by E. D. Walker
What she did was not graceful or particularly well executed. The maneuver was not so much heroic as it was an awkward, frantic, sideways topple.
But it did the trick.
And it saved the wolf.
And it got Kathryn an arrow through the shoulder for her trouble.
***
Reynard’s eyes grew wide, and he had no doubt the wolf would have ripped his throat out there and then but for the king’s pet magician. Llewellyn muttered a few words and sketched a hasty symbol in the air, which left a faint sign of luminescence where his hand had passed. Some unseen force propelled the wolf backward so he landed in the dust twenty feet from Reynard, winded and obviously furious. King Thomas had by then arranged himself between the wolf and Reynard. Llewellyn had gone to Kathryn.
Reynard threw his prized crossbow to the ground. His face grew warm, and his eyes were open wide in horror. “I didn’t—she just fell right into it,” he choked out and swallowed. Then he leveled an accusing finger at the wolf. “The beast did this. Damned wolf was going to attack me again, and I only defended myself. I didn’t mean to…” He trailed off quietly.
Reynard had injured women before, certainly, and he killed men as a matter of course. He had never actually killed a woman, though. He found he hated the feeling, actually. Much as he had disliked the wench Kathryn, he had not wanted her dead.
“Llewellyn,” the king yelled and jerked his chin toward the wolf, who growled and paced on the edge of his invisible barrier.
“The spell will hold,” the magician said, without looking up from Kathryn’s injuries.
Sure enough, the wolf lunged forward only to be repelled again by some force. He skidded through the dust a few feet from whatever imperceptible barrier Llewellyn had erected.
“Then go, Reynard,” the king said, lip curling. “Go home and let me not hear a word from you. About any of this.”
Almost smiling in relief, Reynard ran to his mount and flung himself into the saddle. Riding fast, he beat his horse to within an inch of its life to get him home as swiftly as possible. He needed to return to his wife and make a complete report to her. She possessed all the intellectual cunning in their relationship and would know how to mend things with the king.
***
“I had to let him go,” King Thomas said quietly to no one in particular. “It would be his word against a wolf’s, and unfortunately some people would believe Reynard.”
Once Reynard was gone from sight, the king knelt next to Llewellyn. The magician looked up for a bare moment from the hasty field dressing he had applied to Kathryn’s shoulder. Lines of care and fatigue had etched deeper into his face than the king had ever seen them. Llewellyn waved his hand once, muttering a soft syllable King Thomas didn’t catch.
The wolf, magical barrier removed, ran to Kathryn.
“Well?” King Thomas gulped. The wolf, his quarry obviously forgotten in the face of Kathryn’s distress, nestled under the king’s arm, seeking comfort like a child.
“She lives.” Llewellyn’s voice broke. “We need to get her to Bourlonge. The convent is nearer than the castle, and we may be able to save ourselves scandal if Marie will help us.”
“The abbess will do all she can,” King Thomas said, still petting the head of the stricken wolf.
Llewellyn pushed himself up with a hand on one knee, staggering only slightly before he gained his footing.
“What can I do?” the king rasped out, gazing in horror at Kathryn. She looked like a broken doll lying in the dirt of the road.
“My lord, press firmly on either side of the arrow.” Llewellyn ran to fetch their horses. “We must keep the edges of this wound together until I can get the damned arrow out.”
A groan from Kathryn’s father made them all jump.
The baron sat up and held his aching head. He shrieked when he saw the wolf. Then he saw his daughter, and the look on his face made them all want to weep. “Wh—what happened?”
“Bandits,” King Thomas prevaricated smoothly. The wolf shot him a sharp, betrayed look, but the king shook his head and, smoothing the wolf’s fur, said, “My boy, be patient. Do you think Reynard will not pay? He will. Just you wait.” The king nodded grimly. “And oh, but how he will pay.”
Apparently satisfied, the wolf looked to Kathryn, then to Llewellyn.
“We must get her back to the convent—it’s closer,” Llewellyn repeated. “I have to”—he sucked in a frayed breath—“get the arrow out, and the procedure would be too dangerous to do here. I have no bandages, no gauze, no herbs, nothing to clean the wound. I’ll have to cauterize the opening as well—”
King Thomas silenced him with a sharp gesture, his hand slicing through the air. “All right, Llewellyn, I’ll carry her on my horse.” He lifted Kathryn in his arms, trying to be careful of the arrow and the hasty padding of bits of clothing and such that Llewellyn had scrounged to bandage the open wound without pressing on it. The king mounted his horse, kicking the beast forward at once without waiting to see if the others followed.
***
Their party rode quickly, thinking haste more important than jarring the arrow. The longer Kathryn was left to bleed, the less chance she would ever awaken. Llewellyn eventually took the wolf up before him on his horse. The confused Lord Stephen nursed his aching head and brought up the rear on Kathryn’s borrowed mare, his own horse lost in the forest for now. The king’s horse first reached the sturdy wooden gates surrounding the convent. King Thomas tugged furiously at the little bell of the wicket gate, and very quickly the portress, looking bleary-eyed and ruffled, came to open the gate for them.
“Are you and your lady benighted, my good lord, or—” Then she saw Kathryn. “Oh.”
The king brushed past the portress. Knowing the convent well, he barked orders to the sister as he hurried across the court to the closest cell, there to deposit his sad burden. “Summon your abbess at once, and anyone with herb lore or leechcraft.”
The elderly nun hesitated, and the king whirled on her, becoming all at once a blood-soaked barbarian barking in her face. “Go, idiot woman, or this girl’s blood will be on your head.”
By this time, Llewellyn and the wolf were within the enclave as the convent’s healer and her abbess ran forward.
“Marie.” The king intercepted the dignified abbess, taking her by the hands while her healer went forward to assist Llewellyn.
“Brother?” the abbess said, wiping sleep from her eyes. “What’s happened?”
Marie was the king’s half sister, a by-blow of their father’s, but one King Thomas had loved his whole life long as though she were his full-blooded relation. She had a lovely face, narrow and leonine like his, with the long, sharp nose of their father, which showed so strongly through the line. Her eyes were large and the same gray-blue as his. Her hair shone a dark, rich brown, though she had hacked it off on becoming a nun, and now her lovely locks were forever hidden from sight under her wimple.
Unable to ever make a good marriage because of her illegitimacy, Marie had accepted the church as her vocation and made a fine job of the pursuit too. She was abbess at Bourlonge, and a more respected and renowned abbess could not be found in all the land.
Hurriedly and very quietly, the king gave his sister an abbreviated version of events without omitting even Reynard’s part.
Marie nodded. “All will be attended to. But first we must ensure the girl is safely on the mend.”
King Thomas clasped her hand. “Yes.”
***
The baron, once he arrived at the convent, demanded to stay by his daughter’s side.
In the sickroom with Llewellyn and the convent’s healer, Lord Stephen was startled and scandalized when the magician placed a hand on Kathryn’s forehead and uttered strange incantations under his breath. A glowing aura formed around the magician’s palm before sinking into Kathryn’s body. For a moment, Kathryn seemed illumed from within by healing light. That passed quickly, but afterward she seemed less pal
e, her breath less labored.
Lord Stephen did not hold with magic, but he would not protest anything that might give his daughter back to him.
The attendant nun pursed her lips but likewise said nothing. The Sisters of Fate had a strained relationship with the magicians of the land. Their two belief systems were oftentimes at odds.
The baron, though usually rather squeamish in all things having to do with healing and the gore entailed therein, nonetheless volunteered to be the one to assist Llewellyn in removing the arrow. The arrowhead had, thankfully, passed all the way through the shoulder already, and so the arrow only needed to be carefully broken off and pulled out. Lord Stephen almost forgot himself when Llewellyn cauterized the wound, but the baron recovered his wits in time to leave the room before being asked to help stuff the wound with moss and apply the dressings.
Outside the sickroom door, the wolf paced back and forth. Their party had taken over one of the front rooms of the convent, as Llewellyn had no wish to waste a moment and let Kathryn bleed any longer than was necessary. The holy man had unceremoniously kicked out the nuns who had been sleeping in the room.
King Thomas sat quietly by a fire in one of the convent’s receiving rooms, waiting for news. Lord Stephen joined him and, shortly thereafter, the wolf came to the baron, bowing his head respectfully as if in an act of contrition.
Lord Stephen looked at the wolf and frowned. A feeling of wonder stole through him as he realized what he was witnessing. Lord Stephen hesitated for a moment. Then, at the king’s encouraging nod, the baron placed his hand on the wolf’s head. “I’m sure this misfortune was not your fault, my boy.”
The wolf nodded, then left the king and the baron. He curled up to the side of the sickroom door.
Lord Stephen eyed the beast, then looked to his king. “He…loves her. Doesn’t he?”
King Thomas looked at the wolf with a strange light of affection in his eyes. “Yes, he’s truly learned the nature of real love now with your girl. I hope…” The king trailed off, pursing his lips as his eyes shone with moisture.
Lord Stephen swallowed and let the subject drop, sensing his liege’s grief and too overcome with his own in that moment to speak.
***
Hours later, Llewellyn emerged, the convent healer only a beat behind him to close the door of the sickroom. Garwaf jumped on Llewellyn at once and placed his paws on the magician’s shoulders, staring Llewellyn solemnly in the eye as he delivered his news.
Llewellyn sighed, a frail smile trembling on his lips. “She’s alive, and I think she’ll survive. But this coming night will make the difference. If she takes a turn—” Llewellyn’s voice broke, and he looked away.
Garwaf eased himself off Llewellyn’s shoulders at once and started into the sickroom before remembering himself and looking back to Llewellyn sheepishly for permission.
Llewellyn scoffed. “As if I could stop you. Go on.”
Garwaf padded into the sickroom.
Kathryn was very pale. Too pale. A light sheen of sweat beaded her brow. Red and puffy all over, her face was covered with bruises. One eye was swollen shut entirely. A florid bruise spread across her cheekbone around a small nick there. Where her split lip had scabbed over, Llewellyn had wiped the blood away. From the small hint about her nostrils, her nose had bled as well.
A knot of hatred formed in the pit of Garwaf’s gut. I’ll get him for what he did to you, Kathryn. Whether you want me to or not. I will hurt him for this.
Tucked tight with many blankets, Kathryn had been propped up against the bed’s headboard with her feet elevated. Thick layers of dressings had been applied to her shoulder.
Her caretakers had let him see her before they had even taken the time to clean up all the bloody cloths or pick up the discarded arrow. The stench of Reynard was all over the arrow’s shaft, and a heady reek of Kathryn’s blood that made Garwaf dizzy. He kicked the arrow away under the bed so he would not have to look at its bloody point and think. Instead, he went to Kathryn.
Llewellyn had said she would probably be fine. Llewellyn was hardly ever wrong, and he would never lie. She was still unconscious, which was probably a good thing to judge by her bruised face, the large bandage, and all the blood-soaked rags about. Kathryn would be in a lot of pain when she did wake up. If she wakes up…
Don’t even think that.
He nuzzled her limp hand on the sheets. I am so sorry. He closed his eyes. If he had human eyes, real human eyes, he would weep. But he was not human, so he keened softly and whimpered into her palm.
If I could have explained things to you, I would have. I wish I could explain everything to you. I wish I could have told you once in more than just actions. In words. In exact and precise words what you mean to me, Kathryn. I want to be able to tell you all that is in this twisted, damaged heart of mine. I want to be able to tell you that I love you. Out loud. Out loud and as often as I can form my lips around the words.
I was lost. More than halfway to being an animal all the rest of my days. I had forgotten what being human felt like.
Ah, my beauty, I need you to live. Even if you never speak to me or look at me again, I need you to live. I need you to be in the world. Having you in the world makes it an easier place to survive.
So breathe in, breathe out. Mend and heal. Do what you have to, but stay in this world.
Just stay, Kathryn.
Stay.
As her hand stirred, he jumped in surprise. Her fingers moved closer to him, and he leaned toward her. Her delicate hand shook as she cupped his dark muzzle in a caress. Hope flared within him as he gazed into her face. Her good eye opened a crack, and she smiled at him, careful of her lip. He gingerly leapt onto the bed so as not to jar her shoulder and settled his chin in her lap.
She smiled again dreamily and stroked his head. “Ah, Garwaf.” Her voice was the barest whisper of breath, hoarse with pain. “Events like this should tell you that the time to be a man again has come.” Her hand stilled on his fur.
He looked up in alarm and fear only to be reassured that no, now she slept true sleep and not the unconscious stupor of injury. This was healing sleep and would do her good.
He stared at Kathryn a long while, frowning over the darkening bruises on her. The marks would leave no lasting scars, but for the moment, her face remained hideously marred by Reynard’s handiwork.
Garwaf found he no longer craved to rip Reynard’s throat out with his teeth. The thought of the man’s blood in his mouth revolted every part of him. He wanted none of that poisonous stuff anywhere near his innards.
No, the werewolf craved instead a contest of arms. To challenge the vile beast Reynard to trial by combat, then hack him into little tiny bits with a sword, a dagger, whatever weapons he had to hand, but to make a thorough job of his revenge, regardless.
To challenge Reynard, though, he needed to be a knight. To be a knight, he would need his clothes back. To get those, he would need help.
Kathryn shifted, and he stilled. All in good time. He could wait a while longer. He needed to be with Kathryn now. When she lived through the night, well, then would be the time to seek restitution and, maybe, redemption.
Chapter Fifteen
Kathryn lived through the night.
In the morning, when Llewellyn came to check on her, Garwaf lay curled at her feet. He perked his head up, then hopped down so Llewellyn could examine her.
The magician let out a profound sigh of relief as he examined Kathryn. Garwaf wagged his tail and was persuaded to leave the sickbed to get some food. A young novice came to sit with the invalid in their absence.
Lord Stephen went to rest in a guest room now that he knew his daughter would live. Garwaf broke his fast with Llewellyn in the little receiving room, where a cheerful fire crackled. The king and the abbess entered shortly thereafter, and all four of them sat to council. The abbess gazed at Garwaf, and when he grinned at her, she bent to stroke his ears.
“We’ll keep her here until she�
�s well enough to travel,” Marie said.
“Agreed.” King Thomas poked at the fire. “And you will help us to keep this from blossoming into a scandal. Even if we put about the bandits story, people will believe Kathryn’s virtue compromised, especially if Kathryn is seen like this. If even a whisper reaches the court of her condition, her reputation could be forever tainted. I don’t want that for her.”
“We’ll keep her here while she mends and, if it is her wish, we’ll send her back into the world again when she is whole and no blemish remains of the incident to cause suspicion. She was coming here anyway. If her father keeps silent about the whole affair—”
“Which I’m sure I can persuade him to do,” King Thomas said.
“Then we need not worry,” the abbess replied. “She’s supposed to be here. She is here. If any come seeking her, I can say she wants solitude for reflection before beginning her novitiate.”
“Ah, Marie.” Llewellyn patted her hand. “How we’ve missed your level head at the castle these years.”
Marie smiled back. “I’m sure you’ve managed.”
King Thomas settled into his chair, gazing about expectantly. “Now what do we do?”
Marie snorted. “My people are well able to care for her.”
Garwaf yipped and glared at his aunt.
“I think what the king is trying to say,” Llewellyn said with careful diplomacy, “is that all of us are reluctant to leave Kathryn’s side while she is like this.”
“She’s fine,” Marie said. “People will comment if you all stay away longer. You’ll have a hard time explaining why you left so suddenly and stayed away for the night as it is.”
King Thomas waved that away. “The wolf ran off because he sensed his friend Kathryn leaving. Llewellyn and I went to reclaim the beast. Chased him all the way here to Bourlonge, and by the time we arrived, the hour was too late to leave. So, the kind abbess”—a gesture to his sister—“graciously offered us bed and board for the night. Much as I hate to admit you’re right, we can’t stay here any longer without courting scandal.”