“Sir Benedict, Lord Ravenscar calls for you,” came the voice of Nelek, his squire, from the bottom of the battlement stairs.
“Aye,” he said, turning to go to his liege lord, but stopping in his tracks when he saw the ship passing by Ravenscar’s docks. He glanced over the battlements, squinting, trying to see clearly. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a girl at the rail. Her vibrant, red hair was long and loose and whipped around her in the wind. She clutched her cloak to her chest and stared up at his castle.
He couldn’t see her face, but neither did he need to in order to know she was staring right at him. Brave, he thought. Most ships that passed by Ravenscar Castle looked to be deserted since the occupants all hid in the hold while passing. Ravenscar had everyone scared out of their minds. No one wanted to even look at him the wrong way for fear they’d be next on his list of victims to murder.
“Sir Benedict? Lord Ravenscar is impatient,” his squire called to him once again.
“Aye,” he said, turning away from the ship and heading down the stairs to the castle’s courtyard. He hurried toward the keep with Nelek running alongside him. “How is he faring?” he asked without turning to look at his squire.
“Not well,” Nelek reported. “Of course, I don’t know for sure since you are the only one he lets in his room. But he called out through the door that he is dying. I don’t think he has much time left to live.”
“Damn it, where is the healer?” Benedict ground out. He had sent a messenger for a healer days ago.
“None of them have come,” Nelek reported. “They are all too frightened for their lives to step foot inside the castle walls, and rightly so.”
“Then I’ll give orders to have the men force one to come right away.”
“I’m not sure that is a good idea, my lord. After all, most healers are witches. I wouldn’t want a witch to curse us all in anger.”
“Nay, we wouldn’t want that,” he agreed, thinking they were all cursed enough just by being in Ravenscar’s service. He bolted to the solar door that was guarded by two men, hearing Ravenscar’s raspy voice calling for him from within. The guards stepped aside when they saw Benedict coming. “Stay here,” he told his squire when it looked as if Nelek were going to follow him inside. “Ravenscar doesn’t want anyone to enter the room except me. We don’t want to upset him.”
“Aye, my lord.” The squire backed off.
Benedict stopped in front of the door, took a deep breath and then released it. His hand reached for the latch, but he stopped at the sound of a child screaming from down the corridor. He looked over his shoulder to see one of the guards, Oxley, hauling Torkel, the nine-year-old orphan down the hall by his ear. Oxley was an appropriate name for the guard since he was as big as an ox and as dumb as one, too. It was only because the man had no qualms in doing Ravenscar’s dirty work that he’d been made a knight – although he didn’t deserve it. Still, Benedict would never use the man’s title if he didn’t have to because, in his opinion, it was an insult to all honorable knights.
Behind him were more of the children that had been brought to the castle after Ravenscar had given the orders to pillage their Scottish villages. Eight-year-old Enar was pulling at Oxley’s arm and five-year-old Rab was clinging to the guard’s leg.
The girls, Ishbel and Iona, who were sisters of ten and twelve years of age, followed behind silently.
“Is there a problem?” Benedict’s hand dropped from the latch of the door. He turned to confront the guard.
“I caught this little thief stealing from Ravenscar,” said the guard, holding out his free hand. His fingers opened to display a golden brooch in the shape of a raven.
Benedict reached out and plucked the brooch from Oxley’s hand and studied it, turning it over in his palm. Then his eyes fell upon Torkel. “What were you planning on doing with this?” He was surprised that the boy hadn’t been stealing food again or mayhap blankets since Ravenscar made the children sleep on the cold floor of the undercroft without even a pillow for comfort.
“He was goin’ to sell it for money so we could all leave,” shouted Enar.
“Why are you trying to leave?” he asked the children. “There is nowhere else for you to go. You’re too young. You’ll die out there on your own, and should be thankful that you’re still alive.”
“We dinna care if we die,” said little Rab, sinking his teeth into the Oxley’s leg. Oxley howled and raised his hand to hit the boy. Benedict’s fingers clamped around the man’s wrist to stop him.
“Sir Grenfell,” shouted Ravenscar from behind the closed door. Benedict looked over his shoulder, knowing if he didn’t hurry, he’d have to deal with the wrath of Ravenscar. Not only would he be reprimanded, but the rest of the castle’s inhabitants would be punished in some way also. It didn’t matter that the man was dying. He wanted everyone else to suffer along with him.
“Girls, get back to the kitchen, quickly,” Benedict ordered. Iona and Ishbel turned and ran away without saying a word.
“You’re not going to let this filthy thief get away with stealing, are you?” asked Oxley. “You know Ravenscar would have him shackled in the dungeon and whipped for this.”
“Yes, he would,” said Benedict, noticing the boys all flinch at the guard’s words.
“And how about the smallest whelp?” continued Oxley. “He bit me!”
“Rab, how many times have I warned you not to bite?” asked Benedict, looking the child right in the eye.
Rab let go of the guard’s leg and ran over to hide behind the other two boys. His reddish-blond curls stuck out in all directions as his big, green eyes peeked out from his place of safety. Orphans of war, the children were naught more than servants at the castle. Ragged and dirty, they had holes in their tunics and were in dire need of a dunk in the lake and a meeting with the garden shears. Rab didn’t even have a pair of shoes.
“What’s their punishment?” growled Oxley.
“Grenfell!” came Ravenscar’s angry shout from within the room, only causing Benedict more apprehension.
“Put Torkel in the stocks for an hour,” said Benedict, having to punish them in some way, but not wanting to hurt the children. “Afterwards, he will join the other two in shoveling out the gongpit.” A barrage of protests went up from the children at hearing their sentences. Benedict held his hand in the air, and they instantly stopped the whining. “Would you rather I let Ravenscar decide your punishment?” he asked the boys.
“Nay, my lord,” said Enar. Rab eagerly shook his head as well.
“Torkel?” asked Benedict, knowing he was the most stubborn of the group.
“Torkel, answer him,” whispered Enar, elbowing the boy in the ribs. Torkel shoved Enar’s arm away and raised his chin.
“Nay, my lord.”
“Then get going before I change my mind and have you doing something worse,” Benedict warned them.
The boys ran and disappeared down the corridor. Benedict turned once more and, this time, entered the room.
Ravenscar’s chamber was dark and musty. A tapestry covered the window opening. No candles were burning in the room at all. The room reeked of sweat and urine.
“My lord,” said Benedict, standing in the doorway, barely able to see the dark figure of the man lying on the bed.
“Close the door, Grenfell, and stop stalling.”
“Aye, my lord.” Benedict closed the door, waiting a minute for his eyes to become accustomed to the dark. He heard the whimper of a dog and realized his mutt, Bailey, was still next to Ravenscar in the bed as he’d been for days now. Benedict named a small, white ball of fluff, Bailey when he’d found the stray wandering around the bailey of the castle over a year ago. This was the only one of Benedict’s dozen hounds that liked Ravenscar. Bailey often stayed with the man for days at a time since Ravenscar didn’t like to let the animal leave his side.
“Come forward,” said Ravenscar in his deep, raspy voice that had always frightened Benedict as a child. The man
was pure evil. Benedict found himself wondering if people thought he was evil too, since he was Ravenscar’s captain of the guard and the one to always carry out the man’s orders.
“It is too dark to see, my lord. I’ll pull back the tapestry from the window to bring in light and fresh air.” Benedict started across the room.
“Nay!” For a dying man, Ravenscar’s voice still held the strength and control required of a successful leader. “I want to talk to you, Grenfell. Come to the side of the bed.”
Benedict did as ordered, not at all happy to be in the room of the man with his illness – whatever it might be. If only he could have retained a healer, they’d know what ailed the man.
“What can I do for you?” asked Benedict.
“Where is the healer?”
“I sent for several healers, but none have shown. It seems your reputation precedes you, my lord. After you beheaded the last healer because you didn’t like the taste of his healing drink, no one is anxious to offer their services again.”
“Then why haven’t you kidnapped one by now, you fool?”
Kidnapping had never entered Benedict’s mind. Now that he thought about it, he realized it was exactly what he should have done. “I’ll do it right away, my lord.” He turned on his heel but was stopped by Ravenscar’s next words.
“It’s too late. I’ll be dead before you return. Instead, I want you to stay here with me and tend to my needs.”
“But – I am not a healer my lord. I know naught about herbs or poultices. Perhaps one of the ladies would be better fit for this job.”
“I said you! Now sit.”
“Aye, my lord.” Benedict sat in a chair across the room since it was the only one present.
“Not there. Sit here next to me.” Ravenscar reached out and ran his hand through the dog’s fur. Bailey licked his arm and rolled over, cuddling up against him.
Benedict cringed, hoping his dog wouldn’t catch Ravenscar’s illness. Not wanting to get closer to the man than he had to, he hesitated. Ravenscar had a bout with coughing, only making Benedict want to flee the room. But he couldn’t. Having no choice but to obey, he picked up the chair and carried it over, placing it down next to the bed and seating himself atop it.
“My lord, for nearly a fortnight now I’ve been tending to your needs. I have done everything asked of me, including changing your bedpan and feeding you by my own hand. Let me go out and kidnap a healer as you’ve suggested. Surely, I don’t have the skills it takes to bring you back to health.”
“No one does,” said Ravenscar, coughing again. His energy seemed to be dwindling. “I am being punished for my lifestyle of pillaging and raping and killing. I know that now.”
“Nay, I’m sure that is not true.” Benedict said the words but, in reality, he wasn’t so certain. And if God were punishing Ravenscar, then what would happen to him? After all, he was Ravenscar’s right-hand man. He carried out the man’s orders and did everything that was required of him, even when he didn’t agree. It was his duty. It was what his father did before him. If Benedict ever married and had children, his son would do the same someday as well.
“I have no one, Benedict,” said the man, calling him by his Christian name. He had never spoken to him like this before. “Your father was loyal to me. I commend you for coming back to Ravenscar to follow in his footsteps after your family was killed. All this will be yours when I’m gone.” He raised his hands to encompass the surroundings but didn’t have the strength to hold them up long. His hands fell back to the bed, atop the dog.
“My lord, you are not going to die,” Benedict tried to assure him.
“I am, and you’re the one who is going to take my life.”
Benedict jerked backward on the chair, almost falling from it in surprise. “I would never.”
“You must.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Light a candle, Grenfell. There is one on the bedside table.”
Confused as to why the man was talking this way, Benedict could only surmise that it was the illness speaking. “Your fever has been raging for the last few days, my lord. Evidently, it has addled your mind.” He got up and lit the candle. Benedict turned back toward the bed and gasped at what he saw. Ravenscar looked terrible. His skin was bright red and boils covered his body from head to toe. Some of them even looked black.
“I tried to bloodlet myself, but it didn’t help. I’m afraid I’ve either got leprosy or the plague.”
“Nay.” Benedict shook his head, backing away as he tried to deny it. He’d been administering to the man’s needs for nearly two weeks now, with no one else allowed to enter the room. Surely, if Ravenscar were dying, then Benedict would follow right behind him. Anger pushed through his veins. He didn’t want to die. “Why tell me I will inherit your castle and estate when you’ve already seen to my destiny?” he ground out. “I will surely follow in your footsteps and die from your illness now, too.”
“If you’re as strong as I think you are, you won’t die.” Ravenscar’s eyes closed partially as he ran his hands through the dog’s fur and then nuzzled his whiskered face against Bailey’s before he sent the hound off the bed. “You’ll find a way to heal yourself. Now give me your dagger.”
Confused, Benedict obeyed orders, unsheathing his dagger from his weapon belt and handing it to Ravenscar. He figured the man wanted to use it for more bloodletting. Although he didn’t like the idea, he couldn’t deny the request. Ravenscar held up his hand. “Don’t give it to me – use it.”
“My lord?” he asked, wondering if Ravenscar wanted him to do the bloodletting now. His stomach churned at the thought.
“I cannot stand the itching any longer! It is as if bugs are constantly crawling under my skin. It is driving me out of my mind. Kill me and put me out of my misery.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking, my lord. I would never do such a thing!”
“You must. You have been loyal to me, just like your father was before you. This is your final task. I will not recover and we both know it. I don’t want it known that I went out squirming and acting like a child. Kill me quickly and then burn my body, so no one else sees me looking like this. Let everyone know it was the plague and they will not question your actions. Do you understand?”
“We’re not even sure it is the plague, my lord,” said Benedict, not able to believe what his liege lord was asking. “So far, you are the only one sick. So perhaps, it is naught but a fever or a reaction to something you ate.”
“Do it, Grenfell. Now!” Ravenscar scratched his arms and chest, grimacing as he did so.
Benedict’s hand holding the dagger wavered above the man. He’d never defied an order from Ravenscar, but now he was being asked to take his superior’s life. He couldn’t do it.
“Nay, I won’t do it. I have no reason to kill you.” Benedict pulled back his hand.
“It is an order!”
“I’m sorry, my lord, but this is one command that I cannot follow.”
“Fine,” said the man in a low voice. “Then give me the blasted dagger.” He squirmed on the bed in pure agony from the itching, or perhaps the pain.
When Benedict slowly reached out the dagger clenched tightly in his fist, Ravenscar shot up to a sitting position in bed, surprising him. He grabbed Benedict’s hand in both his hands, his grasp feeling much stronger than it should have been for a dying man. Benedict’s hand was trapped underneath, still holding the dagger. Then Ravenscar took his hands and plunged the blade right through his own heart.
Benedict froze. Blood trickled from Ravenscar’s mouth and his eyes turned up in an evil stare. Bailey whimpered from across the room, pawing at the door, trying to escape the chamber. Then a slight smile parted the man’s lips as he spoke with his last breath. Ravenscar’s words would haunt Benedict for the rest of his life.
“Now you are the infamous Ravenscar . . . in . . . every . . . way.” Ravenscar’s hands slipped off of Benedict’s and his body fell back o
n the pillow with his eyes still open. The man was dead!
Benedict watched in horror as he pulled the bloody dagger out of Ravenscar’s chest. How could the bastard have done this to him? Even in the last minutes of his life, evil still leaked from his every pore. He’d sealed Benedict’s fate. Now he would be blamed for the man’s death. He wouldn’t inherit everything – he’d go to prison instead. Perhaps, he’d even be beheaded. Whatever would happen to him now wasn’t going to be good. Ravenscar was dead, and it was by Benedict’s hand and dagger!
His mind went crazy with thoughts of how Ravenscar had set him up to take the fall. Why would he promise him everything and then take it all away with one plunge of the blade to his heart? Anger pushed through his veins, making him hate the man more than he ever had before.
There came a knock on the door. Benedict dropped the dagger as he spun around, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.
“My lord, the priest is here to give Lord Ravenscar his final blessing,” came Nelek’s voice from the other side of the door. Bailey still whimpered, trying to get out of the room. Benedict knew the feeling. He wanted to leave as well.
“Nay! Stay out!” he shouted, looking down to the bloody, disfigured body on the bed. He wondered what he should do. “He . . . he has just died. From the plague,” he blurted out, grasping for something to say that would keep the others out of the room. “Everyone needs to stay away.”
Commotion was heard from out in the corridor.
“Did you say the plague?” came the priest’s voice from the other side of the thick, wooden door. “If so, you are in danger of contracting it as well. You mustn’t come out of the room, my lord.”
“Damn it, I’m not staying in a room with a dead body,” growled Benedict. “Nelek, start a bonfire behind the castle. Make it big. I’m burning Ravenscar’s body. It’s all we can do to keep the plague from spreading.”
“Aye, my lord,” came Nelek’s reply.
Autumn's Touch (Seasons of Fortitude Series Book 3) Page 3