The Protector

by Becca St. John

  “Any idea who did this?”

  “None, but I sent riders out to where the women found him. It wasn’t far from here.”

  Harold moved in. “And what were the ladies doing so close to Oakland?”

  Roland’s eyes left Veri to shoot a glance at Harold, then Jeffery, who merely lifted his shoulders in answer.

  Roland looked to where the women in question stood. They were dressed in gowns and surcoats, clothes of neither wealth nor poverty. Their cloaks blended with the night, were warm and serviceable. Not the attire of a convent. “Were they near St. Jerome’s mount? The healers’ caves?” Exactly where Roland had been a mere hours before.

  “Aye,” Jeffery nodded, “the dark one is known as Jasmine, the other Angelica. I don’t think . . .” but they all stopped their whispering, for Veri, who stood nearly eight feet below them, far out of earshot, looked up, without hesitation, directly to where Roland stood.

  “I don’t know if he will live!” She called up to him, her voice choked with anguish.

  Jasmine and Angelica, strangers to Roland, rushed to her side. They enclosed her, soothed with their arms about Veri, their heads bent close as they spoke. Roland could see their mouths move, but he was too far away to catch their quiet murmurs.

  Their familiarity with Veri frightened him. For the first time in his life, he felt true jealousy and the roots of fear it fed upon. If these women had their way, he would lose the wife he had only just found.

  Only one action offered hope. Veri kept her eyes on him. She listened and nodded to their words, but her eyes never left him. He knew the question in her gaze; he knew what she would want. She sought his permission to tend the animal. Not that she would heed his refusal, should he give it.

  But she was giving him the opportunity to say yea or nay.

  This morning, he had thought to let her go, to offer her the possibility of life away from him. Since then, they had breached a major barrier and met in union. The future beckoned. They finally had a chance. How could he send her to others who would work against him?

  Would they?

  He was certain of it.

  These women were not nuns, but healers. They did not have men in their lives, they did not marry. Like encourages like. They would convince Veri to be as they were.

  He now understood how badly he had handled Veri. With time, he would have loosened her restrictions. He had only wanted to wait until life at Oakland had gained some measure of security, and balance; until he had a firm control over his domain. Dealing with a woman’s mind was baffling enough with a conventional woman. Veri was not conventional. If she had given him time, he would have learned, would have proven himself as a husband.

  But time had run out.

  Did she know that she had become a part of him, a balance? Her strengths complemented his, her weaknesses countered his own. They were two parts of a whole. Could she not sense it? Roland couldn’t tell. All he knew was that his earlier restrictions had given these women the fuel they needed to take Veri from him.

  He had wanted to protect her from the likes of Ignacious, from the slander of rumor. But she had been right. People would talk regardless.

  “Away!” He shouted, to the gathering mass of people, to the two new strangers at his wife’s side. He would be the one she turned to, even if it was for one last time. He would give her comfort.

  “Veri,” he gentled his tone, as he made his way down the stairs. The women backed away. Veri’s eyes were bright with tears, her clothes stained with the blood of the animal she loved. Roland saw nothing but her heart. It was in her face, in the way she followed his movements. As dearly as he needed her, she needed him. The realization, the relief, nearly brought him to his knees.

  “Wife,” was the only word that escaped his gruff whisper, as he pulled her into his arms. He held her tight, trying to infuse her with all the love he had in his wretched soul. He wanted to give her all of him but knew that to be more burden than gift. So he gave her the one thing she truly yearned for and prayed that she would recognize his sacrifice and the chance he allowed her to take.

  “Tend to your beast,” he commanded huskily, knowing that rumors would fly. He didn’t care anymore. “Cinnamon could find no better nurse to bring him back.” Nothing mattered, but Veri’s happiness.

  “Roland?” She whispered.

  “He’s in need of a Healer,” he told her more firmly, urging her further toward the cart.

  She looked toward the other two women.

  “My sisters,” she asked quietly, “may they help?”

  He frowned at that, looking over to where the women stood a mere pace away. They hovered, ready to close in and close out all others. He knew, deep inside, they would try to take Veri away. But she wanted them, felt need of them, and he could not hold her back from what she desired.

  With an abrupt nod he pivoted, to mount the stairs back up to the castle. She had no further need of him. Not this night, perhaps never again.

  Halfway up the steps, he stopped. Not that it would matter anymore, once she was gone, but he did not want others speaking ill of her. “Veri,” he turned, “care for him in the chapel. No one can question your allegiance if you work within the boundaries of the church.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I will have braziers taken in, to ward off the cold.”

  She nodded, and then stilled, her eyes widened, her concern melted into wariness. That’s when he looked to the other women. Jasmine looked ready for murder. As he turned to Angelica, she collapsed, would have fallen clear to the ground, if one of his soldiers hadn’t caught her up into his arms.

  Roland didn’t need to glance over his shoulder, to see what had caused their reaction, but he did so anyway.

  Ignacious stood upon unsteady legs at the top of the stairs.

  “You were the child?” The priest’s keening cry rent the air, as his bony finger pointed straight at Veri’s heart.

  Jasmine started to stomp toward the man, but Roland halted her with a slight shake of his head. Veri put a hand to her arm.

  As Roland had suspected, the man was not right, certainly not the same man Roland had met only hours ago. The priest had altered, aged years within moments. Eyes that had always been eerily deep set and dark, now held the lackluster gloss of mourning. In the space of time it took to release Veri from her room and have her run down to her bear, the man’s restless distraction had turned to the confusion of an old man who didn’t know who or where he was.

  A pitiful sight, for a man of rigid pride.

  “You were the babe?” His voice broke, as he moved down the stairs, his arms stretched out as though he would take hold of Veri. As though she were a child who would run, excitedly, into those feeble arms of his.

  Once more, Roland barred Ignacious’ way, but not with the force he had used earlier.

  “She is my wife, priest,” he warned quietly, “you will stay away from her.”

  “But she was the child with the healers, was she not?” Ignacious turned his compulsive questioning to Roland.

  “Later,” Roland relented, eyeing Harold as he jerked his head toward the priest. Harold took Ignacious by the arm, though the old man continually looked over his shoulder, he managed to get him to move aside, out of sight.

  Though shaken, Veri allowed the disturbance little distraction. Swiftly she turned, urged two men to pull the cart toward the chapel. Jasmine had roused Angelica, and was helping her to stand.

  “Jasmine,” Veri instructed, “take Angelica and follow Lord Roland. He will keep you safe and he can direct you to Hannah. She will have supplies. Only,” she leaned over to whisper in Jasmine’s ear, “Do not trust the names on the jars,” Veri said, “to be the same as what is inside.”

  With a sharp nod, Jasmine marched forward, Angelica trailing pitifully behind her. Roland watched Veri turn to follow the cart.

  Hannah’s stores were labeled improperly? By her hand or another’s? How long had this been the case?
/>   The two healers neared Ignacious. Jasmine sheltered Angelica in the curve of her arm, putting herself in position of buffer between priest and woman. Roland thought she might spit at the man, much as a cat would spit at a feline rival, but she refrained.

  He took the steps, two at a time, to catch-up with them, to offer them his protection.

  “Lord Roland?”

  He looked down at the angular brunette as she reached his side. Veri called these women sisters, though there was no resemblance between any of them. Veri, neither blonde or brunette but something between, tawny as a lions mane with eyes as large and dark as the beasts inspired no fear. She was far too tiny and, despite its stubborn tilt, her chin was as cute as a pixies.

  Tall and angular, the hint of mahogany in Jasmine’s hair proved a strong contrast to eyes green as heather. Her square jaw and a prominent nose made her the more forbidding of the two women. Then there was Angelica, blonde and buxom, soft of feature and figure. She would prove a distraction to his soldiers.

  No, they were not sisters of the flesh.

  “Will you keep the priest away from Angelica, please?” Jasmine asked, “She is not fond of him.”

  Roland nodded as he opened the castle doors. As the women moved past him to go inside he asked, “why does my wife call you sisters?”

  “Sisters as nuns are sisters,” Jasmine asserted.

  Once again, Roland looked to how they were dressed.

  “As nuns, perhaps,” Roland allowed, “but not nuns.”

  Angelica looked up at him, giving him full view of her wariness, her lingering fear from a brush with Ignacious. That’s when he realized, like Veri, these women had been there that day, when Ignacious tried to burn the witches out. Roland had no doubt that, if Jasmine knew how, she would cast a crippling spell on the priest. But she couldn’t. These women were no more witches who could put a ghastly spell on the man than Veri. They were women who had been badly frightened. Women who had looked death in the face and knew to be wary.

  They would not admit to being healers.

  “You will come to no harm here,” Roland promised. He put his hand on Angelica’s shoulder, for assurance. She flinched, he pulled his hand away, though he wondered if she was more startled by his words than by his touch.

  “Thank you, sir.” She whispered, with a slight Scottish burr.

  “No thanks needed. Not from my wife’s chosen family.”

  Cin would survive!

  Veri sank unto the nearest pew.

  Two days spent within these walls. She stitched and tended and watched over the animal and all the while she wondered about Roland and Ignacious and whoever attacked her pet. It seemed to take forever before Cin began to show signs of recovery.

  Still weak, he lay upon the dais. But he was getting better, for he had the strength to nuzzle and lick Veri whenever she tried to change his bandages. He was also strong enough to tear at his bandages with teeth sharp enough to rip open the flesh of another animal.

  Yes, Cin would survive, but any other caretaker would not.

  Veri stretched. Cin was asleep. With the draught she had given him, he would sleep soundly for a few hours. He could be left in the care of others long enough for Veri to get some sleep before he roused again.

  One by one, the candle lights wavered and danced before spitting a final song and turning to smoke. They were burning out, gutted as quickly as the servants could replace them.

  Roland sent the servants, as well as guards to stand within, and without. Veri knew Ignacious sought entry on a number of occasions. For this reason alone, she was relieved to be under the watchful eyes of the soldiers.

  Her sister healers were safe.

  For now.

  At least, until they left Oakland.

  Would they take her with them? Would she return to the convent? The Healers? Would she become a Healer once more?

  Hints skittered between them, small mentions of distraction from a worthy course in life. If she chose to be a Healer, she would be a Healer entirely. Impossible to be both healer and married. That message had been in Rose’s letter. Jasmine repeated it, often.

  Veri sighed, too tired and weak to tussle with such thoughts.

  “Veri?” Cynthia sat down beside her. They looked to each other, Cynthia with concern, Veri with a quiet smile that grew.

  “He will live,” she whispered, her smile growing even wider. “He will live!” She said with more strength.

  “But you must be exhausted!” Cynthia worried.

  “That is nothing,” Jasmine swept the air with a dismissive wave, “Veri has been trained to focus on healing, not on her own weakness.”

  Another taunting reminder that Veri was different, separate from the rest of the world.

  Cynthia shot Jasmine a hard look. “Five days locked within a room with little to eat or drink, released to come here for two unrelenting days of tending a sick bear. Even you slept, I know, for I saw you. Healer or not, she is human!”

  Though grateful, even a bit awed, by Cynthia’s defense, Veri knew it would mean little to another Healer. They did not see themselves in the guise of flesh and blood. Most certainly, few others did as well.

  “Veri did not sleep because Cin was her patient. If he had been mine, then I would have been the one awake. As for not eating?” Jasmine wiped her hands on a cloth, “it was no more than fasting, which is good for the souls of those who believe in souls. And,” she stabbed at the air, “it is good for the constitution. It cleanses the body. That should give her added strength, not sap it.”

  “I was not fasting, Jasmine, I was pouting,” Veri relented to ease the brewing animosity. Jasmine and Cynthia did not agree on many things.

  “Come, Angelica,” Veri patted the empty place on her other side, “Come, tell me of your trials in Scotland.”

  With relief, Angelica sat beside Veri, taking her offered hand, resting her head upon Veri’s shoulder as though Veri were the older, “I am not as strong as Jasmine, though I love the land,” she admitted.

  “It is a cold and brutal land, with winds that invigorate the constitution.” Jasmine asserted.

  Cynthia murmured something about Jasmine and constitutions, but Veri didn’t quite catch it. Angelica looked enthralled with the memory of where she had been. “The people there have such stamina, Veri. They walk about in the snow with no cover for their feet. I think they do not need healers, for their bodies are ever so rugged.”

  “If they are not strong, they will not survive their first year.” Jasmine added, “But even the hearty have need of our help.”

  Veri nodded, knowingly. “Wounds mostly?”

  The other two tilted their heads in agreement.

  “Oh, aye,” Jasmine’s newly acquired burr slipped in. At least it was a new sound to Veri, as she hadn’t seen either of the women since the day following Father Ignacious’ attack on the healers.

  “They are a fighting lot,” Angelica sighed, all doey- eyed. “Though” she continued, “they are ever so good to us. Loyalty is their one God, their primary concern. We are trusted, for we vow loyalty to healing and naught else, as a priest offers loyalty to God and naught else. . . or at least a priest should.” Her face fell, in confusion.

  “What she is trying to say is that we are free to move from clan to clan.” Jasmine broke in, “they use us more as messengers than Healers. We have learned not to involve ourselves in squabbles, which is a fight in itself. I’ll tell you, they are a brutish lot.”

  “And ever so strong.” Angelica breathed, her wistful eyes set on some inner memory.

  Jasmine sent her a hard look. “This, Veri,” Jasmine gestured toward Angelica, “is what you will be like if you do not leave Oakland.”

  Cynthia, who had been curled up on the pew, shot up, her feet slapped to the floor. “Leave Oakland?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Wouldn’t he just love that?”

  “Cynthia,” Veri warned.

  Jasmine had finally come to the point she’d been al
luding to for the past two days.

  Veri considered Angelica, sweet and vulnerable and more gentle than bright. Not a bad thing, but Veri didn’t see herself in that manner. “So how will I be if I stay here?”

  “A love-sick fool.”

  Cynthia snorted, Angelica whimpered.

  “Please,” Angelica implored, but to no avail.

  “No, I will not please,” Jasmine stated, “Rose thinks it is necessary that we guide Veri. At the same time, you should be seeing yourself for what you are becoming! It is not a Healer!”

  “Oh really!” Cynthia huffed, “Angelica did very well with the bear.”

  “As an attendant,” Jasmine relented, though some of the stiffness left her as she sank down onto a step leading to the altar. “She is well beyond the age of an attendant. Even Veri knows more of healing than Jasmine, and Veri was attendant age when she was robbed of her teachers.”

  “I am a failure as a Healer,” Angelica mused, “I find men a distraction. ‘Tis true.”

  “You cannot join with a man and be a Healer. It is not possible.”

  “Never?” Cynthia questioned doubtfully.

  Jasmine snorted. Cynthia tried to argue, but even Angelica defended the focus one needed to be a good healer. Veri only half listened, as she thought about herself, about Roland and the way he pulled her thoughts. It was true, he was a distraction.

  So what was Veri to do? Jasmine claimed she was more of a Healer than Angelica; therefore, one would surmise she was a Healer. But she yearned for Roland, for his touch, his presence. What did that make her?

  It was just too much.

  The others argued in low voices. The sight of the others, the sound of the others faded further and further away until, like a great yawning best, fatigue swallowed her.

  “Veri!” Cynthia shouted, as Veri slumped to the floor. “Help her!” She screamed unnecessarily as guards rushed from the back of the church.

  Jasmine looked shaken. “Lay her here.” She rattled.

  “Don’t be foolish,” Cynthia admonished, “She has done enough within these walls, she needs her bed. Now!” Regally she faced the guard. “Take her to her room.” Veri moaned as she was lifted.