She wasn’t even awake yet this morning as she coughed and sputtered. She was sleeping right through it, that heavy sleep that the sick sometimes have. Cullen had stood over her, watching her, before turning Phaethon free to graze in the area. The horse would never run off, so he was comfortable letting the animal feed on all of the wet, green grass that was growing wild nearby. As the horse wandered off, chomping on its morning meal, Cullen went back to standing over a very sick old woman and feeling increasingly concerned by what he was seeing. He knew he’d never forgive himself if she died, which meant he had to do something, and do it quickly.
As Regal sputtered and rasped, Cullen mulled over his options. He couldn’t seek a physic at any of the larger cities and was afraid to hunt for one in the smaller villages, mostly because the physics from the smaller villages could be incompetent. The better physics would seek out the opportunity for better money where there were more people. That wasn’t always the case, however, but that had been Cullen’s experience in such matters – the incompetent stayed to the smaller towns. He’d hardly needed a physic in his adult life so he honestly didn’t have too much experience with them, but as he listened to Regal struggle to breathe, he knew that was exactly what he was going to have to do –
Find a physic.
Or, at least find help for her because he could do absolutely nothing for a sick old woman and the thought of losing her to an illness, frankly, terrified him. But going into a town, any town, would greatly risk his life if any of the king’s men were around. He’d be no help to a sick old woman if he himself was injured, or worse. But it began to occur to him that there were those living in the forest who might be able to help the old woman. People hiding from the law of England had to fend for themselves and often made do with cures from the forest itself. It wasn’t as if they could go to town and find exotic potions from exotic lands. Therefore, it stood to reason that they would have something to help a sick old woman.
Cullen had to take that chance.
Quickly, he collected Phaethon, who was unhappy that he was pulled from a particularly juicy bit of grass. The horse was saddled and prepared, and Cullen picked up Regal, who was trembling with chill and fever. He wrapped her up tightly in the cloak and, leading the horse, carried her into the woods.
Of course, he had no real idea where the outlaw and his eager band of men were located. All he knew was that they’d come into this forest, and the leader had called himself the Lord of Blackthorn Forest, so all Cullen could do was keep walking and hope he ran into them.
But it was far from a simple process.
Blackthorn Forest was thick and dense, with heavy blocks of foliage that Cullen had to either plow through or walk around. It was very wet, and very cold, and in his arms, Regal continued to cough and tremble. Cullen couldn’t tell if she was getting worse, but he thought so.
He had to move faster.
His acute senses were mostly relying on smell at this point; human habitation had a certain smell, that of smoke and of the rank smell of human waste. If there was an encampment in the forest, he would find it based on his sense of smell. When he came across a rather large stream deep into his foray, he followed it. Humans also needed water, so it made sense to stick close to the only main water source he’d come across.
Deeper and deeper he went.
Because the canopy overhead was so heavy, it was somewhat difficult to tell the time, but he knew he’d been traveling for most of the morning. Every so often, he’d see a bright ray of sunshine penetrating the trees, casting a beam of light onto the cold and miserable ground. It was the only bright spot in an otherwise dark and dank forest, something that became more eerie the further into it he traveled.
It was a dingy and mysterious place.
After a few hours of walking, Cullen came to a halt to water the horse and let him eat some of the greenery growing along the stream bank. He, too, needed to at least rest a few moments from carrying the old woman, so he lowered her onto a patch of moderately dry dirt and sat down beside her. He watched the horse rip up the grass a few feet away, trying not to feel despondent, but it was difficult. He’d already failed so badly with Teodora and now Regal was very ill. He wasn’t sure if he could handle a second death on his hands and being unable to prevent it.
Despair swept him.
For a moment, he leaned forward, his head in his hands, saying a prayer to a God who had never particularly listened to him. He asked God to spare the old woman and to give him a second chance at helping a de Rivington woman. With Teodora gone, Regal was all he had left.
He simply couldn’t let her go without a fight.
“Where are we going?”
It was a croaking voice that pierced the stillness of the forest and Cullen lifted his head, looking over at Regal, who was now awake. It was such a simple question but, unfortunately, he didn’t have a simple answer. God, he felt like such a failure.
“I am trying to find some help for you,” he said. “In case you do not realize it, you are quite ill.”
Regal coughed, a nasty sound. “I am not a fool,” she said. “I realize it. I would wager to say that you are very sorry to have brought this old crone with you, eh?”
Cullen could see that her sense of humor was still intact. “I was sorry before you became ill,” he said, just to tease her. “Your illness has nothing to do with my regret.”
Regal grinned, showing her badly yellowed teeth. “I will try not to die,” she said. “But no promises.”
Cullen lost all of his humor in that instant. He sighed heavily, gazing off into the trees. “I can build a fire and warm some water for you,” he said. “You would be able to drink the hot water for your throat. My mother used to do that for us, but she would add things like elder flower and mint. I wish I had some to give you, but I do not. But the hot water might help your cough.”
Regal lifted a hand, perhaps to wave him off of the trouble of building a fire, but she never got the chance to reply. An arrow suddenly landed between them, a well-placed projectile that had Cullen leaping to his feet. A second arrow hit closer to him and he froze, unwilling to move. He was certain that if he did, the third arrow might be meant for him.
Behind him, Phaethon startled at the sounds of the arrows, his big head lifting and grass hanging out of his mouth as men began to emerge from the trees and foliage, once again, as they had the night before. Cullen emitted a low whistle to the horse and it ran to him, nostrils flaring and alert. Cullen grabbed the reins to prevent the horse from going off on a tangent.
“I mean you no harm,” he said loudly to the men who were approaching him. “If you recognize my horse, then you know he is a killer. He’s a better warrior than all of you combined, so stay clear of him. I have come to ask for your help.”
A very big man with a bushy beard full of leaves approached him. He didn’t have any weapons in his hands, but with his size and girth, he didn’t need any. He was big, dirty, and clearly capable of whatever mayhem he chose to create. Cullen eyed him.
“My… grandmother is ill,” he said to the man. “I have come to ask the Lord of Blackthorn Forest for help. I dare not go to the towns, wanted as I am. Can you please help her?”
The man eyed him for a moment before looking to the old woman on the ground. He didn’t say anything for a moment because it was evident that he was trying to make sense of the situation. But then his gaze moved to the horse, a big charcoal-gray beast in the weak light, and recognition dawned.
“So this is the monster,” he said, inspecting the heavily-muscled horse from a safe distance. “I remember him from last eve, though I did not come too close. A magnificent creature. So it is you again, Knight. We told you to move on.”
Cullen was at least glad he’d found the same band of outlaws from the night before. Since the Blackthorn Forest was so large, it was quite possible there was more than one group. He had no way of knowing but, thankfully, he found the ones he already had a history with.
�
��I know you did, and I intended to,” Cullen said. “But my grandmother is very ill and I cannot take her into the nearest town. That would risk both me and her if the king’s men are looking for me. I beg you for assistance for her.”
The man had brown eyes that were sharp and beady, as if they missed nothing. His gaze lingered on Cullen for a moment before moving over to where Regal lay on the dirty cloak. He went over to her, bending over and peering at her.
“Well, Mother?” he demanded. “What ails you?”
Regal opened her eyes, showing him that she was completely blind with her milky eyes. “Too much to tell,” she said, gravelly and hoarse. “My sweetheart is frightened for me, so give me some drink to cure me if only to ease his fears.”
The big man stood up, frowning as he inspected the clearly sick old woman. Then he looked at Cullen.
“I thought you said she was not your wife?” he said.
The men around them began to chuckle again and Cullen shook his head, somewhat exasperated at what was quickly becoming a tiresome joke.
“She is not my wife,” he said.
“But she called you sweetheart.”
“She calls everyone sweetheart, even you. That does not make you her husband.”
The man with the dirty beard stared at him a moment before grinning, a smile that split his face in two with big, white teeth. “And so it does not,” he said. “But we have no physic. You would do better to take your risks in town.”
Cullen’s heart sank. “But surely you have a warm fire and some broth for her,” he said. “That is all I ask. She needs tending and I have no means to do it. Would you truly turn a sick old woman away?”
The man cocked a dark, bushy eyebrow. “I would turn my own mother away,” he said. But then he came to a halt, and a twinkle came to his eye. “But, of course, if you are willing to pay for such service…”
Cullen understood. “I will pay you two marks of gold.”
“And your horse.”
Cullen shook his head. “He will not obey anyone but me,” he said. “I cannot give him to you. He would only hurt you.”
The man with the dirty beard pretended to be thoughtful. “Two marks of gold and what else?”
“My broadsword.”
He said it without hesitation and that brought the dirty-bearded man to a halt, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Your weapon?” he said, incredulous. “I do not believe you. Let me see it.”
Cullen went to his saddle and unsheathed the blade, a magnificent piece of equipment that his father had given him, along with Phaethon, when he’d received his spurs. He looked at it a moment, that glorious weapon, before turning toward the dirty-bearded man and extending the blade, hilt-first.
“It is worth much more than you could steal for the next ten years,” he said quietly. “It was a gift from my father, whom I’ve not seen in two years. It was forged in Rouen and has garnets and pearls in the hilt because those are the color of my family’s standard. It means more to me than you will ever understand, but if you require it in order to help my grandmother, then I shall give it to you without reservation.”
The man with the dirty beard stared at him a moment before reaching out and taking the weapon, which was positively glorious. He peered very closely at the intricate hilt with the inlaid jewels before holding it out and inspecting the straight lines of the blade. After a moment, he nodded with satisfaction.
“Most impressive,” he said. “This old woman must mean a good deal to you if you are willing to give up such a fine piece of equipment.”
“Take the sheath with you. It is made for the blade and will protect it.”
With that, Cullen unstrapped the heavy leather sheath and tossed it at the man, who caught it deftly. His gaze moved between the sword and the sheath before finally nodding his head.
“Very well,” he said. “I will take you to Owen, but we will have to blindfold you. I cannot chance you finding your way back to us again once you have departed.”
Cullen wasn’t about to let them blindfold him. “I shall not come back once I have left, this I vow upon my oath,” he said. “But who is Owen?”
The man with the dirty beard grinned again, those great teeth gleaming. “The Lord of Blackthorn Forest,” he said. “He is known as Owen the Black. Have you not heard of him?”
Cullen shook his head. “I have not,” he said. Then, he cocked an eyebrow. “But I have a feeling you are going to tell me.”
The man with the dirty beard started to laugh, a great throaty sound. He lifted an arm to his band of well-camouflaged men, signaling them to start moving. As the group began to head back into the trees, the dirty-bearded man turned to Cullen.
“You wanted to find us, Knight,” he said. “Now you have.”
As Cullen went to scoop Regal up from the ground, he was coming to wonder if all of this wasn’t going to cost him a good deal more than simply his beloved sword.
He had a feeling he was going to find out.
It wasn’t just an encampment in the forest.
It was an entire village.
As they approached the perimeter of the settlement, bird cries went out in a cluster. Looking up into the trees, Cullen could see the sentries in the branches, making the bird calls and alerting the village that someone was approaching.
This deep into the forest, the area had been cleared out and the trees and rocks used to build homes, leaving a surprisingly open area in the midst of a dense forest. There were several cooking fires going at this hour, and people stopped to watch as their camouflaged men brought in a prisoner with a big-boned warhorse and carrying what looked to be a child. The incoming party was generating a good deal of interest.
“Jerald!”
The cry came from the leader of the outlaws, the man that Cullen had met the night before. He was heading straight for them, a look of intense concern on his face. His gaze moved between Cullen and the man with the dirty beard, but finally settled on the latter.
“What is the meaning of this?” the leader demanded. “What have you done, Jerald?”
The man with the dirty beard threw a thumb in Cullen’s direction. “His wife is sick,” he said, holding up the magnificent broadsword. “He gave me this in exchange for helping the woman. I could not turn him down. This blade is far too beautiful.”
The leader wasn’t happy; that much was clear. He glared at the man with the dirty beard before taking a few steps toward Cullen, his focus on the old woman in his arms.
“What is wrong with her?” he asked.
Cullen was tired and hungry, and he wasn’t in the mood for suspicion. “She is very sick,” he said. “As I told you last night, I am a wanted man. It would not be safe for me or for her if I took her into one of the towns to seek a physic, so I thought you might be able to help her. As I see now, you clearly have an entire village in these woods. Surely you have a physic among you.”
Regal suddenly coughed, a horrible sound that showed everyone just how sick she really was. The leader took a step back so he would not contract whatever it was the old woman had.
“Get her out of here,” he hissed. “I do not want my people catching whatever illness she has contracted. Jerald, give the sword back to him and show them the way out. I will not have her sickness here to give to the rest of us.”
“Owen? What is it?”
Another person entered the conversation and all heads turned to see a slender woman, pale skinned, with dark red hair. She was approaching the group, her expression quite curious as she looked at the bundle in Cullen’s arms. But the leader, the man named Owen, tried to turn her away.
“His wife is sick,” he said, putting his hands up to prevent the woman from going any further. “We cannot help her, love. I am sending him away.”
Regal suddenly coughed again, sputtering, and the woman with the red hair moved around Owen to take a better look at her. A white hand reached out, touching Regal’s hot face.
“She is with fever,” she said q
uietly. She looked up at Cullen. “How long has she been like this?”
Cullen thought he might have a better chance playing on the pretty woman’s sympathies than he had with the men. He focused on her.
“She was well enough last night, but we slept in the open and she was exposed to the rain,” he said. “By the time she awoke this morning, she was like this. Please, my lady… she may be old, but she is important to me. Will you please help her? I beg of you.”
The woman was nodding before he even finished speaking. “Of course I will,” she said as she began to move away, quickly. “Come with me. Owen, have hot water brought to the empty stone hut where the path crosses the brook. You know the one. And have someone bring my medicament bag.”
Owen grunted unhappily but didn’t dispute her. It was clear, by the expression on his face, that any dispute would not be well-met. Rolling his eyes, he motioned to the man with the dirty beard and others standing around him.
“You heard her,” he said with disgust in his tone. “Bring her hot water and someone should make sure there is bedding in that hut. We’ve not used it since old Samuel died. And send Dessa to my wife – she will need to help her. Move!”
Men began scrambling, but Cullen was already out of earshot. He didn’t care if Owen was upset or not; he was getting the help he so badly needed for Regal and that was all that mattered to him. He followed the woman, still carrying Regal and still towing his horse behind him, all the way to the far end of the encampment where a path headed across the stone steps of a creek and into the woods beyond.
It was quiet over here, away from the main cluster of the village, and the woman came to a halt in front of a hut built of stones and wood. It wasn’t very big, but it appeared sturdy enough. She shoved at the surprisingly heavy door, which seemed rather stuck, but she gave it a couple of good kicks and it lurched open.
“Bring her in here,” she told Cullen.
Noble Line of de Nerra Complete Set: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 25