WindWarrior

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "Closer to forty,” Guy replied. “Bivouac under the trees behind the cottage. That will give us some shelter from the snow."

  "Aye, Captain,” Rupert said with a half-hearted salute.

  "You're a captain, as well?” Maire asked, curious about Guy's rank.

  "Co-captain with that scowling jackanapes over there,” Guy replied. “He's in charge of infantry, and I handle the cavalry units.” He folded his arms over his broad chest. “When Dek was wounded, we struck out for the nearest settlement.” He cocked a shoulder. “All of us together."

  "To protect our overlaird,” Andrew said “If I scare us up some game, do you think you could make a good rich broth for the commander, wench?"

  "If you find any game around here, you're welcome to try to bag it,” she said with a pursing of her lips. “Your warriors have all but depleted the countryside of anything that flies, hops, or runs. It wouldn't surprise me if even the slithering things had been harvested."

  "What have you been living off, then?” Guy questioned then turned his gaze to the pot of soup of which she'd been so protective. “Just root vegetables?"

  "And what I can barter from the village,” she said. She had finished washing the injured man's arms and legs and was now concentrating on cleaning the blood around the wound in his chest, carefully not to touch the charred flesh where it'd been cauterized.

  "You've no kin to see to you?” the warrior asked her.

  "They're all gone, now, except for my sister-in-law, and I rarely see her,” she said, unable to control the tremor to her bottom lip. “I make do taking in mending, bartering for what little I need. There's not much left in the city, so we all work together to survive."

  "And I suppose that's our fault?” Jules snapped.

  "Who else's fault would it be?” she countered. “You are the invaders. You are the ones destroying everything in your path as you pass!"

  "Stop baiting her, Jules. She has ample reason to hate me."

  Maire jumped as her patient spoke. She paused in cleaning the blood from his abdomen to look up into his eyes. There was a febrile glow in them that did not bode well for the man surviving.

  "You want some water?” Guy asked, trading places with Maire.

  "Aye. A lake of it,” was the answer.

  "I'll get it,” Andrew said and went to the pitcher to pour a cup.

  "No!” Maire said. “Not straight from there. The water needs to be boiled first before you give it to him to drink."

  "That water is hot!” Jules said.

  "Then take a pan out and gather snow to cool it,” she argued. “Bring it in and put the cup in it until it cools. You give him unsterile well water you might as well go dig his grave while you're at it!"

  "She has a point,” Guy told him.

  Andrew didn't question her statement. He opened the door and went outside.

  "At least two of you have some sense,” she mumbled.

  "That's debatable, tarrishagh” Deklyn said.

  She glanced at him—avoiding his eyes—then away, lifting the pan of bloody water from the table.

  "Here, let me have that,” Guy said, taking it from her. He went to the door just as Andrew opened it again.

  "Ladle two cups of water from the pot, Andy,” Maire said. “Bring one to me so I can make the poultices.” She snatched up a few clean rags from the stack she'd first handed Jules as well as the scissors.

  "Soon as I do this, I'll go to look for that game,” Andrew said to her as he went about the task she'd set for him.

  "Before you do that I need you to send one of your men to the next cottage south,” she said. “Tell him to inform the old lady who lives there that I need a dozen eggs if she has them.” She shook her finger at him. “Don't you be tempted to wring the neck of one of her setters. All she has to barter with is the eggs her hens lay. Pay her well for those eggs and ask if she has any bloodwort root. That will be needed to bring his fever down, too. Best not let her know who it is I'm helping here else she might send poison instead of bloodwort."

  "Where do you get off giving orders to my men?” Jules demanded.

  "Keep quiet, Jules,” Guy said. “She's trying to help."

  "I'll go myself. I know what bloodwort looks like and smells like,” Andy said and started for the door.

  While Maire made the poultices for the overlaird's wound, Guy took a cup of cooled water to him, braced his head and helped him to drink. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the look Guy exchanged with Jules. From their worried expressions, she knew their patient's fever was soaring. When he began mumbling incoherently, she knew that was, indeed, the case.

  "Wench, where's those poultices?” Jules grated.

  She brought the rags she'd cut into small squares and the charcoal paste to the bed.

  "Give her room,” Guy suggested and Jules reluctantly stepped aside.

  As she placed the poultice, her patient passed out again. Seemingly even the minute pressure of the cloth on his wound caused such pain it pushed him over the edge.

  Once the poultices were in place, she took advantage of the men talking in low voices on the other side of the room to take a seat in her rocker. She was tired, had a nasty headache, and was worried about her future. Once the warriors left and provided their leader didn't succumb to his injuries, perhaps they'd leave her untouched. So far they hadn't made any ravaging overtones toward her, and she prayed it stayed that way. Even so, after they left was another matter. As though Guy had intercepted her thoughts, he came over to hunker down in front of her.

  "What will happen to you when we leave?” he asked.

  She lifted her chin. “They'll either hang me for aiding and abetting the enemy, or else they'll shun me. Either way, my life here is over,” she answered.

  "So they shun you,” Jules said with a snort. “So what?"

  "They'll not let her barter for food,” Guy said gently. He looked to her sewing box where a shirt lay folded on top. “There will be no more taking in mending."

  "No,” she said, lips trembling. Her gaze fell to the shirt she'd been mending that was now scorched from the heat of the poker's handle. “There will be no more taking in mending."

  "So leave the bitch a bag of coins,” Jules stated.

  "Won't do her much good if they won't take the coins,” Guy reminded him. “I'm sure by now the entire town of Norvus knows we're here. They'll know she helped us whether that help was consensual or not."

  "Then what do you suggest, Guyland?” Jules demanded.

  Guy drew in a long breath then let it out slowly, his gaze fused with Maire's. “We've no choice but to take her with us when we leave."

  "To Tarryn?” she asked, eyes wide in disbelief.

  "We'll not let you starve here, lass, for what you've done for Dek. I'll not hear of it and neither would he.” He fused his gaze with hers. “He wouldn't allow us to leave you, anyway, and I believe you know why."

  Jules snorted as though he wanted to make sure she knew he wasn't included in that sentiment.

  "But what would I do there?” she asked, fearful of his answer.

  "I'm sure we can find work for you."

  "If she can spread her legs, she'll have all the coin she'll need,” Jules scoffed.

  Guy shot to his feet, lashing out to grab his fellow captain by the neck. “If you don't stop with your fucking insults, you'll be the one without a tongue, Yn Baase! Do I make myself clear?"

  Maire blinked. The odious bastard was kin to the infamous overlaird? No wonder he took such liberties. Her fingers curled around the rocker's arms for the man in question shot her a murderous look before knocking Guy's hands away.

  "You want her, take her, Guyland, and stop pussyfooting around about it!” Jules sneered. “This defending the chit is growing wearisome."

  "Get out!” Guy ordered. “Take a walk before I break your nose again!"

  Jules cursed under his breath but took the other man's advice, slamming the door rudely behind his exit.

 
; "He's cousin to the Baron?” she asked, knowing the overlaird was an only child.

  "Unfortunately so and even more unfortunately, he's my twin brother,” he answered.

  "But you look nothing alike!” she protested. “You are nothing alike!"

  "Thank the gods for small favors, eh?” Guy said as he plopped down on the corner of the hearth. “We're fraternal twins and I had the dubious distinction of being born two minutes before him. He's never forgiven me for it."

  Maire made a clucking sound. “As though you had any say in the matter."

  Guy grinned. “He thinks I pushed him aside to make it out of our blessed mother's womb first,” he said with a chuckle. “That's how asinine some of his thinking can be. The man's retarded at the best of times."

  "Yet you defer to him,” she said, beginning to like this warrior despite who he was.

  Guy shrugged. “That's because he's infantry and I'm cavalry. In the grand scheme of things, the bastard outranks me.” He laced his hands together between his spread knees and hunched over, strain showing at the corners of his eyes, his shoulders slumping. “He never lets me forget it, either."

  "Are you hungry, Captain?” she asked. “The soup isn't much, but it is hearty and has a good flavor."

  "I would love a bowl, lass. I've a wicked headache from not having eaten all day,” he said. “And the name is Guy."

  She blushed and pushed up from the chair, motioning him to remain seated, pleased his mother had taught him gentlemanly manners.

  "I'll heat a ladle of the soup over the fire,” she told him as she plucked the ladle from the pot of boiling water, careful to take up the handle with the tail of her apron. “There's bread but it's stale."

  "Unless it's wearing a fuzzy green coat, I'll still eat it. I've had much worse, believe me. Those slithery things you spoke of are still squirming around in my belly,” he replied. “Plunge that bread in the soup and it's as good as fresh anyway."

  "My way of thinking as well,” she agreed as she came back with the ladle of soup, her wooden bowl and spoon, and the small loaf of bread. He surprised her again by taking the ladle from her hands.

  "You sit. I can do this,” he said. “I imagine we'll all be up and about all night with him."

  "When Andrew returns with the eggs, I'll soak some more rags in egg whites, place them on the soles of his feet then put his socks back on."

  Guy cocked his head to one side. “Egg whites? What does that do?"

  "They draw the fever down from the brain,” she says. “I know it sounds strange, but it truly works. Sliced onions, too, but I don't imagine he'd like the smell."

  "Neither would I,” Guy said.

  "A tea made from the root of the bloodwort will also help in lowering his temperature,” she told him.

  They fell silent as he ate the soup, complimenting her on the taste. He drained the bowl, sopping the last morsel of it up with the bread. When asked if he wanted more, he declined, telling her to save it for Andrew and Jules.

  "Will it matter if I add some purgative to his bowl?” she asked of Jules.

  "I'd just as soon you not, lass,” he said, lips twitching. “I've no reason to want to smell his farts all night. They can be deadly."

  "Don't!"

  The shout made them both jump. Their attention went to the bed where the wounded overlaird was flailing, his head whipping from side to side.

  "He'll open his wound if that keeps up,” Guy snapped. “Call Jules and tell him to bring Giles and Rupert with him."

  Maire hastened to do as he bid although Jules’ name on her tongue tasted bitter and burned her mouth. The men came running so it was a good thing she had once more retreated to the wall beside her kitchen table.

  "He's starting to hallucinate,” Guy told the men.

  "Well, you had to know that would happen,” Jules asserted.

  For the next hour, Maire watched the four men struggling once again with their overlaird. He was calling out for someone named Reece, groaning unmercifully from the pain shifting through his sweat-slick body. No one asked her to help this time as they bathed him in cold water that had been brought in from the well, careful not to get any on the poultices she'd made.

  "Why the hell doesn't he pass out again?” Jules complained.

  "What have you done?” Deklyn yelled. “Reese! Leave her be!"

  Guy looked around. “Maire, his fever is raging. Do you think it would help if we filled the tub and laid him in it?” When she didn't answer, he called her name again.

  Maire shook herself, unable to look away from the delirious warrior for she had suddenly remembered the name of the man who had brutalized her all those years before. It was his name—Reece—the Black Baron was speaking. That single name had brought all the memories back into clarity.

  "Lass?” Guy asked. “Would it help?"

  She tore her gaze from Deklyn. “It most likely wouldn't hurt,” she said. “Not the well, water, though. The snow perhaps?"

  "Aye, the snow,” Guy said and swung his head toward Rupert. “Take the basin and start filling the tub with clean snow."

  "I'll help him,” Giles said.

  "No, you stay to help us keep him down,” Jules argued.

  "Let him go. I'll help,” Maire said, coming to stand beside Guy. She took Rupert's place pressing Deklyn's legs to the mattress.

  "Reese, stop. Don't hurt her!” The sound was plaintive and so filled with grief it tore at her heart.

  "He's referring to a man who used to be his best friend, Lord Reese Fontyne” Guy replied. “He died at the Battle of Montrose three years back."

  Maire had hoped to never hear that vile name again. Now, tonight she'd heard it twice. Each time it cut into her heart with the force of a sharp blade. She was glad the possessor of that name had met his fate. She only hoped it had been a gruesome one.

  "Used to be his friend?” she asked.

  Guy lifted one shoulder. “Something happened between them. Whatever it was, Dek never forgave him. They were estranged for over seven years before Reese died. On his death bed, he asked forgiveness for whatever caused the rift between them but Dek would not give it.” He gave her a long, steady look. “I think you might well know what happened between them, don't you?"

  "Aye,” she said quietly.

  "He searched for you that night,” Guy said, “and many a day and night afterward."

  She looked at the Baron, her gaze softening. Perhaps he did feel guilt over what had happened and—in his way—had sought justice for her. That his friendship with the other man had ended that night made her look at Deklyn Yn Baase in a different light.

  As Giles and Rupert tracked in time and again with basins and buckets of snow, the cold air swept through the small room. A man she hadn't seen before brought in cords of wood for the fire. When Andrew returned, he not only had the eggs and bloodwort Maire had sent him to fetch but a brace of hares.

  "I'll skin these for you, wench,” the young man said. “Do you have a pan I can put them in?"

  Maire told him there were pans in the root cellar, pointing to a section of floor under the kitchen table. “Be careful,” she warned. “The ceiling is low."

  "I wondered where you kept your vittles,” Guy commented.

  "I'm more curious where she keeps the goat,” Jules said.

  Maire looked across the bed at him. “Who says I have a goat?"

  "Shite littering the little pen out back. I could smell it even through the snow,” Jules said with a smirk. “Not to mention the bale of straw, the pan of frozen water, and the lean-to with the old blanket."

  "And the fresh scratches on your hands that says you were in the brambles recently,” Andy observed.

  She sniffed. “There was a goat,” she said.

  "Were you afraid we'd butcher him, Maire?” Guy inquired and when she didn't reply he nudged her playfully with his hip. “Tarryns are prohibited by religious tenet to eat sheep, goats, or pigs."

  "Truly?” she asked.

 
"Would I lie to you, lass?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I don't know you well enough to say whether you would or not."

  "Something tells me you're going to get to know him very well,” Jules mumbled.

  "It would suit me just fine if that was the case,” Guy said softly. His gaze roamed gently over Maire.

  Maire's cheeks flamed and she ducked her head. The last thing she'd ever considered had been any man appearing to court her. With the looks Guy was sending her way it seemed he might have thoughts along that line.

  "Tub's filled,” Rupert reported.

  She looked away as Jules removed the breechclout from his patient. She had no desire to see the man completely naked. Thankfully, he was unconscious again as they lifted him from the bloody mattress and into the tub, placing him gently in the soft snow. His body was so fiercely radiating heat the snow began to melt immediately.

  "By the gods he's burning up!” Giles said.

  "I'll brew the bloodwort root,” Maire told them. “That should help."

  "Get those bloody covers off the bed,” Jules ordered. “Wench, where are your other linens?"

  "In the basket there by the door,” she said. “I haven't had time to iron them yet."

  Jules sighed like a man being sorely tested and ordered Andrew to fetch some blankets from the baggage train.

  As the men worked to try to bring down their commander's high fever, Maire made the egg white poultices and brewed a strong tea from the bloodwort root. While the tea steeped, she set about putting together a large pot of stew for the rabbits. By the time Andrew brought the cleaned and washed animals to her, the pot was already hanging on the fireplace crane. She added the chunks of meat to the pot then turned to see if the Baron was awake again. Seeing he was, she brought a cup of the bitter tea to the tub.

  "He needs to drink it all,” she said, deliberately keeping her gaze from lowering to his naked hips.

  "How do we know you didn't put poison in the cup?” Jules snapped.

  "You don't,” she said, chin up. “But the poison would be for you, not him!"

  "Give me the cup, lass,” Guy told her with a chuckle.