Storm Trilogy

by Ria Cantrell

  The bitter cold that was quickly seeping into his blood drenched skin from the rapidly setting sun was magnified when a forceful wind began to howl around him. The weather had changed with great swiftness. When a driving rain began to pour down on Drew, he was chilled and in so much pain, he barely noticed. He was actually grateful for the deluge because it helped to wash some of the blood from him.

  By the time he approached Brandham Manor, Drew was soaked to the skin. Night had fallen; darkness wiping out any trace of daylight. Drew’s body was wracked with tremors from deep rooted chills and he was nearly incoherent from pain and cold. Some of the manor livery saw the gory sight of Drew and thought the worst. The men at hand rushed to help him. Two men grabbed him under each arm and though he winced, he was brought inside. Grooms took charge of his mount and untied the dead hog to take to the butcher. Tables were already set for the evening meal and people were seated ready to eat, when they were assailed with the horrific figure of the bloodied and drenched Drew. Elizabeth Brandham rose and called for a bath to be drawn in her son’s chambers. She rushed to her son and said, “What in the name of God happened?”

  “Wild boar…but I got the better of him.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Some. Mostly bruised from where he landed on me and knocked the wind out of me.”

  “All this blood….”

  “Mostly the beast’s,” Drew said in clipped phrases. He could not take deep enough breaths to answer more than that.

  “Quickly, let us get him up to his chambers,” she ordered and several more people helped get Drew up to his room. Servants brought buckets of steaming water and dumped them into a large vat set near the hearth. A large roaring fire was quickly started so that the bath water would not rapidly cool.”

  Drew had no energy left to fight off the attention. His mother left while he peeled the blood soaked clothes from his body and he asked his brother to help him into the bath. “Jon, I think one of my ribs may be broken. I will need you to help me bind it when I am done. I don’t want to upset our mother.”

  Drew’s brother nodded and helped him into the warm waters. His teeth would not stop chattering but the water soothed the bruising he knew would purple his flesh by morning. He scrubbed the gore from his skin and when the waters were crimson with it, he stood slowly and had one of the servants pour the final bucket over his head to rinse whatever blood still had clung to him.

  Drew dried carefully, aware that his movements brought slamming pain to his side. He donned a pair of trews, and he sat on a stool so that his brother Jon could bind his ribs. His mother came back into the room and saw what her sons were about. When Drew looked up, he spied the look of horror that was frozen on his mother’s face. He said, “Mother, it is just bruised, most likely. I just want to be bound …”

  “I am not concerned with your ribs at the moment. What are those marks on your back?”

  It was then that Drew realized she had seen the lash marks that remained on his back. He tried to speak, but he did not know exactly how to explain.

  “I don’t understand. You were…flogged?” Drew sighed, feeling suddenly so very tired.

  “Aye. But I am fine. Truly.”

  “Why were you flogged? Who did this?”

  “I can’t tell you that. T’is of no matter now.”

  Elizabeth Brandham then shooed her younger son away and took up the binding cloth. She gently began wrapping the stripping around his ribs, careful to not cause him further pain. She said, “It has to do with the girl, doesn’t it?” Drew just nodded.

  “You were punished for coloring her reputation, I take it?”

  “I was, but I hadn’t…at least not really at that time. Please, I do not wish to talk about it. It’s done and I am fine. I just am chilled to the bone. I am going to try to warm myself by the fire for a while.”

  Elizabeth finished binding him. He was glad that Jon had bound the wound on his thigh, because that would only make his mother more upset. The stiffness was setting in as he dragged himself over to the fire, seeming to be unable to get close enough to its delicious heat. His mother kissed his cheek and he said, “Thank you, Mother. Could you please send the harper up before he retires?”

  Elizabeth did not know what Drew would want with Llerwyn when he was too exhausted to even eat the evening meal, but she just nodded and promised to send him up.

  Sometime later, there was a feeble knock on Drew’s door. He had been dozing in front of the fire, as the warmth still evaded him. He felt a little sluggish and just thought it was because he had been through a bit of an ordeal. He called, “Enter.” His voice sounded strange in his own ears.

  The old harper stood before him and said, “Christ’s teeth, ye’ look a fright.”

  The old man was known for his acrid truth. Drew shrugged it off. He felt pretty much as awful as he must look. He slowly motioned for the old man to take a seat in front of the fire to warm his stiff old joints. Llerwyn slid into a chair and groaned, stretching and cracking his neck. Drew looked at his gnarled hands and he wondered how the man could still play his harp. “Well”, said Llerwyn in a gruff and surly manner.

  “Llerwyn, you speak Gaelic, don’t you?”

  “Aye.”

  “And is the Welsh version terribly different from the Scots version?”

  “Different enough. Those heathens from the north trip the native tongue with their guttural way,” he spat.

  Drew was too tired to argue with the old man. Drew had practiced the words till they were burned in his memory and till they came easily to his mouth. He repeated the phrase Bronwyn had uttered when he last heard her speak. Old Llerwyn laughed outright. That did not bolster Drew’s confidence.

  “Well, what does it mean?”

  “Who said that to ye’, boy? It can mean two very different things…depending who said it.”

  “Both meanings, if you please,” Drew said, losing his patience.

  “Fine. No need to badger an old man. I was just askin’. I mean how am I supposed to know what you be wantin’ from Old Llerwyn? I knew t’were not fer me to just warm my weary bones.”

  Drew sighed and said, “The meaning, if you please, Llerwyn.”

  “Well, if it was said by a honey, it would mean ….”

  Llerwyn cleared his throat and with his hand on his heart, he affected the falsetto voice of a woman. It was a bad impression to be certain, but he continued, “Ye’ are the heart of my heart. Without ye’, I have no life…no breath.”

  Drew swallowed hard when he heard that translation. He felt like his heart was going to explode in his chest.

  “And the other,” he said, barely above a murmur.

  “Well, if it was said in jest it would stand to mean ‘Ye’ steal all my breath away, because ye are a pompous bag o’ wind.’ It literally means Heart of My Heart, you are my air, as if you sustain life itself. It may be slightly different in Scottish.”

  Drew’s jaw flexed as it was wont to do as he once again fought for control. He said, “Thank you, Llerwyn. That has been most helpful. Enjoy the fire for a while more. I need to find my lady, Mother. Please excuse me.”

  Drew got up slowly. The fire in his leg only coupled the deep ache in his side, but neither pain was as bad as the one that had formed in his chest. He thought his heart was near to bursting. It was coupled with a lump of stone lodged in his throat. He began to move very carefully to the door.

  “Aren’t ye’ going to tell me who said this to ye’? It must be someone important, else ye’ would not have dragged me up here and then rudely leave an old man to fend his way back down to the hall.”

  “Just a girl,” Drew mumbled.

  “A girl! Well, my boy, I would guess she is very much in love with ye’. Unless ye’ were being a horse’s arse, but I suspect if ye’ were, she would find something else to say to ye’.”

  Sadly, Llerwyn had been closer to the truth than not. He had been a horse’s arse. Regret and sadness filled Drew’s heart. He
had to tell his mother he was leaving at first light. He needed to get back to Ragnorsen as quickly as possible and apologize and never let her go again. The carefully constructed dam he had built around his heart broke in pieces and Drew realized he had to beg for Bronwyn’s forgiveness. He had been such an ass!

  “If you will excuse me, Llerwyn. Help yourself to some mulled wine.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Drew thought on Llerwyn’s words. Bronwyn thought he was her very heart.

  “Oh my beautiful Bronwyn, what have I done? I should have never left you, especially before learning if you got well,” Drew thought.

  Suddenly, it was if the cloud had lifted from his heart and he remembered everything; at least everything that was important. He remembered how she had made love to him with the wildest passion on the night before she had left him. He remembered how she had proclaimed that she would love him forever. It was not that she wanted to go home; it was more that she did not want to trade his life as a knight to be married to her. He needed to go back to Bronwyn and beg her to forgive him. He needed to tell her how he felt about her and to never let her go again.

  Drew left his quarters and made his way down to the feast hall. The walk down the stairs seemed to have taxed him unduly. Fire seared in his leg to the point that it felt like someone was holding a red hot poker against his flesh. Drew was unaware that he dragged it with each step. He felt so woozy, but he had to tell his mother he had to leave. When Elizabeth Brandham got one look at her son, she knew something was terribly wrong. He looked like he was teetering and finding it hard to stand. She hurried to him and noticed his eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot. She grabbed hold of his arm and felt him sway on his feet. When she touched his arm, she could feel a terrible heat rising from under the sleeve of his leine. He was consumed with fever. She led him to a bench and helped him to sit down.

  “Son, you are quite unwell.”

  “Nay, I am fine, mother. I came to tell you that at first light, I must return to Ragnorsen. I have made a terrible mistake and I have been such a fool. Bronwyn loves me and I love her. It took Llerwyn to knock some sense into me. If she will have me, I will apologize and make her my wife.”

  “Son, I am glad you have decided that love is worth fighting for, but…” her voice trailed off as she saw he looked near to dropping. Why was he racked with fever?

  “Son, you are very sick, I fear. You are burning up, love. Did the boar do more than trample you?”

  Drew nodded, feeling the effects of the fever starting to work on him. It was almost as if he could not form his words or string two complete thoughts together. He concentrated to answer his mother.

  “It got me in the thigh. Jon bound the wound before you got upstairs. It is not more than a scratch.”

  Elizabeth paled. No! The tusks of those feral beasts were coated in disease and if they broke through the flesh, surely the flesh would putrefy.

  “Come, son, we need to get you up to bed.”

  For the second time that day, Elizabeth had two strong men help her son up to his chambers. He was losing consciousness quickly. The men hoisted him onto his bed and the old harper said, “What ails the boy?”

  “Gored by a wild boar. I fear infection has quickly set in. He is very sick.”

  Once Drew was settled on his bed, Elizabeth set about to tend the offending wound. She covered him to not embarrass him and she moved the bedding away from the leg that had been damaged by the poisonous tusk. She carefully ripped his trews away from the already infected wound. Though it was bound, she could see that it seeped with the fetid blood. She peeled away the bandage and gasped. The skin around the cut was puckered and scarlet.

  It was true, the wound was not deep; not a full goring, by any means, but infection was clearly already present. Pressing it, Elizabeth saw it render the blackened blood mixed with deadly green pus. She knew what had to be done and she dreaded it. The flesh surrounding the abrasion would have to be lanced and cut away.

  Dear God, how was she going to do this to her own son? She thought to maybe wait until morning, but by then she feared more flesh would be tainted. It was now or never and she knew that this sort of infection spread quickly. She looked over at her shivering son.

  He was muttering something incoherently. His eyes had glazed over and Elizabeth could see he had slipped into delirium. She was actually grateful for it. She steeled herself for what needed to be done. She ordered the sharpest knife be brought from the kitchens and she set a pot boiling over the fire. Drew moaned in his fevered sleep.

  Lord, he had succumbed quickly. She supposed the walk back to the manor in the raging storm did not help matters. It did not bode well. Elizabeth ripped strips of cloth and she also set some to boil along with the water. She instructed her other son to hold Drew down as best he could. Taking one of the heated cloths, Elizabeth pressed it to the vicious looking gash on her son’s leg. The agony of it drew him out of his delirium slightly and he cried out in pain, his body going rigid as the pain radiated into his hip. Jon firmly held a hand to Drew’s forehead and shoulder, keeping him down on the bed.

  After carefully heating the blade of the knife, Elizabeth began the task of purging the wound of the poison. She tied a tight strip of cloth high on Drew’s thigh above the offending wound and also handed one to Jon to put between his brother’s teeth so he would not bite down on his own tongue. Elizabeth said a prayer for guidance and she pared opened the festering wound. She watched as her son jerked and moaned loudly but she had to continue. She commanded, “Jon, hold him steady. I cannot have him move, lest the knife slips.”

  As Elizabeth continued to draw the blade over the infected gash, Drew nearly screamed out, but with the cloth pressed tightly between his teeth, the horrible sound came out muffled and subdued. Elizabeth spoke to him gently as one would a small child, saying, “Shh, Sweeting. I am almost done. It is almost over now.”

  Her hands shook slightly but she finished cutting into the infected and already dying flesh. She was careful to not pierce any other flesh, thus spreading the infection. She wiped away the oozing and offending liquid. She used the boiled cloths to soak up any lingering pus and to continually cleanse the wound. More of the fetid blood and pus was released and Elizabeth continued to press it, and clean it until fresh red blood colored the cloth.

  When she was certain all the poisonous flesh was cleaned and purged, Elizabeth poured a dose of fermented spirits over the cleansed wound and bound it with clean cloth. It really needed stitching, but she wanted to watch it for signs of continued infection. Sewing up such a wound would sew the infection into the muscle. She looked up at her other son and saw he was holding his brother against his own chest, looking horrified.

  Drew’s arms had gone slack. Elizabeth was grateful for the sweet merciful oblivion that had claimed Drew. She could not even imagine the pain she had inflicted on him. It made her want to wretch at the thought of it, but it was done. Drew would either heal now or not. She prayed she would not have to open the wound again.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Bronwyn’s recovery from her head injury progressed well. While her heart was heavy, her headaches were less and she no longer had dizziness when she stood. She had wanted to ask Rhianna about Drew’s former betrothed, but there was a rash of sick children in the village and Rhianna was kept busy. Mostly, Bronwyn wandered around Ragnorsen keep and did her best to avoid the Viking. On the times when their paths crossed, he said nothing to her, but glared at her with pure disdain. His Nordic blue eyes sent a chill through her as surely ice formed on the northern fjords.

  Bronwyn was not a prisoner at Ragnorsen, so she was free to come and go as she wished. She suspected if she “escaped” now, no one would come to her rescue, this time. Despite her freedom, however, Bronwyn was filled with loneliness. She tried not to ponder too much on thoughts of Drew. She had hoped he would have returned after he had time to cool his temper and nurse his bruised feelings, but he still had not come.


  With each passing day, Bronwyn’s hopes of Drew’s return dwindled. Bronwyn started to truly believe that Drew was not going to return and so, she would have to return to her family, humiliated and tarnished. In truth, her reputation did not matter to her. She did not feel sullied because she had loved Drew. In fact, she felt more alive than she had ever been in all her three and twenty years. The worst part was feeling like she had failed her family, clan and country. Would there be recourse because she had failed to marry an English knight? Would this failure lead to bloodshed between her clan and the English?

  There had to be a way to make things right, even if Drew would no longer have her. Perhaps, she would sacrifice herself to a lesser knight to appease the mad logic of the English king, so long as none of her family and friends would be hurt over her failure. Had she already sacrificed herself for naught? Nay, she could not think that what she had even briefly shared with Drew was a self-sacrifice. What she gave to Drew, she gave willingly and she gave in love. Even thinking about their brief taste of passion set Bronwyn’s pulse racing. It was as if all her pent up sensuality had been released by his touch; by his love making.

  Besides missing Drew until her heart ached, Bronwyn missed the wild abandon she had found in Drew’s bed. At night she laid her head down on his pillow and tried to breath in his scent. The castle maids had changed the bedding after her first night at Ragnorsen and Drew’s scent barely lingered there now.

  Bronwyn wandered out to the inner bailey to get some fresh air. Though the day was crisp, and cold, Bronwyn relished being able to be out in the chilly air. She spotted Dana, who waved cordially to her. Something pricked at the back of Bronwyn’s mind. Why did Dana’s smile seem over bright? She was just being distrustful. Not everyone was her enemy here.

  As the attractive woman approached her, Bronwyn decided, she would be grateful for the company. Dana caught up to her and engaged her in conversation. She inquired about Bronwyn’s recovery and seemed enthusiastic to find her well. Bronwyn wanted to press the woman further about Drew’s formerly betrothed, but she held her tongue. The woman had said the girl had been her friend. Her allegiance would surely be to her friend and not to Bronwyn. Dana asked, “Have you seen the Lady? I have some stew Cook wants tasting for this evening meal.”