Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  So she trudged down the road, trying to stay to the edge where hedgerows grew so that she could stay out of sight. She only hoped she could make it back to the castle before Stephen discovered her missing, but somehow, she knew that he would find out. The man was as sharp as a knife, his mind and intellect were keen, and as she half-ran and half-walked down the road, she began to wonder if this undertaking had been at all wise. If Stephen discovered her missing, she would have to come up with a plausible explanation as to why she had left. She could not tell him the truth because it would only bring about her fear of him rousting the rebels himself and possibly getting himself killed in the process. So she had to think of another explanation, a lie that would save her husband’s life.

  The road was empty due to the many battles that had rattled the area for the past several weeks. Joselyn walked past several homes and businesses that were ruined. The sight of the burned-out structures distressed her but she pushed onward, her focus on the church that was not too far off. The darkness around her buzzed with night birds and foraging creatures as she picked up the pace; she had no time to lose.

  Eventually, the hedgerow of heavy bushes disappeared and she could see the church off to her right in the distance, outlined against the dark sky. There were no lights apparent. The structure appeared dark and ghostly. She slowed her pace as she drew closer, keeping out of sight as much as she could. Her sight was fixed on the stone building in the distance. She paused completely, watching the church to see if there were any signs of life. There was none. After several long minutes of waiting and watching, she carefully moved on.

  As she stepped out of the shadow of the edge of the hedgerow and began to cross the dark field that separated her from the church, the thunder of hooves sudden approached from behind. Startled, she could see several soldiers heading towards her from the road and she bolted in the opposite direction, racing towards the church. But another group of horses abruptly came at her from the other side of the hedgerow, cutting off her flight. Very shortly, she was trapped.

  Terrified, Joselyn clutched the tartan around her as big men on horseback surrounded her. It was a dark night and it was difficult to tell immediately if the men were Scots or English. It was chaotic, dark, and the horses were snapping. She instinctively recoiled. But one of the men dismounted and even in the darkness, she realized that she knew the man. There was no mistaking the size of her husband and her heart sank at the sight. Somehow, someway, he had found her. Her mission to save him was over before it began.

  “Oh, Stephen,” she breathed, with sorrow. “How did you find me?”

  Stephen’s eyes were appraising as he gazed down at her from his lifted visor. He just stood there a moment, looking at her, before shaking his head in bafflement.

  “What are you doing?” he asked simply.

  “Are you going to beat me?”

  He just shook his head again, this time with disgust. “Do you honestly feel the need to ask that?”

  She blinked, knowing she had been righteously caught. She had taken a chance and it had failed. Every time she tried to help the man, to take matters into her own hands by trying to do something to aid the peace of Berwick, she managed to fail. Perhaps she should simply give up and trust that Stephen would not get himself killed. He’d been keeping himself alive for many years before she met him. Perhaps she simply needed to have faith in him. Gazing into his suspicious eyes, she realized that she needed to tell him everything and tell him quickly. No lies, no evasiveness. As it was, he thought she was about to betray him. She could read it in his face.

  “Nay,” she swallowed, pulling the tartan off her head and letting it fall to the ground. It was a gesture of defeat, not unnoticed by Stephen. Her shoulders slumped as she forced herself to look him in the eye. “I do not need to ask that question for I already know the answer. But you may change your mind. I lied to you. I lied to you because I felt I could do what you could not.”

  He maintained his even expression, though there was wariness to it. “And what is that?”

  “Find the rebels. Find them and discover what their plans were.”

  He just looked at her. “For what purpose?”

  Her pale blue eyes glimmered in the weak moonlight. “So I could tell you. Then the next time they attacked, you would be ready. Perhaps you could defeat them once and for all and stop this madness that continues to perpetuate itself. So much fighting and dying, Stephen. I told you that I did not want you to be a casualty. If I can prevent your death, I will. I would do it a thousand times over. I would die if it meant you would live. Do you still not understand that, husband?” Tears began to fill her eyes. “Everything I do, I do because I love you and would do anything to ensure we have a long and happy life together.”

  He began to understand what was going on and his shock at her escape, his disappointment at finding her far from the castle, began to fade. Perhaps he was a fool to believe her, but he did. He simply couldn’t believe anything else.

  “So your cousin did indeed give you information,” he ventured quietly.

  “Aye.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  She looked extremely guilty. “He told me to go south on the main road towards the cemetery,” she looked over her shoulder at the darkened church in the distance. “He said that the priest would tell me where the rebels were.”

  Stephen looked at the church also, as did a few other men who happened to hear what she said. “The priest is part of the rebellion?” he glanced up at Lane and Tate, who were gazing down from their mounts as the situation unfolded. Noting their uneasy expressions, he refocused on Joselyn. “If that is true, then we are exposed here. God only knows who could be lingering about, watching us even now. We must return to the castle immediately.”

  He grasped Joselyn by the arm and led her over to his charger. “But now that you know, are you not going to confront them?” she asked.

  “Not with only a few men,” he grasped her around her slender waist and lifted her up into the saddle, noticing her clothes as he did so. “You are all wet. You will be lucky if you do not catch your death of chill.”

  He was scolding her, much more mildly than she deserved and she knew it. “I am sorry,” she said softly, painfully. “I thought I could help. I truly did.”

  “We will discuss it later. Right now, we must return to Berwick.”

  “Are you angry with me?”

  “Furious.”

  “Do you hate me, then?”

  He didn’t reply and she shut her mouth, tears spilling over. He had every right to be angry and hateful, and she was beginning to feel like the most worthless fool in the world. But those thoughts were cut short when something cold, powerful and painful suddenly plowed into her back.

  Stephen heard the high-pitched whine of the arrow a split second before it hit Joselyn, sitting high and exposed on the saddle. Horrified, he caught her before she could topple, somehow managing to mount with her in his arms as Tate began to bellow orders to the men. Soon, they were scattering back to the road, thundering at top speed back towards the castle. Stephen could only feel complete terror as Joselyn lay limp in his arms, a nasty arrow protruding from her back. He honestly didn’t even know if she was alive. Never in his life had he known panic, not for himself but for Joselyn. He was clearly experiencing it now and it was more than he could comprehend. It was a nightmare.

  More arrows sailed overhead as they retreated down the road but there was no rebel army to follow. There was not even any shouting or screaming as the Scots liked to do; simply an odd, dead silence with the ambush of arrows. The retreating English reached Berwick in little time, de Lara rousing the fortress on high alert as they passed through the massive gatehouse. Tate was off his horse as Stephen raced through the gate, extending his arms for the unconscious Lady Pembury as Stephen reined his charger to a halt. The woman slid off into his embrace as Stephen, in his haste, nearly fell off his mount behind her.

  “Watch the arrow,”
Stephen’s deep voice was quivering as he took a moment to examine his wife. “Do not jostle it. Hold her still.”

  Tate had Joselyn in a bear hug, her arms and head over one shoulder as he held her carefully around her torso. She was completely lifeless as Stephen examined her with shaking hands. The first thing he did was feel her neck for a pulse. It was weak and rapid. The sigh of relief that came out of his mouth was nothing Tate had ever heard out of the man. It was like the exhale of a dying man, venting emotion never before experienced.

  “Get her up to our chamber,” Stephen commanded hoarsely. “I need to remove this arrow.”

  “Stephen,” Tate was extremely concerned with the man’s pale face and shaking hands. “Perhaps I need to send for a physic. I have a very fine surgeon within my ranks and….”

  “No,” Stephen snapped, his jaw ticking furiously. “I will not trust the life of my wife to anyone but me.”

  “I did not mean to suggest otherwise,” Tate could see how disturbed the man was, completely out of character for the normally in-control knight. “I simply meant as an extra pair of trained hands.”

  Stephen didn’t reply. Tate was not even sure he really understood what he was suggesting but he let it go. Lane and a couple of soldiers had already raced ahead to the keep, throwing open doors so there would be no delay in getting Lady Pembury to her bed. Stephen had Tate by the arm as the two of them moved as quickly as they could to the great keep of Berwick, maneuvering the narrow stairs to the chamber on the third floor.

  Entering the chamber, Stephen began to rip off pieces of armor, tossing the protection into the corner with a great ruckus. He tore his gloves off, reaching out to carefully take his wife from Tate. Between the two of them, they managed to turn her around and lay her on her stomach. Stephen fell to his knees beside the bed, demanding his medicament bag, which someone put next to him. His hands went to the arrow that was embedded just beneath his wife’s right shoulder blade.

  It was in a bad spot. Stephen knew just by looking at it and his heart sank. Many vital veins ran through the area and his concerns multiplied. He struggled to compose himself, to maintain his control, as he carefully began to peel away the material around the wound to gain a better look. After several long moments of close examination, he finally let out a heavy sigh and raked his fingers through his dark hair in a frustrated gesture.

  “What is it?” Tate was standing next to him. “What do you need, Stephen?”

  Stephen had to shake his head to clear his vision, his mind. He rubbed at his eyes, struggling to think clearly. “The wound is not bleeding much, which concerns me,” his voice was raspy. “This is a very vital area with a good deal of blood flow, so I suspect the arrow is acting like a barrier and preventing her from bleeding to death. Removing the head will be like undamming a river; everything will flow.”

  Tate crouched down next to him, watching the man’s big fingers dance gently over Joselyn’s slender back. He could feel the man’s grief as it radiated out of every pore of his body. “What will you do?” he asked.

  Stephen inhaled deeply, clearing the last of the panic from his mind. He had to think clearly if Joselyn had any hope of surviving. He knew what had to be done, as he had done this kind of thing before, many times. But never on someone he loved.

  “Send for your surgeon,” he said. “I will need an experienced assistant. And find the serving women and tell them I need boiled linen, all they can manage, and hot water.”

  Tate relayed the orders to Lane, standing just inside the door, and the man went on the run. Meanwhile, Stephen continued peeling back the torn and bloodied material away from the wound, trying to think professionally about the injury and not from the position of the emotional husband. It was extremely difficult. When the material was pulled away sufficiently and he touched the arrow shaft again just to see how deeply it was buried, Joselyn suddenly let out a groan.

  Stephen was down beside her in an instant, his face looming next to hers. “Jo-Jo?” he asked gently. “Can you hear me, sweetheart?”

  Her pale blue eyes remained shut but her lower lip began to tremble. Tears began flowing from her eyes.

  “It hurts,” she whispered.

  Stephen thought he could very well cry himself at her declaration. “I know,” he kissed her wet face gently. “I’m so sorry. I know it hurts.”

  “What happened?” she breathed.

  He wiped the tears from her face. “An arrow,” he murmured. “We were ambushed.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I am.”

  She sighed faintly. “Then I am content,” she whispered. “But I am sorry. I… brought this about. I should not have… I should have told you….”

  She faded off and he kissed her cheek again, her limp hand. “Not to worry,” he said softly. “It was not your fault. I will heal you as good as new.”

  She twitched, crying out softly when excruciating pain radiated throughout her body. The tears fell faster. “Please,” she breathed. “It hurts so much. Please… remove it.”

  Stephen kissed her hand, her face. “I will, love, I promise.”

  He began to rummage about in his bag, blinking back tears as he looked for one of the mysterious powders he used from his days as a Hospitaller. It was a powder derived from a flower that was grown far to the east, expensive and rare, but with astounding medicinal qualities. He kept it in a bladder envelope, tightly sealed. He found it carefully wedged at the bottom of his bag and he drew it forth, asking for a cup of wine. Someone handed him a wooden cup, half-full, and he poured some of it out on the floor before dispensing a careful measure of the white powder. He stirred it with his finger and tasted it.

  “Tate,” he looked over his shoulder. “Pull her up so that she can drink this. Gently, please.”

  Tate’s capable hands reached down and, at Stephen’s direction, grasped her carefully by the torso. Joselyn wept in pain as he lifted her with extreme care, struggling to drink the liquid that Stephen was tenderly attempting to administer to her. She was in so much pain that she could hardly think, but Stephen’s gentle coaxing helped her drink the contents of the cup. Once the bitter brew was down, Tate lowered her carefully back to the mattress.

  “There,” Stephen set the cup down and stroked her dark head. “Soon the pain will fade and you will sleep.”

  Eyes closed, she licked her lips, tasting the last of the brew. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Stephen?”

  “Aye, love?”

  “Please tell me that you do not hate me for not telling you the truth.”

  He couldn’t stop the tears then. He put his lips on her cheek, eyes closed as his tears gently fell on her dark hair. His head against hers, he spoke.

  “I love you more than my own life,” he admitted against her flesh. “I know you were not being deliberately malicious. I know you thought you were trying to help.”

  She began to cry again, pitiful sobs as he gently shushed her. His big hand stroked her dark hair as he kissed her temple, whispering words of comfort that only she could hear. Eventually, the tears faded and she drifted into a heavy sleep. Stephen continued to stroke her hair until he heard her heavy, steady breathing.

  Silently, he began to assemble what he would need to remove the arrow. Tate pulled up a stool next to the bed and sat, watching Stephen as the man focused on what he must do. He could only imagine the turmoil he must be feeling.

  “What more do you want me to do?” he asked quietly.

  Stephen glanced at his sleeping wife. “You have tended battle wounds before.”

  “I have.”

  “I am going to need you to hold her still while I operate.”

  “Operate?”

  Stephen nodded, removing a tiny razor-sharp dagger from a leather sheath. “I need to work very quickly so I need for her to stay very still. You must hold her down by the shoulders so she cannot move her upper body. I am fearful that if I do not sew quickly enough, she will bleed to death. And I cannot sew if sh
e is thrashing about.”

  Tate watched him carefully lay out his instruments. Tate had known the man for almost twenty years and knew him to be perpetually stoic and confidently in control. He’d never seen him otherwise until the past few days. The introduction of a wife had rattled Stephen to the core and Tate felt a good deal of pity for him. He knew, from experience, how a woman could unbalance a man’s normally calm character.

  “I am sorry, Stephen,” he said after a moment. “Sorry that your post as Guardian Protector has been nothing as you expected.”

  Stephen looked up at him, the blue eyes bright. “Nothing as I expected but better than I could have dreamed,” he forced a smile. “Make no mistake; Joselyn is the biggest prize of all. Had I known I was to marry her, I would have insisted we make much shorter work of the siege of Berwick.”

  Tate smiled faintly. “I am pleased to hear that. You and I have been through much together, have we not? I am pleased that you found a woman that you are fond of.”

  Stephen scowled gently. “Fond of? I love her.”

  Tate laughed softly, scratching his chin as the heady mood lightened, if only for a moment. “Then you understand how I feel about my wife. Love is a whole new world to experience.”

  Stephen’s eyes twinkled dully as his gaze moved to the sleeping form on the bed. “Do you remember that before you married Elizabetha, I tried to woo her from you?”

  “I do.”

  Stephen looked at him, then. “I am glad I did not.”

  “So am I.”

  They laughed softly, remembering those days of love and war and competition. But it was a fond memory, one that made their friendship stronger. Tate and Stephen, and Kenneth who was off on the Welsh border, had a stronger bond than even most brothers. As they shared a quiet moment before the storm to come, Lane reappeared with a small, gray-haired man. Kelvin of Gloucester had been a physic for many years but not long in the service of the Earl of Carlisle. Still, he had a strong reputation, almost as strong as Stephen’s. One look at the woman on the bed with the arrow protruding out of her back and he went straight to Stephen.