Carroll, Laurie - War Of Hearts.txt

by War Of Hearts. txt (lit)

  hundred feet deep—it had houses at the head and gardens

  behind. The plot-head houses stood side by side, fronts

  forming an unbroken wall behind which residents could

  shelter against danger. The backs of the dwellings opened

  onto a large, protected commons.

  Sherford had approximately fifty houses arranged in

  a square around the green. Those on the west fronted

  the market. A flour mill, a bakery and a smithy stood

  across from the southern frontage. North side residents

  could view English hills and forests stretching beyond

  the horizon. The east side faced the Great Road.

  Jeremy ruefully thought that under other

  circumstances he’d appreciate Sherford’s beauty. But not

  today. He’d come to spy and to forget mistreating Alicen

  Kent. Posing as a wool merchant, he was soon speaking

  with the citizens and shopkeepers, gathering information

  on the townsfolk and their loyalties.

  ***

  Alicen hadn’t seen Jeremy depart. Once inside her

  cottage, she leaned weakly against the sturdy door, afraid

  to walk farther lest she collapse. Only intense effort

  steadied her breathing and slowed her racing heart. Her

  hands continued to shake. By forgetting the captain’s

  distrust, she’d nearly gotten injured. Belatedly, she no

  longer underestimated him. He loathed her, and she

  abruptly felt helpless and alone. He could have her killed

  if the whim struck him...

  But why? He’d resented her the moment he discovered

  her to be the physician, and she lived literally at his whim.

  His authority and suspicion made her position tenuous.

  “Alicen?”

  Ned’s sudden appearance caused her to start in alarm.

  “Alicen, what is it?” The boy rushed to her side and

  seized her hand. “Come sit down. You look faint.”

  She allowed him to lead her to the table and seat her

  on the bench, then accepted the mug of tea he thrust

  into her trembling hands. She managed a few shaky sips.

  The boy’s dark eyes mirrored his concern. “What

  happened?” His gaze fixed on her pale face. “Your lips

  are bloodless.”

  Seeing the question on his expressive face, she stated,

  “Captain Blaine threatened me just now.”

  Ned leaped to his feet. “That whoreson! I’ll kill him!”

  “You’ll do naught of the sort,” she said with forced

  calm, reaching out to restrain him. “Now, sit down.”

  “But he’s terrified you.” Ned pulled away from her

  hand.

  Her brow arched. “And for that you’d slay him? Even

  if you succeeded, they’d hang you for murder. Then where

  would I be?”

  “But—”

  She sighed. “No arguments, lad. We’ll do naught about

  the incident save put it behind us.”

  At her grim look, he reluctantly took his seat.

  “Well...you’re likely right,” he muttered. “But why did he

  do it?”

  “I’m partially to blame.” She gave a brief account of

  the day’s events without articulating her fears.

  Ned threw his thin arms around her. “I’ll protect you,

  Alicen. He’ll not frighten you again. I give my word.”

  She hugged him close. “Bless you, lad, but I’ll care

  for myself. And rest more easily if you keep far from his

  path. Though I’m certain ’tis only I he loathes, I’d rather

  not try that certainty.”

  A sudden knock at the door drew both their startled

  gazes.

  “I’ll see to that,” Ned said, rising. “Perhaps you should

  attend the duke.”

  Alicen was warmed by her apprentice’s protectiveness

  but wouldn’t endanger him for her sake. “No need. ‘Twas

  my action that caused the trouble, and I’ll deal with it.”

  Seeing him start to protest, she quickly added, “I’ll not

  have you involved in this. Now, see if the stew is warm.”

  With that, she strode to the door and, drawing a deep

  breath, opened it.

  Michael Taft stood there, his felt hat in his hand.

  She glared, focusing her animosity on Blaine’s

  subordinate. “What do you want?”

  “May I speak with you, Mistress Kent?” The soldier’s

  eyes were kind, and he had a mouth that smiled easily.

  “Your captain threatened me,” Alicen said bluntly.

  “What’s to stop you from doing the same?”

  “I don’t threaten women. And until today, Sir Jeremy

  had never done so, either. He regrets it.”

  “Forgive me for not believing you.”

  Taft looked away momentarily. “The captain is

  honorable, but your eluding Naismith was more than

  could be borne. Worse yet, you reminded him of how

  distasteful discipline can be. I know Captain Blaine well.

  He’ll not harry you further.”

  “As he was so quick to point out, he acts as he sees

  fit. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m busy, Lieutenant.”

  The soldier blushed. “Please, lass, I mean, the men

  and I...we...we wish you to know we’re sorry for all that

  happened today.”

  “Do you speak for your captain, or just for

  yourselves?”

  Taft shook his head. “Captain Blaine speaks for

  himself. When he’s not furious.”

  “Does that ever occur?”

  “I’ve no words to explain my superior’s actions,” he

  replied.

  “Make no attempt.” Alicen started to turn away.

  An upheld hand stopped her. “Duty is all to him, lass,

  so much so that it obscures even compassion. He regrets

  frightening you. I saw that regret in his eyes. But to admit

  to such in front of the men would undermine his

  command.”

  Alicen blanched, remembering the flash of pain

  revealed in Blaine’s gaze after he’d attacked her. She must

  have been mistaken, his look a trick of the light.

  “I should think his men would appreciate honesty,”

  she said flatly. Noticing she twisted her apron in her hands

  as she spoke, she forced herself to stop.

  “You don’t understand, Mistress. Had you not

  challenged him, he never would have reacted in such a

  way.”

  Her lips thinned. “You believe I’ve no right to oppose

  brutality on my own property?”

  “The captain never punishes excessively.”

  “Fifteen lashes isn’t excessive?”

  “He could’ve hanged the man,” Taft stated. “We men

  respect him because we know at all times where we

  stand.” He paused, studying her. “He has far more trouble

  with women.”

  “So I gathered,” Alicen replied dryly.

  “I believe he was as shocked as anyone at what

  happened.” When Alicen shook her head in denial, Taft

  added, “Yet his men know he but protected his authority.”

  “I appreciate your candor, sir, but thrashing a man

  for being outwitted is unconscionable.”

  “Were you a soldier, you’d understand.”

  “As I told your captain, I thank God I’ll never be such.”

  Taft smiled. “We thank Him for that, too, Mistres
s.

  You’re too fine a healer to be aught else. You saved

  William’s life and have treated us well. Captain Blaine

  will admit his mistake, at least to himself. Whether he’ll

  admit it to you, I know not.”

  Alicen believed Sir Jeremy Blaine would rather die

  first, but she said nothing. She shook Taft’s proffered

  hand, then watched silently as he left the cottage.

  Her thoughts returned with shuddering clarity to her

  predicament. She must not force the captain into a corner.

  Like a wounded wolf, his reaction was to protect himself.

  She desperately hoped what Taft said about him—that

  he’d reacted uncharacteristically—was true.

  Otherwise, could she continue to protect Orrick, Ned

  and herself?

  On impulse, she plucked her cloak from the peg by

  the door. A brisk walk through the now repaired garden

  gate brought her to the woods behind Landeyda. She

  glanced around to see if she’d been observed, then slipped

  into the dense underbrush via a well-hidden path. Soon

  she stood in a small clearing dominated by an ancient

  oak. At its base was a weathered Celtic cross, a sprig of

  mistletoe draped over the crosspiece.

  Grasping her amulet, Alicen knelt in front of the cross

  and bowed her head.

  “Mother, I’m afraid. The soldier of my vision. He who’ll

  change my life. It’s Jeremy Blaine. What am I to do?” She

  listened carefully but heard only a gentle breeze rustling

  the oak’s leaves. Then the stones in her amulet began to

  warm. The breeze picked up, swirling around her, pulling

  at her cloak, tangling her hair.

  He has forced you to abandon your neutrality. Kaitlyn

  O’Rourke’s voice filled her daughter’s mind.

  “I’ve no intention of betraying my vows, Mother.”

  But what if those vows don’t fit his plan?

  “I won’t break my oath to you.”

  You may have no choice, Daughter.

  The wind died, her amulet cooled, and Alicen was left

  to contemplate the meaning of her mother’s words.

  Four

  He was far more intoxicated than he had planned.

  Jeremy had patronized all of Sherford’s shopkeepers,

  then taken a room at the inn. Although he had no need

  of a bed, it gave him an excuse to spend hours in the

  common room, eavesdropping.

  What he’d heard made him guardedly optimistic. No

  overtly partisan sentiments had been discussed, and no

  one eyed him with suspicion, as they would have had

  they feared his intentions. Those who’d come and gone

  throughout the evening—some alone, others with families

  or friends—had spoken only of everyday matters in an

  English village.

  Five patrons at a table opposite Jeremy’s formed the

  night’s most vocal tipplers. They pinched serving wenches,

  ate and drank noisily, and sang bawdy songs. But they’d

  said naught of Harold the Bastard, or of Duke William.

  In order to allay suspicions of his presence, Jeremy

  had imbibed quite steadily for several hours. As the night

  wore on and the conversations remained common, he

  found himself thinking more on Alicen Kent and less on

  plots against William. And each time he recalled how he’d

  mistreated the healer, he took another drink.

  Now, the inn’s common room swam before his eyes.

  He thought to ride back to Landeyda, but feared he’d not

  be able to mount Charon. Nor could he even be certain of

  mounting the stairs to the room he’d acquired at the inn.

  Mayhap a meal would clear his head.

  But when he looked up to signal the serving girl, Alicen

  stood before him, accusation in her emerald eyes. He

  choked, shamed to see fright still brimming in that lovely

  gaze. Had she followed him? Brought friends to avenge

  her? He knew he’d drunk too much to defend himself

  from a gang intent on thrashing him. Fighting instinct

  made him sit straight, alert to danger, but his reflexes

  were so befuddled his body could hardly respond, and

  he knew the effort was futile. She had him trapped.

  Blinking, he looked again. Alicen’s tall, lithe figure

  melted into a short, buxom blonde with uneven teeth. He

  vaguely recognized her...one of the inn’s serving wenches.

  She moved closer to slide her small hand up his leg.

  “Coo, yer lordship, ye look ta be lonely.” Without

  waiting for an invitation, she sat in his lap. “How’d ye like

  ta spend some time wi’ Sylvia?” She slid her hand higher

  up his thigh then placed it on his groin, sobering him

  considerably. The wench leaned against him, her crooked

  mouth pressing to his neck and cheek. “We could go ta

  yer room. Get more cozy.”

  With a grunt, he found himself lurching to his feet

  and spilling Sylvia from his lap. Had she not had her

  arms around his neck, she’d have fallen to the floor.

  “My, ain’t ye the randy buck,” she squealed in mock

  protest, then grabbed his hand to guide him out the

  tavern’s back door and onto the green.

  Once outside, Jeremy stopped moving, and Sylvia was

  forced to either stop also or let go of his hand. She stopped.

  “I’m too drunk to please you properly,” he lied. Truth

  to tell, he wasn’t drunk enough to overlook her slovenly

  appearance and odorous breath. Her touch may have

  somewhat aroused him at the table, but he wasn’t about

  to act on that arousal. He had never rutted

  indiscriminately, and—sotted or no—had no intention of

  bedding a woman who sold herself. Though beautiful

  courtesans clamored for him, since Estelle he’d been

  discriminating.

  With sudden blinding clarity, he imagined Alicen’s

  slender, supple body beneath his hands, moving to the

  rhythm of his fingers. He saw her face framed in thick

  chestnut hair. But instead of passion-filled eyes, her

  expression showed naked terror—like the fear he’d caused

  that afternoon. With a low curse, he shook his head to

  clear it of that stark image. Alicen’s likeness faded to the

  reality of the woman before him.

  “I’ll not pay you for a dalliance,” he found himself

  saying. “I will, however, pay you for information.”

  Sylvia gaped at him. “Pay me fer infermation?”

  “Aye.” He fumbled in his cloak and brought out several

  gold coins. “I’ll reward you well for any worthwhile

  knowledge.”

  “What do ye wish ta know, yer lordship?”

  Jeremy motioned with a jerk of his head. “Upstairs

  first.”

  ***

  A short time before dawn, Jeremy left his room at the

  inn, never to return. Although Sylvia had made it clear

  she’d welcome any bedsport he desired, he’d done nothing

  but interrogate her about Alicen Kent.

  The serving wench had visibly trembled when he’d

  asked about the physician.

  “The best healer in the north of England, that one,”

  Sylvia swore. “She cured me of fever once. But...”
r />   At the uneasy look in the girl’s eyes, Jeremy had

  prompted, “But what?”

  “There be rumors about her holding.” Sylvia’s eyes

  grew wide with fright, but Jeremy’s raised brow inspired

  her to add, “‘Tis said the ghost of Kaitlyn O’Rourke protects

  Landeyda.”

  “And who is this Kaitlyn O’Rourke?”

  “Alicen’s mother,” Sylvia whispered, as if to raise her

  voice would call down this vengeful spirit. “‘Tweren’t no

  better healer than Kaitlyn. Her daughter takes after her,

  but even Alicen isn’t her equal.”

  Kaitlyn O’Rourke must have been God’s right hand,

  Jeremy thought, if she was more talented at healing than

  her daughter. “Did Alicen’s mother ever harm you?”

  “Nay! Nor her daughter, either. Both of ‘em did naught

  but heal.”

  “Then why fear her spirit, if it does in fact dwell at

  Landeyda?”

  “Kaitlyn was killed after a battle. While trying to help

  the wounded.” Sylvia’s voice became even softer as she

  added, “Such a skilled healer would know well how to

  kill. And who but a mother who loves her child would do

  aught needed to protect that child. Even if it meant comin’

  back from the grave?”

  Still nursing a head muddled by ale, Jeremy rode

  slowly back to Landeyda, contemplating all the serving

  wench had said. He recalled the sudden chill he’d felt

  when he’d threatened Alicen in the stable, and it occurred

  to him that the voice he’d heard could very well have had

  the hint of an Irish brogue. Lord, he was addled to partake

  in such ridiculous fancy! Too much ale and the

  suggestions of a frightened and ignorant woman had made

  him contemplate the possibility of a ghost. Loose spirits

  did not exist. Dead was dead.

  ***

  Sensing Captain Blaine wouldn’t return for several

  hours, Alicen felt compelled to aid his hapless victim. His

  orders kept well in mind, she took Ned along to the stable,

  where they found Naismith face down on a straw pallet

  with Malcolm Fish clumsily tending his lash marks. Fish

  stood hastily when he saw her.

  “Mistress Alicen, ye mustn’t be here,” the distraught

  soldier cried. “Cap’n’s orders.”

  “I’ll not be insubordinate, Malcolm,” Alicen assured

  as she knelt by Naismith. “Sir knight, I am sorry you