The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

by Charissa Dufour

  Once he heard them he wished he hadn’t. Rage boiled up inside of him as he listened to her quiet admonition. He swallowed, trying to force down the desire to hit her; she was already battered enough.

  She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, he reminded himself.

  There was no way for this slave girl to know about his sister, or how he couldn’t find her without Wolfric’s aid. The king refused to tell him where she was, or what he had to do to secure her freedom. Until he did, Cal would be the king’s man. Not out of loyalty, but out of necessity.

  Before he could think of a response that did not involve his sister, Flora returned with a slave frock. Between the two of them they got it over her body and laced up over the rough bandaging. With clothing covering some of her bruises and hiding how skinny she had become, she looked a great deal better.

  “The prince wants to see you. I’ll carry you to the main floor, but then you have to walk.”

  The girl nodded feebly.

  Cal picked her up in his arms and nearly dropped her in surprise; she weighed little more than a child. It made him sick when he thought of what she had once looked like. Though she was barely strong enough to stand, she didn’t relax in his arms. He felt her tension and anxiety, but he chose to ignore it. He could be gentle if he tried, and he would prove it to her.

  At the top of the narrow stairs, which he had to take at an awkward angle to keep from knocking her feet and head against the stone walls, he carefully lowered her to the floor. She staggered against the wall. He stepped back, knowing she had to walk by herself. She took a deep, steadying breath, then began the long trek down the hall to the prince’s room. Halfway there, she stumbled and fell to the ground. Cal reached out to catch her, but was a second too late. She slipped from his fingers and landed hard on the wood flooring, but she didn’t cry out.

  He let her rest there for a moment since they were alone in the long corridor. After a moment, she reached up to him, and he consented to help her to her feet. The journey was slow, but, eventually, they made it to the prince’s door. She leaned against the doorframe as he knocked.

  “Enter.”

  “Enter,” came the prince’s voice from within his room, sounding strong and healthy.

  The knight, who was being unusually kind, opened the door and ushered her in. She stepped forward, feeling more wobbly and weak with each step. Bethany lowered herself to the floor in an effort to bow. It was more of a controlled fall than a bow.

  “What have they done to you?” demanded the prince as he staggered to his feet.

  His ankle was noticeably less swollen. In fact, it looked normal though still bound in tight bandages. She noticed from her place on the floor that he didn’t put much weight on it and that a pair of crutches leaned against his seat. Ignoring the crutches, he used the furniture to carefully hobble a few feet closer.

  “Stand up, Ann.”

  Bethany tried her best to stand, but her legs wobbled and eventually gave out. As she collapsed, she felt a pair of hands try to catch her by the arm. Sir Caldry gripped her tightly but just a hair too late. In the end, she ended up back on her knees with one arm up in the air in his grasp. Bethany felt herself list to the side, until she collided with a small table, which kept her upright.

  “I don’t think she was fed often, and the slave master beat her severely,” said the knight with a hint of sympathy in his voice.

  Even in her fevered state, she was surprised to hear such tender words from the normally cruel man.

  The prince lowered himself to the floor in front of her.

  “Ann,” he said, cupping her cheek and tilting her head up so that he could see her face. “Are you all right?”

  “Fever,” Bethany croaked. Despite the water Flora had given her, her throat had gone dry again.

  With Sir Caldry’s help, Féderic rose to his feet and returned to his chair. He ran his hands through his hair as he watched Bethany slouch back against the table.

  “She’s bad off, isn’t she?” he asked the knight.

  “I believe so, my lord.”

  “Dammit! I wanted her as a mistress. Never wanted a woman as much as I want her. Probably ‘cause she said no,” chuckled the prince after a few minutes.

  The room fell into silence for a long while after that. Bethany had nearly fallen asleep on the floor when she heard the prince speak again.

  “Cal, you live in the north wing, right?”

  “Correct.”

  “And don’t exactly have a lot of people traipsing through your quarters?”

  “No, my lord. I have no servants of my own. Nor a squire.”

  “Good,” the prince exclaimed as he clapped his hands together.

  He paused a moment. Bethany heard him taking quick shallow breaths. His ribs must have not been healed yet.

  “I want you to take her to your quarters and nurse her there.”

  “Wait… what?”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Cal couldn’t believe his ears. The prince really wanted him to take his mistress-to-be into his own room and nurse her back to health in secret? Did he not realize what an opportunity the prince was giving him? This was his chance to win the girl’s heart. Then again, he didn’t have a lot of practice making women fall in love with him. Besides, he couldn’t offer Ann what Féderic could. Cal forced his desires back into the pit of his stomach.

  This was a bad idea. He didn’t want to be put in temptation’s way. More specifically, he didn't want to get in trouble with the queen.

  “Yes… but you want me to do what?”

  “You know enough about healing. You can get her back on her feet. And when she’s a little better, we can pretend to bring her out of the pits. It’s the perfect scheme.”

  “If I do this, and the king and queen find out, I will be in disfavor.”

  “I’ll take full responsibility if they find out. But they won’t. Flora will keep the secret, I know. She’s kept many secrets for me,” added Féderic with a chuckle.

  Cal knew what he was talking about. This wasn’t the first lover he’d taken. Flora was perhaps the most discrete slave in the castle, a feature that endeared her to many of the royal family.

  “But…”

  “No buts, Cal. I need you to do this for me,” he stated in a stern voice Cal wasn't used to hearing from the normally playful younger man.

  The knight hesitated a moment before nodding. Between the temptation to do just what he was asked and the pressure from the prince, it was easy to give in to Féderic’s demands. “As you wish, my lord.”

  “Wrap her up in your cloak so no one can see who you’ve got.”

  Cal nodded his acceptance of the plan as he unfastened the thick cloak and wrapped it around Ann’s body. He scooped her up and left the room. His quarters were on the other side of the castle. For a second, he wondered whether he ought to take the main hallways or use the back ones used by the slaves. In the end, he decided it would be more noticeable if he went through the slave corridors.

  He adjusted the weight in his arms and marched forward as though he were on an important mission. In truth, she weighed very little, but he wanted to make sure his arms weren’t hurting her wounded back. Cal began to wonder how he would act as her healer. Sure, he knew how to plug holes and administer initial aid to those with battle wounds, but infections and fevers were beyond him.

  It took him a while to get to his room; thankfully, no one stopped him. Cal had grown adept at frowning in such a way that even the king avoided him. It worked like a charm as he climbed the north staircase that led to his quarters. He passed Lyolf, who seemed ready to inquire into the knight’s burden, until he saw Cal’s face. He nodded politely and continued on his way.

  After many heart pounding minutes, he reached his room. Cal pushed the door open and entered. His room, though nice, was a far cry from those of the royal family. On one of the top-most floors, it was a breathless climb. The stone walls were covered in tapestries that had been
retired from other rooms. The wooden floor was mostly covered by the many furs of the bears and wolves he’d killed over the years. Along the left wall, a warm fire crackled. The far wall had one small slit of a window. Sitting kiddy-corner in between the window and the fire sat his desk. Up against the right wall sat a large bed surrounded by thick curtains. It was very plain compared to Féderic’s gilded room, but that was how he preferred it. After all, he wasn’t a noble, nor had he any intention of becoming one; he was a farmer’s son, and occasionally he needed to be reminded of that.

  Cal crossed the room and laid his burden down on the thick mattress. He removed his cloak, covered her with the extra blanket placed at the foot of his bed and went back to the door. A short way from his room, he spotted a slave.

  “You, there. Send Flora to my room, immediately.”

  The slave bowed, trembled, and ran away.

  Cal went back to his room. The slave girl was sound asleep. He shook her gently. Her eyes, usually so bright, were dull as they fluttered open.

  “Ann, I need you to tell me what to do.”

  She opened her mouth as if to speak, but suddenly collapsed back into a deeper sleep. Cal didn’t want to wake her again. Her body clearly wanted to rest, but there had to be more that he could do. Based on how bad her wounds had been when they pulled her out of the pit, he couldn’t imagine that a good sleep would do the trick.

  Cal racked his brain, trying to remember any tidbit of information that might be helpful. Slowly, he began to recall how Féderic’s wounds had become infected and what she had done. Before he could take action, a soft rap sounded against his door. He strode to it and cracked it open slightly. Flora stood on the other side.

  “Come in,” he said, opening the door just wide enough to permit her slim body to pass through.

  She quickly noticed the sleeping figure on his bed.

  “The prince has ordered me to hide her here until we can get her well again. He thinks this will give the queen more time to calm down.”

  “Prince wants what?” asked Flora, her careful façade of deference and humility gone.

  “My thoughts exactly. Still, we have to do it.”

  “Why's he care so ‘boat one slave? I doubt he paid that much for her.”

  “He hopes to take her for a mistress. But, between you and me, I think she’ll continue to say no.”

  “That won’t stop him,” stated the slave before she bit down on her lip.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t tell,” Cal said with a forced chuckle.

  She had the right of it. He dreaded the day when the prince finally forced himself on the girl.

  “For now, fetch me a bucket of cold water. And I mean cold water. I wish we could get herbs for her. But I don’t expect that to be the case.”

  “Not ‘less the prince helps.”

  “That’s an idea. For now, get the cold water. We need to get her temperature down.”

  Flora barely waited for him to finish his sentence before she was out the door.

  Long after he began to look for her, Flora returned with cold water and a few scraps of cloth. “I told the ol’ cook you were hungry and want to eat in your room. They’ll send your meal up here soon.”

  “Good. This will do for now. You may leave. I’ll take it from here,” he said dismissively. He had already started soaking the rags and placing them on Ann’s head and neck.

  Bethany woke slowly. The first sensation she became aware of was the feeling of something wet and cold on her forehead and neck. After a few moments of confusion, she realized it was a piece of cloth. About that time, she noticed how soft the surface was she was lying on. Next she noticed the weight of a blanket over her body. Another moment’s thought brought on the realization that she had not been this comfortable or warm since coming to Tolad. She didn’t want it to end. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes.

  She was lying on a large bed, with the drapes pulled open. From somewhere in the room, she heard a cheerfully crackling fire. The walls were lined with tapestries that looked too worn for the queen’s castle; the edging on each one was frayed and the colors dull. Bethany forced herself to try to sit up, as much as she wanted to stay under the warm blanket.

  Initially, the effort seemed to be going well, until it caused the flesh on her back to stretch. She let out a whimper and collapsed back onto the pillow. The noise she made was enough to rouse the person sitting next to the fire. In the brief second that she could see him, she thought she saw a jagged scar running down the side of his face. The knight? Sure enough, Sir Caldry came into her line of sight.

  “You’re awake.”

  She flinched as he reached down to remove the rag and feel her head.

  “Looks like the fever’s broken,” he added as she heard the rag plop into the bucket of water stationed near the bed.

  “Where I am?” she asked.

  “My room,” he stated as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

  Bethany felt her brows furrow. She tried to scoot over to keep him from touching her leg, but the effort left her shaking and breathless.

  “The prince had me bring you here to recover in secrecy. It seems he’s quite fond of you.”

  She knew what he was referring to—Féderic’s offer to take her as his mistress. He stopped talking as he took in her expression. She knew what it must have looked like; offended and disgusted.

  “Whatever may be your choice in that matter, it’s time to put your healing skills to the ultimate test.”

  He paused again, for which she was grateful. Her ability to process his words was not at its best.

  “We got all the maggots out after we pulled you out of the pits. Do you remember that?”

  Bethany thought about it for a moment before shaking her head carefully. She felt a dull ache begin to form behind her eyes.

  “Okay. Well, you were severely whipped before being thrown in the pit, and the deep cuts have become infected. I don’t know what to do, and we can’t exactly get herbs… you know, for a slave.”

  Bethany nodded. She understood the dilemma, even if her mind was muddled with the remains of her fever. “Do you have any mirrors?”

  The knight frowned for a moment, the movement pulling on his scar. Suddenly his eyes lit up as he grasped her idea. “I do, but first, you eat.”

  He slipped his hands under her arms and hoisted her up into a sitting position before tucking a couple pillows behind her. It hurt when he bumped her damaged back, and she found herself leaning against his outstretched arm as she caught her breath. To her surprise and discomfort, he was very gentle.

  Finally, when she was breathing normally again, he placed a bowl of rich soup on her lap. While she ate greedily, he pulled a large mirror out of a wardrobe and laid it on the floor next to the bed, before fishing out a smaller mirror from a drawer. Once she had finished the soup, he helped her role onto her stomach. It reminded her of helping Féderic to sit up. She wanted to curse, just like him, but clamped her mouth shut instead. Her mother would never condone her cursing.

  Bethany used the mirrors to examine her back, after he removed the soiled bandages. Sure enough, her shredded flesh was oozing greenish-yellow puss and giving off a foul odor.

  “Well?” asked the knight in an impatient voice.

  “I need you to clean the wounds again and leave them open tonight. You say we can’t get any herbs?”

  “That depends on how helpful the prince decides to be… on how attached he is to you.”

  Bethany grimaced. She knew what that meant, too. Their getting herbs depended on how well she could attach the prince to her; in other words, how well she could seduce him from her sick bed. The problem was she didn’t know how to seduce anyone, much less while emaciated and running a fever. She forced herself to turn the grimace into a nod.

  The knight began to clean the abrasions, but the feeling of the rough cloth against her open wounds was too much for her. She screamed. Sir Caldry quickly clamped a damp hand over her mouth. They both
froze, listening intently for any sound in the hallway. Nothing came.

  “I’m going to have to dose you,” he said.

  Before she could ask what he meant, he went to his large wardrobe and pulled out a bottle much like the one they used with Féderic.

  “I can’t drink that,” she said, her voice muffled in the blankets, just as Féderic’s had been.

  She strained to lift her head enough to glare at the man and his bottle. The knight hesitated.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t get drunk.”

  “Oh, child, you’re going to be so far beyond drunk.”

  Bethany tried to shake her head, but it didn’t work well when it was hanging over the edge of the bed. “I can’t.”

  “What? Tokës don’t get drunk?”

  “Not ladies. I mean… I don’t…”

  She could see the knight’s face frowning down at her.

  “How ‘bout just enough to take the edge off. I won’t get you drunk. I promise.”

  Bethany stared at him for a moment before giving a small nod. He helped her rise up onto her forearms, an effort that left her panting, and poured a small portion of the liquor into her mouth. She gagged and sputtered as the stuff burned her throat. He put the bottle to her lips again, but she tried to pull away.

  “Just one more sip. It will help you not be in so much pain,” he said.

  His eyes drifted to her cheeks. She suddenly noticed hot tears rolling down her face. She nodded and took another swig of the nasty stuff. As she relaxed back onto the bed, she felt a warm sensation spread through her body and into her toes.

  Even with the liquor’s help, the cleaning was extremely painful. By the end, she was covered in sweat and shaking. She left a wet mark on the soft mattress where she had bitten down to keep from screaming. Sir Caldry left her to recover her wits. A short time later, she was fast asleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Bethany spent most of the day alone, lying on her stomach and fighting boredom. Sir Caldry had brought her some bread from his breakfast that he had smuggled away from the great hall. Bethany struggled to eat the coarse bread while lying on her stomach. The knight immediately left, unable to stay and keep her company. After all, it would be noticed if he suddenly started staying in his room all day.