Winter Dreams

by Robyn Neeley

  When the trees of Glastonbury forest closed around them, she knew she could find her way now. There was only one road through Glastonbury forest. But she felt no moment of relief — she would never forget what had happened here. She did not relax her guard. Theox trotted nearby and she was happy to have the big alaunt there.

  Dusk was gathering in when she began to see the signs of fighting on the road — the churned-up mud, the smears of dark blood on the fallen leaves. She stopped the stallion, then dismounted from her palfrey, her movements slow and jerky. She didn’t know what she’d find and she was rather loath to find it.

  She tied the horses separately to trees at the side of the road so they wouldn’t wander off and strand her this deep in the forest. The long shadows pressed in on her, and an unthinking prayer slipped from her lips. She wished she had brought a companion with her. Even Kenneth would have been better than no one. Taking a steadying breath, she withdrew Lord Robert’s stocking from her sleeve and presented it to Theox.

  “Find your master,” she said, letting him take the scent. “Find him.” The alaunt pricked his ears and stepped off the road. Leaving the horses, Imma followed the dog through the winter-bare trees, the fallen leaves crunching beneath her feet. She tried not to remember what had happened the last time she had walked among these trees.

  Her hearing seemed unnaturally attuned, her heart hammering as animals — men? — rustled among the trees. She squinted, casting about her, trying to anticipate any threat. Her breath quickened and she took her dagger from her sleeve. Just in case.

  In the dusk, she tried to keep close to the alaunt, but suddenly Theox sped off, bounding across the pine needles that carpeted the forest floor, and she was alone. Biting back the instinct to cry out, she put a hand against the nearest tree to steady herself. She was not lost. The road was near and if she listened carefully, she would be able to hear the horses and find her way back. Lord Robert would not be very pleased with her for losing his dog, but she would explain —

  The alaunt barked, a sharp staccato sound intended to get her attention. “Theox!” she shouted thankfully. “I’m coming.” She followed the sound of the barking until she spotted the agitated movement of the alaunt, a shadow amidst the trees. He danced impatiently, waiting for her, then gave another sharp bark of excitement as she reached him.

  “Good boy,” she praised the dog as she dropped to her knees where Lord Robert had fallen. She touched the man, so still and silent among the winter leaves. “You cannot be dead,” she told him stoutly. He hadn’t even claimed his boon, the kiss she had promised him.

  “Imma?” She barely heard the whispered word.

  “Yes,” she said, helping him turn over onto his back. “I am here, Lord Robert. All will be well.” Her stomach churned as she told the soothing lie. She did not know all would be well. She could not even tell the extent of his injuries.

  She touched him gently, her hands coming away sticky as she probed his arm. He had been slashed with a sword there. The leaves beneath him were warm and wet with blood. Using the stocking she had brought to give Theox his scent, she fashioned a bandage to cover the wound and stop the blood loss.

  She helped him to a sitting position, cradling him in her arms, closing her eyes against the emotion that spilled through her. The relief she felt over finding him alive battled with her fear for him, for he was badly wounded.

  “My lord, can you speak?” she asked.

  He said nothing, his head lolling against her shoulder. She touched his face, his head, feeling his skull gently. Blood stained her fingers. Head injuries, she knew, were quite dangerous. He had probably been knocked clean out of his senses and lain here bleeding for — how long? How many hours? An entire day? When had Osbrycht abandoned him? Why? Fury slammed through her and for a long moment she couldn’t think clearly, let alone breathe. She held Lord Robert close, her fingers biting into him, and mastered her emotions.

  The night drew in and darkness with it. She did not dare return to the horses for supplies. She could get lost too easily, leaving both of them in great danger. She remembered the waterskin she had tied to her belt.

  “My lord,” she whispered, unhooking it and lifting it to his lips. He didn’t respond. She tilted his head back and said his name again.

  “Imma,” he whispered.

  “Stay with me, my lord,” she said. “Stay with me. Take some water.” She coaxed a few drops from the skin. Once his lips had been wetted, he opened his mouth for more.

  “Better?” she asked.

  He grunted, letting his head fall against her shoulder once more.

  “I must start a fire. It is so cold, my lord,” she said. When there was no response, she said sharply, “My lord?”

  “Cold,” he agreed.

  “I will let you go for a moment. Here, do not go on that side, it is where you are hurt.” Gently she released him. The forest was dark but now a crescent moon had risen and moonlight glittered through the bare branches of the trees, leaving her a little light to see by. Staying close, she gathered dry leaves and twigs and fallen branches and arranged them in a pile in a clear space not to close to a tree. Using the tinderbox on her belt, she lit a fire. It caught right away. Once the flames grew warm, she went back to where she had left Lord Robert.

  “Can you come closer to the fire?” she asked. “My lord, you must help, I cannot lift you.”

  He grunted again. She helped him up and he staggered a few steps before sinking to his knees. It was close enough. Imma undid her cloak, then took him into her arms and settled the cloak around both of them.

  “We will keep each other warm tonight,” she said. “My lord, stay with me. I am concerned for you. I do not want you to sleep again.” She was afraid he would not wake up. She knew that was a bad risk with a head injury.

  “It is dark.”

  From the fatigue in his voice she knew he was telling her he wanted to sleep. “Tell me what happened,” she said, wanting to keep him awake.

  “Kiss me, Imma.”

  If that was not so like Lord Robert, to claim his boon now. “Tell me how you came to be hurt.”

  He sighed and she knew he did not want to make the effort.

  “I will kiss you if you tell me.”

  He chuckled but stopped almost immediately, wincing in pain. “Thiefmen,” he said. He drew a deep breath and she could feel him gather his strength to tell the story. “I left my horse to follow. One slashed with a sword. One struck me with a cudgel.” He motioned toward his head. “I fell.” The brief description was powerfully evocative. She could imagine the scene, and the sudden attack, and the blows landing and the fear that this time he might not survive. She tightened her arms around him.

  “You have lain here all this time? My lord Robert, you are lucky to be alive.”

  “They thought me dead. The thiefmen.”

  “Oh.” Otherwise they would have been sure to finish the job. If he had not lain here all that time, he would not be alive now. “Oh, Lord Robert, I am very glad you are not dead.”

  “So am I,” he said. She detected the wry note in his voice and she began to feel much better.

  “My kiss?” he asked. And that made her feel almost cheerful.

  She touched his lips with hers, a brief promise, then settled more comfortably against the tree she had braced herself against. He leaned heavily into her, his head against her chest.

  “You heart beats quickly.”

  “I have been anxious for you.”

  “I hoped someone would come for me,” he said. “I admit, I did not think it would be you.”

  “It is because I am cleverer than your thanes,” she said. “They are probably looking for you in Cerne Abbas.”

  He gave a quiet chuckle. “Spoken like a true Welsh. I am glad you are clever.”

  “So am I,�
� she whispered. “So am I.”

  • • •

  It was nearly dark on the following day before Imma set foot on the causeway that led to the dark shadow of Lord Robert’s keep. She closed her eyes and whispered a brief prayer of gratitude. She walked beside the palfrey with Lord Robert slumped in the saddle, and led the stallion who hobbled unsteadily behind them. Lord Robert had not spoken since they had rested at midday and she was terrified that his injuries were worse than she thought. What if they had arrived at the keep too late to save him?

  “My lord has returned!” That was Jacob. He must have been keeping an eye out for their approach. “My lord has returned!” he shouted, turning and running toward the keep. “Send word to Lady Elizabeth!”

  By the time Imma brought the horses through the gate, members of the household had crowded into the foreyard.

  “My lord is hurt,” she said, turning loose of the stallion’s reins, her fingers stiff from clutching the leather. A stable boy took the reins and the stallion hobbled off with him. Eager hands, led by Kenneth the chamberlain, lifted Lord Robert from the saddle and she reluctantly released her grip on him. He was borne into the keep where he would be brought to his bedchamber.

  Imma turned the palfrey over to Jacob, who said, “That was a right clever thing you did, miss,” before he disappeared with the horse. Then she picked up her skirts and headed into the keep.

  She went first to the bedchamber she shared with Tilly to wash. She could hardly pace the hall hoping for news of Lord Robert with leaves in her hair and mud on her hands.

  As she undid her cloak, she saw the bloodstains on the wool. With a horrified sound, she dropped it from her hand. The day she had arrived at Athelney, her dress had been covered in Helen’s blood —

  She stared down at her hands, smeared with blood and dirt. Lord Robert’s blood. She took an unsteady breath. So much blood. Her hands shook as she poured water into the basin and rinsed her hands clean, scrubbing longer and harder than was truly necessary.

  When she was done, she pulled her dress off and examined it closely, sitting on the bed and shaking as she did so. The only stain she found was from kneeling in the forest, and getting a little mud on the dress. She brushed the mud off, then pulled the dress back over her head. It was the only one she had. The dress she had worn to Athelney, stained from kneeling in Helen’s blood, she would never wear again.

  She took a deep breath, composing herself before she went to see how Lord Robert fared, but in the hallway she paused, undecided about what to do. She did not like to knock boldly on his bedchamber door. After all, she was merely a guest in his household, and from the beginning an unwelcome one. After a moment’s consideration, she went into the chapel and sat on one of the benches there.

  Lord Robert’s chamber-thane would find her there, she hoped. Kenneth would remember to say something to her, wouldn’t he?

  What was happening? Would he survive? How badly hurt was he, after all? She closed her eyes, her mind a jumble of half-remembered charms from the village healer and prayers her uncle’s priest had taught her.

  As Imma prayed, Elizabeth came through the chapel on her way to see Robert. She looked pale and ill, and leaned on Tilly. They spoke a few words to her, then spent a few minutes in his bedchamber. Imma stared at the door in the wall they had disappeared through. She hoped he had not died. When they reappeared some minutes later, Elizabeth stopped and disentangled herself from Tilly, then sat next to Imma and gave her a gentle hug.

  “He will be all right,” Elizabeth said, her voice exhausted.

  Tilly squeezed her hand. “That was right brave of you,” she said. Then she brought Elizabeth to her room, leaving Imma alone with her thoughts.

  An eternity later, the door in the paneled wall snicked open. Imma glanced up as Kenneth came into the chapel and beckoned to her. “Lord Robert asks for you, my lady.”

  Imma kept the surprise from her face. She had hoped Kenneth would remember to send word to her but she had not expected that Lord Robert would want to see her. She nodded and got to her feet, following Kenneth through the door.

  As she entered the room, she saw the physician packing up his equipment, handing bloody cloths to one of the servants. Lord Robert sat up in the bed, his jaw tight, but he gave no other sign that the physician’s ministrations had caused him pain.

  When Lord Robert saw Imma standing just inside the doorway, he said, “Come. Sit here.” He indicated a stool that Kenneth had already placed near the head of the bed. She perched on the stool as he wanted, the servant moving out of her way.

  Lord Robert looked ill and exhausted, with deep hollows gouged under his eyes and dark lines of fatigue and pain bracketing his mouth. His beard was untrimmed and his hair tangled to his shoulders and he appeared wilder and rougher than ever. If she had not grown up in her uncle’s home, and become accustomed to the hard edges of men, he would terrify her.

  Her heart gave a painful squeeze as she laid her hand against his cheek. Her eyes stung as she looked at him, so dear to her.

  His arm was freshly bandaged, so she couldn’t see how badly injured it was, but the wound on his head was not bandaged and she could see the stitches the physician had set. Blood crusted on his temple. Imma looked down at her hands.

  “You will have a headache, my lord,” the physician said cheerfully.

  “I already have one,” Lord Robert grumbled.

  The physician went on as if he had not spoken. “Your arm will mend. You will be fit enough to resume your daily duties in a week or so, though your arm will take some little time to heal completely. I will return in the morning to examine it.” Imma knew the danger of the wound suppurating. She clenched her hands together.

  Lord Robert grunted and seemed unconcerned. But she knew better now. He had been a warrior for many years. He had seen the results of many battle-wounds. A man could have what seemed a minor injury, and die of it.

  “You will let me know if anything changes,” the physician said to Kenneth, sensibly relying on the chamber-thane to report on his lord’s health. Lord Robert would deny any problem until it was too late to treat it. The physician bowed and left the room, and Kenneth went to poke at the fire.

  Then Lord Robert turned his head to gaze at Imma, his gray look compelling.

  “Did Sigor guide you to Glastonbury forest?” he asked her.

  Victory. That must be the black stallion of his. She could not help her smile. “Yes, my lord.”

  “You gave Theox my scent? He found me?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “I don’t remember much,” he admitted. “You found me and brought me home.”

  “Yes.”

  There were any number of things that had happened in between, but she didn’t remind him of those. He nodded. He did not thank her. She had not expected he would. She waited. He seemed to have more to say, though she could not imagine what it would be.

  “My men and I went along the entire road through the forest, where you say your company was set upon by thiefmen,” he said finally.

  Of course. It would be that. Imma nodded but did not respond.

  “And just as Elizabeth’s riders said, there were no remains. I looked with my own eyes, Imma.”

  “I know. It can’t be helped. I can’t explain it. I know what happened, my lord.”

  “You must know by now that I will not turn you out no matter what the truth is.”

  Was that compassion in his gray eyes now? Her chest tightened painfully. His words were double-edged: he had enough affection for her not to throw her out, but he considered her a liar. That was her dear Lord Robert; he could care about her without for one moment trusting her.

  She shook her head. “I have told you the truth, my lord. Let us not have words over this now. The spring will come soon enough.”

  Lo
rd Robert leaned back against the pillows, his eyes closing in fatigue, the lines of pain etched on his face.

  “You must sleep, my lord,” she said.

  “I would have you stay a while.”

  Her heart skipped. “I will be here.” She was, she knew, too foolish to do otherwise.

  • • •

  Robert closed his eyes. She sat next to him on the stool. He would have liked her to sit next to him on the bed, though he could hardly ask her to do such a thing. He couldn’t feel her warmth from where she sat, though her presence comforted him more than he liked to admit. When she had found him, she had held him in her arms, and she had been very warm and soft, but he had been in too much pain to properly appreciate it.

  Before she had come, when he had been lost and disoriented in the forest, out of his head and delirious, he had dreamed of her, an unsatisfactory illusion, images that he could not reach or touch, no matter how much he longed to. Then she had come to him, and he had felt — he had thought — it had seemed that everything might somehow turn out right. That she had come for him, when no one else had … .

  I am cleverer than your thanes. Perhaps that was so, but what her actions really meant was that she was more loyal, and cared more. She had not come for him from duty. What duty did she owe him? She had come because she wanted to. She had chosen to. He didn’t know what that meant. It was faintly alarming. One day, he supposed, he would discover her motives.

  But tonight — tonight, he was content simply to have her here. When he was recovered, then he would have to guard against the enjoyment he took in her companionship. How easy it would be to think of her as his companion … . That she could never be.

  She was gone long before morning, of course. She had probably slipped away as soon as he’d fallen asleep. Perhaps even now she was sending a message to her uncle, telling Gruffydd of his vulnerability, suggesting that now was a perfect time to launch an attack.

  He didn’t quite believe that. If she were capable of doing such a thing to him, then she would have left him to die in the forest.