by C. C. Wiley
James hesitated. One corner of the leather square remained unfolded. His fingers flexed and curled before pulling the parchment out. “Protect it well.”
William’s surprise welled in the shadows of his eyes. With a tentative fingertip, he dragged the parchment closer. “Many thanks.”
Terrwyn stepped up to the table to replenish their mugs. The edge of a lady’s slender neck and bare shoulder peeked out from under Sir William’s sleeve. Although the maiden was quite pretty, she saw no other reason for the fuss.
Sir William’s weight shifted as he held out his mug for more wine, allowing Terrwyn a thorough look at the pretty maiden’s ringlets and soft cheekbones. The maiden was strikingly familiar. Terrwyn stepped back and sat on the three-legged stool. She could not shake the feeling she knew this woman and began to sort through the faces of all whom she ever met.
The men’s brief camaraderie was lost the moment the tent flap rustled. William folded the parchment and placed it inside his tunic as Simon pushed his way through the entrance. James sat quietly, his good-natured smile plastered in place.
Simon shoved the hair from his eyes. He cast a fleeting look around the tent, purposefully looking past the little corner where Terrwyn sat.
“Come.” William motioned to the empty wooden bench beside the table. “What news have you to share?”
Eyeing the spot, Simon shook his head and took off his hat. “I’ll not stay long.”
Terrwyn half-listened to Simon drone on with his report until he finally got around to the telling of the disappearance of Edgar Poole.
William’s voice rose. “How is it you misplaced the best longbowman in this army? Poole was your friend, was he not?”
“His pride was wounded,” Simon said.
“God’s Mercy! He attacked Cook and some of the others. He should be in irons.”
“He cannot be far,” James said. “The man sustained an injury.”
“By the archer, who, I might add,” William said, “is missing as well.”
James wearily kneaded the back of his neck. “Reluctant as I am to admit it, perhaps ’tis for the best to lose the both of them before we land on France’s soil.”
“Aye.” William nodded. “Their mettle has been tested and is found wanting. Yet I cannot allow Poole’s absence to go without retribution. He signed on as one of Henry’s men and his absence can only be reported as desertion. As for the archer, well, we’ll see how much his freedom means to him when he has no village to return to.” He pointed at James. “The archer is yours to find again. Best see to it before we travel much farther.”
“Not to worry, William. I’ll replace him with two equally skilled archers if I have to.”
“And you, Simon, must find Poole,” William said. “Help him reconsider before he puts his bow and arrow for ill gain.”
“Takes a big man to have your skill tested and found lacking in front of your friends and foes alike,” James observed. “Use caution when you confront your friend, Simon. I’ll wager he’ll be as angry as a wild boar.”
“Worse,” Simon muttered morosely. “He was heard threatening to kill the archer and any who got in his way.”
With her thoughts deep in making a plan to retreat to her village and prepare them for an attack from the English army, she did not hear the growing commotion outside Sir William’s tent until little Gilbert pushed his way under the soldier’s arms.
Another man popped his head in, one hand filled with a horse’s reins, the other with his sword. “Here now,” he yelped as the horse attached to the reins jerked his arm, nearly dragging him back outside. “I do not have the skill to handle them two horses by myself.”
The impatient boy marched up to William, stopping at his feet. “Do you be Commander of King Henry’s army?”
William nodded warily. “I am.”
A smile flickered in James’s eyes as he lifted a finger to his lips and motioned for Terrwyn to remain silent. “Sir William. This is young Gilbert.” He placed a gentle hand on the slim shoulder. “I spoke to you regarding his filling the position of page.”
“Aye,” Gilbert said, “but only if I can care for your horse, too.”
William looked Gilbert up and down, doubt filling his gaze. “I see.”
“Begging your pardon, Sir William, but you’ll have no regrets. I’m the best horseman in Wales, is what I am.”
“Aye? Let’s see how well you acquit yourself with the duties of a page before I trust you with my horseflesh.”
Gilbert nodded and, tilting his head, he motioned to James. “You shouldn’t treat Zeus like you have. The stallion deserves to be fed and brushed down when you’re through with him.”
Stunned, James removed his hand as if Gilbert had poisonous fangs. “Zeus?” Dark guilt flashed over his face. “You handled Zeus? Alone?”
“Aye,” Gilbert said. “Given the proper consideration, he’d be a happier stallion.”
William chuckled. “And how do you come by your great knowledge of horseflesh?”
“My mother comes from horse people. She taught me what I know. That way I’d be of use to my English father when I find him.”
“And where are your mother and father now?”
Gilbert’s frown deepened. “My mother passed during the cold months. Don’t know about my father. Last she spoke of him, she had cursed herself for taking me away.”
William’s gaze pored over the child’s fair face as if searching for something he lost long ago.
Gilbert asked irritably, “Do you not want to know the troubles that are in your camp?”
“Hm? And what bits of information do you suppose you will provide that my brother Simon did not?”
Gilbert eyed the other people in the little tent as if noticing them for the first time. “Cook is surgeon, see. And since Cook needs stitching where Poole cut him, someone else has got to do it. ’Sides, he needs help with feeding the men.” Long pale lashes blinked away the tears. “His pain’s real bad and his head is blistering hot.”
“I’ll do it.” Terrwyn rose from the stool and left her corner. “I’ve the skill with needle.”
James moved to block her path. “That won’t do, squire. You’re needed elsewhere.”
Sir William’s frown deepened. “I believe my orders outrank yours. And I say your squire must attend Cook’s wounds.”
Worry faded from Gilbert’s face. “Aye! If Archer’s sewing skill is as fine as his aim, Cook will be good as new in no time at all.”
With the men struck confounded and speechless, Terrwyn grabbed Gilbert and dashed out of the tent. Half-expecting an arrow in her back, she cringed as angry voices trailed after her.
Saints’ bones, ’tis certain we’re in the shite bucket now. There would be little time before Sir William of Norwich cast her out of the camp and sent her home. Her stomach clenched. She dared not think what they would have to say when they discovered she refused to go anywhere unless it brought her closer to her brother.
A shiver ran over her arms. The last time she depended upon her healing skill had ended with the loss of Mam.
Chapter Fourteen
“The archer?” William’s face reddened. “You knew it was him and you let him run out?” He shouted for his men to come to aid. A few of the soldiers standing nearby rushed to the entrance of the tent.
“Hold!” James lunged and caught the sleeve of Sir William’s heavy leather jerkin. In the uproar, Simon swung at James. James dodged Simon’s blow, pulling William in line with Simon’s fist.
The commander hit the floor.
The stunned silence that followed gave James time to catch his breath. He turned, striking an order for the men to return to their regular duties.
“Sir—” one of the men began.
William looked up from where he sat. The slight stain of blood trickled from his nose. “Go.”
“God’s blessed bones, William,” Simon said. “You walked into it.”
“Silence, brother.”
James bent over and held out his hand. Their grasp firm, James pulled William up and led him to the up-righted bench.
William settled gently on the wooden seat. He tested his nose again with his fingers.
Simon cleared his throat. His Adam’s apple jumped in a nervous tick. “William—”
James glanced up at Simon and smiled. “’Tis certain your brother holds no grudge. Do you, William?” He drew up a stool and sat across from him. “An innocent mistake. Your eyes told you one thing and your body found another. We all know the blow was meant for me. I should be insulted but will hold my temper in check.”
William grunted.
Encouraged that he had William’s ear, James continued, “’Tis painfully clear that young Gilbert’s eyesight is lacking. That is not the famed archer. I say, let my squire work on Cook while you give it consideration.”
“Simon.” William’s voice was nasal and muffled from the hand he cupped over the bridge of his nose. He glared over his knuckles. “I trust you know if this is the same archer that bested you in a target match.”
Simon shifted uncomfortably. “I’d have to look at him again. To be certain.” His flushed cheeks deepened to a rosy hue. “I find the Welsh tend to look a great deal alike.”
“Then I shall be about finding my squire,” James said. “I swear, he best be at Cook’s tent. Or I shall beat him soundly.”
“Aye.” William nodded. “Best look closely at him. And when you question Gilbert you’ll not use force. He’s but a child.”
James snorted as if the idea was too coddling for his own good.
Lost in thought, William leaned over his folded arms resting on the table. He touched his chest where earlier he had hidden James’s drawing inside the folds of his jerkin. He dismissed the two men with an absent-minded wave but stopped James at the doorway. “Simon will go with you and have another look.”
James and Simon paused outside Cook’s tent and squared off. James lifted his chin as if daring Simon one more time. He waited, then, nodding at him, quietly lifted the doorway flap. The stench of sweat assaulted him as he stepped inside. Well-traveled and coated with years of dust and dirt, the oiled canvas held against the evening chill and kept the heat within.
He paused a moment before making his presence known to the three in Cook’s small tent. Terrwyn and the child moved as one. Trust warmed the space between them.
The need to see his own family bloomed in his heart. How long had it been since he had seen his mother’s lovely face? Memories of her laughter filled him with longing. Perhaps, when he was through with this latest task for Henry, he might send word home. It would be good to see them before he sailed for France.
“Saints above and devils below.” Terrwyn bent over Cook and hissed a warning. “Hold your body still. I promise not to hurt you.”
“Well, how’s a man to trust the likes of you?” Cook said. “I don’t know one blitherin’ Welshman from another.”
“As far as I can see, old man, I’m the only one standing here with needle and thread. And the only one offering to pull your wrinkled hide together.” She waited patiently before adding, “Though my sewing skill is a mite rusty, I believe I’m up to the task.”
Concern for the care of his own hide continued to mar his face.
She patted his uninjured shoulder as she bent low to speak softly in his ear. “Not to fear. I’ve enough skill to put you right.”
She returned to his wound. The needle trembled in her hand as she began her work. It took several stitches to seal the edges of his flesh. With studied care, she made the final jab, pulled the thread taut and cut it at the knot. Ignoring his renewed complaints, she placed a steaming poultice across his shoulder and rose from the bench.
Gilbert stood at Cook’s head. Worry darkened his cherubic face. His fingers found the coil of hair and twirled it absently. “Think you he’ll be all right?”
Terrwyn smoothed Gilbert’s tawny head. “Aye. He’ll be right as rain. Back to ordering everyone within sight to do his bidding.”
“’Twas said the same of my mother,” Gilbert said. “Though the surgeons tried, they couldn’t fix her up.”
“Not to worry, young Gilbert,” James said. “Once Archer sets his mind to it, fate bends its knee to his will.”
“’Tis true?” Gilbert whispered in awe.
Terrwyn glanced up. Her smile, warm and welcoming, broke through the heaviness that had settled on James’s heart. Her eyebrows arched as her smile fell into a worried frown. Nodding in Gilbert’s direction, she gathered the bandages and thread, wrapped the bone needle in the leather pouch and placed it on the table. Murmuring a word in Cook’s ear, she punctuated the message with a pat to his balding pate.
For the first time, James noticed the tension in his muscles. Only after she moved in his direction did he let loose the breath caught in his chest. Holding out his hand, he felt the jolt of lightning when she touched his skin. He heard her tiny gasp of surprise and knew she felt it too. He drew her out of Cook’s sight and into the darkened corner.
“Gilbert meant no harm and feels mightily sore of heart for it,” Terrwyn whispered.
“I’m surprised you haven’t been exposed before this.” He trapped her hand with his. “’Tis time you turned from this farce.” Before she could pull away, he tightened his grip. Resolved to make her understand the danger of their situation, he entwined his fingers around hers.
Terrwyn eyed him with a weary look. “Why do you refuse to understand that it is impossible for me to do so?”
“Help me understand.”
“You won’t change my mind.” She drew back her shoulders and lifted her chin in defiance. Wispy tendrils of hair fluttered against her cheek. She tucked them back as she continued as if her plans had not altered, “The poultice will need changing every few hours for the next couple of days. You’ll find that Cook will survive Edgar’s attack.”
“Your skill with needle and thread will not prove strong enough to withstand Edgar, should he decide to return and finish the task.”
“Aye, but surely they will set a guard by Cook until he can defend himself.”
“Nay. Their focus will be on finding the archer. As will Edgar’s.”
“William believed Gilbert? I held hope that he thought it no more than a child’s silly imagination.”
“Perhaps I should have added that I’ve persuaded William in believing there is no possible way for you to have the skill.” He tightened his grip as he added, “Yet, that will not be easy to support unless you cooperate.” Seeing the question in her eye, he answered. “There’ll be no more competitions for you, nor will you draw attention to your stay here.”
“I didn’t draw attention to myself on purpose. Events happen whether I give my leave or not. What would you have me do? Hide under your cloak until we reach England’s port?”
“If necessary.”
“What is necessary is seeing that Cook’s work is tended until he is able to handle the weight of it.”
“The king’s men are a hardy lot. Even now, Simon is enlisting the help of few able-bodied men and one of the women who follow our camp. Since the commander is interested in having him as his personal page, Gilbert can practice his bathing techniques on Cook.”
Terrwyn glanced at Cook, caught his eye and quickly shook her head no. She returned her attention to James. “I’ve had a change of mind. The boy cannot possibly tend to Sir William’s personal needs.”
“Why ever not?”
“I—I’ve discovered certain qualities that wouldn’t make it fitting for—the lad.” Terrwyn grabbed James’s arm, clutching his sleeve. “Please. Mayhap my care will ease Sir William’s ire and he won’t be so quick to toss me out.”
“Enough. The boy is bound to find a more comfortable pallet if he is serving under Sir William.”
“Some things are more important than where to rest your head.”
“Ah, but see, there you are wrong. By the time I return you to you
r home, you’ll be wishing for a soft bed.”
“I’d rather be chained to a post with the sea up to my earlobes than listen to you tell me one more time that you’re taking me home.”
James skimmed the crest of her cheek with the coarse pad of his thumb. Thoughts of her lying on his pallet, awaiting his return, assailed his mind. Would it really be so hard to keep her by his side for a little while longer? Holy Saints, how he would love to sketch her form. His fingers itched to engrave her image upon a canvas.
“Then it is agreed,” Terrwyn continued.
James blinked, dragging his thoughts from the treasures hidden under her tunic. “Agreed?”
Terrwyn spun out of reach and ducked under the tent flap. “Aye, I’ll see to the commander’s needs and then return within the hour to change Cook’s dressing.”
“Wait!” So confused were his thoughts, he wondered if she’d spun a spell of magic over him. “You’re not to leave without escort.”
She turned, shushing him with a finger to her lips, and mouthed the words he had used earlier. “Do not draw attention to yourself.”
James scrubbed his face with his hands. It was only after he shook free from her spell that he realized that Gilbert, too, had managed to slip out while he tangled with Terrwyn.
Dropping to the stool beside the old man’s cot, James flinched when Cook grabbed his wrist.
The old soldier bore into him with one watery eye, the gray bushy eyebrow amplifying his glare. “Don’t see it, do ya?”
“See what?”
“Let Archer do what she can.”
James looked over at Cook. “The commander won’t like it when he learns Archer is indeed a maiden.”
“Aye, but would it not increase Sir William’s discomfort to learn he has two females smuggled into his command?”
Sir William had galloped out on his white stallion just as Terrwyn arrived at the edge of the officers’ compound. Several of his mounted soldiers trailed after him. Had they found Edgar? Or did they search for the archer?
She wondered why James had not been called to ride along with them. Yet, the longer she stayed in the camp, the better she understood that James was a man unto his own self. He answered only to King Henry. And this, she began to see, ate at Sir William as if he were the bone to a hungry hound.