“So,” Stephen said with a twinkle in his eye. “Have you recovered from your brush with death?”
Tate grinned wearily. “Damnable Scots,” he grumbled. “It simply underscores my need to return home.”
Stephen grunted. “When are you leaving?”
“At dawn,” Tate replied. “But I am not heading straight home. I intend to take a detour to Earl of Buccleuch.”
Stephen sobered. “Thank you,” he said softly. “Will you escort the lad back to Berwick?”
“I thought I would.”
“Will your wife wait that much longer for you to return home?”
Tate made a pensive and apprehensive face, as men do who fear the reaction of a woman. “She will have to. A few more days will not make much difference in the end.”
“Perhaps,” Stephen lifted an eyebrow. “But if she turns her anger on me since this is an errand on my behalf, know that I intend to point all necessary fingers back at you. I do not want to suffer the wrath of Lady de Lara.”
Tate shook his head. “Coward,” he muttered, scratching his chin as he sobered. “About the boy, how much do you want me to tell him?”
Stephen shrugged faintly. “I am not entirely sure,” he said. “You have four young boys. I would solicit your advice on the subject.”
Tate exhaled wearily, gazing up at the stars. “I can tell him the purpose of returning to Berwick to soften the blow,” he looked at Stephen. “Or I can simply wait and let you tell him. You will be the boy’s father, after all. It might be best coming from you.”
“But he will have more time to understand and accept the situation if you tell him,” Stephen countered thoughtfully, crossing his big arms and kicking at the dirt beneath is feet. “Perhaps Joselyn should tell him. She is his mother, after all.”
“That is more than likely the best option.”
“Agreed.”
Before Tate could continue the conversation, Lane appeared out of the darkness. Stephen did not like the look on the man’s face as he approached.
“What is it?” he asked before Lane could speak.
Lane didn’t look particularly eager to tell him but knew there was little choice. “I was seeing to the changing of the guard about the hall, keep and bailey,” he explained quickly. “With the guard changing in the keep, I happened to see one of your wife’s women as she was leaving your chamber. When I asked if her mistress was settled for the night, the woman faltered. There was something in her expression, my lord, that made me suspect all was not as it should be. So I….”
Stephen’s jaw flexed dangerously and he was already moving towards the keep. “To the point, de Norville.”
Lane and Tate began to run after him. “Your wife is not in her room, my lord,” Lane almost shouted at him and Stephen came to an abrupt halt. His blue eyes blazed at the sergeant, who continued rapidly and succinctly. “I have already sent men to get horses. We sighted your wife from the postern gate about a quarter of a mile downriver.”
“What?” Stephen exploded, incredulous. “Are you sure?”
“Aye, my lord,” Lane replied, feeling as if he had grossly failed in his newly appointed post. “The old serving woman confirmed as much.”
“Damnation,” Stephen spat in an uncharacteristic display of emotion as he whirled for the stables. “Did you ask the woman where my wife was going?”
“Nay,” Lane replied quickly as they rounded the corner of the hall and headed to the stables that smelled strongly of hay and dung. “I thought it more important to find you and tell you that your wife has left the castle. There will be time enough for interrogation when we recover her.”
By the time they reached the stables, several soldiers were already emerging with their mounts. Two grooms were saddling the chargers and in little time, Stephen was mounted and with a contingent of a dozen armed men, they roared from the open gates of Berwick and out into the deepening night.
Stephen couldn’t even imagine where Joselyn was going. He struggled to stay on an even keel because something deep inside him couldn’t fathom the worst. He felt sick to his stomach as her last words to him suddenly made some sense. Everything I do, I do because I love you and would do anything to ensure we have a long and happy life together. He couldn’t imagine what the foolish woman was up to.
He had to find her.
CHAPTER TEN
In her river-wet garments, Joselyn was extremely cold. The night was not particularly chilly but the wet wool was clinging to her skin, rendering her shaky and cold. However, walking briskly was heating her up, creating an odd body temperature. In the recesses of her mind she knew she would become ill from all of this, but it didn’t matter. She had to find the old churchyard on the edge of town. It was her own personal mission.
So she trudged down the road, trying to stay to the edge where hedgerows grew so that she could stay out of sight. She only hoped she could make it back to the castle before Stephen discovered her missing, but somehow, she knew that he would find out. The man was as sharp as a knife, his mind and intellect were keen, and as she half-ran and half-walked down the road, she began to wonder if this undertaking had been at all wise. If Stephen discovered her missing, she would have to come up with a plausible explanation as to why she had left. She could not tell him the truth because it would only bring about her fear of him rousting the rebels himself and possibly getting himself killed in the process. So she had to think of another explanation, a lie that would save her husband’s life.
The road was empty due to the many battles that had rattled the area for the past several weeks. Joselyn walked past several homes and businesses that were ruined. The sight of the burned-out structures distressed her but she pushed onward, her focus on the church that was not too far off. The darkness around her buzzed with night birds and foraging creatures as she picked up the pace; she had no time to lose.
Eventually, the hedgerow of heavy bushes disappeared and she could see the church off to her right in the distance, outlined against the dark sky. There were no lights apparent. The structure appeared dark and ghostly. She slowed her pace as she drew closer, keeping out of sight as much as she could. Her sight was fixed on the stone building in the distance. She paused completely, watching the church to see if there were any signs of life. There was none. After several long minutes of waiting and watching, she carefully moved on.
As she stepped out of the shadow of the edge of the hedgerow and began to cross the dark field that separated her from the church, the thunder of hooves sudden approached from behind. Startled, she could see several soldiers heading towards her from the road and she bolted in the opposite direction, racing towards the church. But another group of horses abruptly came at her from the other side of the hedgerow, cutting off her flight. Very shortly, she was trapped.
Terrified, Joselyn clutched the tartan around her as big men on horseback surrounded her. It was a dark night and it was difficult to tell immediately if the men were Scots or English. It was chaotic, dark, and the horses were snapping. She instinctively recoiled. But one of the men dismounted and even in the darkness, she realized that she knew the man. There was no mistaking the size of her husband and her heart sank at the sight. Somehow, someway, he had found her. Her mission to save him was over before it began.
“Oh, Stephen,” she breathed, with sorrow. “How did you find me?”
Stephen’s eyes were appraising as he gazed down at her from his lifted visor. He just stood there a moment, looking at her, before shaking his head in bafflement.
“What are you doing?” he asked simply.
“Are you going to beat me?”
He just shook his head again, this time with disgust. “Do you honestly feel the need to ask that?”
She blinked, knowing she had been righteously caught. She had taken a chance and it had failed. Every time she tried to help the man, to take matters into her own hands by trying to do something to aid the peace of Berwick, she managed to fail. Perhaps she should simply g
ive up and trust that Stephen would not get himself killed. He’d been keeping himself alive for many years before she met him. Perhaps she simply needed to have faith in him. Gazing into his suspicious eyes, she realized that she needed to tell him everything and tell him quickly. No lies, no evasiveness. As it was, he thought she was about to betray him. She could read it in his face.
“Nay,” she swallowed, pulling the tartan off her head and letting it fall to the ground. It was a gesture of defeat, not unnoticed by Stephen. Her shoulders slumped as she forced herself to look him in the eye. “I do not need to ask that question for I already know the answer. But you may change your mind. I lied to you. I lied to you because I felt I could do what you could not.”
He maintained his even expression, though there was wariness to it. “And what is that?”
“Find the rebels. Find them and discover what their plans were.”
He just looked at her. “For what purpose?”
Her pale blue eyes glimmered in the weak moonlight. “So I could tell you. Then the next time they attacked, you would be ready. Perhaps you could defeat them once and for all and stop this madness that continues to perpetuate itself. So much fighting and dying, Stephen. I told you that I did not want you to be a casualty. If I can prevent your death, I will. I would do it a thousand times over. I would die if it meant you would live. Do you still not understand that, husband?” Tears began to fill her eyes. “Everything I do, I do because I love you and would do anything to ensure we have a long and happy life together.”
He began to understand what was going on and his shock at her escape, his disappointment at finding her far from the castle, began to fade. Perhaps he was a fool to believe her, but he did. He simply couldn’t believe anything else.
“So your cousin did indeed give you information,” he ventured quietly.
“Aye.”
“What did he tell you?”
She looked extremely guilty. “He told me to go south on the main road towards the cemetery,” she looked over her shoulder at the darkened church in the distance. “He said that the priest would tell me where the rebels were.”
Stephen looked at the church also, as did a few other men who happened to hear what she said. “The priest is part of the rebellion?” he glanced up at Lane and Tate, who were gazing down from their mounts as the situation unfolded. Noting their uneasy expressions, he refocused on Joselyn. “If that is true, then we are exposed here. God only knows who could be lingering about, watching us even now. We must return to the castle immediately.”
He grasped Joselyn by the arm and led her over to his charger. “But now that you know, are you not going to confront them?” she asked.
“Not with only a few men,” he grasped her around her slender waist and lifted her up into the saddle, noticing her clothes as he did so. “You are all wet. You will be lucky if you do not catch your death of chill.”
He was scolding her, much more mildly than she deserved and she knew it. “I am sorry,” she said softly, painfully. “I thought I could help. I truly did.”
“We will discuss it later. Right now, we must return to Berwick.”
“Are you angry with me?”
“Furious.”
“Do you hate me, then?”
He didn’t reply and she shut her mouth, tears spilling over. He had every right to be angry and hateful, and she was beginning to feel like the most worthless fool in the world. But those thoughts were cut short when something cold, powerful and painful suddenly plowed into her back.
Stephen heard the high-pitched whine of the arrow a split second before it hit Joselyn, sitting high and exposed on the saddle. Horrified, he caught her before she could topple, somehow managing to mount with her in his arms as Tate began to bellow orders to the men. Soon, they were scattering back to the road, thundering at top speed back towards the castle. Stephen could only feel complete terror as Joselyn lay limp in his arms, a nasty arrow protruding from her back. He honestly didn’t even know if she was alive. Never in his life had he known panic, not for himself but for Joselyn. He was clearly experiencing it now and it was more than he could comprehend. It was a nightmare.
More arrows sailed overhead as they retreated down the road but there was no rebel army to follow. There was not even any shouting or screaming as the Scots liked to do; simply an odd, dead silence with the ambush of arrows. The retreating English reached Berwick in little time, de Lara rousing the fortress on high alert as they passed through the massive gatehouse. Tate was off his horse as Stephen raced through the gate, extending his arms for the unconscious Lady Pembury as Stephen reined his charger to a halt. The woman slid off into his embrace as Stephen, in his haste, nearly fell off his mount behind her.
“Watch the arrow,” Stephen’s deep voice was quivering as he took a moment to examine his wife. “Do not jostle it. Hold her still.”
Tate had Joselyn in a bear hug, her arms and head over one shoulder as he held her carefully around her torso. She was completely lifeless as Stephen examined her with shaking hands. The first thing he did was feel her neck for a pulse. It was weak and rapid. The sigh of relief that came out of his mouth was nothing Tate had ever heard out of the man. It was like the exhale of a dying man, venting emotion never before experienced.
“Get her up to our chamber,” Stephen commanded hoarsely. “I need to remove this arrow.”
“Stephen,” Tate was extremely concerned with the man’s pale face and shaking hands. “Perhaps I need to send for a physic. I have a very fine surgeon within my ranks and….”
“No,” Stephen snapped, his jaw ticking furiously. “I will not trust the life of my wife to anyone but me.”
“I did not mean to suggest otherwise,” Tate could see how disturbed the man was, completely out of character for the normally in-control knight. “I simply meant as an extra pair of trained hands.”
Stephen didn’t reply. Tate was not even sure he really understood what he was suggesting but he let it go. Lane and a couple of soldiers had already raced ahead to the keep, throwing open doors so there would be no delay in getting Lady Pembury to her bed. Stephen had Tate by the arm as the two of them moved as quickly as they could to the great keep of Berwick, maneuvering the narrow stairs to the chamber on the third floor.
Entering the chamber, Stephen began to rip off pieces of armor, tossing the protection into the corner with a great ruckus. He tore his gloves off, reaching out to carefully take his wife from Tate. Between the two of them, they managed to turn her around and lay her on her stomach. Stephen fell to his knees beside the bed, demanding his medicament bag, which someone put next to him. His hands went to the arrow that was embedded just beneath his wife’s right shoulder blade.
It was in a bad spot. Stephen knew just by looking at it and his heart sank. Many vital veins ran through the area and his concerns multiplied. He struggled to compose himself, to maintain his control, as he carefully began to peel away the material around the wound to gain a better look. After several long moments of close examination, he finally let out a heavy sigh and raked his fingers through his dark hair in a frustrated gesture.
“What is it?” Tate was standing next to him. “What do you need, Stephen?”
Stephen had to shake his head to clear his vision, his mind. He rubbed at his eyes, struggling to think clearly. “The wound is not bleeding much, which concerns me,” his voice was raspy. “This is a very vital area with a good deal of blood flow, so I suspect the arrow is acting like a barrier and preventing her from bleeding to death. Removing the head will be like undamming a river; everything will flow.”
Tate crouched down next to him, watching the man’s big fingers dance gently over Joselyn’s slender back. He could feel the man’s grief as it radiated out of every pore of his body. “What will you do?” he asked.
Stephen inhaled deeply, clearing the last of the panic from his mind. He had to think clearly if Joselyn had any hope of surviving. He knew what had to be done, as he had done this
kind of thing before, many times. But never on someone he loved.
“Send for your surgeon,” he said. “I will need an experienced assistant. And find the serving women and tell them I need boiled linen, all they can manage, and hot water.”
Tate relayed the orders to Lane, standing just inside the door, and the man went on the run. Meanwhile, Stephen continued peeling back the torn and bloodied material away from the wound, trying to think professionally about the injury and not from the position of the emotional husband. It was extremely difficult. When the material was pulled away sufficiently and he touched the arrow shaft again just to see how deeply it was buried, Joselyn suddenly let out a groan.
Stephen was down beside her in an instant, his face looming next to hers. “Jo-Jo?” he asked gently. “Can you hear me, sweetheart?”
Her pale blue eyes remained shut but her lower lip began to tremble. Tears began flowing from her eyes.
“It hurts,” she whispered.
Stephen thought he could very well cry himself at her declaration. “I know,” he kissed her wet face gently. “I’m so sorry. I know it hurts.”
“What happened?” she breathed.
He wiped the tears from her face. “An arrow,” he murmured. “We were ambushed.”
“Are you all right?”
“I am.”
She sighed faintly. “Then I am content,” she whispered. “But I am sorry. I… brought this about. I should not have… I should have told you….”
She faded off and he kissed her cheek again, her limp hand. “Not to worry,” he said softly. “It was not your fault. I will heal you as good as new.”
She twitched, crying out softly when excruciating pain radiated throughout her body. The tears fell faster. “Please,” she breathed. “It hurts so much. Please… remove it.”
Stephen kissed her hand, her face. “I will, love, I promise.”
Lasses, Lords, and Lovers: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 17