Dark Destroyer

by Kathryn Le Veque

  It started when the two knights had gone off to harvest willow bark per the lady’s instructions. Outside, the soldier searching for an axe had managed to come across two of them in the larger outbuilding that served as a barn for several sheep, two goats, two horses, and a cow who were quite hungry from having not been fed. With the death of the farmer and the sick children, the widow hadn’t been able to tend them as well as she needed to.

  Therefore, while four of the soldiers went off to cut wood for the fire, the rest remained behind with the stock and released them from the barn so they could wander the muddy, frozen yard. They found a stash of hay in a smaller outbuilding, part of which had been damaged by a leaking roof, and while a pair of soldiers tossed bundles of hay to the hungry animals, another soldier fixed the roof so the rest of the hay could remain in good condition, at least for a while. When they finished pitching the hay, the de Lara soldiers wandered the farm to see if anything else needed tending or fixing. When they found something, they took care of it.

  The little farm had a good deal of help that day.

  Meanwhile, the four men who had gone off to chop wood from a nearby copse of trees returned dragging saplings and other not-quite-mature trees because they didn’t have the means to haul anything bigger. The wood was mostly wet although there was some of it that was dry, and the wood was cut up and brought into the woodshed next to the cottage, stacked up so it could dry. Meanwhile, Kathalin had admitted one of the soldiers into the cottage so the man could start a fire. Soon enough, a blaze began to burn in the darkened hearth and for the first time in days, the sad little cottage saw light and warmth.

  And that was when Kathalin could do more good for them. Gates had sent a soldier back to the road where the bulk of the army was and the man collected what provisions he could carry on horseback and brought it back to the farm. There were two sacks of sand-colored flour, barley, dried vegetables, salt, and dried beef. Having managed the kitchen at St. Milburga’s, Kathalin knew what to do with the items.

  Soon, a thin but tasty soup made from dried vegetables, barley, and the dried beef was bubbling over the hearth and Kathalin made little dough balls from a small measure of the flour, dropping the balls into the simmering soup to make dumplings. It would be difficult to make bread without any yeast so she mixed some of the water and flour together and set it in a pan by the warm fire, knowing that on the morrow there would be yeast to make bread from it.

  As the soup bubbled, she had noticed that the farmer’s cottage did have some ingredients about, small barrels of grain and a salt bin. There were also bundles of dried flowers and herbs hanging from the ceiling near the hearth, undoubtedly to use in the wintertime as additives to food, and she came across dried roses and rose leaves, dried bundles of rosemary, and what she thought to be chamomile flowers. She inspected the bundles closely, drawing upon her training for medicinal uses.

  Mother Benedicta had been an expert in herbs and gardens and had schooled her wards well; consequently, Kathalin knew a good deal about herbs and other plants. There were other bundles of dried things, one of which was clearly wild mint, and Kathalin knew what she could do with what she had. Therefore, she took to boiling the chamomile and roses with the mint to soothe the children and possibly help the fever.

  The children, two youngsters no more than four and six years of age, respectively, weren’t eager to drink the tea but with the help of their mother and grandmother, they sipped at it. Even the grandmother, who was clearly ill, was given the tea and she eagerly drank it. The soup soon became ready, or at least the dumplings were cooked and the beef fully hydrated, and Kathalin doled the liquid out, finding the children were more apt to eat now they were able to put some tea in their bellies. Warm and soothed bellies were more receptive to food.

  Gates returned to the cottage a short time later to find the children, mother, and grandmother eating the soup and dumplings that Kathalin had prepared for them. He was quite cold from having been pushing about a snow-laden willow tree on the edge of a frozen stream, cutting off squares of bark with his dagger, and he and Stephan barged into the cottage with their arms laden with chunks of the bark they had cut from the tree. Both men carefully dumped the bark onto the tabletop, shaking out bits of snow with it.

  “There,” he told Kathalin as she swooped over the bark to inspect it. He brushed off his hands, feeling the warmth from the fire sting the frozen flesh of his face. “Due to the fact that the tree is very close to the stream, it leans towards the water, and there is growth all around it. It was difficult to get what we were able to manage. I hope it is enough.”

  Kathalin nodded. “It should be,” she said as she carefully inspected it. “It looks as if it is excellent quality, too.”

  Gates sighed, removing his gloves so he could warm his hands. “That is good to hear,” he said. “We must leave as soon as possible, my lady. Do what you need to do so we can make it to Hyssington before nightfall.”

  Kathalin simply nodded as she began to work with the bark, brushing it off and making sure it was free of vermin. As Stephan pulled off his gloves and put his hands up against the fire, steam rising from his frozen and ice-caked clothing, Gates began to look around the small cottage, realizing that something had changed since he was last here.

  There was a lovely-smelling soup bubbling on the hearth and the farmer’s family was slurping it up from bowls. The floor was swept, there were bags of provisions from his army neatly stacked up against the wall, and there was a big fire burning in the hearth. It began to occur to him that Kathalin had prepared food for the family and taken care of the cottage. God only knew what else she had done. Aye, she’d been quite busy while he was out hunting willow bark.

  A seed of respect began to sprout.

  “Did you do all of this?” he asked her, gesturing to the hearth and the food in general.

  Kathalin glanced up from the bark. “Aye,” she said. “They had very little by way of food. I do not know what they had been eating for the past several days but with the fire, I was able to make them a good soup that should last them for a few days. And the provisions from the army will keep them supplied until the woman can get into town and buy more. It was very kind of you to give them your provisions.”

  He only gave them to the family because Kathalin had asked and for no other reason than that. Gates simply nodded, unwilling to absorb her accolades because it seemed oddly out of place to do that. It was clear that Kathalin had done a great deal of work for the destitute family and he was quite impressed with not only her skill but her willingness to help people who were clearly in need. It seemed to make no difference to her that they were poor and ill; she simply wanted to help. That spoke of a true and open heart to him, something that couldn’t be taught. That kind of generosity and compassion was part of one’s character.

  That measure of compassion was rare, just as she was, and his respect for her grew.

  But then there was him, who had virtually no compassion for the impoverished. He’d seen so many needy families in war-torn France over the past year that he’d become hardened to it. He began to feel guilty for thinking that helping this family was all one great inconvenience, especially when Kathalin was trying to do something good and helpful. She didn’t see the needy the way he did.

  But he should have.

  Given that she’d spent the past fourteen years with a healing order, it made sense that Kathalin viewed things differently than he did. Even now, Gates watched her as she collected a small pot that was stacked near the hearth and went to the water barrel to fill it with some water. She then put it on an iron rack over the hearth to boil, taking pieces of bark and putting them into the water. Her movements were fluid and lovely, her fingers slender and white. She had callouses on her palms from the manual labor at St. Milburga’s, but it didn’t detract from the loveliness of her hands. It didn’t detract from anything about her. The more Gates watched her, the more entranced he became with this woman of multi-facets.

/>   “Once the bark boils and I strain it, they will drink the brew and it should help the fever,” she told him, breaking into his thoughts. “We can leave as soon as they are able to drink the liquid. I will hurry.”

  Gates simply shook his head, sighing faintly as he did so. “It was wrong of me to rush you,” he said quietly. “Forgive me. You are trying to help these people and I am trying to rush you out. Take your time and do what you need to do. Your father will have to understand.”

  Surprised at his turn of heart, for he had been clearly impatient about this entire endeavor, Kathalin looked at him with a rather wide-eyed expression, unsure what to say to him. But there was something in his gaze as he looked at her that was warm and gentle. She’d never seen that from him before and her heart, that silly and naive thing, began to beat just a little faster.

  Warmth.

  She felt warmth from him. Was it possible he felt it, too?

  “I will be finished as soon as the bark boils,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as tremulous as she felt. “I know that you are anxious to return to Hyssington and I do not want my father to become cross with you because I delayed the return.”

  Gates smiled at her words. “He will not become cross with me,” he said, but then he wriggled his eyebrows. “Not much, anyway. We can usually soothe any anger he might have by speaking on subjects he is eager to discuss. We distract him as easily as one would an angry child.”

  Kathalin smiled at his impish statement. “We?” she asked. “Who is ‘we’?”

  Still by the fire, nearly smoking his clothes because he was so close to the flame, Stephan spoke before Gates could. “He means the knights, my lady,” he said, glancing at her. “Your father is easily distracted with talk of warfare. Remember that should he ever become angry with you.”

  Kathalin laughed softly. “But I do not know any tales of warfare,” she said. “I do not suppose I could distract him with talk of healing herbs or flour measures? Unfortunately, that is all that I know.”

  Stephan shook his head. “He would become positively irate should you speak to him of healing herbs,” he said flatly. “Gates and I will tell you of great battles so that you may discuss them intelligently with your father. It is your only hope.”

  Kathalin, still smiling, looked at Gates. “What great battles will you school me on?” she asked. “Can you teach me the entire military history of England between now and the time we reach Hyssington?”

  Gates snorted. “You would die of utter boredom if we tried,” he said. “What can we tell her of, Bear? Something quick and deadly.”

  Stephan grinned as Kathalin cocked her head curiously at Gates. “Why do you call him Bear?”

  Gates nodded, smiling because Stephan was. “An old knight started calling him that many years ago when his beard first came in and he refused to shave it off,” he said. “He also refused to cut his hair, so between the hair and the beard, he looked like a bear. He is also the size of one, in case you have not noticed.”

  Kathalin looked at Stephan, who merely shrugged. “My mother likes me this way,” he said.

  Gates rolled his eyes. “Your mother is blind,” he pointed out. “She cannot see anything at all. You tell her what she likes and she simply agrees with you.”

  Stephan pretended to be quite insulted. “Women like men with hair,” he said, looking at Kathalin. “Is that not so, my lady? Women appreciate a good beard, do they not?”

  Kathalin giggled. “I would not know,” she said. “It all seems rather… bushy to me.”

  Gates swung a hand back at Stephan, slapping the man in the shoulder. “Do not ask Lady Kathalin such things, you impudent puttock,” he scolded. “She has spent her entire life in a convent, or did you forget that? She would not know what women like about men.”

  Stephan, rubbing his shoulder where Gates smacked him, was properly contrite. “My apologies, my lady,” he said, pulling his gloves on. “Mayhap I should go outside and wait before I say something that will cause Gates to put a fist in my mouth. He is not beyond that, you know.”

  As Gates cast him a very nasty look, Stephan moved to the door, making a face at the man when Gates was too far away to do anything about it. He then slipped from the cottage quickly as Kathalin giggled.

  “He is very humorous,” she said. “Has he been your friend a long time?”

  Gates thought on the life and death he and Stephan had shared together, years of serving de Lara and years of battles.

  “Aye,” he said after a moment. “I could not do without him, as foolish as he is. He is a very good knight and a good friend.”

  Kathalin could hear admiration in his tone. “I envy that,” she said, her gaze moving over his handsome face. “I had a few friends at St. Milburga’s but most of them have left. Their parents recalled them home to marry when they came of age. But I remained. I am, in fact, the oldest ward at the priory.”

  Gates watched her as she spoke, the way tiny dimples in her chin formed when she said certain words. It was really quite charming, as was the rest of her.

  “Surely there were some women you could speak with or confide in?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Not really,” she said, tearing her gaze away from him to check her pot of bark, now boiling away. “The younger wards are all too young and the nuns… well, they did not really form friendships. They are all very kind but they viewed me as not equal to them in the eyes of God.”

  He regarded her. “Yet you love St. Milburga’s,” he said. “You call it your home.”

  She nodded as she took an iron spoon and stirred the bark. “It is,” she said. “It is the only home I have ever known. Like any other home, it is not perfect, but it is home.”

  He didn’t say any more, watching her as she stirred the willow bark. The liquid was becoming a deep red; he could see it when she lifted the liquid in the spoon. Soon, he was helping her take the pot off the fire and pouring it whilst she tried to strain out all of the bark, leaving a steaming red liquid in a bowl. As it cooled, she continued to pick out pieces of bark, not having any cloth to strain it with, until the liquid was mostly clear but for a few bits of sediment.

  When she was finally satisfied, she took a cup and dipped it into the liquid, taking it to the farmer’s widow and explaining that she should have her children drink some tonight, tomorrow, and the next day, for as long as it would last. The willow bark potion should help ease the fever but she explained that they mustn’t drink too much of it at once. Gates stood back and listened to Kathalin’s kind and careful explanation of what must be done, and the farmer’s widow was so grateful that she took Kathalin’s hands and kissed them, thanking her profusely.

  Given that Kathalin had been taught by her order that healing was better without the vanity of gratitude, she was uncomfortable with the woman’s thanks. She simply nodded her head and moved away from the bed while the mother gave the liquid to the children, who didn’t like the taste, and the grandmother, who drank it right down.

  Leaving the family behind, and knowing she had done all she could to help, Kathalin approached Gates.

  “I am ready to leave now,” she said as she gathered her cloak off the eating table. “Do you think we will still make it to Hyssington by nightfall?”

  Gates reached out to take the cloak from her, shaking it out and laying it across her shoulders. “Aye,” he said, politely helping her settle the heavy cloak as she tied the fastens around her neck. “We should be just in time for the evening meal.”

  Kathalin couldn’t help but be very aware of his big hands on the cloak, courteously straightening the hood, as she finished securing it. She then pulled on her gloves, noticing that the red welts around her wrists were hardly noticeable, but as she secured the gloves over her fingers, she realized that her hands were rather quivery from Gates’ close proximity. She’d never been so close to a man in her life as she had been to Gates de Wolfe these past few days, literally and figuratively. When all of the fighting be
tween them had died down, they’d had some very pleasant conversations and he had been quite attentive to her. But he was only following orders, she knew. She was quite sure his attentions had not been anything more than that regardless of the warmth she had so recently felt from him.

  She was a task and nothing more, and her heart sank just a little bit to realize that.

  You are a fool!

  It was better not to dwell on such thoughts, for they were dangerous. Once the gloves were secure, Kathalin gave one last look to the family on the bed before exiting the cottage with Gates on her heels. His horse was tethered right outside the door and Stephan was standing there, waiting, as were most the soldiers who had escorted them. Two of the soldiers, however, were still repairing a section of the barn roof but when they saw Gates and the lady emerge, they hastened off the roof. As Stephan gathered his own horse, Gates lifted Kathalin onto his saddle. He gazed up at her a moment before joining her.

  “What you did today for that family,” he said, seemingly unsure of his words. “I just wanted to say that it was an honor to witness what you did. You have a good heart, my lady. That is a rare thing in this day.”

  More flattery, she thought. But no… it was more than that. It was a genuine statement of admiration, something she had never really heard before. And the warmth… it was there again in his expression and she struggled not to give in to it. You are a duty to him! She reminded herself sharply. Cease with your foolish and giddy thoughts of the man!

  “I did what I have been taught to do,” she replied after a moment. “It needed to be done.”

  Gates could see that she didn’t seemed pleased by his compliment; he’d meant to tell her of his esteem but being modest, and without any vanity whatsoever, she didn’t quite understand him. Or so he thought. To him, the lack of vanity made her all the more charming. It was a rare thing indeed to meet a woman who didn’t expect flattery or wasn’t swayed by it. In fact, he’d never met one in his life.