The Lady's Choice
Page 8
Ramón’s words startled her. His admission that he harboured feelings for her lit a glow within her heart, made hope blossom. The world slipped away as they stared at each other, wrapped in a realm that Benae had never thought existed.
Ramón was first to shake off the spell. ‘This is neither the time nor the place. We will talk later.’ He took Benae’s hand and placed it on his arm, continuing towards the homestead.
Benae doubted they would truly discuss the matter that lay between them; this dangerous attraction they shared. She tried to focus on the farmer who stood before the door of a humble cottage.
‘May I present Lady Benae Branasar, the prince’s betrothed, Master Orard?’ Ramón said, his gentle hand on Benae’s back.
Master Orard bowed low then rose slowly, his kind eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘It is an honour to have you share our table, lady.’ He stood to the side so that they could pass across the threshold. Benae introduced Merel and then stepped inside. It was cosy indoors, out of the strengthening wind. The farmer’s wife was setting the table and paused as introductions were made.
‘It is an honour, lady, squire,’ Mistress Orard said. ‘We live so far out, I had not heard your joyous news. Perhaps the prince will produce an heir yet?’
‘Cana! It is not for us to suggest what might come to pass.’ He turned back to Benae. ‘I hope she did not offend, lady.’
‘Nonsense, Master Orard,’ Benae said, placing her hand on the farmer’s arm, ‘I hope we shall be blessed with more than one child. Children are such a joy, do you not agree?’
The faces of the Orards clouded over, striking a pang of fear into Benae’s heart. ‘What is the matter?’
‘Our daughter,’ Mistress Orard said, ‘she is abed with the fever. I have tried every remedy I know but nothing helps.’
Benae froze at her words, remembering two other souls who had died of the fever. It must have shown on her face, for Master Orard stepped forward. ‘We will understand if you do not wish to share a meal with us. You cannot risk an illness with your important event so close.’
Benae stared at him, wondering if she could take the next step that would expose her to more of the pain she lived with daily: failure and loss.
‘Master Orard, my heart breaks for your daughter. I would like to help.’ There, she had done it, and the hope in their eyes sharpened her fear. What if she let these good people down? What if she could not save their precious child?
Ramón drew her aside. ‘Proceed with caution, lady,’ he murmured. ‘If you use your arts before these folk, the word will spread throughout the kingdom of the witch betrothed to the prince. Your life might be in danger.’
‘I will not stand by if I can help.’ She turned to Merel. ‘Fetch my tonics from the carriage, if you please, Merel. Mistress Orard, show me your daughter.’
Mistress Orard scurried to obey, leading Benae into a small adjoining room. At first, darkness prevented Benae from seeing the girl on the bed but soon her eyes adjusted to the dimness.
‘Is there no window in this room?’ Benae asked.
‘There is, lady, but Elin can’t bear the light.’
‘She needs to have fresh air if she is to recover. Open the shutters.’
Benae expected the woman to object but she did not. Instead she hustled across to the window and pulled on a lever that opened the shutters. A cool breeze swirled in from the east to ruffle the girl’s long brown hair. Benae crossed to the bed and sat on its edge.
‘Elin?’ she said gently. ‘Can you hear me?’
The girl did not stir and so pale was her face that for a moment Benae thought she had passed. The child gave a whimper and her chest rose in a shallow breath.
‘She has barely been awake these past two days, lady.’
‘How old is she?’
‘She has seen ten summers—’ Mistress Orard’s voice broke in a sob. ‘I cannot lose her, lady; she is all I have left, with her brother having entered the army.’
Benae knew how that felt: to lose a brother to the army and then to death. She hoped that would not be the case for the Orards’ son. Merel entered the room and deposited a wooden box on the bed. The maid had assisted Benae before and knew her methods, never suspecting the deeper skill beneath her mistress’s care. At least, Benae did not think Merel knew of her gift. The maid circled around to the other side of the bed and together they pulled the covers to the foot of the bed. They lifted the child to a sitting position and removed her nightdress so she wore only her small clothes. Her mother hovered.
Benae looked up. ‘I will need hot water and a spoon, mistress.’ As the woman left, Benae placed her palm on the girl’s fevered brow and closed her eyes. She sent a tendril of spirit into the child, first to the bones of the skull and then into the mind. Yes, the illness had upset the balance of the elements in the girl’s body. Fire dominated water, but there was something else amiss. Benae moved her palm to the part of the chest exposed by the vest and concentrated again, her spirit entering the mouth and coursing down the windpipe to the fine tubes that moved air through the chest. No matter where her spirit ventured, it was halted by glistening plaques of bodily humour. Benae grimaced, forcing a wave of nausea away. She withdrew her delving and knelt by the bed, a crushing agony in her own chest. This was just like her parents, and she hadn’t been able to help them.
‘Lady, are you well?’ Merel asked, her voice sharp in the quiet room.
‘There is barely any air flowing into her,’ Benae whispered. ‘I do not know if I can help.’
Mistress Orard stepped back into the room and Benae pushed herself to her feet. She took the spoon, poured some tonic into it, and then placed it at the girl’s lips. ‘Please drink a little, Elin.’ A trickle of the medicine slipped past Elin’s lips and the girl swallowed. ‘That’s right, dear, a little more.’
Benae continued until the spoon was empty and then she poured two spoonfuls into the bowl of water the mother had brought. She swirled the tonic through the water with her hand, battling despair. She must control this raging doubt or else she would fail again. Healing could not be wrought amidst uncertainty, but how could she not be unsure when her last three attempts had resulted in death? She would not count Lord Finus. The Goddess had been calling to him long before she laid her hands upon him.
Benae continued to swirl her hand through the water, watching the liquid eddy around her fingers, mesmerising herself. When her fears had subsided and her heart had halved its pace, she dropped herself into the small, tranquil place in her mind, closed her eyes and began bathing the child with her tonic-drenched hand. As Benae moved her hand first to Elin’s forehead and then her shoulders, chest and arms, she trickled the tiny weave of spirit into the child, soothing, coaxing and stripping the foul humours away. She did not know if her labours had any effect on the chest, so clogged were the tiny tubes. Finally, she could do nothing more but send a final larger blast of spirit into the child and hope it would fortify her strength. How she was not dead already, Benae could not begin to guess.
‘She is strong,’ she said to the mother. Let her have hope at the last. Perhaps it would see her through the difficult days ahead. ‘I will leave the herbal tonic. You are to dribble a spoonful into her twice a day. Rub her throat so that she swallows. I want her to sleep on her side.’ Benae and Merel rolled Elin onto her side and pulled up the covers. ‘You must roll her onto her other side every two hours, even throughout the night. This will help the foul humours drain from her chest. Do not be surprised if she coughs. If she is awake, encourage her to cough the matter up as it will make her stomach sick if she swallows it.’
‘Thank you, lady. I will do all you say,’ the mistress said. ‘Now you must wash and join us for the midday meal.’ The woman stood back to allow them to exit first. Benae’s heart ached for her. She knew her instructions would only deepen the shadows beneath the woman’s eyes and almost certainly for little gain. She smiled the brightest smile she could summon and left the room.
‘How is the child?’ he asked.
‘She is gravely ill, squire,’ Benae said, shame sending prickles over her scalp. How could she take his innocent touch and allow it to inflame her desires? Really! She had to take hold of herself. ‘I have done what I can.’
‘Then it is time to eat,’ he said. ‘We must be on our way.’
The five of them sat at the table, the fare simple but nutritious. While they ate Benae told of her estate far to the north and west. The seasons had been kind to the Orards. They had been able to pay their tithe to the prince and then some. But they missed their son’s help on the farm. If he did not return from the army, next harvest would be a different story.
‘And the dark elves, lady,’ Master Orard said. ‘They be troubling folk to the north. If we don’t stop them there, sooner or later they’ll be on our doorstep.’
‘My betrothed will see they penetrate no further, Master Orard. He has plans to travel north to secure my estate and seek help from neighbouring kingdoms.’
‘I’m sure you’re right, lady. May the Goddess protect the prince on his travels.’
The meal was soon over. Benae returned to Elin’s bedroom for one last look at the child. Was her breathing easier? Her fever had certainly broken.
‘You have saved her, my lady.’ Mistress Orard kissed Benae’s hand. ‘How can I ever thank you?’
Benae ignored the surge of hope that rose within. ‘Remember what I said, Mistress. You must turn her every two hours. She is not back with us yet.’
Benae swept from the room, closing her heart against the hurt look that had crossed the poor mother’s face. Mistress Orard could not afford to think her daughter would be healed without further effort. She must continue to nurse the girl until she rose from her bed. If in fact she ever did.
Ramón helped Benae into the carriage. ‘Mistress Orard looks upset. What did you tell her?’
‘The girl’s fever is broken but her mother must not believe the battle is won. Elin needs all her efforts.’
‘Could you not have given her one shred of hope?’ Ramón’s face had gone red and a muscle twitched at his temple.
‘Hope will not save her daughter, just as it did not save my parents. I did my best, just as I did with Mama and Papa. Only the Goddess can know if it will be enough.’
Ramón’s face had switched from beet to white. ‘I am sorry, Benae, I did not know.’
‘Did not know what?’ she snapped.
‘I did not know that you had nursed your parents and . . .’
‘Go ahead, say it. I nursed my parents and failed. I nursed my brother and failed. I used all my skills and I could not even save my own. Sometimes we have no power and that mother must accept that.’
‘It sounds as though she is not the only woman who must accept that.’ Ramón bowed and closed the door of the carriage.
Benae scowled at the closed door. She had accepted her lack of power. She had been forced to. Perhaps that was really it. Her powers had truly deserted her. Had she been reduced to the level of the peddler who sells tonics, knowing they can never cure anything? What did it matter? All the people she had ever loved were dead and she was building a new life for herself, making choices that would save those on her estate from starvation and the dark elves. If she could not heal then so be it. If only she could know if her talents had really deserted her. The child’s fever had broken but so had Benae’s parents’ fevers . . . just before they died.
‘The child is gravely ill, Lady Benae,’ Merel said, her big brown eyes oozing sympathy. ‘You have done your best and must not blame yourself.’
‘I do not know what I would have done without your support these past months, Merel, and again here today. You anticipate my needs before I know them myself. It is a special gift you have.’
Merel laughed. ‘You make it easy to help, lady. It is an honour to serve.’
Benae smiled at the maid and eased herself back into the seat. As the carriage rolled away, she said a prayer to the Goddess to heal Elin and protect her parents and brother.
Ramón was in a grumpy mood. The afternoon had been uneventful but he was bone tired. Two nights without sleep had robbed him of his usual resilience. Tonight he would retire early and not take part in the watch. Just thinking of his blankets made his eyelids droop. They arrived at a stream at twilight. The watercourse marked the beginning of a forest and he gave the order to set up camp in a clearing. The dark shadows under the trees sent shivers of unease down his spine but the merry gurgling of the water eased his fears. All would be well.
Ramón set two soldiers to guard duty while he helped the others pitch the tents and feed and water the horses. As soon as the water over the fire had boiled, Merel took a pitcher and bowl into the carriage. Ramón felt a tightening in his breeches at the thought of Benae’s legs, bared as they were the night before they left. He relived the scene in her bedroom when she had tempted him, thrown her arms around him, and he had nearly succumbed. It had been a close run thing, but in the end, honour had won out. Nothing good could come of his laying hands on Benae.
When all was prepared, he sat by the fire awaiting the evening meal. The men brought out a skin of wine and shared it around, but Ramón declined.
‘Those with watch duty are only to have two swallows,’ he said. That brought back-slaps and stories about how one or the other believed they fought better with a little wine or ale under their belt. Ramón knew that was not true. He smiled at their bluster but his mood soured at his next thought. He should be on the road in his search for the princess right now, not escorting Lady Benae across the countryside to Wildecoast. Instead, the search had been wound back just when the prince should have been throwing everything into finding his daughter. The longer she stayed with Vard Anton . . . If Ramón thought about what the two of them were getting up to on the road he would never sleep again!
Despite the disconcerting thoughts of Vard and Alecia together, that mission would be a far less complicated one than the one he was currently undertaking. Not for the first time, he cursed Prince Zialni for choosing to travel north rather than escort Benae to Wildecoast. All Ramón’s efforts at avoiding Benae had gone to waste and now she was under his nose by day and haunting his dreams by night. As often as he pushed her image away, it slid back to torment him.
Benae brought out his best and worst characteristics. He wanted to protect her but she was too capable. He wanted to be angry with her for not quelling Mistress Orard’s fears; instead, he discovered she blamed herself for the deaths of her parents. She had not been able to save them and she saw it as her fault. Would she carry guilt with her for the rest of her life? What other guilt did she carry? He knew all too well how guilt ate at the soul, how secrets festered. He was ashamed of the secrets he held and he regretted them, more than he could ever express. One was his part in allowing Alecia to escape with Vard Anton and the other . . . Suffice to say that if the prince learned of either of his secrets, his life would be forfeit and no doubt about it.
His meal arrived and he ate it distractedly until the ladies appeared and sat opposite him. He stood for them. ‘Lady Benae, Merel. I trust you have had a pleasant afternoon.’
‘Yes, thank you, squire. Merel and I have been planning my wedding festivities. It proved a most agreeable pastime.’
Ramón found himself discomforted at the thought of Benae’s wedding. Likely it was just the thought that she had flung herself at him even while betrothed to his liege lord. He must focus on that. A complex lady was Benae; complex and intriguing. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like between them: their love, their lives together. She had a zest for life, no matter how she suffered now, a knack for making t
he best of a situation. Her interest in him made him walk more lightly, at least when he could forget whom she was destined for. Until Benae, he had never felt sought after by a woman. There had always been another who was more handsome, more riveting, more hypnotic than he.
He swallowed hard as the small but painful darts hit his heart. Alecia had always said he deserved a woman who would love him. He had not given up on the hope that it would be Alecia. In the meantime, there was duty and it was his duty to protect Benae, even from herself.
Ramón realised Benae was staring at him, her eyes hungry, hunting, predatory, but the expression was gone in an instant and she smiled coolly. It was such a contrast with the steamy look it replaced that he convinced himself he had been mistaken. What on earth had they been discussing? He could not remember.
‘We shall be on the road another two days and nights, my lady, but we make good time, despite our long stop today.’
Benae inclined her head. ‘I look forward to a proper bath and a soft bed.’ There was that fleeting look again, as if she were on the prowl for a mate instead of having already secured one.
Ramón’s mouth had gone dry. He cleared his throat. ‘I—’ Get a grip, man! ‘I will endeavour to make the rest of the trip as comfortable as possible, lady.’ There, that was better.
A nervous whinny floated from where Flaire was tethered and Benae frowned. ‘Flaire has been restless this afternoon.’ She paused as if listening. ‘I wonder what has upset him.’ She speared a piece of meat and delicately prised it off her knife, her rosy lips closing around the mouthful. Benae had wonderful lips, especially when they curved in that lazy smile she often had. It was as if she had some private jest at the world’s expense. He imagined she would be full of mirth with those she trusted.
‘It is likely just a bear or a wolf. I will set an extra guard tonight. Nothing will get past to menace your mount.’ Ramón scraped the remaining stew from his plate and mopped up the gravy with a heel of fresh bread that the Orards had given them. He turned to the man beside him.