He moaned. Thank goodness he was alive. As she reached him, he opened his eyes. “Rohese, I’m sorry. I never meant this to happen. I…” His voice trailed weakly away, and his eyes closed again.
Biting her cheek, trying to ignore her own pain, she gently eased his foot from the stirrup – Blaze was docile now, there was no danger from him – and tried to assess the damage. There was a graze on Adam’s cheek, though she didn’t think he’d hit his head. The blood seemed to be coming not from his leg, which lay at an awkward angle – broken? – but his arm. The sleeve of his tunic was sodden with blood. She tried to rip the fabric so she could take a better look, but it wouldn’t tear.
There was a dagger at his side. She grabbed it and ripped into his sleeve, tearing it away frantically. The blood was coming from a wound below his elbow. For a moment, she felt dizzy at the sight of it. So much blood. She applied pressure, but it continued to bleed. What should she do now? She wished she’d done a first aid course. Racking her brains, she tried not to panic as the blood continued to flow from his arm.
She needed to bandage it. Was it okay to use a tourniquet? She had a feeling it wasn’t. Forcing down the panic she could feel rising, she tugged her veil free. Pulling off her wimple, she folded it into a pad, covering the wound before using Adam’s knife to slash her veil in two, using half as a bandage. Still, the blood oozed through.
Shannon struggled to think. What else could she do? She used the second half of the veil to make another bandage – tighter this time. Blood smeared her hands, and, as she brushed her loosened hair from her eyes, she streaked her face with red. His arm still bled but much more slowly, and she thought it might stop soon. If not, it would have to be a tourniquet.
She was about to raise his arm, to see if that would help, when she made the mistake of turning her head and caught sight of the three dead men. Bile rose in her throat. She crawled a few feet away from Adam and was violently sick.
She retched uncontrollably. Finally, her throat raw, she dragged herself away from where she had vomited and flopped forward onto the ground, shivering, her fingers clutching a tuft of grass as though she might find comfort from it, the pain from her ankle throbbing through her. Why was she so cold? The sun was bright and warm on the side of her face, but her body felt frozen. And no one knew where they were; she would die here with Adam.
Her last thoughts before blackness filled her vision, were prayers. Oh God, please, just help us.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Hildegarde finished her conversation with Giles and looked around for Shannon. Where was that girl? Where was Isabella? Maybe they were together.
Isabella was supervising the squires as they pulled out food from a hamper. She turned, and Hildegarde caught her attention, beckoning her. Isabella stood up, dusted down her gown and headed over, eyes questioning. “Abbess?”
“Lady Isabella, do you know where Rohese is?”
She shook her head. “No, Abbess. Eudo?” The older serjeant turned in her direction. “Have you seen Mistress Rohese?”
“Aye, my lady, I think she was with Adam.”
“Then where is Adam?”
Hildegarde stared around the grove. The squires were still busy at their labours. Two of the knights were coming out of the bushes, adjusting their clothing. Isabella’s maid, Mahelt, was talking to Miles, but of Adam and Rohese, there was no sign. Hildegarde felt a pang of anxiety but stilled it. Well, and if the girl had strolled out of sight with Adam, no real harm would be done. She doubted she would lose her head, and though her reputation might suffer here, once in her own world it would be of no consequence.
Hildegarde took a deep breath and steadied herself, hoping to loosen the knot of worry she suddenly felt in her stomach. He had surely only walked a little way with her, mayhap to show her something. With a prayer in her heart, trying not to fret, she asked, “Eudo, did you see in which direction they went?”
He pushed up his cap and scratched his head, then gazed around dumbly as he gathered his thoughts, and Hildegarde itched with impatience. Just as she was beginning to feel the urge to slap him, he said, “Aye, I think it was that way.” He pointed to a track through the trees.
Hildegarde turned and strode off; there was no time to waste. What was Shannon thinking? New to this world she might be, but surely she knew better than this.
She went part-way down the track; they were not in sight, and she was brought up short as another alarming thought struck her, making her feel slightly sick. Turning back the way she had just come, she caught Giles by the elbow, interrupting him as he was speaking to the older of his knights, Guy.
“Sir Giles, I beg your pardon, do you see Adam’s horse at all? I’m not sure I recall which one it was.”
He turned, smiling. “Why, the roan one with the white streak down its face. Blaze. Over there…” His voice tailed off even as he pointed, for Blaze was not with the other horses.
“Sir Giles, I believe, I’m not entirely sure, however I believe Adam may have wandered off with my niece.”
His eyes hardened, and Hildegarde’s heart almost missed a beat at what she read in them. “My lord, you surely do not think he means ill to Rohese. Do you?” For a moment, he said nothing but it was enough. “Then, my lord, please, make haste to pursue him. They are both missing, and I know not how long ago they went.” She could feel the colour draining from her face. Stupid! Stupid! How could she have been so lax? “Eudo thinks he went in that direction.”
Giles looked steadily at her – she knew her face to be white and strained and wished she didn’t appear so anxious. It would only make things worse, but what could she do?
Isabella came up beside him and laid her hand lightly on his arm. “My lord husband, I had warned him to stay away from Rohese.” Isabella seemed no less worried than Hildegarde felt.
Giles put his arm around her, kissing her briefly before swinging up onto Troubadour, shouting, “Miles, Fulke, Guy, to me. Eudo, you and the others stay here with the women. We’ll spread out, see if we can discover which way they went.” The last words were flung over his shoulder as he turned Troubadour and started along the track.
The sun burned brightly overhead; it must be noon. A mound of freshly deposited dung steamed just in front of him; he was in the right direction then. As his shout rang out, the other men hurried to join him, and he took off at a gallop.
Mistress Rohese was of their party, and she was under his protection, as was the Abbess, until they were safely back at Sparnstow. How dared Adam? Why hadn’t Isabella told him? But then, she may not have had much to go on other than vague suspicion, and had he not promised to keep an eye to Adam himself? Although, he had thought the lad was above meddling with one of Rohese’s station. He had thought only that Adam was trying his luck with maids and servants and under his own roof.
He cursed; he should have known. His father was of the same ilk and blood breeds true, but Adam had seemed more likeable, more malleable. And indeed, he’d wanted to give the lad a chance to escape, to teach him how a man should behave.
He swore again and urged Troubadour to greater speed, hoping this was the right direction.
Behind him, Isabella and Hildegarde watched in dismay along with Mahelt and the squires. Eudo stood a little apart from them, hand to the hilt of his sword, face grim.
Hildegarde, not content with waiting, went to mount Horace. If Giles caught up with them in this frame of mind, she felt certain there would be bloodshed. She never travelled without some basic supplies in one of her saddlebags, and she feared the contents would be needed.
As she asked Alan, another of the squires, to assist her, Isabella led the bay rouncey over. “Take Kestrel, Abbess. She will be better able to catch Giles. Alan, you will accompany the Abbess.”
“I thank you.” As she spoke, Hildegarde was unfastening her bag with nimble fingers, throwing it over her shoulder
Isabella steadied Horace and called Leofwine. “We will ready the wain. With Giles in this mo
od, we may need it for Adam.”
Hildegarde thanked God they had taken the wain instead of the usual pack-ponies she would have expected. It would be easier, should there be casualties. She did not know what Giles might be capable of when his temper ran thus; God grant he did not kill Adam.
Alan helped her mount. She wasted no time. A competent, if out-of-practise rider, she urged Kestrel into a gallop, following the direction Giles had taken.
How she would have enjoyed the ride had she not been so concerned. The little mare would have been a delight in any other circumstance, but for now, veil streaming behind her, eyes watering but focussed, head down to avoid low-hanging branches, she could think of nothing except for what lay ahead. Her heart pounded in time with Kestrel’s hooves, and her head took up the rhythm as she prayed. Let them be all right. Let Shannon be safe, and, dear God, let there be no murder done this day.
After what felt far too long, she caught sight of Giles and his men through the trees. There were bodies sprawled around Adam’s horse, and two of the men were bent over something on the ground. A flutter of fabric lay across the track, and her heart seemed to almost stop beating. Shannon!
As she slowed the mare and slid from the saddle with more urgency than grace, she saw Giles standing over another prone figure, presumably Adam. To her horror, Giles was about to kick him. He swung his leg, and she flew at him, tugging his arm, distracting him so he staggered and missed the body at his feet, calling, “My lord!” His face was suffused with fury, glaring at Adam, ignoring her. She raised her voice, “SIR GILES!”
This time, he responded to her interruption. He seemed to pause for reflection, and she continued quickly, “My lord, you cannot do this. The man is badly injured. Do you wish to cause his death?”
Giles spat. “If he dies, so be it. He is nothing to me. Look instead to your niece, my lady Abbess, instead of this…this…” The expression on her face made him swallow whatever foul epithet he had been about to use.
Thus recalled to Shannon’s condition, Hildegarde turned, but hesitated, laying her hand on Sir Giles’ arm. “Patience, my lord. Let me see them both.” Then, she bent over Shannon. Her heart seemed to patter erratically for the girl was covered with blood and seemed to be unconscious.
For a moment, Hildegarde was too aghast to say anything, then her common sense kicked in. Shannon was not dead, and the blood didn’t seem to be hers. She touched her face, saying, “Rohese! Rohese, my dear, can you speak?”
To her relief, the girl’s eyelids fluttered open, and she shuddered convulsively. Hildegarde held her hand out. “A cloak, if you please.” Someone thrust a mantle into her grasp. She tucked it around Shannon tenderly, then gave her a brief going-over. Yes, the blood on her hands and gown was not hers; she had obviously administered first aid to Adam, Hildegarde decided.
So was she just shocked? Or was she also injured? And if so, where? Raising Shannon’s gown slightly, she discovered her ankle was bruised and badly swollen. Shannon’s hand came out from beneath the mantle and clasped hers. Hildegarde stroked her brow. “Where are you hurt, child? Did you hit your head?”
“No, just my leg, and my ribs are sore too. They hit him, caught me a little. I think I’m just bruised, but my ankle,” she bit down hard on her lower lip, “that really hurts.”
Shannon’s face crumpled, and her mouth trembled. “Please, Auntie, I’m fine. Adam–” She broke off and dashed a hand over her eyes. “I don’t even know if he’s still alive. I think he’s broken his leg, and his arm was bleeding so much. I did try to stop it; I hope what I did was right.” She clutched Hildegarde’s arm. “Please, go and help him.”
Hildegarde rose to her feet. Giles was still standing over Adam, a thunderous expression on his face, though at least he wasn’t kicking him. Hildegarde hurried across and bent to examine him; he was in a far worse state than Shannon.
Giles touched her shoulder. “How does your niece?”
“She is in some pain; it’s nothing that will not mend. As for this one, he is in bad straits.”
Giles face was flushed, his brows down, lips thinned to a tight line. “Faugh! If he were not already, he would have been when I caught him up. How dared he? Abbess, if it were not for Maude, I would leave him here as carrion.”
Hildegarde gave him stare for stare. “Well, I would not. How about the others? Are they dead?”
“They appear to be. Certainly, he is.” He indicated a body with a gaping wound in the throat. “Are the others dead also, Miles?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Well, since Adam is not, what can be done?” The worst of his ire fading, he squatted on his heels beside Hildegarde.
She examined Adam carefully. A broken leg; please God it would knit well. And a gash to his arm. She loosened Shannon’s bandage cautiously and eased it off. Fortunately, although the bleeding had stopped, it hadn’t had long enough to dry and stick. Not an artery, but still a deep wound. It would need stitching. She could not do that here, but it could be cleansed and bandaged at least. She pulled out a wine costrel from her bag.
Adam groaned. His eyes were sunken pools of agony when he opened them. “My lord, I beg…” He paused, his breath catching in his throat. “I beg…forgiveness.” His voice was hoarse and his words faltering. Giles glared at him, and he moved his sound arm feebly.
Hildegarde took a small vial from her bag and unstoppered it, pouring him a measure of the opiate it contained. Raising him as he drank, choking slightly, she waited for it to take effect. He would need to be unconscious. His pain was already severe, and what she had to do next, he would not bear. She hoped they would be able to get the wain here. The ground was not too unsteady, the passage between the trees not too narrow, the wain not excessively wide. For certѐs, it would be better than conveying him by litter.
As Adam’s head lolled, she drenched the wound with wine, flushing it thoroughly, praying as she did so. Then, binding it tightly, she turned her attention to his leg. It would need splinting. She raised her head, looking for anything she could use, and found Giles had pre-empted her. He held out a piece of wood. It was not ideal, but would do for now. Removing her patient’s boot, she felt for a pulse in his ankle. To her relief, it throbbed steadily beneath her fingers. She gently probed along his leg where she could feel the break; it seemed a simple enough one.
“Do you need help?”
“Please. If you can hold him steady, thus…”
She realigned the bone, wrapping it tightly and bracing it with the wood. “Can you find another such? Two would be better.” At least her temporary efforts would be enough to get him back to the abbey, where Ursel could deal with his hurts more thoroughly.
Giles got up and returned to the upturned cart, kicking and tearing at it until more wood broke away, coming back with another piece of similar size.
“And now, Sir Giles, we need to warm him. Your mantle, please.”
He hesitated, an inscrutable expression on his face, then unclasped it and handed it over, saying, “For Maude’s sake, if not his own.”
Done, at least for the present, Hildegarde returned to Shannon who was a little less drawn now, though she still looked strained. Her earlier shivering had almost subsided, although the odd tremor still ran through her. She watched Hildegarde with anxious eyes.
“Adam will be well,” Hildegarde reassured her, praying she did not lie.
Shannon nodded, and a little of the tension left her face until Hildegarde touched her ankle. She gave a muffled yelp and bit down hard on her lip again, enduring Hildegarde’s ministrations with a set face.
Hildegarde was relieved to find the ankle was not broken, just badly sprained. She bound it as gently as she could, but Shannon was pale as bleached linen by the time she had finished.
“Good girl. Here.” Hildegarde pulled out another small costrel, pouring some of the contents into a cup. “Drink this.”
Wan as she was, Shannon still screwed up her face as she sniffed it. Hildegarde smi
led sympathetically. “Yes, I’m afraid it will taste as bad as it smells; however, it will ease the pain, I promise.
Shannon shrugged, took the cup and swallowed, shuddering as the noxious mixture went down. Her already pale face took on a slight tinge of green, and Hildegarde hastily pulled out a honey wafer which she’d discovered residing stickily at the bottom of her bag.
Shannon regarded it suspiciously and licked it with caution. As she realised it would rid her mouth of the vile taste, she ate with more enthusiasm, then gazed up at Hildegarde, a tear trembling on her lashes. “Will he truly be okay?”
Hildegarde gave what she hoped was a reassuring nod, and a little colour came back into Shannon’s face. “I know he was kidnapping me, but even so…” She trailed off.
“I know. You would not wish him to come to harm. Well, I make no promises, but plenty have survived worse wounds.”
As she spoke, the baggage wain came rumbling down the track, along with Isabella and the rest of the mesnie. Good. They would all be needed.
Loading Adam onto the space which had been cleared proved to be an exacting task. He was, for the most part, insensible, and Shannon watched them, whimpering each time he moaned, her hand to her mouth as though his agony was hers.
Isabella had placed cloaks beneath him, yet for all that, the cushioning effect was negligible.
Hildegarde looked at Shannon. “Do you wish to ride with him?”
Shannon nodded, and Giles lifted her carefully, setting her next to Adam. She raised his head onto her lap, stroking his face.
Hildegarde kissed her lightly on the brow, saying, “Not long now. When we reach the abbey, we can make him more comfortable.”
In truth, the journey would take at least a couple of hours, probably more if they were to go gently; however, there was no help for it. Sparnstow was less than six miles hence, and Hildegarde, for once, found herself frustrated at the slowness of travel in this century. Oh, for her trusty car! She mentally shook herself. It did no good thinking about it.
A Promise to Keep (Out of Time Book 2) Page 16