Should Run Cold
IT REALLY was most odd. The hour when Sir Richard normally started work for the day was already long past, yet it seemed none of the guards had seen him that morning. Rowena threw her cloak across a chair and hurried back down the stairs.
In the dim light, she saw someone sitting on the last step. This someone was not tall enough to be a man, which meant it had to be Pepin, the castle’s only pageboy. He had been asked about the whereabouts of the master already, so she just swept her skirt aside and made to pass by. But something long, thin and hard contacted sharply with her shin and barred any further progress.
‘Pepin, what are you doing polishing Sir Richard’s sword right in the middle of this dark, narrow stair?’ she demanded crossly. ‘For heaven’s sake have a care!’
‘Sorry, my lady,’ he muttered, sulkily moving the blade aside.
‘Where is Sergeant Gallagher? I want to ask him if he knows where Sir Richard is.’
‘I asked him. He don’t know.’
‘I wager you nearly killed the sergeant with your booby-trap first!’
‘It ain’t my fault if everybody in this place insists on going round with their eyes fixed on the rafters—and nobody told me not to sit here!’
‘Well, I’m telling you now. And make an effort to talk properly; you are not in your father’s tannery anymore!’ she called over her shoulder as she ran back upstairs.
When Rowena returned to the sheriff’s chamber, she hoped that he might have come down from his private sleeping quarters on the floor above.
But the chamber was just as empty as when she had left it.
She climbed the little spiral stairs that led to his living quarters and knocked on the door again. ‘Sir Richard, are you in there?’
There was no answer. For about the fiftieth time since arriving at Eaglestone Castle an hour ago, she wondered if she should just enter his private chambers anyway.
She felt uneasy about doing so. No one except him ever went in there. An uninvited intrusion into his inner sanctum might not be well received. And the massive stone walls were so thick it was impossible to hear what was going on in the next room. What if he had a lady in there with him? Now that really would be embarrassing…
Things had been a little uncomfortable between the sheriff and his young clerk since their scorching encounter the previous week. Neither party had mentioned the incident, but Rowena felt sure Sir Richard was as annoyed with both himself and his clerk as she was herself.
Rowena gave a huff of impatience. If only there was a way of hearing what was going on inside—of course, the keyhole!
She stooped down and looked through it. Blackness was all she could see. Damn, the key was in the lock.
She clutched her hands to her head in exasperation, then suddenly cried ‘that’ll do it!’ She swiftly pulled a long hair pin out from her coiffure, inserted it into the keyhole and gave it a good poke.
There was a clatter on the other side of the door as the key fell out. But when she peered in again, she was only met with more disappointment. The sole things visible through the tiny hole were the wall opposite, the bare wooden floorboards, and right on the periphery of her sight, what looked like an overturned chair, though she could not say for sure. Nothing startling there then. Messy living quarters were hardly a rarity where bachelors are concerned.
She knocked as loudly as she could. ‘Sir Richard!’ she shouted, before putting her ear to the keyhole to listen for any reply.
At first there was only silence, but then a faint, muffled sound reached her ears.
‘Sir Richard, are you in there?’ she called again.
Rowena held her breath—yes, there it was again. A sound had definitely come from within, and it sounded like…a snore? No, it did not, it was a groan!
She instantly jumped to her feet and groped for the door latch in the dark stairwell, then once it was found, burst into the room.
She frantically scanned the chamber, which was sparsely furnished with a pair of uncomfortable-looking chairs and a battered iron trunk. ‘Sir Richard, where are you?’
The groans were clearly audible now, but there was still no one to be seen. The bedchamber—he must be in the bedchamber!
Her head filled with scenes of horror and carnage as she ran over to the closed door leading off the chamber and pulled it open. Her throat was so constricted with panic at the thought of what she might find that she could only breathe in shallow, rasping gasps.
At first she could not see anyone in the dimly-lit bedchamber, but her attention was immediately drawn to the floor on the other side of the bed by a low groan.
Rowena instantly rushed over. A large pool of dark, oozing blood covered the floor, and a motionless Sir Richard lay face down beside it with his hands tied behind his back.
She threw herself to her knees beside him and started frantically untying the cord. ‘Sir Richard, are you alright? Say something!’
There was a muffled, choking groan in reply.
She seized him by the shoulder, almost sobbing with dread and panic. ‘No, please, oh blessed Lord no!’
He groaned again and just managed to lift his hand off the floor and weakly indicate his head.
‘Oh God, you’re gagged. I’m sorry!’ She placed shaking fingers on the cloth tightly bound around his head and started fumbling with its impossibly tight knot.
‘It’s no good, I can’t get this thing undone!’ she cried, despairing after a few fruitless attempts.
He turned his head to the side a little and looked up at her, then back to the floor beside his hand.
‘What is it?’
He repeated the action.
This time she followed his eyes. A dagger was lying on the floor nearby. She snatched hold of it, took a deep breath to steady her shaking hands, and carefully slit the gag with the razor-sharp blade.
‘I was beginning to think you’d never come!’ he gasped.
She cast a panicked eye over his body, searching for the source of all the blood pooling on the floor beside him. ‘Is this blood yours? Are you hurt?’
‘Calm down, would you. I’m not dead yet...’
But his weak, rasping voice only added to the terror already generated by his blue-tinged, deathly pale face. Then she suddenly noticed a large dark red stain on his left upper arm. ‘Your arm!’
Sir Richard put his hand over the centre of the blood-soaked area and winced as he pressed down hard. ‘Yes, the blood is mine. I’ve been stabbed,’ he said matter-of-factly, as though such things were a normal, everyday occurrence.
‘But there is so much blood on the floor here; surely it can’t all be yours or there’d be none left!’
He gave a humourless, pained laugh. ‘Don’t worry, there’s still plenty more left where that came from.’
But she hardly heard him. She was too busy looking around for something to bind around the wound from which blood was still welling up through the fingers of the hand Sir Richard held over it. Her eyes alighted on the edge of the bed sheet that was visible from under the cover.
‘Don’t rip those! I only just bought the damn things.’
‘You’re lying on the floor bleeding to death and all you can think about is the cost of bed linen!’ she replied through gritted teeth, ripping a long strip off the sheet. ‘For goodness sake stop being such a stoical martyr and let me get on with my panicking! Now hold your arm up and let me get this around it.’
He obediently raised his arm. ‘It really does look worse than it is.’
She lifted his hand off the wound and started to wrap the long linen strip around his arm. ‘Who did this to you?’
‘I could not sleep last night, so I went out on the battlements at the top of the tower. When I came back and walked into here, some damn scurvy knave who was lurking behind the bed-curtains jumped me from behind. I think the rotten scoundrel was looking for those God-damned letters. I managed to get my dagger out, but he had the advantage of surprise. There wa
s a bit of a scuffle, during which the villainous knave stabbed me. The force of it made me lose my balance and hit my head on the post of that accursed bed frame. After that, everything went black until I woke about an hour ago.’
Rowena looked up from the bandage she was putting the final knot in. ‘To think you were lying up here all alone bleeding while I was just in the room below you.’ She placed her hand on his forehead. It was clammy and icy cold. The young woman frowned anxiously and bit her lip. ‘Why did I not think to come up sooner? Still,’ she added, shaking herself out of the mood, ‘my regrets are no use to you now. I must get you to a physician. Do you think you can get up?’
‘I’ll try.’ He grimaced as, with her help, he dragged himself up to lean on the elbow of his right arm, but stopped there, breathing heavily. ‘I’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness since I first came to. If I get up and start to fall you’re not going to be much use. Go and find Gallagher.’
‘Yes, good idea.’ She placed a concerned hand on his forehead. ‘You will be alright while I’m gone, won’t you?’
He gave a quick nod. ‘Yes, yes, you just go. I promise not to drop dead while you’re away.’
Her frown deepened and she held up an admonishing finger. ‘Don’t jest about that sort of thing. It’s not funny.’
He took her finger and gave it a squeeze. ‘Alright, in addition to not dropping dead in your absence, I also promise to keep my soldier’s gallows humour to myself.’
* * * *
When she had finally, with the aid of Gallagher’s brawn, got Sir Richard to the site of Brother Jacob’s cottage, Rowena felt able to relax a little. She had sent Pepin ahead to let the monk know the injured sheriff was coming, while she herself accompanied the wounded man and his comrade.
To his clerk’s castigation, the stoical knight had swiftly dismissed any suggestion of having a cart bring him to the herbalist’s cottage, and insisted on walking the short distance there himself.
Brother Jacob stood in his cottage’s open doorway waiting for the patient to arrive. He hurried forward to meet the party as soon as they came into view through the trees. ‘Do allow me to relieve you, Mistress Rowena.’
She stepped back, only too happy to relinquish her role as a crutch. ‘Thank you, brother.’
But Sir Richard waved away the offer of help. ‘No really, brother, I can stand by myself. I don’t need to burden someone of your dignified years with my weight.’
Brother Jacob respected this and let the wounded man walk the remainder of the way using only his sergeant’s broad shoulder for support.
Once inside, the monk gestured towards a chair. ‘Take a seat and make yourself as comfortable as you can.’
While Gallagher and Rowena hovered anxiously at his side, Sir Richard lowered himself into the chair with a relieved sigh.
‘I will manage from here,’ said Brother Jacob. ‘Why don’t you two take a seat as well? I am sure you both deserve it by now.’
‘I think I might just wait outside,’ said Gallagher.
‘By all means,’ replied Brother Jacob, in his warm and softly-spoken manner.
‘Do you mind if I stay?’ asked Rowena.
‘I do not use witchcraft or any odd quackery here that I don’t want seen, so feel free.’ He looked to Sir Richard. ‘As long as that is alright with you?’
‘I don’t mind—providing she doesn’t faint or stand there cringing with horror.’
‘I promise not to do anything like that,’ Rowena replied quickly, even though she did not feel entirely confident that she would not.
‘Now, let us have a look at this arm first,’ Brother Jacob murmured, pushing back the sleeves of his dove-grey monk’s habit. ‘Did you lose much blood?’ he asked, beginning to unwind the bandage.
Sir Richard nodded grimly. ‘Yes, quite a lot.’
‘There was a colossal pool of blood where I found him lying,’ added Rowena. ‘When I first saw it I thought he must be at death’s door for sure.’
The monk smiled indulgently. ‘There is a lot more blood in the body than many people give it credit for, but,’ he added, casting a professional eye over the knight’s pale features, ‘judging by the colour of you, Sir Richard, I think you have lost a dangerous amount.’
Sir Richard did not look particularly concerned. ‘I know, but it’s not the first time.’
Brother Jacob finished removing the blood-soaked bandage and placed it in a bowl on the nearby table. ‘Now, I need to get this shirt off. Do you think you can get it over your head, or shall I cut it off?’
‘No, don’t cut it! I’ve had enough of my linen ruined for one day,’ growled Sir Richard, shooting an admonishing look at Rowena.
She silently replied with a wry look of her own. Why couldn’t he just be plain grateful for once?
‘When I lift this pad off your wound, quickly get the arm out of the shirt,’ instructed Brother Jacob.
The knight removed his arm from the right sleeve and lifted his shirt over his head. Then he slipped it off his wounded left arm, while the monk lifted the cloth off and hastily pressed it back down on the wound as blood started to well.
Upon seeing Sir Richard’s naked upper body for the first time, Rowena had to clap her hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp of horrified surprise. From her position perched on a high stool behind him, she had an uninterrupted view of his back. It was covered in scars. She had never seen anything like it. There were too many of the long, pale scars to count. And most of them ran parallel like... She furrowed her brows in concentration. Yes, like wounds gained in a flogging.
‘If you stare like that for much longer, you’re going to bore a hole in my back.’
She started at the sound of Sir Richard’s grimly-spoken words (he could not possibly see her from where he was seated), and gulped. ‘I was not st—’
‘Yes you were.’
She cleared her throat and shifted uncomfortably. ‘Pardon me. I did not, ahem, mean to.’
‘I’m used to it. Everyone does it,’ he replied stonily, still with his back to her.
‘I think this is the point when you put the poor young lady out of her misery and tell her how you got all those impressive scars,’ murmured Brother Jacob.
Sir Richard gave a dry chuckle. The monk’s subtle telling-off was clearly not lost on him. ‘Alright, if you really must know, Rowena. I was set upon by some bastard swine that had it in for me. He was intending to kill me in some slow and highly original fashion, but I escaped from his dungeon having only been flogged to a pulp, as the fool guarding me turned his back on me. You’d be surprised how easy it is to wring a man’s neck...’
Although her curiosity was not satisfied by this brief but brutal explanation, she was too wary of his prickly reaction to ask any more about it. He clearly did not want to talk to her about it. No surprises there then.
‘How…awful,’ she replied awkwardly.
Brother Jacob sighed and shook his head sadly. ‘Such evil, such evil…’
‘It was revenge, and I can’t say I didn’t deserve it.’ Sir Richard’s harsh whisper was barely audible to her.
Brother Jacob held the cloth he had used to clean the wound above a bowl and wrung the bloody water out of it. ‘A man who takes the task of retribution into his own hands and sins in the name of revenge is no less a sinner than he who strikes the first blow. Does such a man not prove how little faith he has that the heavenly hosts will see to it that justice is done? Does he not show his arrogance by daring to believe he has the right to pass such a judgment on his fellow man? My son, he who strikes another man in revenge is unchristian, for he scorns the Saviour’s love and forgiveness, and blasphemes against our heavenly Father.’
Sir Richard had listened respectfully with his head bowed down while Brother Jacob delivered the little sermon. Whether in shame or concentration Rowena was not sure.
After a moment’s silence, he looked up at the monk, who was now carefully patting the wound dry. ‘Thank you, br
other. Knowing that he is going to hell just as surely as I am is some comfort.’
Brother Jacob smiled kindly and placed a fatherly hand on his patient’s shoulder. ‘You are welcome, my son. But I think you did not quite take that the right way. Our Saviour died for us. If we repent and atone, God will forgive.’
Sir Richard nodded slowly and unsurely. ‘Yes, I suppose you are right.’
Brother Jacob smiled ruefully. The other man’s doubting look had not escaped his notice. ‘I am right.’ He wiped his hand on a cloth. ‘This wound is going to need stitching. I hope you do not have a weak stomach, Mistress Rowena.’
‘Don’t worry about me. As long as the body is fresh I’m alright.’
Brother Jacob bustled around busily getting out the things he needed for the job. ‘I’m afraid it will hurt rather a lot, Sir Richard,’ he said over his shoulder, searching his shelves for something, ‘but I cannot do it unless you keep still. Do you think you will manage?’
Sir Richard flicked a dismissive hand. ‘I’ll be fine, absolutely fine.’
‘Are you sure? Perhaps you would like to hold the young lady’s hand while I do it? Some people find that helps take their mind off the pain.’
‘Well…I suppose I might find it hard going,’ said Sir Richard, a shadow of a smile playing on the corners of his mouth.
She gave Sir Richard a disbelieving look. ‘Oh really?’
There was no way he needed a woman to hold his hand in order to cope with a little pain. But still, it would not hurt to indulge him just this once…
She moved off her stool and came over. ‘Alright, where do you want your angel of mercy?’
‘If you sat down here on my right side, that would be perfect,’ Sir Richard replied smugly.
She drew up a stool and did as she was asked.
He placed his hand in her lap. ‘Here it is.’
‘But Brother Jacob has not started yet.’
He put on his best pained face. ‘It hurts in anticipation, you heartless maid!’
She could not help laughing at this. ‘Very well.’ She took his hand. ‘As you are clearly such a coward in the face of pain, I shall take pity on you.’
The Heart of Darkness Page 18