Bernard gritted his teeth and endured it, no matter how much he wanted to shout and swear and maybe even scream. "Are you done yet?" he asked finally, when his whole leg felt like it was on fire.
"We need to get the cradle fitted around it, or I must send it back to the carpenter so that a better one can be made." He motioned for Gosse to help him. "I shall lift the leg, while you slide the cradle underneath."
Bernard watched in horror while the physician raised his wool-cocooned leg and Gosse lifted a pine box onto the bed. The physician set his leg down into the box, like a body lying in a coffin. All he needed to do was nail it shut, and Bernard would know he'd lost the use of his leg for good.
But the physician merely nodded. "Good, good. This will do. Make sure you pad the leg well with more felt when you've changed the bandage. In a week, you'll need to soak it thoroughly with water to loosen the bandage, then wash the leg. Use warm water, mind you, not cold, or you'll upset the healing humours. If there's swelling, cool the limb with a cloth soaked in vinegar. When it's dry, wrap the leg again in fresh linen bandages that you have soaked in melted wax, resin or lard. Then a layer of felt, before setting it back into the cradle. It must stay there for two weeks, not moving at all, or it will not heal straight. Then you may remove the bandage, but you must keep the patient in bed for ten weeks. Only then may he get up and move about on crutches, but he should not leave this room for another week or two, at least. So thirteen weeks' confinement in bed, and another two in this chamber."
"What are you telling me for? You're the physician. You'll be tending him," Gosse said.
The physician took out a handkerchief and wiped his hands. "Lord Vauquelin commanded me to see to the boy, and educate you in his treatment. I am his best physician. He cannot leave me in some far-off barony for the duration of the winter. Now I have done as he asked, I had best join Lord Vauquelin, lest he depart without me. Snow has started falling, so we must make haste before the pass closes." He hurried out.
Gosse followed him. "Wait, you can't just leave! He's Lord Vauquelin's son! Don't you ignore me…" His voice grew increasingly panicked as he headed down the stairs, until Bernard could no longer hear the knight's whining.
When he was certain the man had gone, Bernard reached down for his bags, lifting them onto the bed beside him. Womanish shoes, indeed – he'd hated his court shoes, but the King had insisted all his personal staff wear those hideous heels on their already uncomfortable shoes. They'd come in useful for protecting his precious potion jars, though – all the way from the Holy Land back to court. And now to here, where he would use the stuff for the first time.
He fished out a bottle, then dug through his things for a drinking cup. Somewhere, he'd stashed the paper on which he'd made the apothecary write down the name of the potion and its correct dosage, but Bernard remembered the turbaned man grabbing his hand, warning him never to take more than enough to cover the nail of his smallest finger, for too much would kill him.
But the right amount would send him into a painless sleep where he would dream of paradise. Anything was better than this tower prison, trapped with his pain and dreams of the harpy who'd attacked him. So he poured out half a measure, just to be careful, and washed the bitter stuff down with a cup of water.
Then he lay back and waited for the delightful dreams to come.
Chapter 7
When Ursula woke, she wanted to stay in bed just a little longer. The winter furs were so soft and warm, embracing her like her mother used to do. She rubbed her face against them, letting out a little sigh of pleasure.
The fur growled.
Ursula's eyes flew open and she jerked away, falling from warmth onto cold, hard stone.
"No. Not possible," she whispered, scooting away from where she'd slept until her back hit the cave wall.
The enormous brown bear rolled over in its sleep, pulling her cub closer. An even bigger bear on the other side slept on, oblivious.
Mother, baby and father bear. She'd shared a cave with bears.
No, she'd slept in the soft arms of the mother.
A whimper escaped before she clapped a hand over her mouth to silence herself.
To stay would be insanity, not safety.
She crept out of the cave, back out along the passage to the picture of the snarling bear. Thank all that was holy that the very real bears hadn't woken, or she would have had to face three such snarling monsters. They would have ripped her to pieces.
She'd been foolish to follow her grandfather's advice. Instead, she should find a spot where she could observe the castle, unseen, and work out what to do next.
Ursula blinked as she stepped into the late afternoon sunlight. She'd slept all day, though it had been a short day, at that. The sun set early with winter approaching. She pulled her cloak close to keep out the snow, then marched out of the cave's dubious shelter, following the path along the cliffs above the river. She was headed away from home, she knew, for the river was the surest road in the valley, but there was only one path, leading upward and away from the castle.
Ursula ascended, step by determined step, glancing over her shoulder from time to time, to see if the bears had woken, but the path was empty.
Finally, the trees parted a little, allowing her a view all the way down the valley to her family home. Anyone peering through the tower window might see her, but no one else would be so high. Slowly, she spun around, taking in the rock formation behind her, which she'd never seen up close before. From the tower, and the village below, it resembled an enormous head with round ears, earning it the name of Bear's Head Rock, but now she stood upon the rock itself, it looked nothing like a bear. What looked like a snout from the ground was a rock tongue that jutted up and out over the river, a mighty erection that would put most men to shame.
The jumble of rocks behind her parted in a dark cleft that led deep into the cliffs – deeper than the afternoon light could penetrate. Bears or any kind of beast could live in that cave. Or this could have been the safety her grandfather meant, instead of the cave where she'd slept.
Ursula bit her lip. She would find a torch, and return to explore the new cave only when she had something to light her way, and fend off wild beasts. If only her brothers were still alive to see it. They would have loved this.
Tears sprang to her eyes.
A man's shout down in the valley dragged her out of her grief. The voice was distant, but the sounds of marching feet could be heard even up here, echoing off the valley walls. Ursula's mouth dropped open and she couldn't seem to close it. Dozens of men marched in formation across the bridge, down the road toward the pass that led out of the valley amid the flurries of snow.
They'd come in the night, killed her family, and now they were leaving?
It made no sense. None of it did. Yet as she stood watching them leave, it dawned on her that Berehaven was hers. And if the snow kept falling, within days no one would be able to enter or leave the valley until spring.
That wouldn't bother her, or any of the people of Berehaven, for no one wanted to leave their homes, but Lord Vauquelin couldn't afford to leave his own lands unprotected for that long. For if he did, someone would surely do to his household what he'd done to hers.
She wanted to run after him and rage at him for what he'd done, but she knew there was no point. He would kill her as easily as his men had slaughtered her family, and then where would she be?
As dead as everyone else, which would not do.
Her belly rumbled in agreement, reminding her that in order to live, she also needed sustenance.
Yes. With Lord Vauquelin's army gone, it should be safe to head down to town, to find news and perhaps something to eat, before she dared to venture into the castle again.
But she didn't want to go back into the dark again, where she knew bears lurked. There had to be a path down to the river from here – the bears had to eat and drink some time. She searched around the rocks until she found a faint track, wide enough for o
ne person. Or a bear. It was steep, but not impassable, and once she reached the river, it was an easy matter to follow it downstream to town, and home.
Or what had been home.
Pressing her lips together to smother the scream of despair that wanted to escape, Ursula marched on.
Chapter 8
An unholy clatter jerked Bernard from his dreams. "What in heaven's name is that?" he slurred.
"Dinner. Don't go turning your courtly nose up at it, for it's all there is. Your father's men raided the kitchen and killed all the kitchen staff. It's empty but for the bloodstains on the floor. I suppose we should be grateful his men stayed long enough to bury the bodies instead of leaving them there to rot, or we wouldn't even have this."
Bernard struggled to sit up, still drowsy from that potion he'd taken. "How long have I been asleep?"
Gosse shrugged. "Don't know. Most of the day, maybe. It'll be dark soon, so you can sleep some more once you've eaten. I'll stoke the fire, and then I might retire myself. I've never slept in a baron's bed before. I bet I'll have the best night's sleep a man has ever known. Seeing as your father's seen fit to leave us little to eat, I'll probably spend all day searching the castle for its store rooms, so we don't starve."
"Starve? My father wouldn't let me…" Bernard trailed off as he followed Gosse's pointing finger to the plate on the table beside his bed, where a chunk of stale bread and a dried-out hunk of ham sat in unappetising splendour. If he hadn't heard the clatter as the plate landed on the table, he would have bet money that the food had been sitting beside his bed for days.
Horror froze his insides as he realised that might have been the case – the plate might have been sitting beside someone's bed for that long, and the original owner was now dead and buried, much like whoever had slept in this bed before he'd laid claim to it.
And his father had said he didn't expect Bernard to live much longer, anyway.
Bile rose up in the back of Bernard's throat. "I'm not hungry," he said.
Gosse shrugged again. "Suit yourself. Break your fast on it in the morning, then. Probably break your teeth on it, too, if it's anything as hard as my dinner."
Bernard opened his mouth to ask, then snapped it shut again. He didn't want to know.
It was almost enough to make him wish he hadn't left the King's court. Almost. But not quite.
Chapter 9
As Ursula approached the town, she knew something was wrong. It was too quiet. At this time of the afternoon, there should be the clonk of bells at milking time, the giggles of children playing, the shouts of adult voices as they reprimanded their children or greeted one another, the sting of smoke in her nostrils as kitchen fires were stoked to cook dinner…
There was no smoke. On a snowy day in Berehaven, it was tantamount to sacrilege – suicide – to let the house fires go out.
So if the home fires weren't burning…everyone was already dead.
Ursula choked back a sob.
What kind of monster was Vauquelin, that he could slaughter everyone in the valley, and leave like it was nothing?
But he hadn't slaughtered everyone. Ursula squared her shoulders and straightened her spine. She still lived. And if she did, maybe someone else had survived, too.
That hope buoyed her up as she searched the first dozen houses, but it started to fade as she found nothing and no one. Empty kitchens and empty barns told the tale of everything the invaders had taken. Even the hen houses were silent, when normally the birds would be climbing into their roosts, clucking and rustling as they settled down to sleep.
Her insides ached, though whether from hunger or anguish, or both, she did not know. Without food or the presence of someone, anyone to ease the pain, she forced herself onward.
When she'd checked every house, she reached the curve in the road that led up to the castle. Ursula wanted to curl up in the middle of the road and cry for all she'd lost, but she could not. The castle called to her. It was home.
She paused at the gatehouse, fancying that she'd heard a noise. A bird, perhaps, or a mouse in the roof thatch.
Or a soldier, left behind to guard the castle.
Ursula froze. She had to hide. What had she been thinking, approaching the castle from the open road, where anyone could see her?
"Stupid cat!" a female voice spat.
Ursula's breath whooshed out of her in a gush of relief.
A striped tabby dashed out of the gatehouse, closely followed by a red-faced woman.
"Aleka?" Ursula asked.
"Who are you?" Aleka squinted at Ursula, then her eyes grew wide. "By all that's holy, Mistress Ursula, is that you? You managed to escape? What about your father?" Hope kindled in her eyes like a beacon.
Ursula hung her head. "They killed him. My brothers, too. Geoffrey told me to run." She should have stayed and fought alongside them. No, she should have learned to fight, so that she could have defended the castle with them, instead of running away. But Father had insisted that great ladies did not fight, much like they didn't practice magic, and Father's word was law. Had been law. He'd wanted her to be the ideal wife to some highborn nobleman. He would have been horrified if he'd known she'd spent a night in a cave with bears.
"Aye, my Durward said the same. It was my eldest daughter's wedding yesterday, so we were all in the village square long past dark, dancing. I know not who raised the alarm, but we took to the caves, just like the people of old, and watched and waited for the army to leave." Aleka raised her eyes to the rocky walls above, where generations past had carved whole houses into the rocks. "Durward headed for the castle, to help fight off the invaders, but he never returned. My daughter does not sleep well unless the cat lies on her bed, so when the army left, I volunteered to come and search…for…" She wiped away a stray tear.
"I am sorry for your loss." Ursula's words seemed trite, a handful of dust thrown into a pit of despair.
Aleka glared at her. "Do not say that. I will not believe it until I have seen the body with my own eyes. Durward is not yet dead." Then she seemed to realise who she was speaking to, and ducked her head. "Apologies, mistress. I did not think…" Aleka fell to her knees.
Ursula waved away her apology. "No one ever thinks they will see their loved ones murdered before their eyes. It is enough to addle anyone's mind."
"Oh, your poor dress! Let me give you something more suitable, mistress." Aleka scrambled to her feet and raced back inside the gatehouse.
Only now did Ursula glance down, and realise she'd worn the mouse-chewed gown she'd laid on Gidie's bed…was it only yesterday? The hem had already been torn to ribbons yesterday, but she'd caught it on the rough walls in the dark last night, so the skirt now hung in tatters. If it weren't for her thick woollen shift beneath, her legs would be on display for the whole world to see.
Aleka pushed open the shutters on the upper floor. "Come up, mistress, and see if this will fit."
Ursula was torn between her desire to go home and her ardent wish to avoid the place altogether, if the bodies of her father and brothers still lay where they'd fallen.
For the townspeople had fled before the army could kill them, which explained why the houses were empty of both the living and the dead. But the castle…
A lady always accepted the hospitality of her people, from highest to lowest, Ursula told herself. Even if Aleka offered her rags that were little better than the shredded dress she now wore, she would be honour bound to accept the woman's gift, and wear it with both gratitude and pride.
Of course, Aleka would give her no such thing. Durward the gate captain had shared her father's table in the feasting hall on occasion, when there were no outsiders to entertain. If any woman in Berehaven had a gown fit for a lady, it was Aleka.
The gown Aleka held out was made of golden-brown wool, which looked gold as it caught the last of the afternoon light. It was rougher stuff than anything Ursula owned, but fine enough to be Aleka's Sunday best. Which it probably was, Ursula realised.
&nb
sp; As Aleka helped her dress, Ursula mumbled something about returning the favour, having the castle tailor make something for Aleka in thanks.
Unless the tailor was dead, too.
Ursula had to force herself to return to the road, and when she did, she had a strong urge to run. The castle loomed over her like it wanted to crush her, killing her like the rest of her family. She wasn't sure she had the strength to enter those dark gates after what she'd seen.
"When did you last eat, mistress?" Aleka asked.
Ursula had to think for a moment, before she replied, "Yesterday morning."
Aleka exclaimed in horror. "Two days without a bite to eat! No wonder you look dead on your feet. Come to the caves with me. My daughter will have a pot of stew on the fire, and while I own it is not castle cooking, it is good food, the best kind for filling empty bellies. On the morrow, when you have slept, there will be plenty of time to investigate the castle. I'm sure Durward will want to take you himself."
Durward was dead, Ursula wanted to shriek, but she didn't. Let the woman cling to hope if she wanted to.
It wasn't Aleka's fault that Ursula had none.
Like a lamb to the slaughter, Ursula let the guard captain's widow take her wherever she wanted, for what did it matter any more?
Chapter 10
For the first time in her life, Ursula drowsed among her people, in a cave far more comfortable than the one in which she'd spent her morning. Though she was a woman grown, they'd placed her with the children, at the very back of the cave. It was fitting, for she felt about as helpless as the toddler lying in the straw beside her, sucking on his chubby fist.
"It's gone. He took it all. Our winter stores…everything."
Silence greeted this dire pronouncement, broken by a tentative, "What of the castle? They must have something!"
20 Shades of Shifters: A Paranormal Romance Collection Page 4