“We’re not going to bandage it?” asked the knight from his place beside her tools.
He had been a perfect aid throughout their work, silently handing her whatever she asked for, sometimes even anticipating her needs.
“We’ll have to wait until he wakes up. I need to know if he has any broken ribs before I proceed further. For now, we can work on his leg,” she added as she stretched out the cramping muscles in her back.
With the aid of the knight’s sharp dagger, she cut away the prince’s trouser leg. The thick leather of his riding pants had prevented the flesh from being shredded by the ground, but his leg was swollen up to the knee. Bethany bit her lip, thinking through the options.
“Problem?” asked the knight, his green eyes keeping a close watch over her.
“Just deciding how to proceed. We’ll need to get the swelling down before I can figure out what is wrong with his ankle. I just hope it isn’t broken.”
“What would that mean?”
“A long, tedious, and painful recovery, with the chance of never regaining full mobility in the limb. Which probably means a lot of pain and annoyance for us,” she added before she could clamp her mouth shut.
To her surprise, the knight didn’t look angry. In fact, he looked as though he was trying not to laugh.
“Let’s get some supplies ready for when he wakes up.”
A half hour later, they had a pain reducing tea brewing, a healing poultice applied to his mangled back and face, and rags soaked in yarrow and cold water draped over his swollen ankle. They had just finished the last of their preparation when the prince began to stir. He groaned a few times before seeming to fall into a deeper sleep. Sir Caldry was just about sit down again when Féderic jerked and tried to climb to his hands and knees. The movement pulled on his wounded back and jostled his ankle. He grunted as he collapsed back onto his stomach.
Bethany and Sir Caldry jumped forward to hold him down until Féderic could calm down. After a short struggle, he lay limp on the bed, breathing deeply, and listening to Bethany’s calm voice. Bethany knelt beside his bed, bring her head to his level and staring him in the eye as he once again tried to roll over.
“You’ve been hurt, my lord, but you’re going to be okay. I need you to calm down. Listen to my voice. Focus on the sound of my voice. Féderic, look at me,” she ordered when he looked ready to struggle against her grasp on his shoulders.
The very fact she used his given name seemed to shock him into a form of order.
“The more you struggle, the more damage you do, and the longer it will be before you recover. Stop it.”
The patient and the healer stared at each other for a few, tense minutes before the prince relaxed in her grip and lowered his head over the edge of his bed.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice muffled by his blankets.
“Your cinch broke, my lord,” informed the knight as he moved around the bed to come within the prince’s line of sight. “You were dragged a few paces before your foot slipped out of the stirrup.”
“How bad is it?” asked the prince through gritted teeth.
Bethany could tell he was in immense pain, but she couldn’t relieve it yet. She needed to know where it hurt.
“The flesh on your back has sustained some damage, but it will heal with time. The rest we need to assess. Can you tell me where you hurt?”
“Everywhere,” he snapped.
“I know, my lord,” said Bethany, thinking it wise to be deferential again.
After all, she wasn’t an actual healer, but the patient’s slave. Things were going to get awkward.
“I need you to be more specific. What hurts the worst?”
“My ankle.”
“Describe it to me.”
“It throbs.”
“But nothing sharp?” Bethany hated using leading questions, but sometimes they were necessary.
“No.”
“Okay,” she said, patting his shoulder where there was still skin. “Sounds like you’ve sprained your ankle. We’ll wrap it and keep it elevated once we get you sitting up.”
It was a long, slow process, with a great deal of cursing from the prince, but they finally got him upright. He sat straight up, taking small, shallow breaths. Bethany took the time to check his back. She climbed onto the bed and knelt behind him. The deepest lacerations were packed with the poultice, keeping them from bleeding too freely.
“How do you feel now?”
“Really… sharp pains… in my side,” Féderic panted.
“Probably just a couple broken ribs. We’ll bind your chest when we bandage your back.”
Another hour later they had him bandaged and resting against a pile of pillows, with his ankle wrapped and propped up on another pile of pillows, half of which had been taken out of his brothers’ nearby rooms. Bethany helped him drink the rich tea that had been simmering for the last couple hours.
“Gah! What is this shit?” he demanded after the first gulp.
“I know it’s nasty, but it will help with the pain.” Bethany lifted it to his lips again, but he pushed it away.
“I can’t drink this!”
“It’s the only thing I have to help with the pain.” She pushed it back toward his face as he turned his head away, just like an angry toddler.
“If you don’t drink it, my lord… Sir Caldry and I will walk away and leave you to fend for yourself.”
Prince Féderic turned back to glare at her, but she could out glare him on her worst day. Finally, an idea came to him.
“If you do, my father would have you both beheaded.”
Bethany glanced at the silent knight. He had continued to be the ideal aid, saying only what was necessary, doing everything she asked, and generally staying out of the way. Now though, he looked livid. Her threat had put him at risk, too.
“Fine,” she snapped as she went back the work table, uncorked his bottle of spirits, and poured a large portion into the tea. “Now try it,” she added, handing it back to him.
She didn’t want to use alcohol on him, but if it got him to drink the tea it would be worth it. As she expected, he downed the tea in two large gulps. Within minutes, he was relaxed against the pillows, his eye lids drooping slightly.
“Now, my prince. Would you like for us to send for your parents? I’m sure they’d love to see you up and awake,” suggested the knight from his place at the foot of the bed.
Bethany was thankful he had been the one to bring up the uncomfortable topic.
Féderic groaned.
“I suppose I have to see them sooner or later. Yeah, go get them Cal,” he added as he eyed his slave.
Bethany’s stomach did a little flip while she made herself busy. Once the knight had shut the door behind him, Féderic let out another groan.
“That tea shit isn’t helping. And my head hurts.”
Bethany stopped what she was doing. She hadn’t thought to worry about a head injury, and yet it now seemed so obvious. What would her mother say to such a huge mistake?
“My lord, may I check your skull? I want to make sure you didn’t damage it in the fall.”
“Sure, why not.”
To reach his head, she had to climb onto the bed once more, bringing her far closer to him than she liked.
I’ll just have to be professional, she thought to herself as she gently ran her fingers through his hair.
“I knew I’d get you into my bed one way another,” he joked though his voice was slurred with alcohol and fatigue.
Bethany ignored him. Near the back of his skull, she found a large lump. Her touch made him wince.
“Good,” she said as she climbed back off the high bed.
“Good?” he snapped.
“Yes. A bump means that the swelling is on the outside, not on the inside. It is very good. Also, I don’t feel any fractures in your skull.”
Bethany tried to move back to the work table, but he grabbed her arm and held her still. He was surprisingly s
trong for someone who had endured so much physical trauma.
“Now, Ann, tell me how you became my healer? Where’s Fenrir?”
“He is in Dacfield with Lord Tuathail. But we have sent for him.”
“The old man finally dying,” chuckled the prince.
Between the herbs and the alcohol, he was visibly improving. Bethany chose not to respond to his rude remark.
“Have you thought about my offer?”
Thankfully, Bethany was saved from answering by the entrance of Sir Caldry.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cal marched out of the room in search of the king and queen. He had spent the entire day in the slave’s presence, watching her closely. It hadn’t helped. During the hours of crisis, Cal had found himself even more drawn to the mysterious woman. She was in her element, and her commanding nature, so often smothered, gave a glow to her cheeks and light to her eyes. For the first time, she looked genuinely alive. With clean hair and a fresh garment, even if they were for a man and too big for her, she looked like a whole new creature. Cal was having a hard time not staring. But now that the prince was awake, Cal wasn’t the only man aware of her beauty.
The knight felt a fist tighten around his gut. He wanted to grab her and run away, but what would be the use of that? He had no land of his own and, though he had saved a great deal of gold, he was far from rich. If she was interested in becoming anyone’s mistress, she would undoubtedly choose the prince. He could offer her a world she’d never known.
Cal ground his teeth as he forced his thoughts back into a state of control and marched down the hallway.
Bethany slipped her arm out of the prince’s relaxed hold and scooted to the work table where she bowed as the king and queen entered. Behind them came all but the youngest of their children. Bethany began to worry for her patient as the bedchamber grew more crowded, the young people elbowing each other for space.
The whole family began talking at once: congratulating Féderic on escaping death, chiding the saddle-maker, ranting against the prince’s stallion, and generally debasing the healer for not being present during such a crisis. Bethany glanced between the prince and the knight, desperately wanting them to send some people away, but she didn’t know how to interrupt without having her head chopped off.
The prince was glancing from one speaker to another as his eyes began to glaze over. His juggled brain struggled to keep track with the numerous topics bouncing about the room. Sir Caldry, on the other hand, was hiding in the shadows. Finally, as the volume increased and Bethany noticed the prince wincing, Bethany spoke.
“Please, my lord…” she began softly, hoping someone would hear her and begin shushing the others, but each family member was too focused on what he or she was saying to hear her whispers, or what the others were saying for that matter.
“My lord, please,” she repeated a little louder.
Though Cedric glanced in her direction, they continued talking at the top of their voices.
“Silence,” she bellowed, using the voice she had gained from growing up with two older brothers.
The entire royal family turned and stared at her, their expressions quickly turning from shock to anger in a few short seconds.
“Forgive me,” she said quickly, keeping her head tilted downwards. “But His Majesty has endured many severe injuries and this noise, I fear, is causing him unnecessary pain.”
Bethany stopped not sure what to say next. She spotted Lyolf, the dark haired prince, smiling from his place near the back. Despite the order of birth, Lyolf nearly always found himself pushed to the sidelines. Bethany had often noticed the second eldest son giving way to his younger brothers.
“She’s right,” said Sir Caldry, before the family could begin to argue. “If we could keep the group down to no more than three visitors?”
Bethany nodded eagerly, glad that the knight had formed his demand into a question. She had only hoped to get them to temper their voices. Having people actually leave the room would be even better. She didn’t dare speak again, having already risked her neck once. The royal family would have to make up their own minds.
“Yes! Dammit guys. You could out noise the blacksmith. Get the hell outta here,” demanded the pain-ridden prince.
“Oh yes… yes… of course,” stammered the queen in an overly soft voice as she motioned for the others to leave.
Lyolf was the first to go, after giving his brother a quick wink. Mirabelle stayed where she was near the window while Cedric and Isabelle followed Lyolf out.
The queen glanced over the remaining bodies and seemed inclined to ignore the extra visitor when Féderic spoke up.
“Out Mirabelle,” demanded the prince.
“I have every right as Rulfric to stay. More even, for I am a woman. We women are inclined towards the healing arts.”
Bethany kept her eyes cast downward, giving her a clear view of the prince, who cast her an anxious look. Bethany knew she would pay for what she was about to do. Still, she plunged forward.
“Yes, of course, my lady,” she said, sounding as though she agreed with the princess. Bethany caught Féderic’s shocked expression and allowed a corner of her mouth to tweak up into a small smile. “If you would be willing, my lady, I will need to change his bandages soon. Perhaps you could help me?”
“How dare you!” snapped the princess, in a tone loud enough to be heard throughout the castle.
Bethany instinctually dropped to her knees and pressed her face against the rough wooden floor.
“Forgive me, my lady. I misunderstood,” she said before biting her tongue to keep from saying anything more.
She had quickly learned that babbling seldom endeared slave to master. Simple acceptance of one’s supposed failure was enough. Though Bethany could not see the princess, she hoped she looked awkward and uncomfortable.
“Well that’ll teach ya,” spat the prince from his place on the bed. “Now get out, Mirabelle. I don’t want you in here when she has to change the bandages.”
Bethany kept to her knees as the seconds ticked by. Finally, she heard the princess stomp out of the room and the door slam shut behind her. Still, she remained on the floor until invited to rise.
“Oh, for the love of Main Land, get up, Ann,” groaned the prince.
She rose and quickly began busying herself by preparing another cup of tea; meanwhile, Wolfric, Arabelle, and Rulfric crowded around the bed.
“Now,” began the king in a commanding, but soft voice. “I think we’d best send word to Lapo and inform him and Gia of your accident. It is only fair… since we don’t know exactly how long your recovery will take.”
“Like hell we need to tell them. The wedding isn't for months. Who knows what could happen before then. Besides, if I do marry that bitch you’ve pushed onto me, I don’t want her knowing I fell off my damn horse.”
Wolfric hesitated for a moment, his wheels turning visibly through his expressive eyes. Finally, he nodded slowly.
“As you wish. But your mother will continue to make arrangements for the ceremony.”
“Why do all these awful things keep happening to us?” asked the queen, in an unnecessarily soft voice. “I mean, the horses getting sick, the liquor being ruined during the festival, and now this. Are we cursed?”
Bethany coughed into her hand in an effort to hide her humor. She coughed a few extra times, to be sure no one suspected her as she moved around the work table, preparing another poultice and fresh bandages. The others seemed to take no notice of her as they stared at the queen.
“Cursed?” chuckled the king in his own low, gravelly voice. “Arabelle, we are not the Bumi to believe in ghosts and goblins. Or the Lurran to fear the spirits of the trees. We are thinking people.”
The queen bowed her head slightly, accepting the admonition in silence. They never returned to the subject of curses, for which Bethany was eternally grateful.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The rest of the day was long and tir
ing. Prince Féderic was anything but an easy patient. He didn’t want to remain in bed, though the very act of sitting up left him in so much pain he could barely catch his breath, and, despite the pain, he didn’t want to drink the tea Bethany prepared. Each time he broke out into an impressive list of curses—some of which Bethany had never heard before. Despite the queen’s uselessness, she visited so often that the prince eventually forbade her from entering his room. Bethany assumed the queen took it as a good sign that her son was well enough to bark orders at her, though she did blush a little as she left the room for the last time.
When night began to fall, and Bethany started to hope for the healer’s return, the prince took a turn for the worse. His cursing subsided, and slowly, but surely, Bethany began to notice a new flush come into the cheek not covered with bandages. Bethany felt his head. It was searing hot.
“What’s wrong?” asked Sir Caldry as he noticed the prince’s growing stupor.
“He’s burning up. We need to cool him down, quickly. Send for cold water. And I mean as cold as they can get it.”
The knight nodded once and marched out of the room.
One of the few things she liked about the knight was his ability to take orders.
Perhaps it comes from all his years in the army, she thought, as she pulled the blankets back and began peeling off the bandages.
The prince had returned to his stomach earlier in the evening, when the pain in his back became too great to sit up.
Is there an infection causing the fever? she wondered.
As she peeled away the large bandage covering Féderic’s back, she noticed green puss seeping from one of the more shallow grazes. From it came a noxious smell that quickly filled the room. Bethany cleaned away the puss and began searching for the hidden grime. Though the prince was trying to toss and turn, she thought it was due more to the fever than to any pain he was feeling around the infected area. Bethany continued to dig out missed dirt.
Before she could finish, the knight returned with two buckets of water, one of which he sat near the narrow window where it would stay cool longer, and the other he placed next to her.
The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy Page 15
