by Byrne, Julia
“To hell with understanding,” he growled. And the hot pressure of his mouth returned, as overwhelming as before.
She made a small muffled sound of protest, and then she was weightless, helpless, her body locked to his by arms that felt like steel around her.
“Oh! Your pardon, my lord, my lady.”
Beaudene jerked his head up and whipped around, releasing her so abruptly she staggered back, hit the pallet, and collapsed onto it. She lifted trembling fingers to her lips and felt them part, soft and quivering, as she tried to draw air into her lungs. Her vision, strangely blurred, cleared enough for her to recognize the girl standing in the doorway as one of their captors. She held a dagger in one hand and was balancing a trencher of food on her hip.
Nell had never been so glad to see anyone in her entire life.
“I brought you something to eat,” the girl said, entering and laying the trencher on the table. She straightened and cast a wary glance at Beaudene, her gaze lingering for a moment on his scar.
She would have been pretty, Nell thought, with her copper-colored braids and clear blue eyes, if her face was not so thin and tired-looking.
“If you wish, you may walk outside within the camp,” the girl continued. “You are not…prisoners here.”
“What would you call us?” Beaudene asked.
His tone was so like his usual self that Nell could only wonder at how quickly he’d regained his control. She felt as if a bolt of lightning had flashed through her, searing every nerve in its path.
“We mean you no harm,” their captor insisted.
He raised a mocking brow. “I suppose that’s why you carry a knife, and your children go about armed with crossbows.”
The girl’s face went still. “Desperate times call for desperate measures, my lord. But whether or not Dickon relieves you of whatever wealth you carry, you will keep your lives.”
“And when is this Dickon supposed to show himself?”
“A day or two, mayhap.” The girl shrugged. “We cannot be sure.”
She seemed about to say more, but a voice outside shouted, “Bess! You’re needed.”
With a quick gesture toward the trencher, she turned and hurried from the hut.
As soon as she was gone, Nell pounced on the trencher, placing it on the bed beside her. ’Twas simple fare—a loaf of coarse dark bread and some slices of cold roasted venison, accompanied by two mugs of ale—but she didn’t care if the meal consisted of a bowl of slops as long as she could use the excuse of eating to avoid Beaudene’s gaze. She felt him watching her and concentrated on tearing a chunk of bread from the loaf.
“Not quite what you’re used to,” he said, reaching down to help himself to some venison.
She shrugged and kept her eyes lowered.
“On the other hand, if today was a goodly example, you’ve probably driven any number of men to that act of retribution.”
Holy saints! He didn’t mean the food.
The morsel of bread in her mouth suddenly tasted like dried chaff. It went down with difficulty. Defiantly she took another bite.
“If you’re talking about the way you just assaulted me, my lord, I don’t wish to discuss it,” she announced, with slightly muffled dignity.
“Far be it from me to spoil your repast, princess. Just don’t expect an apology.”
When she didn’t rise to that bait, he picked up one of the ale cups and handed it to her. “Here, try this. ’Twill make swallowing easier.”
Nell buried her heated face in the wooden beaker and tried to pretend that Beaudene wasn’t standing over her, fully aware of her discomfort. She only wished she could remain in happy ignorance of her own humiliation. To think that earlier in the day she’d imagined his kiss as a gentle brush of lips, a tender caress, when the reality had been an onslaught that had paralyzed her senses.
You’re a fool. A witless, wanton fool.
“You may be right, princess.”
She promptly choked on a mouthful of ale. Was Beaudene now adding mind-reading to his other diabolical traits?
“What?” she croaked when she could speak again.
“We’ll have to escape. Two or more days is too long to kick our heels in this place. We’ll leave tonight.”
He couldn’t read her mind. Of course, he couldn’t. And if he was planning to escape he couldn’t have anything to do with their capture.
She took a bolstering sip of ale. “Leave. Aye, tonight. Uh…how?”
He pushed the trencher aside, sat down on the pallet, and leaned back against the wall. He propped one arm on his upraised knee and stared thoughtfully through the doorway.
“That ill-assorted rabble out there might have captured us, but holding us is another matter. There seem to be few people in the camp, given the number of huts, which means most of them are with this Dickon fellow, probably poaching the King’s deer or robbing people blind. Escape shouldn’t be too difficult.”
He turned a piercing stare on her, amber eyes narrowed and intent. “Especially as, this time, you will be on my side. Won’t you, lady?”
Nell finished her drink and set the cup back on the trencher. “Of course,” she agreed, and, taking a deep breath, forced herself to meet that compelling gaze.
“Good, because I’ll need your help. That girl—Bess—said we had the freedom of the camp. They’ll follow me if I set foot outside, but you won’t look like a threat to anyone. I want you to wander about, talk to people, show Bess a friendly face. And if you can, find out how many men are in the camp, where the weapons and horses are kept, and if anyone guards them. Can you do that without arousing suspicion?”
“I’m not a complete idiot,” she muttered. Except where you’re concerned.
She rose quickly, pushing the thought aside.
“Off you go. And while you’re at it—” He waited until she paused in the doorway and glanced back. “Tell our watchdog out there to put the bow down whenever he feels like nodding off, or he’ll shoot himself in the foot.
* * *
The watchdog did not take kindly to her advice. He denied any desire for sleep in such a loud voice that Bess emerged from a nearby hut, drawn by the noise.
“Hush, Jemmie,” she scolded. “You’ll wake your mam.” She put a hand to the boy’s brow and seemed relieved at the feel of his skin. “Does your shoulder still pain you?”
Jemmie scowled and shook his head.
“The child should be abed at this hour,” Nell said absently, watching the shadows of evening encroach on the settlement. The air was cooler with the setting of the sun and a fine mist hovered above the ground, wrapping delicate ribbon-like tendrils around the trees encircling the clearing.
Bess lifted her chin, her lips parting, and Nell turned to her in quick apology. “But ’tis difficult to get them hence while daylight prevails,” she added, smiling.
The girl hesitated before an answering smile lightened her pale, weary face. “It is that, lady. I’m Bess, by the way. Were you wanting something?”
“Just a little fresh air,” Nell assured her. “And please call me Nell. Lady is far too dignified and we are much of an age, I warrant.”
Bess flushed slightly and was about to reply when a low sound came from the hut behind her. She turned swiftly, but Nell stayed her with a hand on her arm.
“Send the child to bed,” she insisted, too low for Jemmie to overhear. “We are without weapons or horses. Surely we do not need guarding, and my lord is concerned for the boy’s safety.”
An inspired statement, she thought, pleased with herself. One less pair of eyes watching them should please Beaudene, also.
“I will, lady, as soon as—”
The sound came again, followed by a harsh, racking cough. Bess’s face tightened. She whirled and vanished into the hut, leaving Nell staring after her.
’Twas very quiet.
Too quiet.
Where was everyone? Where were the women and children? There was Bess, and Jemmie apparently h
ad a mother, but—
She looked slowly around the shadowy clearing. The settlement consisted of a dozen huts or more, placed in a haphazard U-formation, and as many cooking fires. Only the two fires nearest her were burning, heating cauldrons of some sort. She could see no sign of the horses; if they were tethered nearby they were well-hidden. Nor were there any guards, not even another child.
Of course, Jem and his mother could be the only family in the camp, but she didn’t think so. Despite the fact that no lights were kindled in the huts against the onset of night, the place gave all the appearance of a reasonably prosperous village, even if it was in the middle of the forest. A few hens scratched about and there were a couple of goats in a pen behind the cottages. She caught a glimpse of the old man who had taken part in their ambush. He glanced up briefly from milking one of the goats, then returned to his task as though her presence was no cause for alarm.
And yet alarm was skittering at the corners of her mind, nudging her forward, tugging at her reluctant feet until she stood at the lower end of the U and could see inside the dwellings there. At close quarters the reason for their dark air of abandonment was shockingly clear.
They had been ravaged by fire, and recently.
A chill shivered through her that had nothing to do with the mist swirling about her skirts. She retraced her steps to the hut Bess had entered, then halted, looking across the clearing toward Beaudene. He was watching her, standing in the shadows to one side of the doorway. She thought he nodded once, in encouragement or command.
Hesitating only a moment longer, she turned and stepped into the cottage.
The unmistakable odors of sickness assaulted her instantly. She paused just inside the entrance, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. When they did she saw Bess sitting on a low stool beside a pallet, her head bowed. The blanket on the pallet was drawn up so it covered the figure beneath it from head to toe.
The chill in her veins was suddenly ice-cold. “Holy Mother of God,” she whispered, crossing herself. “Is it the plague?”
Bess raised her head. ’Twas a measure of the girl’s weariness that she showed no surprise at Nell’s presence. “Naught but the plague of war, lady,” she answered, her voice low. “Men fighting and killing each other whether they be kings or outlaws.”
“Outlaws did this? We thought—”
A soft humorless laugh came through the dimness. “Do you think we are the only band of outlaws living in the forest? There are many like us. But we were strong. We were prospering!” Her voice strengthened and her gaze sharpened, as though focusing on Nell for the first time. “’Twas greed and envy that did this, lady. Men who thought robbing us would be easier than waylaying wealthy travelers. They attacked at dawn five days ago. Burning, raping, killing.”
“But…surely all your warriors were not killed.”
“Not all, nay. We drove them off. And now Dickon has taken the men who can still fight and gone after them. A show of strength, he said, so they won’t come back. Who knows if our own men will come back? And how many will be here to see them, when the wounded are dying for lack of proper care?”
Nell glanced at the shrouded figure on the bed.
“Aye.” Bess followed her gaze. “An arrow pierced her lung.”
“Her?” Nell’s breath caught. “Not Jemmie’s mother!”
“Nay, not yet.”
“Dear God in heaven, is she wounded, too? Did they deliberately loose their arrows on the women and—”
She thought of the empty, quiet clearing, the burned huts, and couldn’t finish the question. The evidence of a massacre was all too clear.
Quick sympathy had her reaching out to lay a hand on Bess’s shoulder. “You poor girl. How many are left? Have you been nursing them alone all this time?”
“Since old Meg died three days ago,” Bess sighed. “Simpkin is helping me, but… Oh, lady, even with the proper herbs ’twould be useless. Meg was a wise-woman, she knew how to make poultices and salves and draughts to ease their pain. She was teaching me, but our stocks were already poor and are now gone as she is.”
“Well, we shall have to gather more, and I will show you how ’tis done. Did your Meg have an herb garden?”
For a moment Bess stared up at her. When she finally spoke her voice was trembling with hope. “Nay. We were going to buy them tomorrow. There’s a fair. We go every year…no one notices us…”
“Hush. Wait.” Nell pressed her hand briefly to Bess’s shoulder to calm the girl. “This has to be thought on. But first—” she gestured to the shrouded figure on the pallet. “This poor soul must be given Christian burial.”
“Aye.” Bess took a deep breath. “Your pardon, lady. I forgot myself.” She rose, bent to touch the still form in a gentle farewell, then gestured for Nell to precede her from the hut. “’Twill be more fitting to talk in my cottage if you do not mind waiting until I see to the others. As to Nan, here, Simpkin and Luke are preparing her grave. It does not take long,” she finished with faint bitterness. “Christian burial is not for we who live secretly, hidden away from towns and churches.”
There was not much she could say to that, Nell thought. And ’twould be cruel to remind Bess of the fate of those who died unshriven when there was nothing to be done about it.
“When we get to Wells I will buy masses for their souls,” she decided, not realizing she’d spoken aloud until she saw a tired smile light Bess’s face.
“Be sure I will tell Dickon of your kindness, lady. Will you wait with your lord until I may come to you?”
Nell suddenly noticed where Bess was taking her. “Holy Mother save us! We cannot talk in there!”
She grabbed Bess’s arm, made a sharp turn, and pulled her new friend into the nearest hut. “And he is not my lord,” she added, keeping her voice down when she saw two pallets against the side wall. The occupants appeared to be asleep. “Let me stay with you. He will not think anything is amiss. After all, he asked me—” She bit her tongue on the rest.
Bess gave her a curious look.
“It matters not,” Nell said hurriedly. “But ’twill be better if he doesn’t know what we have planned.”
“We haven’t got anything planned.”
“Not yet,” Nell admitted. “But how much planning does it take to go to a fair and buy some herbs and cordials? How did you and Meg manage it?”
“Two or three men accompany us, lady. They wait in the woods while we make our purchases. Not only herbs, but candles, spices, wool for clothing. Why, you may buy anything you need and when the stalls are crowded no one thinks to look closely at two women. That is…” She paused and peered doubtfully through the gloom at Nell’s gown.
“Aye, you’ll have to find me something to wear. No country maid would wear this, even filthy and covered with mud.”
“’Tis a shame,” Bess murmured, reaching out to touch the rich brocade. “Such a pretty gown to be so ill-treated.”
“Try telling that to his lordship,” retorted Nell with great feeling. “Not that I have any liking for the wretched thing.” She contemplated the rapt look on Bess’s face. “Would you like to have it?”
“Me wear such a garment, lady? ’Twould not be fitting! But…oh, I would look as fine as the Queen herself.”
Nell found herself laughing at the awe in Bess’s voice. “Then ’tis yours. As long as you have something to replace it.”
“Indeed, lady. But surely you cannot mean to wear simple homespun. Although there is a red gown somewhere, trimmed with miniver.”
“The very thing. After we see to your patients, you shall show it to me. Then all that remains is to plan how we may slip away tomorrow.”
“But we’ll need money, and Dickon keeps it hidden.” Bess’s face, so recently hopeful, fell back into its weary lines. “’Tis only he and Simpkin who know where it is, and Simpkin will never let us go alone.”
“Then I shall have to steal some coins from Lord Beaudene.”
Bess’s ey
es went wide. “Steal from your lord?”
“He’s not my lord,” Nell repeated absently. “He’s my bodyguard.”
“While you are in this camp, lady, he had better be your lord,” Bess stated. “I am sorry if you think it unseemly to share my cottage with him, but you’ll be safer when the men return, and I will be sleeping there, too. ’Tis not as if you’ll be alone with him.”
’Twould serve no purpose to tell Bess that she’d already spent one night alone with Beaudene. There were more important things to worry about. Somehow she had to get her supposed husband out of their hut so she could search his packs. And if he kept his money on his person—
Nell shuddered. She did not want to think about how she might have to overcome that obstacle.
“Bess? Is that you?”
The faint voice from the shadows made both girls jump guiltily. Nell recovered first. “We need light,” she said briskly, turning her mind to the more immediate task demanding her attention. “And whatever supplies you have, even if ’tis only water and clean linen.”
* * *
But water and clean linen could only do so much. By the time full darkness shrouded the camp, Nell had learned how much devastation had been visited upon the small settlement. In every hut that hadn’t been burned lay the sick and injured; two men, both feverish and weak from festering wounds, women and children in a like state from cuts and burns.
The children tore at her heart, especially as she was helpless to ease their pain, but what brought angry tears to her eyes was the girl lying alone in the hut beside Bess’s cottage.
“She can’t be more than thirteen,” she whispered, after she examined the girl’s injuries and coaxed her to swallow some water. “How could they? Nay. Do not answer that,” she added with soft bitterness. “I know only too well what men are like when they see something they want. The last thing they consider is youth or innocence.”
“She hasn’t spoken since Luke found her after the fight,” Bess murmured. She spoke softly, although the girl’s head was turned away and she seemed deaf and blind to their presence. “Her wounds are not so bad, as you see. ’Tis the shock, and the shame of it. Although, Lord knows, none of us would have her feel dishonored. I’m here myself because my master forced me then cast me aside when his wife discovered us. But who knows what she understands?”