Kynan was not sure how he was going to prevent such a thing but he knew that he would do his best. Watching Pembury sleep, he thought on Joselyn’s words of how the man had overlooked all of the shameful things that had been heaped upon her. His love had been unconditional. Kynan wondered what kind of man could hang young boys but love a woman who had been seriously compromised. It was an odd paradox that he pondered, finally rising from his chair and hunting about for something to light the fire with. Even though it was mid-day outside and sunny, the room was cool. Finding no peat or charcoal, he opened the door with the intention of hunting for burning material when a faint female voice caught his attention.
It was coming from the bailey. He could hear it through the lancet window just to the left of the entry door. Curious, he opened the door, assaulted by the bright light and shielding his eyes from the sun. His heart leapt into his throat as he spied the source of the sound.
Joselyn stood in the bailey, clad in a pale traveling cloak, her luscious dark hair braided and draped over one shoulder. Holding the reins to a small gray palfrey, she was speaking to several large, dirty Scots, Moray’s men, and Kynan bolted from the keep, practically flying across the dusty bailey until he reached her. He had no idea why she was here or what she was saying to the guard, but it didn’t matter. Kynan didn’t want her around men such as this and he was terrified and angry as well as confused. As he came upon her, he reached out and grabbed her.
Joselyn screamed at the swiftness of the action, terrified until she saw who it was. Then her face lit up. “Kynan!” she exclaimed softly. “I am so glad to….”
Kynan didn’t let her speak further. He was yanking her away from Moray’s guard, pulling her with him towards the keep. His actions were indicative of an extremely angry man and Moray’s men looked both surprised and disappointed at her sudden removal.
“Hoot, mon!” one of the guards spoke to Kynan. “We saw her first!”
Kynan’s rage was boundless. “She’s me sister and if ye move against her, I shall kill ye!”
That seemed to calm the amorous guard. They knew Kynan MacKenzie and the man’s reputation. He fought alongside the McCulloch and everyone knew that anyone involved with the McCulloch was crazy and blood-thirsty. Moreover, he was Seton’s kin. That reason alone was enough to garner some respect, so they let him yank the lovely woman away without another word. When Kynan was sure they weren’t going to challenge him, he looked at Joselyn.
“You foolish wench,” he hissed. “What are ye doin’?”
Joselyn fright returned as she stumbled after him. “I have come to get my husband.”
“How did ye get in here?”
Joselyn tripped on her own feet and almost fell to her knees. “I rode here from Forestburn,” she replied, annoyance mingling with her fright. “I came to the gates and told the guards that I was Alexander Seton’s daughter. They let me in. Stop pulling!”
Kynan ignored her demand although his grip eased somewhat. “I cannot believe ye would chance yer life so foolishly,” he snarled.
Joselyn was trying to pull away from him angrily. “I came for my husband,” she insisted. “Where is he?”
Kynan came to an abrupt halt at the door to the keep, speaking through clenched teeth. “Ye were well away from here,” he growled. “Ye should have stayed away. It ’twas stupid of ye tae come back.”
She scowled, bordering on tears. “Where is Stephen?” she was starting to break down. “I am not leaving without him and I will kill you if you stand in my way. Do you hear me?”
She was yelling by the time she finished the sentence, so much for remaining unemotional. Kynan could see, in her expression as well as her words, that she was absolutely serious. With another growl, he yanked her inside the keep.
Once inside the cool, dank entry, he slammed the heavy oak door and turned to her, grasping her by the arms.
“Jo-Jo,” he was far less angry, far more concerned. “Ye shouldna have come back, lass. ’Tis far too dangerous fer ye tae be here.”
Joselyn was struggling against her tears. “Where is my husband?” she demanded again. “He belongs to me and I want him back.”
Kynan shook his head sadly. “Jo-Jo….”
“I will tear this place apart looking for him,” she snapped. “Tell me where he is or I will….”
Kynan shushed her before she could finish, turning her for the solar door. “He is going tae be angry with ye,” he stated the obvious.
Joselyn was unsettled and confused by Kynan’s rough appearance, upset by her own emotions, so much so that when Kynan thrust her into the small solar, she didn’t notice anything about it except that it was the room where she and Stephen had first met, the room where she had first spoken to Cade. It was dark in the room so she didn’t see her husband lying against the wall, partially blocked by the only table in the room. She turned to Kynan as the man followed her into the chamber, shut the door and bolted it.
“What in the world are you doing?” she demanded. “Let me out of here this instant and take me to Stephen.”
Kynan put up his hands. “Jo-Jo, ye must stop….”
Joselyn suddenly balled a fist and thrust it into his face. “Deny me again and I will beat you within an inch of your life!”
Kynan’s eyebrows lifted. “So ye threaten me, ye little chicken? ’Tis about time ye showed yer backbone.”
She took a swing at him and he dodged it, laughing. Then he grabbed her fists and stilled her, turning her around to the wall. But Joselyn was still struggling, determined to punch him in the nose, when she suddenly caught sight of something massive on the floor. She would not have paid attention to it has she not noticed a boot. It took her a moment to realize she was looking at Stephen and all struggling came to a halt.
With a whimper, she raced around the table, knocking it over in her haste, and falling to her knees beside her husband. Stephen was sleeping heavily and it didn’t take her long to see that he had been badly beaten. His handsome face was cut and bruised, and his lower lip was swollen. Tears of horror, of relief, of joy popped from her eyes as she gently put her hands on his face. He was warm in her hands, alive, but most definitely injured. Then the sobs came.
They were deep and pitiful. Kynan knelt beside her, his hand on her back as he tried to give her some comfort.
“I’m sorry I couldna prevent this, Jo-Jo,” he muttered. “They had him tied tae the stocks fer three days, leaving him without food or water. I brought him in here but I have not tended his wounds. I dunna know how badly he’s been hurt.”
Joselyn had never been so distraught. Other than his death, it was her worst nightmare come to life. She leaned down, kissing Stephen’s face, tasting her tears on his cheeks. But even as she wept at the sight of him, she realized that the man needed help. Tears and sorrow would not heal him. He had tended her before with his vast medical knowledge and although she didn’t know a tremendous amount about healing, it was time for her to return the favor. Stephen needed her help and she was determined to give it. She tried very hard to stop her tears, wiping her face with her hand.
“Our chamber is on the third floor,” she told her cousin. “Stephen’s possessions should still be there including his medicine bag. ’Tis a big, black leather satchel with all sorts of mysterious things in it. You must bring it to me immediately.”
Kynan nodded, rising to his feet. “What else do ye need?”
In truth, she really didn’t know. She rattled off a few things in a panic. “Water and wine, I suppose. And bring me any bed linens you can find, if your men have not stolen them already. He needs to be made more comfortable.”
Kynan was already moving. “Bolt the door when I have left. Dunna answer it fer anyone but me.”
Joselyn jumped up and did as she was told, throwing the bolt when he left and then swiftly returning to Stephen. She struggled not to cry as she ripped off her gloves and pulled off her cloak. The gloves went onto the floor and her cloak went over Stephen to cov
er him. She put her hands on his face, kissing his cheeks.
“Stephen?” she whispered, struggling not to crack. “Can you hear me, my angel?”
He drew in a deep, long breath and she tried again. “Stephen, ’tis me. Open your eyes, my angel. Open them and look at me.”
He did. But he stared at her for almost a full minute without reacting. Joselyn peered with concern at the cornflower blue eyes. He didn’t appear to see anything at all. His eyes were simply open, staring into space and unmoving. She was growing scared.
“Stephen?” she whispered. “Can you see me?”
He suddenly blinked and the eyes came into focus, staring at her as if absolutely horrified. His pale face tightened.
“Joselyn?” he repeated, raspy. “Is… is it really you?”
She smiled, the tears returning full-force. “Aye,” she leaned down, kissing his parched lips. “’Tis me, my angel. I am here.”
Since his right wrist was broken, he could only grip her with his left hand. His eyes were wide with astonishment.
“I thought I was dreaming,” he rasped. “I saw you but thought it was my mind playing tricks.”
She shook her head, falling against him and trying to hold him. But he grunted as she came down on him and she startled, recoiling at the sound.
“I am so sorry,” she gasped, her expression creased with pain. “I did not mean to hurt you.”
He grunted again, shifting slightly and reaching out to grasp her with his left arm. “You did not, sweetheart,” he lied for her benefit. “But I would like to know what you are doing here. You are supposed to be at Forestburn.”
He sounded much calmer than he felt about it, rather proud that his horror and shock hadn’t come blasting out at her. Dazed, muddled and in utter anguish, he could only think of his wife and her unwelcome, yet welcome, appearance. He was thrilled, confused and terrified at the same time.
“I was,” she pressed against him as much as she dared so she would not hurt him. “But Kenneth escaped Berwick and came to tell us what had happened.”
There was some relief for him in her statement. “Ken is unharmed?”
She nodded. “He is fine,” she replied. “Tate sent me to take you away from here.”
He lifted a dark eyebrow at her. “Tate sent you?” he repeated, extraordinarily unhappy at the news. “He and I are going to have words about this and not pleasant ones. I cannot begin to describe how displeased I am at the moment.”
Her warm expression faded and she wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks. “You will not be angry with him,” she told him. “He would not have asked it of me if there had been another way. You must trust that we have a plan for this.”
“That is nonsense,” he hissed. “I cannot believe he would play with your life in such a way.”
Joselyn put her hand on his cheek. “He is not playing with my life,” she insisted. “Moreover, I would have come with or without him. I could not sit back while my kin holds you prisoner. I had to come. Do you not understand, husband? I love you and would do anything to help you. Surely you know that about me by now.”
He did, but he was still agitated. “I have always trusted Tate with my life and, consequently, your life as well. That is why I sent you to Forestburn. I feel as if I have been betrayed.”
Joselyn sighed. “It was not easy for him to make the decision,” she said, defending de Lara. “Kenneth was deeply opposed to it. In fact, I saw him arguing with Tate quite strongly. Even Toby was opposed. She threatened to hide me from her husband. But Tate said something that caused them both to reconsider their stance. He said that Toby saved him from Roger Mortimer once and that women are stronger than we know. He believes I can do this and I am strong with his confidence. Do not weaken me with your anger.”
Stephen’s building rage abruptly cooled. He touched his wife’s head, feeling her soft hair beneath his hand. It was the most wonderful sensation in the world and he thanked God that he was given another chance to touch her regardless of the circumstances.
“Your strength is not in question,” he murmured. “Simply de Lara’s sanity.”
She pursed her lips at him in irritation. “Stephen, I do not want our first words in weeks to be cross ones. I am doing exactly what you would do if the situation were reversed. I am going to do all I can to get you out of this place.”
Stephen felt himself folding, resigned because he knew there was nothing he could do about it. “I do not want our first words in weeks to be cross, either,” he agreed. “But you should not have come back. You were safe at Forestburn and that thought has kept me alive. Now that you are here, my worries for you are overwhelming.”
She leaned down and kissed him gently. “I know,” she whispered. “But as the daughter of Alexander Seton, the last man to hold command over Scots at Berwick, my word carries weight. I am going to demand you be released to my custody.”
Stephen stared at her a moment before sighing faintly. “They will not do it,” he breathed. “I am the Guardian Protector of Berwick. They mean to make an example out of me.”
She knew what he meant but refused to accept it, shaking her head so hard that her hair came loose. “Nay,” she insisted strongly. “They are not going to do anything to you. They will release you and I am going to take you out of this place.”
Stephen looked at her, unable to refute her. It would do no good. He knew the truth of it and she did not. When he saw tears in her eyes again, he reached up with both arms and pulled her down to him, holding her against his battered torso. Joselyn clung to him and wept, holding him tightly. But she quickly composed herself, knowing her tears would not help him. She was focused on making him well enough to leave and she could not do that if she fell apart at every turn. Pulling herself up, she wiped her face.
“Now,” she tried to sound confident and in charge. “Kynan is bringing your medicament bag. How badly are you injured?”
He wriggled his eyebrows. “I have several broken ribs,” he said, trying not to make it sound as bad as he felt. “And my right wrist is broken. Other than that, I can move my arms and legs adequately.”
Shocked at the assessment, she went immediately for his wrist. It was grossly swollen and she gingerly inspected it. “Can you move your fingers?”
“Barely.”
“What can I do to help you?”
He sighed faintly, thinking on how he would treat the injury. “If at all possible, it would do well to find a length of board or a small branch to use as a wrist brace,” he told her. “As for my ribs, the only thing to do is wrap my torso tightly until they heal.”
“I shall find something to brace your wrist with,” she said, bolting up and hunting around for a piece of kindling. But there was no kindling to be found and her focus suddenly fell on the turned-up table. She grasped one of the legs. “Will this do?”
Stephen turned to see what she was looking at. “It should.”
Joselyn was about to start bashing the table around when a knock sounded at the door. She raced to it.
“Who is it?” she demanded.
“Open the door,” Kynan told her.
Joselyn threw the bolt and Kynan entered, carrying Stephen’s familiar black bag. With Joselyn hovering behind him, he laid it down next to Stephen.
“The bag has been strewn about,” he informed him. “I tried tae recover what I could but I dunna know if I got it all.”
Stephen simply nodded. There was not much he could do about it and tried not to think about the precious ingredients that may have been lost. What mattered now was ingesting something to ease the pain he was feeling. Only then would he be able to think more clearly.
“My thanks,” he said, peering at the bag. “Now we shall see how great a physic I truly am if I can heal myself.”
Joselyn cocked her head. “But I am here, my angel. I will heal you if you tell me what to do.”
He smiled faintly at her, the eager desire to help, the unselfish risks that she had already t
aken for him. He thought briefly on the horrific tale Kynan had told him, the depth of Alexander Seton’s debauchery, but he didn’t dwell on it. If anything, it seemed to underscore what a truly amazing woman he had married, her ability to give and love after the horror she had been dealt in life. He didn’t think it possible that he could love her any more, but he did.
“Of course, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Listen carefully to what I tell you and you will probably be a better physic than I am.”
She smiled brightly as the magical process of Stephen’s healing began.
By evening, Stephen had been cleaned up, wrapped, fed again and plied with mysterious medicaments from his bag. Kynan had lugged down the straw mattress that was on their bed up in the third floor chamber and they lay it on the floor of the solar, moving Stephen onto it so he would be more comfortable. He seemed to breathe better sitting up so they wedged the mattress into the corner and propped him up. Feeling better than he had in days, Stephen ate again when Kynan brought around bread, mutton and beans, and very cheap ale.
As Joselyn snuggled next to her husband propped against the wall, Kynan debated how much to tell of what had occurred on his trip from the kitchen to the keep. He opted for all of it because sooner or later, the situation would take a turn and it would be best if they were both prepared. As Joselyn slowly fed Stephen a slab of bread covered in mutton gravy and beans, Kynan pulled up a stool next to them.
“Ye’ve done nothing but eat all day, Sassenach,” he quipped.
Stephen lifted a dark eyebrow. “I have not eaten for three days. I have much to make up for.”
“Ye eat enough fer me army.”
Medieval Ever After Page 29
