Kate ran a hand through her hair and rubbed sleep from her eyes before creeping outside to relieve herself. She returned to the church and used some of the water to wash her face and hands. That was the best she could do. She had no hairbrush, or anything to bind her hair, so she just left it loose to frame her face in thick waves.
“Who are you?” The whisper startled her. Guy de Rosel was watching her from the floor. His eyes were wide and clear, and he seemed fully conscious.
“Kate,” she replied without thinking. “Eh, Sister Catherine,” she amended quickly.
Guy reached out and took her hand. His hand was cooler than it had been during the night, and his grip was strong. “You prayed for me,” he said, gazing up at her in wonder.
“Yes, I prayed all night. Well, most of it,” she added, not wishing to exaggerate. “How do you feel?”
“Like a draft horse walked over me, then turned around and did it again,” he replied. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips.
“How’s your head?”
“It hurts, and my vision is blurred, but I feel less muddled,” he said. “My arm feels like molten lead. I will never be able to wield a sword again, will I?”
Seeing fear and uncertainty in his eyes, Kate had no wish to tell him he might not live to see another battle, or even another sunrise. He believed he’d live, and that was as good as any poultice or potion.
“You will,” Kate replied with all the conviction she could muster. “You’ll need time to heal, and lots of practice, but you will wield your sword again.”
Guy nodded. “I’m thirsty, Sister.”
“Of course. I’m sorry. I should have realized…” Kate mumbled. She carefully lifted Guy’s head and held a cup to his lips. He drank and drank, as if trying to douse the fire that raged within him. “Are you hungry?”
“Not really.”
“You need your strength if you hope to fight off this fever. I’ll give you tiny pieces. You don’t even need to chew. Just swallow. Your body will do the rest.”
“You’re very comely for a nun,” Guy said as he forced himself to swallow bits of bread soaked in mead.
“I’m not really a nun yet,” Kate replied. “I was to take my vows in two weeks’ time, but my father summoned me home. My brothers died on the same battlefield where you were wounded. My father has no sons left, just me,” she added sadly.
Guy grasped her hand again. “I’m sorry, Kate, for both your losses. Do you mind terribly not becoming a nun?” he asked, just before she forced more food down his throat.
“Yes, I do. I wasn’t sure at first, but I loved it at the priory. I would have been happy to spend the rest of my days serving God. But now, I will have to serve my father.”
Guy nodded in understanding. “It’s not easy to be a daughter, is it?”
“How would you know?” Kate asked, a smile tugging at her lips.
“I had a sister,” he said. His expression turned grim and he looked away.
“Did she die?”
“She died because of me,” he replied. Kate was about to ask more questions, but Guy’s gaze grew clouded again, possibly from all the mead he’d just ingested. He closed his eyes, clearly exhausted.
“Rest,” Kate said as she let go of his hand. “Just rest.”
“How is he?” Hugh de Rosel asked from behind her. His hair was tousled from sleep and his beard had thickened during the night.
“He spoke to me. He seemed aware of his surroundings,” Kate added.
“And his arm?”
“I don’t think it’s getting worse. I will change the dressing once it gets light.”
Hugh shook his head. “There’s only one other thing we can try now,” he said, as he looked down on his brother. “I didn’t want to do it if he was dying, but if there’s even the slightest chance he will live…”
“What will you do to him?” Kate demanded. She felt protective of Guy, more so now that he’d spoken to her. She wasn’t sure why she’d been honest with him, but something in his eyes had prevented her from lying to him. Geoffrey had advised her to always trust her instinct, and her instinct had been to trust Guy de Rosel.
“I will cauterize the wound.”
She gasped. “No!”
“Sister, no amount of mead will stop the putrefaction from spreading. Guy will either live, or he will die, but we can’t remain here any longer.” Hugh added, “Will you help me?”
“Yes,” Kate whispered. Her stomach clenched at the thought of hurting Guy so badly, but Hugh was right. She had nothing on hand to treat the infection. It hadn’t grown worse, but it hadn’t improved either. Guy was still feverish, and the wound was oozing pus, a sure sign that the putrefaction was spreading and would soon kill him.
“I will send Walter to gather some wood for a fire,” Hugh said. He walked off, leaving Kate with Guy.
She reached for his hand and began to pray again, wishing she could give him some of her strength and vitality, and continued to pray as Walter and Hugh made a roaring fire in the nave. Its blaze seemed incongruous inside the chapel, especially since it was meant to be a healing flame and not a purifying, punishing pyre.
Kate removed Guy’s bandage and exposed the ugly wound to the light. She held her breath as the stench of decay assaulted her, but didn’t move away.
“I need you to hold his arm still,” Hugh said. “Can you do it, or should I ask Walter?”
“I can do it.”
“Probably best if you both hold him. He’s strong as an ox when he wants to be. Walter, hold his shoulder in place and Sister Catherine can hold his lower arm.”
Kate gripped Guy’s arm with both hands and held it against the stone floor by the elbow and wrist. Guy’s eyes fluttered open. He looked confused, but the sight of the glowing blade brought him to his senses and nearly undid him. His gaze filled with terror. “Please, Hugh, no,” he pleaded.
“I’m sorry, brother, it’s the only way,” Hugh replied.
The searing blade came down on the open wound, filling the chapel with the stench of roasting flesh. Guy let out an inhuman roar and went rigid as a plank, then his legs began to quiver as Hugh held the blade over the wound. Guy jerked wildly and Kate brought all her weight down on his arm to keep him from yanking it away. Had Walter not been holding his upper body, Guy would have broken free. As it was, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he mercifully lost consciousness, unable to bear the agony any longer.
Kate wiped away her tears with the sleeve of her habit once she was able to release Guy’s arm. The puckered skin was red and raw and smelled of charred flesh.
“Let it cool completely, then bind it,” Hugh commanded. “After that, we leave.”
“I must return home,” Kate told Hugh once she got hold of herself. “My parents will be frantic.”
“You’re coming with us, Sister. We can’t manage without you. You have my word that I will deliver you to your father as soon as Guy is settled in his bed and William is in his grave.”
“Seems I don’t have a choice,” Kate retorted.
“Walter can’t look after him properly on the journey,” Hugh replied, unfazed. “I need him to see to the horses and the armor. You’re doing God’s work,” he added with a sour smile.
Kate didn’t bother to argue. In truth, she couldn’t leave Guy. He needed her a lot more than her father, and he would benefit from her ministrations, even if they were feeble. She watched as Hugh and Walter tied up the armor in bundles made of their cloaks and tossed them over her horse to make room in the cart.
William’s corpse gave off a putrid odor, decomposition having set in. He’d been dead for four days, and even though the weather was cool, his corpse needed to be buried sooner rather than later. Kate tried not to look at what was left of William as she settled next to Guy, who was still insensible. Walter drove the cart, while Hugh led the horses ahead of them. The horses were spooked by the reek of death, so couldn’t be downwind from the cart.
Kate bru
shed Guy’s hair out of his face and laid a cool hand on his brow. His chest rose and fell evenly as he slumbered on. She couldn’t bring herself to look at his arm, which was a horrid shade of crimson beneath the bandage. She prayed they would get to where they were going soon. She could smell her own sweat and fear beneath the putrid smells in the cart, and her head itched from lack of washing. She hadn’t had a proper meal since leaving the priory, and she could feel that her courses were about to start. Her back ached, her belly cramped painfully, and her breasts were swollen and sensitive. She had nothing to use as rags if she began to bleed before they arrived at their destination, but couldn’t raise the issue with the men.
They stopped only once to buy food and feed and water the horses, and then they were on their way again. Guy came to twice, but only for a few minutes at a time. Kate tried to get him to drink, since he couldn’t manage any food, but he only took a few sips. When she spoke to him, he didn’t reply, not even with a grunt or a squeeze of the hand. The day seemed to go on forever as the cart rattled along rutted tracks and muddy lanes. Kate’s back groaned in protest and she tried to get more comfortable by leaning against the side, but had to fold her legs beneath her since William and Guy took up almost the entire cart.
It was nearly dusk by the time Hugh pointed out the shadowy bulk of Castle de Rosel in the distance. It stood squat and square on a hillside, overlooking the nearby town of Berwick, its crenellated tower dark against the lavender sky. The castle wasn’t as grand as some Kate had seen. It was more of a keep, but it looked impregnable. Kate could see the dark outlines of arrow shafts, but several glazed windows that had probably been added later also graced the top floors. The light of a candle flickered behind one of the windows, but otherwise, everything was quiet and dark.
A chorus of barking erupted as they drew closer to the castle wall, and the gate swung open, revealing a nearly toothless old man holding a lantern. “Saw ye coming, I did. We was beginning to give up hope. The Earl of Stanwyck returned from the battle two days since. Suffered heavy losses. Thank the good Lord ye’re home, Master Hugh.”
The old man looked as though he were about to say something more when he spotted the bodies in the cart. “Lord Jesus, preserve us,” he breathed and crossed himself before standing aside to let the cart pass. He shut the gate and followed behind the cart, shaking his head and muttering.
A boy of about ten ran from the stables, ready to help with the horses. His eyes sparkled with excitement, which turned to dismay as soon as he saw the contents of the cart. He looked ready to bolt, but held his ground, prepared to do his master’s bidding.
Hugh dismounted with a grunt of relief, threw his reins to the boy without saying a word, then strode purposefully toward the keep. Walter helped Kate down from the cart before leading two of the horses toward the stables. Kate remained by the cart, uncertain what to do next.
A few moments later, a heavyset older woman rushed out the door. Her hair was covered with a veil and she wore a faded gown of brown homespun. She wiped her hands on the apron tied about her ample waist, as though suddenly remembering they were soiled from whatever she’d been doing when Hugh called for her. Lines of grief etched the woman’s face as she slowly approached the cart and held out a work-reddened hand to gently touch William’s body. She bowed her head in sorrow and crossed herself.
“Lord, have mercy on his soul,” she said quietly as silent tears slid down her cheeks.
Hugh came up behind the woman and she turned and opened her arms to him. He walked into her embrace, burying his face in her shoulder. He appeared to be crying, and the woman, who was nearly as tall as Hugh but much wider, held him tightly and whispered words of comfort.
“Come now, me boy,” she said as she held Hugh by the arms and gazed on him with love. “Ye must remain strong, Hugh. Ye’re the master now.”
Hugh nodded miserably. “Guy is barely holding on.”
“I’ll see to Guy, and to William,” the woman said. She turned to Walter, who’d come out of the stable, having brought all the horses inside. “Walter, I know ye’re tired, me lad, but if ye’d bring in some firewood I’d be most grateful.”
She turned to Hugh and began issuing orders as if he were her subordinate, her earlier grief set aside while she took the situation in hand. “Hugh, get Guy to his room and lay him on the floor by the hearth. And get a good fire going in his bedchamber. Soon as ye can, lad. Alf, get water on the boil,” she said to the old man, “and tell Aileen to bring clean towels. Walter, once ye bring in the firewood, see to his lordship’s body. Alf will help ye.”
“Shall I bring him to his bedchamber, Mistress Joan?” Walter asked.
“Don’t be daft. That’ll distress his wife and child. Bring him to the small chamber off the kitchen and lay him on the bench. And ye, come with me. What’s yer name, then?” Joan asked Kate as she motioned for her to follow her into the keep.
Kate was about to reply when a young woman exploded from the doorway into the yard. Her fair hair was uncovered and hung down to her waist, and her dark eyes were wild with anguish. She was dressed in a gown of red velvet and her throat was adorned with a necklace of gold and rubies, the vibrant color pulsating with life in the face of death. The young woman wrung her hands and howled with grief when she beheld the body in the cart, then suddenly quieted and went deathly pale as if she were about to swoon. She swayed on her feet as she reached out to grab hold of the cart to steady herself.
Hugh rushed to her and took her in his arms just in time. The woman collapsed against him, sobbing. Hugh held her close, his hand stroking her golden hair as she cried. The gesture seemed to come naturally to him, speaking of a close relationship between the two.
“He fought bravely, Eleanor.”
“He can’t be gone,” Eleanor moaned over and over. “Not my Will.”
“Hugh, make sure the boy doesn’t see his father like this,” Joan said as she took charge of William’s widow. “Come now, me lady. I’ll see to his lordship’s body. Come inside and get hold of yerself. Ye must remain strong for yer bairn, aye?”
Eleanor tried to get around Joan and back to the cart, but the older woman blocked her path and glared at her as if she were an errant child trying to grab a sweet. “Go back inside, me lady. Ye’ll see yer lord when he’s good and ready to be seen, and not a moment afore. Behave in a way that would have made him proud of ye.” Joan whipped out a handkerchief and pressed it into the woman’s hand.
Eleanor was still weeping, but softer now. She dabbed at her swollen eyes and wiped her streaming nose. “All right. I’ll go inside,” she whispered. She allowed herself to be led away by Hugh, who had his arm around her shoulders and spoke to her softly. Kate looked after them, her heart contracting with sorrow. No matter which side you were on, it was the women and children who bore the brunt of the fighting, left to mourn their losses and find their way in the world without their husbands and fathers.
Joan looked after the retreating figures and then returned her attention to Kate. She raised one eyebrow as she beheld Kate, still awaiting an answer.
“My name is Catherine Dancy. I was on my way home from Holystone Priory when I came upon Walter, who asked for my help.”
“Well, God bless ye and keep ye, Mistress Dancy. Guy’s wound looks well-tended to. Me name’s Joan Wilbanks. Ye may call me Nurse or simply Joan, whichever ye prefer. We’re an informal wee household. I was nurse to the de Rosel boys since the day they was born, and love them as if they was me own.”
Like many people who’d been born and bred this far north, Mistress Wilbanks spoke a mixed dialect of English and Scots, and most likely boasted a few Scots in her line. Most people this close to the border did, since Berwick changed hands between England and Scotland with almost predictable frequency.
“And what were ye doing at the priory?” Joan asked conversationally as she stealthily took Kate’s measure.
“I was a postulate, but my father summoned me home,” Kate explained.
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“Yer family lose someone at Towton?” Joan asked, instantly drawing her own conclusions.
“Three of my brothers.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, lass. Ye must long to be with yer parents. Forgive Hugh for keeping ye from yer home. He wouldn’t hold anyone against their will unless he were desperate.”
“He didn’t hold me,” Kate replied. “I could have left, but Guy needed me.”
“He still needs ye, by the look of him,” Joan replied. “Help me get some food on the table, and then we’ll see to Guy, unless ye’re too weary.”
“No, I wish to help.”
Kate followed Joan inside. Despite the unwelcoming appearance of the keep, the interior wasn’t as dark and dreary as Kate had imagined. Several sconces burned along the passage, lighting the way, and the room they passed was decorated with a tapestry and looked to be comfortably furnished, with fresh rushes on the floor and a fire burning in the grate. William de Rosel’s widow was seated by the fire, her hands folded in her lap and her head bowed in sorrow. Hugh wasn’t with her. He must have gone to do Joan’s bidding and see to his brother.
Joan led Kate into a cavernous kitchen. A huge hearth took up the far wall, and a long, scarred table dominated the center. Two benches flanked the table, and several shelves held an assortment of bowls and jugs. A girl of about fourteen sat at the table, slicing turnips. She looked up and nodded, but didn’t say anything. Joan made some elaborate gestures with her hands and the girl nodded again, more vigorously this time.
“Aileen’s Jed’s sister. That’s the stable boy,” Joan explained as she began to set the table. “The poor bairn’s as deaf as a post. His lordship took the two of them into the household after their parents died a few years back. Kind he was, my William. And generous. He promised Jed his own parcel of land to work when he came of age, on account of letting other tenants work his father’s farm since Jed and Aileen couldn’t possibly manage on their own.”
Joan set a plate of sliced pork, a wedge of cheese, and some brown bread on the table, and added a jug of ale. “That will do them for now. Had I known they’d be back today, I’d have prepared a hot meal, but Eleanor hasn’t been eating much and we are all right with bread, cheese, and ale for our supper.”
The Forsaken (Echoes from the Past Book 4) Page 7