Bethany smiled. “Okay then. We’ll do that a little later,” said Bethany as she spotted the servant returning with the soup.
Sevar reached out for it, but Bethany snatched it away before the child could get ahold of the bowl.
“I’m going to add some things to the soup to make you feel better. They’re special medicines, but you won’t taste them okay?”
Bethany poured a large portion of spirits into the soup, cringing at the thought of getting a child drunk, but it was better than Sevar feeling the pain of having two toes amputated. She then added the herbs left to her and handed the soup back to the child.
Sevar stared at it suspiciously and tried to push it away.
“It’s not poisoned,” chuckled Bethany.
Sevar squinted up at her.
Bethany let out a sigh before taking up the spoon and pouring a large spoonful into her own mouth. She would feel a little drowsy, but one spoonful would not be enough to hamper her abilities. Bethany forced herself not to cringe with the burn of the alcohol running down her throat. Her chest immediately began to warm.
Sevar stared at her for another moment before snatching the bowl back and digging into the soup. She didn’t seem to notice the burn of the alcohol as she focused on eating as quickly as possible. Just as Sevar was finishing her soup, Pharem appeared.
“Healer Jin tells me there is an issue here,” Pharem said as he stared down at Sevar, his eyes quickly noticing her ruined toes.
Bethany held a single finger to her lips before deftly lifting the bowl out of Sevar’s limp fingers. The child had begun to droop with the last few spoonfuls. Now she lounged back against the pile of hay, her eyes closing despite her best efforts. Her obvious exhaustion was making it even harder for her to fight the effects of the alcohol and herbs. When her eyes completely closed, Bethany glanced up at Pharem with a smile. She climbed to her feet so that she could talk to them at eye level.
“Healer Jin here seems to have forgotten what ‘bedside manner’ is. I suggest you give him a refresher on how to handle a frightened child who is about to lose two toes.”
“I don’t have time for hand holding,” growled Jin.
“Then you don’t have time to be a healer,” said Bethany, still keeping her voice soft. “I had Jin leave a few items behind so that I could get Sevar, here, to sleep. Now I suggest we deal with her toes before the effects wear off.”
“What do you know about healing?” demanded Jin.
“You must be new to Dothan.”
Pharem smiled, enjoying their heated debate.
“Noble women in Dothan learn as much as we can about healing, and during my journey home from Tolad I learned even more out of sheer necessity, but since you clearly have much still to learn, I suggest you see to the scrapes and bruises. Pharem and I can deal with this.”
Jin turned to Pharem, waiting for the older healer to disagree.
“I think Princess Bethany has the right idea. We’ll deal with this.”
A few of the women sitting in the nearby piles of hay agreed to hold Sevar down in case she woke during the operation. It was a long, stressful couple of minutes as they carefully cut away two of her toes. When it was all over, they wrapped her feet in fresh bandages and rested them on a pillow, well above Sevar’s heart.
By the time the healers had seen to each patient, the food had been exhausted, and the blankets had been distributed, the sun was well beyond the horizon.
Bethany settled down on the straw pile next to the sleeping Sevar and drifted off.
Chapter Ten
Bethany woke to a little head shifting onto her shoulder. She glanced down to see Sevar’s matted hair on her shoulder. A smile spread across her face. Despite Sevar’s lack of speech, Bethany found herself liking the scrawny child. Bethany wrapped her arm around Sevar and adjusted their blanket. No one else was stirring yet, so Bethany allowed herself to drift back to sleep.
When she woke again, the refugees were in the beginnings of morning routines. A few were slipping out to the special pits dug for their necessities. Others were calming crying children while a few women nursed their babies. Servants were appearing with loaves of fresh bread and cheese. Bethany chewed on her lip, concerned her brother would rage against the amount these mouths were costing him.
Before she could make herself sit up and disturb Sevar, a shadow crossed her face. Bethany turned to see Erin squatting down next to where she lay, a smile tugging on his lips.
“I see you found a better camping companion than myself,” he whispered.
“Sssshhh,” she hissed glancing around. No one but Sevar was within hearing.
“I thought the child was mute.”
Bethany looked down, noticing that Sevar was awake and listening intently to their conversation.
“Doesn’t mean she won’t speak someday,” Bethany said brightly, trying to sound encouraging to the young child.
“I hope so, too,” Erin agreed, smiling down at Sevar. Evidently, he had picked up Bethany’s hint.
Bethany watched Sevar stare at Erin’s scars. Slowly, the little girl pushed herself up into a sitting position, careful not to bump her injured foot. Once in a sitting position, Sevar reached out and began to trace the lines of Erin’s scars. Even after all their months together, Bethany still didn’t know how he had gotten the scars on his face. To her surprise, Erin held perfectly still and allowed the little girl to examine his old wounds. The little fingers trailed down to where the scars disappeared under his tunic.
Erin reached out and wiped away the tears that had just begun to spill over Sevar’s eyelids. “They’re very old. They don’t hurt anymore.”
Bethany swallowed, suddenly realizing her eyes were wet too. Without thinking, she reached out and took Erin’s free hand, giving his fingers a squeeze.
She glanced up, absently noticing a man walking toward them. She had turned her gaze on Erin when she heard Sevar let out a cry of surprise. Bethany looked up just as a body fell across her, pinning her to the pile of hay. She felt something sharp biting into her stomach. Bethany grunted as she worked to get her knees up between herself and her attacker, her feet tangling within the skirting of her dress.
Suddenly the weight was removed from her. Bethany looked up to see Erin holding the man, his dagger at the man’s throat. Much too late to be of help, the guards came running. They took the man from Erin’s grasp. Erin immediately dropped to Bethany’s side, pressing the cloth Bethany had used on Sevar to the cut across her stomach.
“What the devil is going on?” demanded Gilead from the door, barely dressed enough to be decent.
“That man attacked the princess,” announced Erin.
“Sir Caldry saved me,” Bethany said through clenched teeth in an effort to put Erin into her brother’s good graces.
“She wounded?” asked the king as he stormed across the great hall.
“It’s minor, Gilead. A stitch or two and I’ll be fine. Though I don’t know what would have happened if Erin hadn’t been here.”
“Where are the healers?”
“I’m here, my lord,” panted Pharem as he ran from the corner of the great hall where he had fallen asleep.
He lifted the rag to examine the cut.
“Yes, my lord. I agree with the princess. A few stitches is all that’s needed. She will be fine.”
“Good. Get that man in the stocks. Erin, go increase the guards. Pharem, get her sorted out. If you can, Bethany, I want you to join us in my office when the healer is finished.”
Bethany glanced over to the doorway where her mother stood looking nervously at her injured daughter. It was an hour before the healer would allow her to rise. She had refused the alcohol and herbs he had offered to put her to sleep, insisting that she had endured worse pain without aid. Much to Bethany’s relief, her mother had stayed out of the argument.
When she was finally allowed to carefully climb to her feet, her mother offered her arm to Bethany and escorted her to the king�
�s office. Bethany felt weak from the pain of the four stitches she had received but felt equally determined not to show it. After all, the numerous wounds she had received during the last year had been much worse.
Her mother kept silent as they walked, even when Bethany winced at a rough step. The guards, recently placed outside her brother’s office, opened the door for them. Inside the generously proportioned room sat the king, two or three of his advisors, and the captain of the castle guards. Erin stood in a distant corner, trying his best to disappear into the stonework.
“Ah, Bethany,” announced her brother as they entered.
The men quickly shifted to give the women their own seats. Bethany tried not to wince as she lowered herself into the chair, but failed.
“Are you all right?” asked Gilead, watching her every move.
Bethany forced a smile to her face. “Yes. I’ve had much worse, Brother.”
Gilead suddenly averted his gaze away from her face. Bethany realized her family did not like to be reminded of the injuries she had taken while out of their protection.
“Now,” sighed Gilead. “We have interrogated the man who attacked you. It seems some rumors have started about you being in league with Wolfric. Though most don’t believe it, and we intend to swiftly squash these rumors, it does seem that your life is in danger. I wanted to give you a bodyguard, but I’m concerned what the effect it will have on your ability to attract a suitor.”
“What about Wolfric’s offer?” Bethany forced herself to ask.
Gilead waved his hand. “I’ve given up on that notion. Had another talk with Sir Caldry. Already sent Wolfric my refusal. If the timing had been different I would have thought the attack on Savra was his retaliation…”
Bethany nearly wilted in her seat. Only the knowledge that her new cut would have been pulled by the movement kept her upright in her chair. Gilead’s next couple of comments washed over her as she reveled in the knowledge that she would not be sent back to the torturous world she had once known. The relief was almost physical, as though a weight had been lifted from her weary shoulders.
“Now,” said Gilead, drawing Bethany back, “we must decide how to keep Bethany safe.”
“Perhaps,” began Bethany, keeping her voice as meek as she could manage. “Perhaps Sir Caldry could be my bodyguard. He has saved me once already, and besides, no suitor would see him as a threat.”
Bethany tried to hide her grimace. She would have to apologize to him later for the allusion to his scars.
Gilead stared at Erin for a moment, before nodding. “Yes. A wonderful idea Bethany. Unless you are in your own chambers, which will be under guard around the clock, Sir Caldry is to be at your side.”
Bethany nodded. Normally she would have resisted the idea of a bodyguard, being perfectly capable of defending herself—when not hampered by a dress, she amended—but having Erin as her bodyguard gave her exactly what she had been wanting: time alone with him.
Sadly, it would still be days before she could talk with him in depth. Despite her wound, her time was spent dealing with the refugees.
Once again Pelor sat beside Princess Mirabelle, smiling at her whenever she spoke to him. Though he found her irritating, he knew she was his path to further power. If somehow he could get Wolfric to give her to him as his wife—Pelor shuddered at the thought—he would become a member of the royal family. His position would be secure. No matter what mistakes he made, he would not be banished as he had been from Dothan.
The difficulty in seducing a royal daughter was not getting beheaded in the process. If he was caught touching her he would be marched straight to the gallows. He had to make her tell her father outright that she wanted Pelor. He had to make her want him enough to brave her father’s disapproval. He had to make her pursue him.
Granted, as her age continued to increase, the king might be happy to marry her off to a penniless knight.
Mirabelle said something, her voice passing over his ears. Pelor forced himself to smile and nod as though he had heard her. The next thing he knew the princess had risen to her feet and looked down at him as though she were waiting for him.
What did I just agree to? he wondered as he pushed himself to his feet.
Mirabelle slipped her fingers into the crook of his arm without his invitation and guided him out of the great hall. He glanced over his shoulder to see if their exit had been noticed by the other members of the royal family. Wolfric was nowhere to be seen. The nursery maid was holding the youngest of the queen’s offspring. The small child had been sick for at least two weeks now. Pelor caught the queen’s eye as she watched them walk away. To his astonishment, the queen gave him a little smile before carefully turning her head so as not to see which direction they were heading.
The princess lead them out of the great hall, across the bailey, and up the stairs that connected the battlements with the lower levels. A few guards noticed them approaching and became suddenly very busy looking out over the land. Pelor felt a blush creeping into his cheeks. He wasn’t embarrassed for being seen with a woman, but rather embarrassed to be seen with this woman. He didn’t want the other men to think he was chasing after her skirts, even though he was. He wanted them to know that in different circumstances he would have better taste than Mirabelle.
They walked to an abandoned corner of battlements and looked out over the sight of Tolad in the early spring. The city was alive with movement. From where they stood the ever shifting mobs of people working their way through the street looked like a many-colored river. The distance from them to the closest citizens was so great they couldn’t hear the cries of the venders or the shouts of mothers whose children had run off.
Pelor felt detached from the strange city as he watched it ebb and flow around the stationary buildings. He wanted to be down in the mob. He wanted to smell the food and sweat, to feel the bodies pressing against him as they all battled to make it to their destination. He wanted to be doing anything other than stand beside an annoying woman on a battlement.
The knight glanced over at his companion. Instead of imagining himself elsewhere, he decided to imagine her differently. Since Pelor had arrived in Tolad nearly three weeks ago, Mirabelle had put on yet more weight. In his mind he slimmed her down until he could easily get his arms around her waist. He darkened her hair until it was a dirty blond, rather than the near-white that accosted his eyes in the sun. He widened her mouth until he felt inclined to kiss it.
Suddenly Pelor realized what he was doing. He was turning Mirabelle into Bethany, the princess whose disappearance had ruined his life. Mirabelle smiled up at him when she noticed his scrutiny. He smiled back out of habit. Pelor felt Mirabelle’s fingers begin to play with the sleeve of his shirt. He allowed his body to turn toward her, but left her to initiate any more.
Just as he had hoped, she took a step forward, the tips of her large breasts grazing across his arm as she shifted. Despite his distaste for her as a person, he felt his need rise. He couldn’t think back to the last time he had been with a woman. Even Mirabelle was preferable to nothing.
With this realization, all of Pelor’s hesitation disappeared. He would take this annoying wench as a bride just as soon as Wolfric relented. Pelor looked down at Mirabelle, forcing his gaze on her as he had once looked at Bethany. She smiled up at him, her glowing cheeks widening with the expression.
The desperate princess took another half step until Pelor was staring down the neckline of her dress. She tilted her head up to better look at him, her eyes occasionally flicking to his lips. He knew what she wanted, but not how to give it to her. He couldn’t touch her properly until they had her father’s permission, and yet he doubted she would approach the king unless she felt certain Pelor wanted her.
Pelor casually rested his hand on her soft arm. This was encouragement enough for her to press herself fully against his chest.
“My lady,” he whispered, trying to make his voice sound desperate; to his ears he just sounded annoyed.
“I think we are beyond pretenses, Pelor,” she said, using his given name.
As the superior in rank, she was allowed to initiate such intimacy, but as the man it was expected for him to commence with any sexuality.
“I suppose you’re right. But that doesn’t change things. You’re a princess. As much as I might want to,” he said, gaging out the lie, “I can’t act… upon…”
Pelor tilted his head down further, hoping she would do what he could not. The eager princess complied, pushing her bulk up onto her toes and awkwardly pressing her lips against his. She nearly missed, covering his scruffy upper lip with her mouth. He wrapped his arm halfway around her waist, adjusted her aim, and kissed her properly.
Despite the woman in question, Pelor felt a little smile pull on his lips as she squeaked with pleasant surprise as he pushed his tongue into her mouth. To his astonishment, she was eager to please. Before he knew what was happening, she had pushed him against one of the wall’s merlons, leaning her weight against him. Her fingers quickly found the edge of his pants and began to pull at his tunic as though to undress him.
Pelor cleared his throat as he freed his lips from hers and extricated his limbs.
“Mirabelle,” he gasped as her fingers dipped into his pants and found what she had been looking for. “This is hardly private!”
Even in the dim light he noticed a deep blush darken her cheeks as she glanced around. The guards had kept their distance, but Pelor suspected they hadn’t missed much of the princess’ display.
She giggled. “Oops. I suppose we shall have to find somewhere better next time.”
“Mirabelle, I want to. I think you can feel how much I want to,”—and he wasn’t lying for once—“but you are a princess. If I do anything to compromise you, your father will have me beheaded. Is that what you really want?” he asked as he quickly tied up his trousers.
The princess took a step back to better look at him.
“How badly do you want me?” she asked in a very matter-of-fact voice.
The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy Page 67
