Autumn's Touch (Seasons of Fortitude Series Book 3)

by Elizabeth Rose

  “It’s all right, Son,” Benedict told him, in a soft voice that surprised Autumn. He’d never seemed to have patience with the orphans before. Had something changed with him? She hoped so. He put his hand over Rab’s and slowly pulled the boy’s hand away.

  Autumn gasped when she saw the gash, not expecting it to be so bad. He was going to need stitches. Her reaction only frightened the boy more and she cursed herself inwardly for not controlling her emotions.

  “Heal him, quickly,” Benedict ordered. She laid her hands over Rab’s wound and closed her eyes, trying to conjure up the same feeling she’d had after she was struck by lightning. She felt it slowly returning and, little by little, the energy grew. She willed it into the boy’s arm, trying to visualize the wound closing up and healing by itself. “What’s taking so long?” shouted Benedict when Rab started screaming out of control. “I can’t stand this much longer. Do something, Autumn.”

  “I am trying,” she said, her concentration broken and her nerves rattled from the way Benedict was talking to her. The beast was back and she didn’t like this side of him. What happened to the gentle, loving man she’d spent time with last night?

  “Stop that infernal crying or I’ll take away your pallet and make you sleep in the undercroft all alone,” Benedict threatened the little boy.

  That only made Rab cry harder. Autumn would never be able to focus and bring about her healing now.

  “Lord Ravenscar, you are not making the situation any better,” said Autumn.

  “Then for God’s sake, heal him already and stop him from crying.”

  “I can’t!” she shouted, standing up.

  “You can’t?” He stood up, too. “Why not? I thought this was your gift.”

  “I don’t know why it’s not working, but you’re going to have to carry him up to the tower so I can stitch up his arm and heal him with herbs. Now hurry up or he’ll bleed to death.” She reached out and snatched away the rag hanging at his waist for cleaning his sword, winding it around the boy’s arm. Iona ran her hand over Rab’s head, murmuring words that he would be all right.

  “My lord, what happened?” Nelek ran up with Sir Gawain and several other knights as well.

  “Where have you been?” growled Benedict, reaching down and picking up Rab in his arms. The child continued to cry. “Never mind, get out of my way. Find Nairnie and tell her to meet us in the tower anon. Lady Autumn needs her help.”

  * * *

  Benedict didn’t understand what was wrong with Autumn. She had used her healing touch on him and managed to cure him in one day. She had also used it on Lester recently, although now that he thought about it, she had spent a lot of time with the guard and he wasn’t even sure the man was healed.

  “How is he, Nairnie?” Benedict paced the floor of the tower as Nairnie sewed up Rab’s arm and then went about applying herbs and potions to his wound.

  “He’ll live,” said the old woman. “But what a child was doin’ on the practice field in the first place is beyond me.”

  “I brought him there,” said Autumn, not seeming at all happy he’d called Nairnie in to help with the healing. He did what he had to in a time of crisis. He knew for a fact that Nairnie was an experienced healer. She’d saved his life at one time and he would never forget that. He ran his hand over the scar on his face, reliving the memory. He’d been marked for life by the enemy. His scar was a constant reminder of the battle and senseless deaths he’d seen firsthand that he would never be able to forget. He hadn’t meant to be harsh with Autumn, but she seemed upset and not thinking clearly. He was sure she had the skills to heal even without her gift, but he trusted Nairnie’s skills more than he even trusted himself.

  “Why would ye do such a daft thing, lassie?” asked Nairnie, checking the wrappings on Rab’s arm, once again, and running a hand over his curly hair.

  “Aye, I’d like to know the answer to that, too,” said Benedict. He shook his head thinking of the move had almost cost the boy his life. “Bringing a child to the practice field in the first place was thoughtless and stupid! You should have known better. I should have both you and the boy punished for naught else than distracting me when I was in the middle of a practice session. Don’t you know how dangerous that is for all involved? One slip of concentration and I could be the one having my arm sewn up now.”

  “Stop yelling, and mayhap I’ll tell you,” said Autumn, glancing over to the rest of the children who had come to the room to see to Rab. The boys sat on the trunk and the girls were helping by handing Nairnie what she needed.

  Benedict realized it wasn’t a good thing to argue in front of the children. It would make him look weak. “Nelek,” he called to his squire who was staring out the window.

  “Aye, my lord?”

  “Take the children down to the great hall. I’d like to talk to Nairnie and Autumn alone.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Nelek gathered up the children and they left the room. The only child left was Rab who was lying on the bed with his eyes half-closed.

  “I wanted to show ye the bairn,” said the little boy.

  “The what?”

  “The baby bird,” said Autumn. “Rab was so excited that one of the robin’s eggs hatched that he insisted I take him to the practice field so he could tell you about it.”

  “He did?” Suddenly Benedict felt like a fool for the way he’d reacted. He’d lashed out when he should have taken the time to find out the circumstances first. It touched his heart that Rab wanted to show him the baby bird. Never had a child purposely wanted to come to him before. Normally, they were frightened and wanted to run away from him instead. He wasn’t sure how to act in this situation. But one thing he knew was that he’d better try to make things right between him and Autumn.

  “Ye both need to leave now so Rab can get some rest,” said Nairnie shooing them toward the door.

  “I am going to go check on Lester,” said Autumn, picking up her basket and leaving the room. Benedict stood there, not sure what to do.

  “Ye have a temper on ye, Benedict. Ye always have,” scolded Nairnie, walking toward the door. Benedict followed silently behind her.

  “I had no idea the boy was anxious to tell me about a bird. Had I known . . .”

  “Had ye kent, ye wouldna have done anythin’ different, admit it. Ye have a certain way ye conduct yerself in front of the men and I warn ye, that willna work with Lady Autumn.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Ye called for me when she is a better healer than I am. How do ye think that made her feel?”

  “She wasn’t healing him. She said her gift wasn’t working,” he said in his defense. “I didn’t want the boy to bleed to death.”

  “It’s just as well, Benedict. I think Autumn was startin’ to fancy ye too much anyway. I’m sure this will put an end to that. We both ken it would only mean heartbreak for her and I dinna want to see Autumn hurt. It is better she sees the person ye’ve become before she ends up doin’ somethin’ daft like fallin’ in love with ye.”

  “In love?” This took Benedict by surprise. The only women he’d had in his life were servants or whores that he’d bedded on occasion. He had never really thought about falling in love someday. “Do you really think that will happen?”

  “No’ with the way ye keep turnin’ into a beast before her very eyes. I swear, I dinna even ken ye anymore, Benedict. Ye are no’ the same boy I once sacrificed everythin’ for.”

  Benedict felt sorry about this. Nairnie had, indeed, given up everything when she saved his life and raised him as her son for a few short years. He was the enemy. The Scots didn’t accept him and, because of it, neither did they accept her. Instead of leaving him to die, Nairnie healed him and took him far from any of the Scots. They lived in solitude in the woods. And then he left her. Well, it was time he told Nairnie the truth, even if she didn’t believe it.

  “Nairnie,” he said, looking over to make sure Rab was asleep. “Please, sit down.” He di
rected her to a chair.

  “I dinna want to sit. Ye need to leave now, Benedict. The boy needs his rest.”

  “He’s sleeping. I won’t disturb him. If I don’t tell you my story, you’ll never understand why I left you that day. Please, give me a chance.”

  Nairnie sighed and plopped down on the chair. “So talk,” she said, not making this easy for him. She believed he’d deserted her after all she’d done for him, but that wasn’t what happened that day at all. He relayed the story of that day so long ago when he was only twelve years of age:

  “I don’t want to chop wood and carry water. I want to practice fighting with the dagger my father gave me.” Twelve-year-old Benedict held his dagger proudly in the air, swiping out at a squirrel skin hanging from the rafters of the small cottage. He and Nairnie were outcasts and lived by themselves in the Lowlands in one of the more desolate areas. Benedict missed his parents and sisters and longed for the life of a nobleman in a castle. He wanted to be a knight someday, not a peasant living in hiding, hoping not to be killed by the English or the Scots.

  “Ye’ll do what I say,” spat Nairnie. “Now get that fool idea out of yer head. Fightin’ is no guid.”

  “I’m not going to the stream to get water.”

  “Aye, ye are.”

  “I’ll run away. I won’t stay here!” he threatened.

  “Och, laddie! I dinna ken where yer stubborn streak comes from. I’ll fetch the water from the creek myself, but we’ll talk when I return. Now, go hunt a rabbit for dinner and put that dagger of yers to guid use findin’ us food instead of wantin’ to use it to kill men.”

  Nairnie took two buckets and left for the stream. Benedict headed in the opposite direction, hoping to find a rabbit or squirrel for dinner. He didn’t get far from the house when he heard men on horseback coming through the woods. They were headed toward their cottage! He hid behind a tree and watched. When he peeked out and saw Lord Ravenscar, he realized the man had returned to Scotland on another raid. Ravenscar hated the Scots and even killed women and children. They would go to the house, he was sure of it. And when Nairnie returned, they would kill her. He had to lead them in the opposite direction and there was only one way to do it.

  “Lord Ravenscar,” he shouted, stepping out from behind the tree as the man passed by. Ravenscar yanked on the reins of his horse and drew his sword. When he saw Benedict, he held his hand in the air to stop his army. He sheathed his sword and turned back to Benedict. “It’s me, Benedict Grenfell, son of your late captain of the guard,” Benedict told him.

  “It’s the whelp,” said Oxley, looking as if he now held the position his father once had as captain of the guard. “Kill him! He’s no use to us.”

  “What are you doing here?” asked Ravenscar.

  “I was captured by the Scots and they were holding me prisoner,” said Benedict, hoping they would believe his story. “Look, they even gave me this scar across my face.” He turned his head to show Ravenscar the long scar trailing down the side of his face.

  “Where are they now?” Ravenscar’s eyes searched the surroundings.

  “I’ll take a few men and check the woods up ahead,” offered Oxley. “We’ll stay to the creek since that’s where they’ll most likely be.” Oxley gave the command. Benedict held his breath. If they did that, they were sure to find their hidden cottage as well as find Nairnie. He didn’t want to leave Nairnie but had no other choice. He had to do whatever it took to save her life. It was up to him now. Ravenscar and Oxley wouldn’t think twice about killing a Scot even if it was a woman.

  “Nay, they are headed toward the border,” he said, pointing in the opposite direction.

  “I didn’t see anyone,” growled Oxley. “I don’t believe the whelp.”

  “It’s true,” he lied, in one last desperate attempt to protect the woman who was like a mother to him. “I’m surprised you didn’t see them. Then again, they might have hidden in the woods, planning on doubling back and attacking you from behind.”

  “If you are a prisoner, why do you still have a weapon?” Oxley pointed to the dagger in Benedict’s waist belt. Benedict cursed himself for not remembering to hide it.

  “I stole it from them when they were sleeping,” he said. “This is the dagger my father gave me. If there weren’t a dozen of them, I would have killed every one of those bloody Scots myself.” Benedict added the last part to try to sound convincing. It must have worked because Ravenscar rode his horse over to him, leaned over and held out his hand.

  “Get atop my horse, boy. You’ll ride with me now.”

  “Lord Ravenscar, you can’t really believe the boy’s words.” Oxley became more and more irritated with his liege lord’s action.

  “Sir William Grenfell was a good friend of mine,” remarked Ravenscar. “He never lied to me a day in his life and I’m willing to bet his son is as honorable as well. You’ll come back to Ravenscar Castle to live with me now, Benedict.”

  “Lord Ravenscar, I advise you not to do that,” warned Oxley. “We don’t know if we can trust him. He’s been gone for four years.”

  “I have plans for you, Benedict,” continued Ravenscar, ignoring Oxley’s warning. “Someday, you’ll take your father’s place at my side.” Ravenscar hoisted Benedict atop the horse with him. Oxley shot him a daggered glance.

  “I’m your captain of the guard now,” Oxley reminded him.

  “For now,” said Ravenscar. “But I have a son to raise now, and I’ll teach him to be just like me. Welcome home, Benedict. Men – turn your horses and head back to Ravenscar Castle anon.”

  Benedict glanced over his shoulder as they rode away, feeling sadness fill his heart. He knew he would never see Nairnie again. But it was better this way. If the English knew she was associated with him, it would mean trouble and possibly death for both of them. Nay, he had to leave her behind and never look back. He had a new life now. Ravenscar had called him his son. This was his only opportunity to be an admirable knight someday and follow in the footsteps of his father. He missed his father with all his heart and wanted nothing more than to be like him – the man he admired more than anyone in his life. If his father trusted Ravenscar, then he would, too. He was Ravenscar’s son now.

  “Goodbye, Nairnie,” he whispered as they rode away. His heart ached to know he was giving up a surrogate mother for a surrogate father. His life would never be the same again.

  “Losh me! Benedict, I had no idea,” said Nairnie getting off the chair and hugging him. “Why didna ye tell me when I first arrived?”

  “I tried to,” he said. “But you didn’t give me much of a chance.” Benedict had turned into a hardened man under Ravenscar’s training through the years. While he let Nairnie hug him, his arms hung at his sides and he did not embrace her in return. He had forgotten how to show affection since it no longer played a role in his life.

  “Ye were bein’ loyal to me and I didna ken. Can ye ever forgive me for bein’ such a fool?”

  “It was a long time ago, Nairnie. I did it to save your life. You saved my life and I wanted to do the same for you in return.”

  “The dagger ye had. The one yer faither gave ye,” said Nairnie. “Where is it now?”

  His fists clenched as the vision of his dagger covered in Ravenscar’s blood flashed through his mind. He never did find it. He also didn’t want her to know what really happened.

  “I lost it,” he said.

  “Nay, ye didna. I think I ken where it is.”

  “You do?” His brows lifted. Had Nairnie found his dagger? If so, what would she think when she saw it covered in dried blood?

  “Actually, Autumn found it. It was under Ravenscar’s bed.”

  Bid the devil, this wasn’t a good thing. “Why didn’t she tell me? She should have given it to me,” he said, wondering what she was up to since she kept it and offered no information that she’d ever found it.

  “She didna ken it was yers,” said Nairnie. “I wasna sure either since I hadna seen it i
n a long time.” She walked over to the trunk and opened the lid. “It had dried blood on it, Benedict. Lots of it.”

  “Really?” He stalled, trying to think of an excuse.

  “Autumn put it in here for safe keepin’. Let me show ye what I mean.” Nairnie dug into the trunk and then kept digging. “I do no’ understand. I ken she put it in here.” She pulled out a white cloth and held it up. “Here is the cloth she wrapped it in, but the dagger seems to be missin’.”

  “Missing?” Benedict’s heart skipped a beat. He needed to find that dagger and remove the evidence of dried blood on it before someone like Oxley found it and started accusing him of murdering Ravenscar. All Oxley needed was a small piece of evidence against Benedict and he’d be accusing him of committing treason to claim Ravenscar Castle for himself. “If you said it was in here then it still has to be.” He pushed Nairnie aside and started rummaging through the trunk of clothes like he was digging for treasure. One piece at a time, he threw his late mother’s best gowns to the floor followed by her shoes and other personal items, until the trunk was empty. No dagger. “Damn!” He stood upright and dragged a hand through his hair.

  “I’m sure now it was yers, Benedict. But tell me – why was there so much dried blood on the blade?”

  This was the moment of truth. Should he explain to Nairnie and tell her what happened? Or should he keep it to himself, at least until after he found the blade? He still felt bad for not somehow getting a message to Nairnie in the Lowlands about what happened when he was a child and left with Ravenscar. But the fact remained it was his blade that killed Ravenscar and his hand was also on it at the time. What would happen to him if Oxley and his men found out? He was sure they would be suspicious since Benedict took everything, even Ravenscar’s title for himself.

  “There was blood on the blade because – because I lent it to Ravenscar and he was bloodletting with it. Yes, Ravenscar must have dropped it after he used it. I need to retrieve it since it was my father’s and it means so much to me.” There, he said it, although he wasn’t proud of his lie. Hopefully, Nairnie would not see through his false story.