younger man turned his head.

  “Do I have to? The pain…isn’t always so bad, now…”

  “Hmm. You are getting better.” Gaius returned the bottle to the table. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  The warrior nodded.

  Gaius walked to the other side of the room and began closing books, stacking them neatly.

  Sighing, the warrior gazed at the sleeping Queen and wondered.

  As Gaius removed the bandage, it pulled at his skin and the warrior winced. The Queen scooted her chair up, slipping her hand into one of his. His hands were now lying on the bed above his head, chained to the headboard.

  The old physician examined his wounds. His skin was now a bright pink, except in a few places where the damage was worst. Gaius nodded in satisfaction. “I think I’ll leave it uncovered awhile. Let it get some air.” He stood up. “And now, I have some things to tend to.” A quick bow of his head to the Queen and he left the room, leaving them alone.

  The warrior’s gaze remained on Queen Gracelyn. She squeezed his hand and then released it, sitting back into the chair. She averted her eyes, a slight frown lining her forehead.

  “You are recovering quickly. Gaius has said, in a few days, you will be well enough…”

  The warrior caught his breath, the unease on the Queen’s face clenching his stomach. “Well enough…?”

  She finally raised her eyes to his. “You still haven’t answered my questions,” she said softly.

  Sighing, he closed his eyes. “Your Highness, the questions you ask…” He looked at her, his eyes begging her to understand, to hear what he wasn’t saying. “I can’t answer.”

  Pressing her lips together, she studied him. “Hmm.”

  He decided to try a different tactic. “Why would King William invade you now? Strategically, if he were going to attack, would he not have done it sooner? The streams in Westmoorland are starting to flow again—”

  “The streams in Westmoorland!” Queen Gracelyn stood, pacing to the window. Spinning to face him, she leaned on the window ledge. “Your King accused me of…of damming them, because he mar
ried Jenna!”

  “I know.”

  “Do you believe it?”

  The warrior stared at her, her simple question confusing him. “King William said—”

  “I know what he said!” Flying to his side, the Queen braced her hands on either side of his head and leaned over him, her eyes searching his face intently. “I’m asking if you believe it. Farmers lost their crops. Their livestock died, their children went hungry! Do you believe I would do such a thing? Over William?” Again, she spat the name out with loathing.

  She stared at him, waiting for his answer.

  Slowly, he shook his head. “No,” he breathed.

  Her bosoms heaving, she sank down onto the chair. “Good. I swear to you, I had nothing to do with it! I even had the streams in Cambridge checked. Whatever happened to Westmoorland’s streams, it didn’t start in Cambridge. Whether it was some natural disaster, or something man-made, I don’t know, but…” she trailed off, her momentum lost, and then finished softly, “It wasn’t my fault.”

  His heart racing, the warrior watched her. Did it matter that much, that he believed her? The hope inside him grew.

  Regaining her composure, the Queen raised her eyes to his. “Tell me,” she demanded softly. “How well do you know King William?”

  He blinked in surprise, unsure of how to respond.

  She leaned forward in her chair. “You have a niece. Her name’s…Katherine, isn’t it?”

  His eyes widened. “Yes, but how did you—”

  “How old is Katherine, now? Eleven?”

  Frowning, the warrior could feel his pulse throbbing in his temples. He wet his lips, hesitating.

  “How old is she?” The Queen persisted.

  “Um, twelve. She’ll be twelve…” he swallowed. “Next month.”