“’Twould be a bloodbath.” She barely succeeded in
suppressing a shudder.
Jeremy stared. Beneath Alicen’s stubborn defiance
he’d caught a glimpse of raw fear. Despite her
insubordination, he wanted to touch her, but throttled
the notion of comforting her. Mayhap she sought to detain
and betray them. He trusted her not, making his base
desire for her even more maddening.
And he’d no time to contemplate the derangement of
lust. His enemy was nigh. He had to make it appear that
what they sought wasn’t there.
“Does it come to battle, whose side will you hope
prevails?” He saw her pale further at his question.
“You’ve forced me to take your part in this, Captain,”
she returned, voice barely above a whisper. “Jesu be
merciful, I swore to Mother on her deathbed I’d not be
partisan!”
Despite his attempt at indifference, Alicen’s bleak
features wrenched his heart. “Circumstance undoes you,
Mistress,” he stated bluntly, again crushing his urge to
comfort her.
“I hold you to blame for that,” she snapped, burying
her trembling hands in her apron pockets. “But though
I’ve no choice whose part I take, you’ll not fight here.”
Jeremy glowered, leaning toward her. “That is not your
decision to make.”
“Oh, but it is.” Her uptilted chin hid her fear. “Soldiers
think only blood resolves conflict. ’Tis foolishness. Peaceful
means oft work far better.”
“Time grows short. I’ll not debate philosophy when
we may be besieged momentarily.”
As he turned to leave, she caught his arm. “Captain,
please. Let me keep them at bay,” she pleaded. When his
gaze swung back to her, she added, “Those men will surely
learn of Landeyda. Once they know a healer dwells here,
they’ll expect one. I can divert them with a tale of plague.”
“Or inform them of our presence,” Jeremy answered,
fighting to ignore the warmth creeping up his arm from
the point where she touched him. “I think not, Mistress
Kent.”
Anger suffusing her face, she yanked her hand from
his arm. “You’d fight when I’ve a means to avoid it? You
are mad!”
He shook his head, dreading battle but seeing no other
choice. “I’ll pose as the healer.”
“’Twould never work. All with eyes can see you’re no
physician. The moment you appear, they’ll know aught
is amiss.”
Taft grunted. “She’s right on that count, Captain.”
“William will decide,” Jeremy stated, then moved
Alicen aside and entered the infirmary.
***
An hour later Alicen implemented her plan. William
had favored escape, but she’d convinced him ’twould be
fatal. Gaining approval of her strategy had proven more
difficult. With Jeremy adamantly opposed, they’d wasted
precious time arguing. Finally, both men had given in to
her logic, William with far more grace than his captain.
Now she and Ned stood in the courtyard, feeding old
bandages and garments into a bonfire. The choking smell
of burning rags filled the air and stung their noses.
Squaring her shoulders, she readjusted the shabby cloak
she’d donned. They had dressed in tatters and dirtied
their skin with soot. Ned’s white-blond locks were streaked
with ash, and she had sullied her hair in the same
manner. These intruders must have no wish to tarry at
Landeyda. She prayed the stench of burning rags and
the appearance of the two people wearing clothes similar
to those rags would discourage dalliance.
“They’ll be here anon.” She’d heard the rattle of
harnesses and equipment—the troop was nigh. Her chest
tightened until it threatened to crush her lungs. Offering
a prayer to God, her mother, and any saint or spirit that
might have been listening, she gave Ned a reassuring
smile.
When the troop was close enough only the deaf
wouldn’t hear them, she jumped and spun as if startled.
With an eerie cry, she dropped the stick she used to tend
the fire and rushed toward them. At sight of her, they
immediately drew rein, all except the first man.
“Nay, go back,” she screeched, heading for the lead
rider. “Did ye not heed the signs? Go back, I say!”
When it looked as though he’d continue to the cottage,
she stepped in front of his mount. Her every nerve
screamed for her to run from the dangerous war horse,
but that would be fatal for all. She made no quick
movements, just held her place.
The destrier snorted a warning, his rider drawing rein
a mere step away. Alicen tensed yet showed no outward
sign of awareness of the peril she was in.
“You deny us entry, hag?” the leader asked. “We seek
for information.”
Inside the stable, Jeremy surveyed his men. They
gripped their weapons tightly, so still they looked carved
in rock. But rigidity would shatter at the slightest cause.
As did he, they foresaw a fight to the death, and so
prepared themselves in their own private ways.
He started at the sound of a familiar voice, one that
pierced him like a shaft of steel. Peering from behind the
stable door, he felt his face pale as recognition dawned.
“Kenrick.” He swore beneath his breath.
If Theo Kenrick served Harold, William’s shire—
including every citizen—was jeopardized. No more
ruthless a mercenary lived in the Christian world. Jeremy
strained to hear what Alicen said to his most hated enemy,
but little of the conversation came to him.
“Enter these grounds at great risk,” Alicen keened,
voice on the edge of lunacy. “My villein and his lad died
last eventide. Neither showed signs of affliction ere three
days hence.” She lifted a bunch of flowers to her nose,
giving the mercenaries time to watch Ned add blankets
and linen to the burning heap. He’d tied a nosegay around
his neck so both his hands were free. “I fear the signs,”
she screeched, recalling their attention to her. “Both had
lumps in groin and armpits.”
This declaration had the desired effect. The soldiers
grew restive. Whispers broke out in the ranks, and Alicen
heard more than one man mutter “plague.” But their
leader remained unmoved. His hard eyes and cruel mouth
tightened. Alicen’s throat went dry.
“We’ve had no sign of pestilence for years,” he sneered.
“And nary a sign at all ere it took so many lives,” she
returned, injecting just enough drama into her voice to
sway them. A broad gesture included the estate. “We seek
to hold contagion here. Thus, none in Sherford are privy
to our plight.” She fixed an intent stare on the
mercenaries. “You sought information. You have it.
Depart. Most like, you’ll be in no danger. Yet, if exposed,
expect half your troop
to die within the week.”
She turned her back on the soldiers to pick up her
staff, forcing herself to move to the fire although the hair
at her nape stood up. Despite the roaring blaze, it seemed
unnaturally cool. After a long, breathless moment, she
heard harnesses rattle and leather squeak as the riders
wheeled their mounts. The thunder of hooves shook the
ground when the mercenaries galloped out the gate.
Alicen and Ned remained in place until the troop had
disappeared down the road. Then they threw down their
staffs and embraced. William’s men streamed from their
hiding places to quickly surround them, clapping them
on the back and rejoicing at the successful ruse. Tension
expelled itself in loud whoops and impromptu dances.
Jeremy skirted the celebration with barely a glance
at the participants. He was soon at William’s bedside.
“You saw?”
“Aye,” William answered gravely. “Kenrick. You should
have killed that whoreson years ago when you had the
chance.”
“Curse my soul for putting honor above prudence,”
Jeremy swore bitterly. “He’ll show no such mercy if he
finds us here.”
A grin abruptly lit the duke’s face. “Methinks he’ll
ponder long ‘ere he darkens these gates again.” Worry
released itself in a chortle. “Thought of the Black Death
chilled his devil’s soul! Alicen terrified that blackguard to
his stones.”
Jeremy’s expression hardened. “In truth, she’s an apt
dissembler,” he stated, none too kindly.
William’s mirth faded. “What do you suggest?”
“I’m uncertain,” Jeremy admitted slowly. “Yet
methinks Kenrick retreated too easily.”
“Wouldn’t you if you thought the plague was nigh?”
Jeremy shrugged. “Most like. But ’tis not the lie that
so concerns me, ’tis the woman’s talent for deception.”
“She acted a part, like any player.”
“You’re certain? None truly heard her words. Mayhap
she’s known to Kenrick and warned him away.”
“What would be the purpose, since he had the
advantage?”
“To keep bloodshed from her allies, perhaps?”
“Jeremy, you mistake the lass—”
“You needn’t defend me, my lord,” Alicen stated from
the threshold. She swallowed hard before adding, “The
captain believes I protected his enemies from him.” Unable
to completely hide her pain, she glared at Jeremy. “Were
I he, I’d likely doubt every intention of those around me
as well.”
“Mistress—”
Both men spoke at once, but Alicen talked right over
them. “You’ll think what you will of me, Captain, but be
honest with yourself at least. If I was loyal to Harold, why
not just poison all of you when I found out who William
was? Why repel Harold’s patrol, when I could have pointed
them to the stable and had them easily surround you?
And why not contemplate poisoning all of you now?” She
tried to glare at Jeremy, but her resolve crumpled, and
she suddenly found herself fighting tears.
Turning, she fled the infirmary.
Six
Jeremy winced at hearing the door to Alicen’s chamber
slam. The woman had saved their lives, and he repaid
her with suspicion. He stood staring bleakly at the empty
doorway, wishing to revoke his cold words, wishing he’d
joined his men in lauding Alicen’s cunning. But he could
do neither, and this made him even more wretched.
“Jeremy, I never thought you a jackass,” William
asserted, “but methinks I erred in my assumption.”
“I’ll have that device added to my coat of arms,” the
knight muttered before he left the cottage to patrol the
grounds.
***
He was penning an urgent missive to Warrick that
afternoon when Ned entered. At sight of the towhead’s
solemn face, Jeremy smiled. An unreturned gesture, but
he knew Ned’s anger toward him had eased. He’d caught
the boy studying him of late, and this interest warmed
Jeremy. Ned certainly had courage and loyalty. Perhaps
the two of them could fashion a truce.
“I’m to remove your stitches,” Ned stated without
preamble, brandishing a long-tipped pair of tweezers.
Jeremy’s brows shot up. Why didn’t Alicen oversee, if
not perform, this task? Through the chamber window he
glimpsed her—once more freshly scrubbed—striding
away, basket in hand. ’Twas obvious she’d not appear,
and a baffling disappointment unsettled him. His agitation
at her absence upset him more, however. What matter if
she’d sent her apprentice to remove his stitches?
She’d spurned him since he’d discredited her to
William that morn. And while he couldn’t recant his words,
he had determined to avoid offending her more. Her pique
would cool. However, if he trusted his eyes, her anger
might last for some time. He glanced out the window
again, but she’d moved from his line of sight.
In truth, he regretted losing this chance to have her
close. It shocked him to realize that her gentle touch and
subtle fragrance soothed him. Of course, she was a gifted
healer, and he appreciated skill. Yet he’d not admit he
desired her near for more than his wounds.
“Sir? Could you remove your tunic, please?”
Jeremy’s attention snapped back to Ned. The
apprentice fidgeted. Clearly, he’d never performed this
task but was doggedly determined. He snipped and
tugged, and in a few minutes had removed all the thread
closing Jeremy’s wound.
“My thanks, lad.” Jeremy donned his shirt, knowing
the procedure wouldn’t have stung so much had Alicen
done it. But he’d not discourage the boy. “You did well.”
Ned’s face lit up. “Did I, sir?” At the captain’s nod, he
exclaimed, “Thank you, sir!” Then he fairly skipped from
the room, his expression a study of relieved joy at his
feat.
Jeremy ignored his regret that Alicen had not tended
him herself, returning to William’s correspondence.
‘Tis no more than you deserve for playing the cad with
her, a voice said inside his mind. Ye refuse to trust her,
yet ye wish her near. Why long for something you’ve
willingly pushed away? For the life of him he couldn’t tell
if those were his own thoughts or those of someone else—
with an Irish lilt.
***
Dusk had fallen when Alicen returned from herb
gathering. Several soldiers lounged in the yard, honing
weapons and cleaning tack. They called out greetings as
she passed.
“I’ve an ailment I’m certain you could cure, Mistress
Kent,” Hitch Stacy said loudly, catching her gaze.
Her emerald eyes darkened in concern. “What is it,
Hitch?”
The young man smiled at his mates, then turned his
impish look on her. He touched a finger to h
is lips. “This
ache can only be eased by the kiss of a lovely lass.” His
grin widened when she blushed and ducked her head.
“Would you end my suffering, Mistress?”
“Best kiss your horse instead,” she returned with a
shy smile. “When there’s no lass nearby to soothe you,
he’ll be about. Nor will he complain if he has no pleasure
from you.”
The men, including Hitch, laughed heartily.
Their mirth pleased her. Oddly enough, she enjoyed
this banter with the men-at-arms. They welcomed her
company, and each had praised her daring plan more
than once. Their captain alone was openly hostile. Worse,
Blaine had even questioned her efforts.
This thought effectively dampened her mood. He’d
scrutinized her every action since his arrival, and after
the incident with Naismith, she’d hardly enough privacy
to relieve herself. As usual, the cur stood close by,
following her every action. Alicen caught sight of him in
the stable door.
Most like, the mistrusting wretch fears I’ll poison his
men, then ride off to find the mercenaries, she brooded.
She crushed a sudden urge to provoke him. ’Twas
unwise to bait the varlet, and sending Ned to remove his
stitches in her place was as defiant as she dared be.
Swallowing her ire, she strode to the stable—her
destination before the captain’s presence there had given
her pause.
Silent, Jeremy moved aside to let her enter, then
studied her as she went stiffly about her chores. Her
usually expressive face looked stiff, and though her eyes
were shadowed, he didn’t need to see them to sense she
fought back tears. He felt a curious sadness at realizing
he had caused her sorrow.
God’s wounds, she has a way about her, he marveled.
Her courage this day had strengthened the entire troop’s
respect, and every villein for ten leagues ‘round would
likely follow her to Hell. Pray Jesu she never gets political
ambition.
That idea made him flinch. She could lead a faction
down any path she wished, having won William and the
men over easily enough. His lips compressed. Despite
her besting Kenrick, his mortal enemy, Jeremy refused
to trust her.
Yet he admired valor, and she’d endangered herself
to spare bloodshed. You’re made of sterner metal than
Carroll, Laurie - War Of Hearts.txt Page 9