Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Scot archers were being crushed under the weaponry of the mounted English knights. He could see the knights swarming them, beating them down, as the ground began to run with blood. He could hear the sights and smells of the battle and, judging from the expressions on the knights around him, he was fairly certain they could see and smell the same thing. They were all remembering their fortune upon the field of battle. It had been a brutal day.

  But Cortez shook himself away from the memories and took his men, with a single provisions wagon carrying a collection of spades and other digging instruments, around to the southeast side of the battlefield to the last place he had seen Robert Edlington alive. The mud was fairly heavy on the small path that skirted the battlefield and the wagon became stuck, twice. The soldiers had been forced to use sheer manpower to rock the wagon until it was able to roll forward again. It made for slow going.

  As they moved around the perimeter of the battlefield, to the northeast along the path of a brook, Cortez came to a halt and gazed off towards the northwest. There was a hill in the near distance, without trees on it, and it had a rather flat top. Cortez recognized it. He moved off the path and into the field itself, with its thick mud and intermittent green patches.

  There were several heavy lines of foliage to plow through, but Cortez realized he was very close to the place he had last seen Rob Edlington. Here, on the outskirts of the battle, which at that point in time had been dwindling off to the west, he had dragged Edlington out of the fighting and had leaned the man against a tree. It had been a big oak with a split trunk, and part of it had been stripped for firewood. As his horse plodded through the mud, through the heavy greenery, Cortez happened to glance over to his right and was struck with the vision of the split-trunked oak.

  “There!”

  He shouted the word, almost triumphantly, as he spurred his charger over to the tree, kicking up mud and clods of earth as he went. The other knights were behind him, dismounting their horses quickly because Cortez had. In his excitement, he ran his hands all over the tree before scrutinizing the ground around it.

  “I left him here,” he said, pointing to the ground. “I pulled him over to this tree. I remember it clearly because of the distinct split trunk. See it? And see how part of it has been stripped for firewood? This is where I left the man. He is here, somewhere, and we will find him.”

  Immediately, the knights began looking around, as did the soldiers who had accompanied them. It was like a reflexive action, everyone eager to search, eager to find. Everyone was hunting for a sign that Rob Edlington was somewhere beneath them. Cortez finally ordered the men to break out the spades and he stood back with his knights to gain a better view of the area so they could choose where to place their test holes.

  Overhead, dark clouds began to blow in, great puffy mounds that occasionally blocked the sun out. Cortez turned his gaze upward more than once, wondering when the rain was going to return. For now, they had damp, soft soil, not mud, and he wanted to dig while the conditions were good. But the fact remained that he truly had no idea where to start. As his men stood around, shovels in hand, he began to pace around the tree.

  “When I last saw Edlington, he was here,” he said, indicating the south side of the tree. “I left him when Edward was making his final push against the Scots and I could not have been gone more than a half hour at the most before returning. When I did, all of this was like a swamp of mud. I sank up to my knees in it. Do you recall how terrible the mud was? It swallowed up more than one man.”

  The knights were nodding in remembrance of the mud of biblical proportions. Keir broke away from the pack and began pacing around just as Cortez was doing.

  “You said that Edlington had no use of his legs,” he said, reiterating what everyone already knew. “But he had strength in his arms. Is it possible he dragged himself away from the tree?”

  Cortez looked around, at the field, at the heavy foliage. “When I returned for him and found him missing, I looked around as much as I could,” he said. “The mud around the tree was particularly bad. It would not have been difficult for it to have swallowed a dead man.”

  Keir looked at the tree. “But so quickly?” he asked, looking at the ground again. “You said you were gone no more than half of an hour. Would Edlington’s body have been swallowed so quickly?”

  Cortez shrugged. “It must have been, for the man was nowhere to be found when I came looking for him,” he said. Then, he motioned to the ground on the south side of the tree. “Let us begin here with our holes. We will dig from the tree trunk southward, fifteen or twenty feet. Surely he must be somewhere around here.”

  Drake snapped his fingers at the men standing around holding the spades, who immediately moved forward to begin digging holes in the quest to find Rob Edlington’s body. Meanwhile, James, Oliver, and Michael began to walk about, looking under bushes and trying to see if they could find some trace of Edlington. If the man had crawled off, which was a possibility, then they would hunt for him.

  Bushes and any growth were devoid of the body of a knight, but they were finding broken arrows and shafts as they went. Drake even came across a dagger, a lovely bejeweled one, that was sticking up through the soil. There was a shield carved into the hilt inlayed with what looked like red rubies. Drake held the dirk up into the light to see it more clearly. Oliver, standing over Drake’s shoulder, pointed at the jeweled shield.

  “I recognize that shield,” he said. “That is the crest of William Martin. He fought for Henry.”

  Drake scrutinized the weapon. “Very nice,” he said. “And quite expensive. Mayhap I shall ransom it back to him.”

  “Martin was killed,” Michael said, standing off to their right. “I am sure his widow would like to have that returned without cost.”

  Drake made a face at the big man, conveying just what he thought of returning the valuable piece without expecting some compensation, but he tucked the dirk into his belt as he continued to search around for any sign of Edlington. Meanwhile, the soldiers continued to dig several holes near the great oak, most of which were at least three feet deep. The digging went on well into the morning.

  At some point during the day, the knights also took up spades and began to dig. Cortez had a shovel and he dug around the base of the tree, hunting for any sign of Edlington. Keir, thinking that Edlington must have dragged himself away from the tree and probably the opposite direction of the battle, began digging about twenty feet to the east of the tree. He managed to dig several smaller holes and one big one, turning up nothing. The other knights, thinking Keir might have a point about Edlington dragging himself away, dug in various spaces around him.

  By the time the sun was setting overhead and more clouds were blowing in from the east, they had dug sixty-three holes, had pulled up pieces of shields, more weapons including four big and extremely valuable broadswords, and pieces of leather that they thought were either parts of shoes or saddles. No one seemed certain. But in their search, they never came across any piece of a corpse or even a hint of one nearby.

  Cortez hated to return to Diamantha empty-handed, but the day had not been productive. Trudging back to the tavern as the sun set, he tried to remain optimistic about what the morrow would bring.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  It was dark by the time Cortez and his men returned to the MacInnis’ tavern. He had the soldiers take care of the horses and wagon while he and the knights wearily approached the small, stout structure. Glowing light emitted from the small windows cut into the walls, making it a rather inviting prospect as they pushed open the entry door.

  Heated, smelly air hit them in the face. There were more people in the tavern this night than there had been the day before, weary travelers seeking rest and food. As the knights confiscated a table near the door and began calling over the serving wenches, Cortez headed to the rear of the structure where the two sleeping rooms were located. He was anxious to see Diamantha and tell her about the day, and he was also eager
to see how Sophie was faring. But what he found upon entering their rented room was not what he had expected, not in the least.

  MacInnis’s wife was there along with a man he didn’t recognize. They were standing next to the smaller bed in the room, the one Sophie had slept on the night before, and Cortez’s gaze immediately found Diamantha seated next to the little bed. Sophie was laying on it, bundled up, until all he could see was her little face. She appeared to be sleeping and, as he entered the room, he realized that the hearth was blazing and it was very warm in the chamber. It was cloying.

  Upon hearing the door open, Diamantha whirled around to see Cortez entering the room. She jumped up and flew at him before he could speak.

  “Cortez,” she gasped. “Thank God you have returned.”

  Her voice sounded terrible, frightened and strained. She also looked ragged, with circles around her lovely eyes. Cortez reached out and pulled her into an embrace simply because it seemed like the thing to do. He didn’t like her tone or the look of her. Apprehension gripped him.

  “What is the matter?” he asked her, eyeing the others in the room. “Who is that man?”

  Diamantha’s lower lip began to tremble as she pointed to the small man in the dirty brown robes. “That is a physic from St. Francis,” she said, struggling not to weep. “He is a priest but he is also the physic for the town. Goodwife MacInnis sent for him. Sophie is not doing very well and he has come to help.”

  Cortez felt sick. He looked down at the sleeping baby, so pale and still. “God,” he breathed, turning back to his wife. “What is the matter with her?”

  Diamantha was wiping away tears that spilled over. “She has not been able to keep anything in her belly,” she said hoarsely. “And she continually soils herself. She has no control over her innards at all. And when it comes… well, there is blood. She seems to be bleeding inside.”

  Cortez looked at the physic, a man with great bags under his eyes and a big nose. “What have you done for her?” he demanded. “Great Bleeding Christ, she a mere baby. Illness like this will quickly consume her. What in the hell are you doing to make her well?”

  He had quickly grown irate and Diamantha grasped at him, trying to shush him. The physic, however, was unintimidated. He met Cortez’s rage with a steady heart.

  “I have seen this before, m’laird,” he said in a very heavy Scots accent. “Things like this sometimes settle themselves in a few days, but we must keep the girl full of liquid – watered wine, watered ale, boiled fruit juice. We have been forcing her tae drink watered ale mostly because it has been known tae cure the evils that cause this terrible sickness.”

  Cortez wasn’t satisfied with the answer. He dropped to his knees beside Sophie, his big hand on her head. Diamantha gently touched his shoulder.

  “Do not wake her,” she whispered. “This is the first time she has been at peace all day. Let her sleep.”

  Cortez was beside himself. He lifted his hand off of the child’s head, wanting to kiss her but not wanting to disturb her. He was very nearly distraught as he motioned the physic to follow him out of the room. The old man did, and followed Cortez a few feet away from the chamber door so they would not be overheard. When Cortez finally turned to the man, there was great sorrow in his expression.

  “Please tell me that this will pass,” he hissed. “Tell me that this will not kill her.”

  The physic could see how worried the knight was. “As I said, I have seen this before,” he said, although there wasn’t much comfort in his tone. “It could pass in a few days, or it could grow worse. Only time will tell. Make her drink as much watered wine or ale as she will take. Put a little honey in it tae sweeten it. That makes it easier fer children. Feed her porridge and soft bread when she will tolerate it. Other than that, I canna do more. Her fate is consigned tae God.”

  That was not the answer Cortez had been seeking. He looked at the physic, astonished and horrified. “That is all we can do?”

  “I canna work miracles, m’laird.”

  Cortez stared at the man a moment longer before wiping both hands over his face in a weary, distressed gesture. He didn’t know what to say. He was a man unused to feeling helpless but, at the moment, he felt incredibly useless.

  “Then I thank you for your time,” he conceded, digging into the purse on his belt and producing a few coins for the physic. “Will you come back tomorrow?”

  The physic nodded. “I will return in the morning tae see how the lass fares,” he said. For a man who had seemed rather unemotional about the entire situation, he suddenly put his hand on Cortez’s arm in a surprising show of compassion. “She is young and healthy, m’laird. She is no’ as sickly as some I have seen, some who did no’ survive. Prayer will be a good medicine tae heal her.”

  With that, he left the tavern and headed out into the dark night were fat raindrops were starting to fall from the sky. Cortez continued to stand there, hearing the noise from the common room around him but not really listening. All he could think about was Sophie and her illness. The anguish he felt was nearly beyond his ability to comprehend. Dear God, he prayed inwardly. I cannot lose another daughter, not this time.

  “Cortez?”

  A voice came from behind him and he turned to see Keir standing there with a cup in his hand. From the look on Keir’s face, Cortez knew the man had more than likely been watching the interaction between him and the physic. Cortez reached out, took the cup in Keir’s hand, and drained it. He smacked his lips as he handed the cup back.

  “Sophie is very ill,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “The physic has consigned her fate to God. He says there is no medicine he can give her, so all we can do is wait.”

  Keir’s eyes widened and his mouth popped open in horror. “God’s Bones” he gasped. “She has grown worse?”

  Cortez realized he was very close to weeping. His heart ached in ways he couldn’t manage to describe.

  “She cannot keep anything in her stomach,” he said, “and she has no control over her bowels. She is losing blood and everything else inside her belly. The physic says he has seen it before and that all we can do is wait.”

  Keir was horrified. He put his big hand on Cortez’s shoulder, squeezing in a show of support and sympathy, but the man was at a loss how to comfort his friend. “Surely there is something more the physic can do,” he muttered. “There must be something.”

  Cortez shook his head. “He has no miracle to give her,” he muttered. “The only miracle can come from God.”

  Keir’s expression was full of sorrow. “Then I will go to the church and pray for her,” he said. “I will go right now. I will not let you lose your daughter… oh, Christ, another daughter… as I lost mine. God must listen to me this time.”

  Cortez could not speak for the lump in his throat. Keir patted the man’s cheek before turning away and heading back to the table where the other knights were sitting. After a few words were passed around the table, all four knights stood up and followed Keir from the tavern. They headed across the road, through a small field, and down another wider road that led to the church of St. Francis. The big, squat-looking house of worship accepted the Sassenach knights into the dimly-lit hall, where the five of them got down on their knees near the corner of the altar and began to pray for little Lady Sophie. Candles were lit as the prayers were intoned, intending to beg God for the gift of life that He had denied the girl’s father.

  Cortez would only find out the next morning that his knights had prayed all night.

  *

  After Keir had left the tavern and taken the other knights with him, Cortez struggled to compose himself before returning to the chamber. He didn’t want Diamantha to see how shattered he was. He wanted to be strong for her because, God knew, the woman was going to need it. First her husband, then her father, and now this. He wondered how much more she could take without collapsing completely. He wondered just how strong she really was. He would soon find out.

  Opening the ch
amber door smoothly, he saw that Diamantha was sitting next to the bed, leaning forward on it with her eyes closed, as Sophie slumbered quietly. Cortez shut the door softly behind him but it was enough of a noise to wake Diamantha. Her eyes popped open and she sat up, looking at him with a big, sleepy gaze. Cortez smiled gently.

  “I am sorry to wake you,” he whispered. “I was trying to be quiet.”

  She smiled faintly and yawned, rubbing at her eyes as she stood up. She went to Cortez and he swept her into an enormous embrace, squeezing her tightly. She squeezed back.

  “I spoke with the physic,” he explained, kissing the top of her head. “He says we should try to force her to drink watered wine or ale. He says it will help her a good deal. Has she been able to drink much today?”

  Diamantha gave him one last squeeze before releasing him. “Not much,” she sighed. “Everything she ate or drink either came out of the top or the bottom of her. Eventually, she did not want to eat or drink anything.”

  Cortez nodded sadly, turning to look at the little girl briefly before he started removing his clothing. The tunic came off but he still had the heavy mail coat beneath and, not wanting to make noise, he left Diamantha in their chamber and went out into the common room to have Peter, who was over near the hearth, remove it for him.

  As the squire took the coat away to clean it before the morrow, Cortez sought out MacInnis to find out if there were any more rooms available for his knights. So far, Keir, Michael, and Drake had squeezed into the second smaller chamber in the inn, leaving James, Oliver, Merlin, and Peter to sleep in the common room along with the rest of the soldiers. As fortune would have it, MacInnis had a room attached to the stable out back, a stable where he kept his own animals as well as supplies for the tavern, but it was not a very big or very clean room. It was where the servant boys normally slept.