Protected by the Warrior

by Barbara Phinney

  Ha! The wind was no harder now than last night or when he was repairing the door, and he had not heard that noise before.

  It sounded again. Immediately, Kenneth bolted outside. He heard Clara gasp and rush out behind him, but he still charged around the back of the hut, past the coop to where the forest encroached on the small building. Indeed, the trees grew very close here, and some did brush the old, mildewed wall, but these branches were soft growth and what he’d heard was a harsh scrape.

  He stopped, tense and listening, realizing as he did that he’d left his sword inside. A rustling answered his stillness, followed by a silence so loud, it rang in his ears. He held his breath, until, aye, he heard another rustle, and the sound of something, or someone, hastily plunging back into the thick forest beyond his sight.

  From deep within in the woods, an indescribable cry came. Kenneth wasn’t sure what had caused it.

  “Brindi, get me my sword,” Kenneth called out.

  “Nay!” Clara stepped up beside him, holding up her sister’s arm. “My sister is not your squire.”

  “There’s someone in the woods.”

  “Likely an animal, probably a rabbit. You’ve scared it away,” Clara announced over the disturbed clucking of the bothered hens. “Good for you. You’ll be able to report back to Lord Adrien that you saved me from a vicious hare.”

  With that biting comment, she spun on her heel, dragging Brindi back toward the hut. Kenneth followed, angry that he hadn’t been able to catch whoever had trespassed, for it surely was not an animal.

  As he passed the coop, the rooster crowed and Kenneth jumped. A soft snicker slipped from Clara’s mouth as she reached the door, and he berated himself at his nerves.

  And for his earlier guilt. Nay, someone was out there. Be it Rowena or one of Lord Taurin’s men sent to spy, he had no time for contrition about Clara’s upbringing. Guilt and softness on his part would lead him do something foolish, like galloping out of the hut unarmed, as he’d just done.

  As he reached the door, he slowed. That noise was caused by someone, for the scraping was methodical, and that cry he’d heard did not come from a hare. Aye, they cried when wounded, in fact they cried like a sick babe—

  He stopped. A babe? Had Rowena come with her child? Was that scratching noise some prearranged signal? Inside the hut, Brindi gobbled her meal, her furtive glance up at him almost too quick to catch. Did she know something, or was she afraid that her meal might be forfeit, to give to someone else?

  Clara’s back was to him and she seemed completely undisturbed by the noise.

  He hesitated. Could he have been mistaken?

  Nay. He’d honed his battlefield skills, and fighting alongside Lord Adrien had sharpened his intuition. He’d traveled in dangerous woods, where hearing and instinct were vital to fighting off robbers. He knew that something was amiss here.

  But calling Clara on a lie would be fruitless. If she’d even lied at all. Thinking over her words, he realized that she’d tried to distract him from attributing the sound to a person, but she’d never actually denied it. Nor, he thought, would she easily admit it.

  Slowly, he sat down beside Clara and continued his meal, but no longer did the savory pottage or sharp cheese taste well on his tongue.

  * * *

  “Should I go now, Clara?” Brindi whispered the next day as they pulled weeds from the garden to feed the hens.

  “Not yet.” Beside her, Clara whispered back, wincing as she used her injured left hand. “Be patient.”

  They continued their work, with Clara shooting a quick look at Kenneth as he worked on his chain mail nearby. He caught her glance, and Clara darted hers away. She grabbed a handful of weeds with her left hand, then yanked it back when the cut opened again.

  “Give those weeds to the chickens, Brindi.” She stood and walked into her home to wipe away the blood and dab on some salve to seal the wound again.

  “How is your cut?”

  Not hearing Kenneth enter, Clara jumped. “It has opened again, from me working in the garden. I should have favored this hand a little longer, I’m afraid.”

  “Don’t be afraid. You aren’t that way with anything else.”

  She stole a fast look at him. A slight smile hovered on his face. Despite the stinging cut on her hand, she chuckled.

  He walked closer. “Let me help you. I’m your healer, remember?” He took her hand in his, and with the clean cloth she’d found, he dabbed the wound. “’Tis not as bad as it looks. A day or so and ’twill be closed over completely.” With that, he reached over her shoulder for the two pots of salve.

  He was right, of course, Clara noted, feeling his proximity as he deftly applied the mixture. Though the wound had begun to heal and no longer felt hot, the mint in the salve still soothed. As did Kenneth’s gentle touch. He was born to be a healer.

  A pang of remorse for her plans to deceive him struck her belly but she ignored it. Kenneth had been ordered here to ensure her personal safety and no doubt discover Rowena’s hiding place. He was not here to woo her, nor would she permit him to win her confidence. She would do what she must because she’d promised a young mother, and her promises were just as important as Kenneth’s.

  He wrapped a strip of cloth around her hand. “Let’s keep it covered for one more day, shall we?”

  Peeking around his elbow, for she was not tall enough to peer over his shoulder, Clara spied Brindi standing at the threshold of the hut. The little girl bit her lower lip, and Clara glared the order for her sister to say nothing. Thankfully, the girl returned to her chore.

  “Aye,” she said, looking up at Kenneth. Her heart started to pound in her chest, but not from his warm hands on hers or from how close he was to her, she told herself. ’Twas from the ruse she must begin.

  Like her sister, Clara bit her lip. Would Kenneth be punished when she slipped away from him?

  She stepped back. “Thank you. I will favor it for the rest of the day.” She set the pots of salve back on the old shelf above the fire. “Did you finish repairing your mail?”

  “Aye.”

  “After we’re done in the garden, I shall start a good stew for our midday meal. I’ve found a few stray vegetables. Whoever harvested the garden last year missed them and they must be eaten before they sprout again.”

  “Won’t they give you new vegetables?”

  Despite the tension gripping her, Clara smiled and shook her head. “Nay. These are root vegetables and will soon turn woody. Besides, they are misshapen and we only allow the best roots to go to seed.” She tipped her head. “You’ve never gardened?”

  “Nay. My sisters did that with my mother, but as soon as I was old enough, I went to Lord Adrien’s family to page, then to squire for him. I’ve only trained for soldiering, not for keeping a home, I’m afraid.”

  “Don’t be afraid,” she mocked softly. “Keeping a home never killed anyone.”

  “Unlike soldiering?”

  Her smile dropped. She hated everything that caused death—fevers, fighting, even hard childbirth and damp conditions for a newborn.

  She swallowed. The conversation was souring, so she lifted the skirt of her dark cyrtel with her good hand. This was her darkest outfit, for she needed to blend into the forest. “I should finish in the garden before I start that stew.”

  Back outside, Clara plunked down beside Brindi.

  “We need to go,” the girl whispered. “Rowena needs you!”

  With the barest nod, Clara eased out a controlled sigh. “You’ll know when.”

  Since that scraping noise, Brindi had been anxious to check on the woman. Only when Kenneth left the hut this morning to set up his armor—having had it delivered by young Rypan, the sweet boy whose aunt worked in the keep’s kitchen—did Clara quietly work out their plan. They’d done it before, having slipped away from unwanted people. She’d already hidden a bundle of things she would need in the forest behind the village.

  She peered over her shoulder. Kenne
th had returned to the nearby bench to collect his things in sober silence.

  Clara stood to toss more weeds into the coop and abruptly felt Kenneth’s gaze upon her, heavy as a winter cloak. Like Brindi, she wanted badly to check on Rowena. For the woman to have come by last night, it must have been urgent. Mayhap the babe was sick?

  But with Kenneth here, waiting for her to reveal the location, there would be no open trips to Rowena.

  Brindi stood also. Now? she mouthed.

  Nodding, Clara walked past Kenneth to retrieve the rake she’d left at the front of the hut. He watched her walk by. She grabbed the handle and turned to capture his stare with a mild one of her own, something suggesting complete innocence, she hoped.

  She then shot her gaze from him to where Brindi had been standing. Immediately, Kenneth spun, catching a glimpse of the child as she slipped into the woods behind the hut.

  In the next heartbeat, he raced after her.

  * * *

  Kenneth plunged into the thick undergrowth, his eyes capturing Brindi’s darting movement as she tore through the forest. Her cyrtel had just enough color to stand out in the light green foliage. She wasn’t going to be hard to follow.

  Ahead, she let out a cry as she lost her footing and plunged forward. He raced toward her, crashing through the trees.

  “Brindi!” he cried, stopping at the last minute to prevent himself from toppling on top of her as she lay in a shallow hollow. She lifted her head. Her eyes were as wide as they had been last night, her gaze cautious as she scanned their surroundings.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  In a tiny voice, she answered, “I cannot tell. I’m too scared to move.”

  He scanned her frame, seeing her cyrtel was merely mussed. Her feet wiggled as she tried to sit up, and he could see she was quite unharmed. Children being children, they often imagined ailments for attention.

  Still, he checked her for broken bones. “You’ll be fine,” he said soothingly. “Just a tumble. See, the hollow here has only leaves, and they cushioned your fall.”

  She nodded and sniffed.

  But, he noted, there were no tears, just that cautious look again.

  “Why did you race off? Were you going to Rowena?” He tried to keep his voice even and smooth, but wasn’t completely successful.

  She sniffed again. “Nay. I just wanted to play in the woods.”

  And as with all children, small lies came far too easily to their lips. He bristled, hating that he’d seen through it so quickly. “’Tis a sin to lie, girl. You know there is too little time to play, and just moments ago, you were quite content to pull weeds with your sister. Why did you run away? The truth this time!”

  The girl looked away, her cheeks flushing. With a sigh, Kenneth helped her to her feet. “Can you walk, or would you like me to carry you? After all, you think you are injured.”

  Still hanging her head, she answered, “I can walk.”

  Kenneth followed her back the way they’d come. As he stepped over fallen forest debris, the same he’d galloped over after the girl—who had been on her way to Rowena, he was sure—he pondered how easily she’d changed her mind and returned with him. Surely, then, the trip to the escaped slave was not imperative, if she could give it up so easily. After all, had she truly been intent on reaching her goal, he knew he would have been hard-pressed to catch the girl, for smaller frames as hers could dart through thick woods more easily than men like him.

  As soon as she realized she’d not hurt herself, she should have been off like a rabbit again.

  Unless...

  Biting back a growl of realization and of frustration, he caught Brindi’s arm.

  “’Twasn’t you at all who was off to see Rowena, was it?”

  Horror flashed in her features. The girl tore her arm free and bolted away, not in the direction of Clara’s hut, but somewhere to the left, closer to the smithy’s house at the edge of the village.

  He let her go and broke into a gallop, crashing through the same undergrowth he’d just battled, until he broke free of the woods and nearly plowed into the chicken coop. The hens let out cackles of surprise.

  No one was in the garden. “Clara!”

  He tore into the hut, but found it empty. Smacking his hand down on the table, he hated that he’d been manipulated by these siblings. Brindi’s dash had had him thinking she was off to Rowena, but ’twas a ruse. And a fairly good one, too.

  He would dash off to intercept Clara, but he didn’t even know which way to go. Instead, he sank down onto the bench, listening to the silence around him. No young Brindi outside, either. He doubted he’d see her again until nightfall. Clara would have instructed her to remain out of sight for fear he’d bully Rowena’s location from her.

  He would never hurt a child. Never! Hadn’t he recently decided to make Brindi a doll, because she was facing a life of low means with little time to be a child?

  And he would certainly never intimidate her or any child. Aye, young Harry, Lord Adrien’s squire, was a handful and loved to be cheeky. The boy was young, and his impudence was part and parcel of who he was. But Kenneth would never hurt him, just as he would never hurt the bright young Brindi.

  His lips thin, he tidied up the morning’s mess. Setting the full water kettle back on the hook to take advantage of the heat from the waning fire, Kenneth noticed a small bundle of cloths tucked behind the poker and shovel. He stooped and found the bundle heavy for its size. Unwrapping it, he found a large apple hidden inside.

  An apple? ’Twas soft and obviously from last year’s harvest, for the apples of this year were barely formed. How odd. Apples were mostly made into cider or eaten all winter to keep muscles from weakening and mouths fresh. Why had this one been left behind?

  He weighed the fine piece of fruit in his hand. It was almost perfect, despite its softening. He turned it over. ’Twould make a fine doll’s head.

  With nothing else to do, he pulled out his knife and began to carve it. Clara may not trust him, and Brindi may have been told to vacate the house while she was gone, but he would stay and wait for them. And during that time, he would make the doll.

  The head finished, Kenneth was about to set it above the hearth to dry, but stopped. Nay, the doll needed to be a surprise. He walked outside and reached up to nestle it in the thatched roof that saw the sun all day long. It should be safe there from both prying eyes and hungry birds.

  Chomping on the skin, and still stewing over how he’d fallen for the ruse, Kenneth made his way to the keep. He would ask Margaret to fashion a body for the doll head.

  Later, with that done, he returned to Clara’s hut to wait for her.

  Chapter Six

  Clara reached the mossy hut before the sun hit its noon peak. Through the dappled woods and small but open peat bog before her, she confirmed again that she was alone and had not been followed. She’d prayed all the way here that Kenneth would not discover the ruse she and Brindi had planned until it was too late. And that he’d not hurt the girl once he realized he’d been tricked.

  Stopping again, she peered around, analyzing the short, ancient walls of peat blocks, cut decades ago and left to dry. No one was hiding around them. Nothing moved.

  She eased up to the darkened hut and tapped twice on the door. A moment later, it flew open and Rowena welcomed her with a relieved smile.

  “Clara! I was so worried. I heard a man talking in your hut and saw a Norman bolt out of it a moment later!” The young woman pulled back her pale hair. ’Twas not warm and golden-yellow like Lady Ediva’s, but silvery and thinner, as straight as an arrow and as wispy as a cobweb.

  “He heard your tapping, though I confess I did not catch it completely,” Clara replied. “Brindi also heard it, and I suspect her reaction ’twas what made him bolt out.”

  “Who is he? I’ve only been to your new home once and didn’t see him then.”

  “He’s a Norman soldier that Lord Adrien has sent to guard me.” Clara bit her lip. “’
Tis nothing for you to worry about.”

  “To guard you? Why? How were you able to slip away?” Rowena’s gaze shot to the door. “He’s not outside, is he?”

  “Nay!” Clara smiled and patted the young mother’s hand as she closed the door. “I’m alone.”

  “Your hand is injured,” Rowena noticed.

  “Aye. But ’tis healing. The next time you see me, I’ll be all better.”

  “Did Brindi tie the bandage for you?”

  “Nay, the guard did.” Clara pursed her lips at the young mother’s abundant questions. She could not stay long and wished to learn quickly what had brought Rowena to her home. ’Twas a risk to come here, one she hadn’t wanted to take, but the ruse had worked for them in the past.

  Clara walked to the cradle to find the babe swaddled snugly and sleeping. “Now, tell me why you risked coming to see me.”

  “He’s not been feeding well, and today he refuses to eat.” Rowena came to stand over the simple cradle beside Clara. “All he does is sleep. I’m worried.”

  “I will check him out shortly. Let him sleep for a bit. I have some things for you.”

  Clara opened her parcel, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a portion of the cheese from the keep, fresh bread and some honey.

  “Cheese! Honey!” Rowena cried. “Such wonderful things. But where did you get them? And how were you able to slip away from that guard?”

  “Brindi helped to create a ruse. ’Twas necessary. Don’t worry. He does not know Lord Taurin. My only concern is that he feels your son is best off with his father.”

  Rowena shook her head violently, taking a step closer to the child as she did. “Nay! I would die before losing my son!”

  “That won’t happen.” Clara gripped her friend’s arm. “I won’t let it. Now, you need to eat so your milk will be stronger.”

  With a smile, Rowena hugged Clara. “I’m so happy to have you as a friend. I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t come into Colchester that day.”