“’Tis too soon to say how well he will recover.”
“And my son?”
“He has youth on his side. He was also not as badly injured.”
Glyda sank down on a stool by the bed, looking defeated. Rhosyn’s heart went out to her. The woman, who had been so sly and condescending to her earlier, had now had her whole life turned upside down. She might lose her husband or her son or both. Not to mention, the family’s livelihood depended on the mill being rebuilt and the miller being able to work it.
“I will return in a few hours.” Rhosyn nodded to Glyda’s daughters, Amara and her younger sister, Elva. “See that your mother eats something. And try to find some mead.”
“Where?” Amara’s expression was tight and resentful.
“Ask your neighbors. Talk to Maida, who looks after the hives. Simon the brewer might have some.”
“Why can’t you do it? Isn’t that part of your duties as healer?”
Irritation at Amara’s selfishness made her snap. “I don’t have time right now. Lord Fitzhugh is waiting to speak to me.”
“What does Lord Fitzhugh want with you?”
“I don’t know. Mayhaps one of his knights was injured in the blaze.”
Amara raised her eyebrows and Rhosyn felt a twinge of warning. Glyda had probably told her daughters about her suspicions there was something between Rhosyn and Lord Fitzhugh. That was all she needed, to be the object of the girl’s jealousy. If only Amara and the rest of the villagers realized how little she desired Fitzhugh’s attentions. She didn’t want to speak to Fitzhugh, but she couldn’t refuse. He was the lord.
She left the cottage and found Fitzhugh waiting outside. As if he had nothing better to do than to bother her.
“How fare they?” he asked.
“I gave them poppy. They will sleep for a time.’
“Nay, I mean, will they recover?”
He sounded genuinely concerned. No doubt he was worried who would grind the grain for the castle household.
“’Tis hard to say.”
“Apparently, the fire was set by Welsh raiders.”
She shrugged.
“Is that something your people would do? Set fire to a mill?”
“I’m not a warrior. I know naught of battle strategies.”
“Of course.” His expression softened. “Is there anything I can do to hasten the miller’s recovery? Anything you require to treat him?”
“I could use some mead or wine to mix with the poppy juice. And more bandages.”
“I’ll have those things brought to you. Will you be at your cottage? Or here?”
“While the miller and his son sleep, there is naught I can do. The true danger will come in a few days. Then we will know if their wounds have become poisoned or if they have begun to heal.”
“Are you going to your cottage now?”
Was this an excuse to get her alone? “I must make more healing salve.”
He didn’t respond. The silence grew uncomfortable. She wished she knew what was in his mind. “Is there anything else, milord?”
“Your cottage is set away from the other houses. It could be a target if there is another raid. And all those dried plants…’twould burn easily.”
Was he truly concerned for her well-being? “I can’t abandon my home. All my medicines and herbs are there.”
“Mayhaps I should send a knight to keep watch in the area.”
“Whatever you think you should do, milord.” That was all she needed. An English knight lurking around. Although if Fitzhugh himself were to guard her house himself, her discomfort would be of another kind. She would constantly be torn between her body’s reaction to his and her reason and sense telling her to avoid him.
He gave a slight nod. “I will set a guard there at night, when the risk of attack is greatest.”
“Do you think the raiders will return, milord?”
“I’ve been told there hasn’t been a raid or attack by the Welsh for years. That they do so now likely means they want to test me, the new lord of Higham. I failed to guard my people this time. I have little doubt they will try again. I must be ready.”
My people. The idea that he owned them made her bristle. But he sounded not only possessive but protective. As if he truly cared what happened to them. Of course he did. The wealth and prosperity of the castle depended on the villeins and sokemen in the village.
His blue eyes ensnared her. “You’re Welsh. I thought you might know something of the politics of the attackers. Do you have any idea who leads them? I would like to know who I’m facing.”
“I know naught about these raiders. They likely come from the mountains west of here, and I am from along the coast.”
“Cardiff, you said.”
“Aye.”
“Do you have any contact with anyone in your homeland?”
“Not recently.” She was growing exasperated by his questions.
“You said your uncle was a chieftain there. Where is his fortress?”
“At Caer Maes-Llyn.
“Where is it located?”
“West and north, about three or four days away.”
“On horseback?”
“Aye. I came here in a cart, in order to transport my possessions, so it took longer.” Such as they were. She’d had to leave many of her and her mother’s things behind.
“I thank you for what information you have given me. As I said, I will have my men patrol the area around your cottage. Fare you well, Healer Rhosyn.” He inclined his head politely and strode off.
*
William felt the weariness wash over him as he went to fetch Trueheart. He needed to rest. But there was so much to do. Once mounted, he rode through the village and past the smoking ruins of the mill. A few villagers were clearing the debris away. It was a filthy, arduous task.
He rode to the castle. After leaving Trueheart with his squire, he sought out Urith in the stables. The blacksmith was trimming the hooves of one of the knight’s horses. William gestured he should continue. When Urith was finished, he straightened and brushed off his hands. “How may I serve you, milord?”
“You’ve been here at Higham for how long?”
“Twenty years, milord. Before Lord Robert, I served his father.”
“I am surprised you didn’t go with Roscales when he left.”
“Lord Robert was an altogether different sort of man than his father. I have no allegiance to him.”
“How were the two men different?”
Urith gave a William a searching look. Despite his receding white hair and weathered face, the blacksmith’s gray eyes were keen. Finally, he spoke. “The elder Roscales wasn’t petty and cruel. He didn’t treat his men, or his even his servants, with disdain.”
Meaning that Lord Robert had. “You have heard about the raid and the fire?”
“’Twas hard not to smell the reek of smoke on the men as they returned to the castle.”
“The villagers say it was the Welsh.”
“That’s likely true.”
William leaned against the side of the stall. He was so weary that even standing was a challenge. “But why should they raid now? From what I’ve been told, it’s been years since they attacked Higham.”
Ulric cocked a gray brow. “Roscales the Elder, Lord Walter, he made an alliance with Ifan ap Emrys, a Welsh chieftain to the west. Mayhaps when Roscales the Younger left here, he went to Ifan and asked for his help getting Higham back.”
“But that is witless. The king would never tolerate Roscales ignoring his decree. Besides, raids, even frequent, damaging ones, aren’t going cause me to hand over the castle to Roscales, or to any man.”
“But raids might weaken your resolve. They will also make the castle more vulnerable to attack.”
“You think they eventually plan a direct assault on the castle?”
“’Tis possible, isn’t it?”
He’d always felt that taking control of Higham had been far too easy. It
seemed as if his instincts had been right.
“Do you know what chieftain controls the area to the west?”
“As I said, it used to be Ifan ap Emrys. But he would be too old to lead raids. One of his sons or maybe a nephew is likely chieftain now. Their stronghold is at Coed Bran.”
“How far away?”
“Two days walking.”
“And riding?”
“Perhaps one.”
Far enough away that it took some effort to reach Higham. Which meant the raiders might still be nearby, waiting for another opportunity to inflict damage. He would need to have his men patrol the area around the village every night wearing full armor. Arrows could generally not pierce mail, except if shot at very close range.
William sighed in frustration. “But what’s in it for Ifan ap Emrys?” Cursed Welsh names! They were such tongue-twisters. “Why should he aid Roscales?”
“Perhaps Roscales the Younger will have promised him some reward. As you’re well aware, he stripped the castle before he left. He may have agreed to share some of the wealth he stole with Prince Ifan. Or, perhaps Roscales agreed to have his knights aid Ifan in fighting one of his rival chieftains.”
“How do you know all this? I spoke to numerous people when I arrived, and none of them mentioned any of this.”
“Why should they? As you said, there’s been no trouble with the Welsh for years.”
“But you clearly understand these things.”
Urith shrugged. “My mother was Welsh. I know all about Welsh politics and the tangled connections involved.”
“Are there other people at Higham of Welsh descent?”
“Elidon the cook is Welsh. So is the youth who helps me, Wilfric, and one of the kitchen wenches.”
“But none of them have Welsh names.”
“Their parents likely thought it was wiser to give them English names, as mine did. When your heritage is one that the people you live among are wary of, you do your best to keep quiet about it.”
“Are any of the villagers Welsh?”
“Nay. They tend to marry among their own.”
William smiled at the blacksmith. “You are sharp-witted, Ulrith, and observant. I thank you for all the information you have provided.”
The older man, who was becoming rather stooped, stood up taller. “You are welcome, milord. I am pleased you sought fit to ask my opinion. Lord Robert would never have done so.”
“I am new here, Ulrith, and still finding my way. It seems prudent to seek out information from anyone who might have it.”
He wanted to say seek out information from my elders. But the thought of what his father would think held him back. As it was, his father would have disapproved of this open exchange with a lowly blacksmith. Saying something to man about being his elder, which implied they were social equals, would have appalled his sire.
Maybe it was a mistake to trust this man. He couldn’t be certain of Ulrith’s true loyalties. The blacksmith might have so much information about his mother’s homeland because he still had strong connections there. His instincts told him Ulrith sincerely wanted to help him, but what if his instincts were wrong?
He certainly could not decide now, when he was so fatigued he could hardly focus. And there were still things he had to do before seeking his rest. Although it was almost morning, he needed to at least lie down for a time.
His next stop was the barracks. A few of his knights were gathered in the main room. He could hear snoring so the others must be asleep in the loft.
Adam got to his feet. “Milord.” The other knights also rose. William motioned for them to be seated again. He slumped down on one of the benches beside Ralf.
“There’s ale.” Ralf passed him a jug. William took a big swallow and then another. The bitter brew heartened him. He had not realized how thirsty he was, or how hungry. When he was finished here he would go to the kitchen and get a loaf or some pottage before seeking his bed.
He discussed sending out regular patrols. How often, how many men should go on each one and the route they could take. Even as he was doing this, he suddenly realized Robert and the other knights he’d sent to check on the herds weren’t back yet. “I sent Robert, Anselm, Baldwin and Henry to check on the herds. It appears they haven’t come back.”
The men all shook their heads. “We’ve no sign of them, milord,” Ralf said.
William told himself not to worry. The lands attached to Higham were extensive. They would likely be back soon.
He took another gulp of ale and then rose. “When they return, come and find me. I will be in my bedchamber after I’ve eaten.” He glanced around. “Have you all broken your fast?”
“Yea, we have.” Stephen grimaced. “Pottage again. I will be happy when it’s butchering time and we have some fresh meat.”
Then they would have meat. Lots of it, since they needed to cull the herd more than usual. But the bounty would only last for a short time unless he could find a way to get salt.
He left the barracks and started to the hall. On the way he encountered a fair-haired female servant named Esme. “Please fetch me some food and bring it to the hall.”
“Do you want ale, too, milord?”
“Nay. But water would be welcome.” The little ale he’d had in the barracks had immediately gone to his head. He didn’t want to imbibe enough that he ended up being unsteady on the stairs.
In the hall, he seated himself at one of the trestle tables. The servant had just brought him a bowl of pottage and some bread when Adam came running in. “Milord, the men are back. But Henry was killed and Anselm is injured.”
“Blessed Jesu. Was it the Welsh?”
“Yea, milord. They were ambushed on their way back. Henry took an arrow in the neck. There was nothing they could do.”
“And Anselm?”
“They’d set up some sort of snare. He rode right into it, fell off his horse and broke his leg.”
“They had a trap set up? I wonder how long they’ve been in the area.”
“Hard to know.”
William stood, his fatigue forgotten. “Has someone gone to fetch the healer?”
“Anselm doesn’t want her because she’s Welsh. He asked Baldwin to get Father Kennet.”
“The priest is far more likely to harm Anselm than the healer is.”
William followed Adam out into the yard. Henry’s body was tied to his horse, his limbs hanging down. Baldwin and Stephen had a moaning Anselm hefted between them and were carrying him towards the chapel.
“Nay!” William called. “Bring him into the hall.” To Adam he said, “Go to Elidon and have him bring some wine up from the souterrain. And hurry.”
“What about Henry?” Baldwin jerked his head to the still form draped over the horse.
“After you get Anselm to the hall, take Henry to the chapel. I’m going to the village to fetch the healer.”
William ran to where the ostler was leading Anselm’s and Henry’s mounts across the yard.
“I need a horse. Which animal is faster?”
“Lancelot is.” The ostler held out the reins to the black gelding.
William took the reins and vaulted onto the destrier. In seconds, he was on his way out the gate.
He took his time riding down the trackway. No sense risking a fall in his hurry to get help. But once he reached level ground, he gave the animal its head.
On a hunch he rode to the tanner’s house. He called out for the healer as soon as he drew near. “Healer Rhosyn, you are needed!”
She came out the door and her eyes went wide at the sight of him. “Milord?”
“Do you have the poppy juice with you?”
“I’ll go and get it.”
He didn’t bother dismounting. As soon as she came out with her basket, he leaned down and held out his hand. She took it and he hauled her up behind him.
She grasped his waist tightly “What’s happened?”
“My men were attacked. Henry is dead and Anselm
has a broken leg.”
“How bad? Is the bone sticking out?”
“Nay. But I need to get you back there before they fetch the fool priest and he makes things worse.” He wheeled the animal around.
Chapter Ten
With the basket over her arm, Rhosyn pressed herself against Fitzhugh, clinging to his waist. She hadn’t ridden pillion in years, and never on a warhorse. The massive animal’s muscles bunched and tightened beneath her as they flew over the ground. The sheer power of the creature amazed her.
The man she was holding on to was also formidable. She could feel Fitzhugh’s rock hard muscles even through his mail. It was like holding on to a tree, so solid and strong he was. She’d never been this close to him, even when they were struggling in her cottage. And then she’d been terrified. Now, despite the urgency of the situation, she found herself savoring the sensation of having his big male body so near to hers.
She forced herself to focus on the task ahead. First, she would give the man some poppy to make him insensible. Then she would align the bones and wrap his leg so they would stay in place. But what if the bone, or bones, hadn’t broken cleanly? What if they wouldn’t align? What if the man’s leg was so swollen there was no way to feel the bones? What if she did everything right and the bones wouldn’t heal? Or the man’s leg healed crookedly and he never walked properly again?
Nay, she could not think about all the things that could go awry. She must appear confident and certain of what she was doing. Closing her eyes, she sought to take deep even breaths and calm herself.
As she relaxed she grew even more keenly aware of how close she was to Fitzhugh. She reminded herself she wanted nothing to do with this man. He was the enemy and everything she despised. It didn’t matter. Her body still felt warm and tingly. Nothing had prepared her for this strange circumstance. She longed for this man, who should be her enemy. She wanted him to hold her, to touch her, to kiss her. The realization shocked her to her core.
She wished there was a way put some distance between them. But if she did not hang on tightly, she would fall.
They started up the trackway to the castle and thundered through the gate. Fitzhugh pulled the animal to a halt and handed off the reins to the waiting knight. She let go and he slid off the horse, then reached up and helped her down. For a brief moment, their eyes met. The look he gave her was warm and reassuring. Don’t worry. You can do this. I believe in you.
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