Protected by the Warrior

by Barbara Phinney

  The woman looked doubtful but went off to retrieve the pastry as Kenneth led Rypan back into the far corner of the kitchen.

  Alone with Rypan for just a moment, Kenneth asked quietly, “Did you overhear Lord Taurin speak?”

  “He p-plans to find C-Clara,” Rypan whispered.

  Amazed that Rypan sounded so lucid, Kenneth stepped back. He wanted to ask more, but the cook had returned, and Rypan snatched the sweetmeat and bolted away. Kenneth looked to the cook. “Rypan says Taurin plans to find our midwife.”

  “He said all that?” the cook asked. With a sigh, she shook her head. “I suppose he could. He’s been growing up fast, and he likes Clara. She refuses to give him that horrid root the old midwife dosed him with. Mayhap his head is finally clearing. But how would we know what Rypan says is true? What if he’s confused?”

  “I saw his expression change when you mentioned Lord Taurin leaving.” Just as he’d seen Clara’s expression before he left her hut. At the mention of the bog, she’d looked worried. “Nay, I believe him.”

  Kenneth bade the cook good-night and stepped back into the corridor. Guards in front of Adrien’s office chamber told him the two barons were inside talking. A shame for Kenneth, as he would have liked to consult the maps stored there.

  Far to the right behind the keep stood the stables. With Taurin’s courser at the smith’s, only one horse was relegated to the outdoors. Ahead of Kenneth, the chapel door was shut tight. Above, two torches burned on the battlement, though should this heavy rain continue, they would not last much longer. Kenneth let himself out of the gate and hurried along the road that divided the village from the keep.

  If Rypan was right, Taurin was planning something. But what? With his courser still unshod, ’twould be difficult for him to leave. Regardless, Kenneth decided, he needed to be with Clara. When he entered her home, he turned and bolted the door.

  Clara had built up the fire and heated some leftover stew for both of them. After checking on her sister, she stepped back into the main room, looking tired herself. He rose to serve her some stew, which she gratefully received.

  Sitting beside him, Clara shut her eyes as she said grace. When it was completed, he noticed, she stayed still for a moment, quietly inhaling the aroma of the hot food. Finally, she opened her eyes and began to eat.

  “You regret my knowing Rowena’s location, don’t you?”

  “Aye,” she answered quietly.

  He grimaced at the mistrust and the sudden change it provoked in her. She was not a quiet, reserved type of woman, but rather strong, willful and bold. Tonight, ’twas as if fear and nerves had trapped her character and bound her mouth.

  Regret rushed through him. Now that he knew Rowena’s location, his duty here was finished. He should return to the keep and inform Lord Adrien.

  Nay, he’d promised Clara that they would wait until the morn, when the sun put right all the fears of the night before.

  He had the luxury of this one last evening with her. But ’twas hardly a luxury, with her so worried and both of them knowing Rowena was out in the bog. Too soon, they would have to make a decision.

  He gritted his teeth. He certainly didn’t want Lord Taurin to ride off with a babe after beating Rowena. And since Rowena might not be a Christian, there would be nothing to stop Taurin from taking her with him, as well—back into the brutal life she had fled before.

  Kenneth found his eyes narrowing. “You didn’t ask Rowena about her faith? ’Tis hard to believe England is not fully Christian by now.”

  She looked at him. “Sometimes, Christianity is just a veil. And an isolated community could continue believing what they always had.” She sighed. “Taurin is crafty. If Rowena is a pagan, he has the right to keep her. But he will punish her for running away.”

  His mouth thinning, Kenneth set down his spoon and pondered Clara’s words. Intrigue was rife in royal circles, and while Lord Eudo and Lord Adrien were honest, faithful men, not all barons were that dedicated to justice. Such subterfuge was usually reserved for people seeking to gain power. Kenneth could well believe that Taurin was as ambitious as he was ruthless, but what role did the slave play in his schemes? Rowena could hardly assist in Taurin’s bid for power.

  But could her child? Taurin was just a baron, and the title was not hereditary. But he might have family or influence back in Normandy that would require a son to carry on the family wealth.

  Still, any inheritance would come only after Taurin’s death, so what would he care? It made no sense.

  Kenneth rubbed his light beard as he shoved away his bowl. Regardless, could he simply hand over the woman or child to a man as cruel as Taurin?

  Mayhap, if he requested that Lord Adrien keep the woman safe. Nay, Lord Adrien may be able to save Rowena’s life, but he still believed that the child was better off with his father, and that would end in Rowena and the child being separated. What would they feed it? The babe would surely die before they found a nursing mother. And he’d heard enough of Clara’s midwifery advice to know that the boy would not nurse if terrified.

  Even if the best answer was to drop into his lap, Kenneth wasn’t sure he would recognize it. If Taurin left without his child, Rowena would struggle in poverty, free, aye, but free to die from sickness or starvation. If Taurin found the babe, he’d be separating them, most likely by death. If Lord Adrien discovered them, he would save the child and mother, but mayhap also separate them. Clara would be hurt by any of these possibilities. And the idea of hurting Clara sat heavily in his belly. So heavily, he couldn’t eat.

  Kenneth stole a look at her as Clara continued to pick at her meal beside him. His heart hitched at the sight of her lovely, perfect profile, and he knew that his time with Clara was ending, along with any chances of winning her love and respect.

  They finished their meal in silence, then Clara rose to tidy up and barely nodded to him before disappearing into the bedchamber.

  With a heavy heart, he banked the fire and set about making his bed. But tonight the hard table refused to make his rest comfortable, and Kenneth found himself lying awake and scowling at the fire, his hip aching where it pressed on the wood. Outside, the rain let up. Inside, the air remained cold and dismal. Still, Kenneth continued on, wide-awake.

  Abruptly, a shout reached him through the walls. Pounding feet raced past the house and more shouts echoed in the distance. In the next breath, a cry of pain rent the night.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Clara threw back the curtain to find Kenneth already dressed and standing. “What’s going on? Someone is hurt outside!”

  She raced past him toward the door.

  “Nay, stop!” He lunged for her, and in the next instant she was tight in Kenneth’s arms, her back pressed to his firm chest. “Nay, Clara. Look at you. Your hair is loose!”

  “But someone has been hurt! I’m needed out there!”

  “Nay, you can’t go. You have no veil or wimple on, and with the moon out, ’tis bright enough to see your hair. I’ll go.”

  She twisted around in his arms and gripped his surcoat’s front. “Bring the injured here, then.”

  He was close, and in the light from the low fire, Clara could see the sharp lines of concern in his expression. True and fearful concerns. She searched his face. “What’s wrong? You look as if ’tis more than an accident! What more could it be?”

  With his hand, he brushed back the red curls, and her heart fluttered in her chest in response. “Stay here, with the door bolted. ’Tis not unheard of to create a ruse to flush out an enemy. I won’t discount that this could be such to flush you out.”

  Tears sprang again. Oh, how she hated them! And Kenneth drew them from her eyes so easily.

  Lord, must I live from one tear to the next? I am not a foolish maid!

  She blinked them back and leaned forward into Kenneth’s gentle hand as it swept away the wild curls from her face. He tucked one strand over her ear, keeping his hand there, as if the fire in the color could warm
his fingers. “I won’t risk you until we know you won’t be hurt. Let me go first. I won’t be long. Stay here and open the door only for me.”

  “Let me come, too—I could put on a wimple!”

  “Nay. Lord Taurin would know you immediately, for most women who come out would not take the time to do so, and your position as healer would be evident by your work on whoever may be pretending to be injured.” He leaned toward her, and for a moment, her breath stalled, as if expecting a kiss. Instead, he spoke. “Remember when we were under the apple tree yesterday? Taurin had begun a search of each house, and the women who were forced out did not take the time for a wimple and veil. He chose that time, in the early hours of morn, for that exact reason. He may be trying it again.”

  “It didn’t work then. Lord Adrien stopped him.”

  “One thing you must know about soldiers, Clara, is they use tactics that are familiar to them. Very few soldiers try new strategies until they have exhausted all else. Taurin will try what he’s used before, believe me.”

  Beyond, more shouts. No more cries, but anger spilled down the lane. No anguished pain, but fury in the voices that reached into the hut.

  Her throat tightened and she struggled to speak. “And you? What if something happens to you? Who will bring you back so I can mend you? What if I can’t heal you?”

  He tightened his grip. “Nothing will happen to me, Clara. I’ll be careful.” They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, then, as swiftly as a nighthawk dips in flight for prey, he dropped his mouth to her lips.

  Firmly, powerfully, passionately.

  She shut her eyes. Aye, this was a kiss like those of which they sang.

  But too soon it ended, and Kenneth grabbed his sword and charged out the door.

  Hastily, Clara shut it behind him and drew the bolt firmly across. She then dropped her forehead onto the new wood and shut her eyes. Please keep him safe, Lord.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Clara turned. Brindi stood holding back the curtain. Her sleeping shirt was just her under tunic. Her hair was truly messy, evidence of Brindi’s habit of thrashing in bed. She looked fearful and innocent, with eyes as wide and round as the bowls Clara kept for stew.

  “I don’t know. A commotion has started near the keep, and I thought I heard a cry of pain.”

  “Will you go out to help?”

  Clara swallowed, hating that she must stay here. “Nay, Kenneth was afraid ’twould be a ruse to lure me out. Should Lord Taurin learn where I am, I fear he would force me to tell him where Rowena is.”

  Brindi gasped. “Would he torture you?”

  Knowing she must not let her fear show, Clara straightened and shook her head. “Kenneth would not allow that. I hate this, but I must stay here in order to save Rowena.”

  “I heard Kenneth and you talking tonight. Will she be okay? Will she die in that hut? I wouldn’t want to be there without a fire.”

  Clara didn’t speak. She wasn’t sure how long Rowena could survive if the rain should continue, for the peat cutter’s hut was a dank and awful place to keep a mother and child. She quickly bustled Brindi back to bed, thankful that this hut had its warm thatch roof and good fireplace.

  “Go back to sleep. I’ll wait up for Kenneth. I’m sure ’tis nothing. Mayhap a soldier saw something in the woods and thought it a danger.”

  “Like a wolf?”

  “Exactly. But we’re safe here. Go to sleep.”

  Brindi returned to bed with reluctance to obey evident on her face. Clara sat on the bench close to the fire, poking it absently as she strained to listen to the sounds outside.

  * * *

  Kenneth spied the torches near the smithy’s house. The lane leading to the keep was awash with more torches, and on the battlement above, numerous guards peered down, many with bows at the ready.

  Odd. ’Twas not the scene he expected. Should the keep have come under attack, people would not have congregated at the smithy’s home.

  He charged into the fray of arguing Normans and Saxons. The whole scene threatened to break into full-out battle. Kenneth pried a pair apart, then headed for the smithy, who was arguing in broad, heavy English with the Norman who’d come with the courser earlier today. Those two again!

  After he’d ordered the soldiers to stand down, he put his fingers into his mouth and drilled out a sharp whistle.

  All stopped and turned to him. “’Tis better!” he growled out at the men. “All of you, what’s going on? Are you all drunk to brawl like this?”

  He focused on the Norman who’d helped bring Taurin’s courser to the smithy. “Soldier, tell me what is going on here.”

  The Norman stood at attention. “I came down at the start of my guard shift to check on my lord’s courser. When I discovered it missing, I awakened the blacksmith. The fool refuses to take responsibility for not latching the door to his stables.”

  “I did latch it! I know how to look after horses, Norman. I’m no fool, certainly not fool enough to allow Lord Taurin’s mount to be stolen!”

  “Steal it, nay, Saxon, but you were fool enough to let it wander away!”

  “I latched the door!” Both men would have gone straight back at each other’s throats had not Kenneth stopped them. Only then did he notice the Norman bore a gash on his forehead. It bled like an undammed river, too, as head injuries were apt to do.

  The man touched his forehead and inspected his fingers. A quiet moment followed, and Kenneth wondered if the Norman was surprised that the smithy could inflict such an injury at all.

  Then the Norman looked up at Kenneth, an odd, unusual look blossoming on his face. “’Twould seem that I am injured. Is the healer here? I will need to be stitched up, I expect.”

  Immediately, Kenneth’s blood chilled. Was he correct when he spoke to Clara, saying this skirmish might be a ruse to lure her out? Yet, it didn’t feel as though this was the original plan.

  “You’re lucky I didn’t knock you out cold, Norman, for your accusations! ’Tis just a scratch and only because you stumbled in front of me!” the smithy snapped. He clenched meaty fists and looked as if he was prepared to do far more damage.

  Nay, Kenneth thought. The smithy was the one who had inadvertently injured the man. He could not be part and parcel of some ruse to lure out Clara.

  Kenneth looked around, actually thankful for the Saxons’ mistrust of Normans and their refusal to cooperate with them. Surely some of Taurin’s soldiers would have simply asked where Clara was. But obviously they had not been told a thing.

  He glared at the injured soldier. “Are you a toddler who needs your mother every time you fall? Go back to the keep. I will tell the old cook to kiss your little cut better.”

  The soldier reddened. Kenneth prepared himself for a fight after his sarcasm, but several other soldiers hurried up. Kenneth knew them as Lord Adrien’s personal guard.

  Another thought hit him. Lord Adrien’s soldiers, those who’d been here in Dunmow as long as he had, all knew where Clara lived. Some had been healed by her. Yet, they’d said nothing to Taurin’s irksome band of men.

  Encouraged, he pointed at the men who’d just argued. “Do nothing! Stand still until I tell you both otherwise!” He stepped through the mix of soldiers and Saxons until he spied his second in command of the armory. The young man, Pacey, straightened to attention. Kenneth led him farther away from the crowd.

  “Before I decide what will happen, I need to ask you something. Did Lord Adrien give you any orders as to what to say to Lord Taurin and his men?”

  The man nodded. “Aye, after you left the keep with the midwife, we were told to say nothing about her. If we’re asked, we are to say she’s busy and often gone.” The man looked grim but resolute. “’Tis true enough. The woman has traveled outside of the village and even as far as Cogshale. Milord also ordered us not to speak with any of Taurin’s men. I know one thing—he cares not for Lord Taurin and will be glad to see him gone.”

  “Have you heard Taur
in’s men talking among themselves? Have they any suspicions of where to find the healer? Or have they questioned anyone about me?” Taurin’s insistence that Kenneth take the horse to the smithy himself had had Kenneth wondering if the baron suspected Kenneth’s connection to the healer.

  “Nay,” Pacey replied. “None seem to guess where the healer can be found. And they believe that you spend time in the village to be with your mistress.”

  Kenneth thought for a moment to protest the insinuation, but then subsided. While he hated that Clara would have this stigma, he knew, and his men knew, ’twas not the truth.

  For Clara’s and for Rowena’s sakes, having a less-than-polished reputation was a risk worth taking.

  Kenneth looked back at the men still standing beside the open stable. “I think that this was a plot to lure Clara out.”

  The soldier shook his head. “But the horse is missing. Lord Taurin wouldn’t risk the animal, especially with a broken shoe, would he?”

  Kenneth didn’t know. But the look on that Norman’s face as he’d asked for a healer was suspicious enough.

  Disgusted at not knowing all the facts, Kenneth returned to the men now squaring off to fight again. “’Tis no time for fighting. Nor for placing blame.” He turned to the soldiers. “Return to the keep. ’Tis too late and too dark to search for the horse. It’s most likely grazing in some pasture to the west and will return on the morrow. They do that. But to make sure, rise at dawn and begin your search for him.” To the smithy, he said, “I suggest you spend the rest of the night in your stable, keeping an eye out for the horse you lost, should he return to you.”

  The scuffle now broken up, people lost interest and returned to their homes, and the whole event died down fast.

  Relief washed through Kenneth. This was just a little skirmish and thankfully settled quickly. Hot tempers were cooling fast, but this could have easily turned tragic. King William was heavy-handed when it came to punishment. Should he discover his soldiers had been threatened by Saxons...

  Indeed, that eventuality still could happen, if the courser was not found before Lord Taurin awoke.