Perhaps she would have, if he hadn’t insisted she come back to mix it. It was his fault Anselm was suffering. He stood. “I will go and fetch her.”
Since he’d lain down fully clothed, there was little to do to get ready. He was hungry, but he would not take time to get food. Not when Anselm was suffering. He debated riding and decided not to. In the time it would take to get Trueheart saddled, he would have nearly reached the village.
The valley looked peaceful in the morning sunlight. Except for the blackened area around the ruins of the mill, everything appeared as it had when he’d first arrived at Higham. At the time, he hadn’t fully appreciated his good fortune. Now he could see how fertile and prosperous the area was. The apples trees in the orchard were heavy with fruit. The villagers’ gardens were full of ripening beans, cabbages and other vegetables. There was plenty of grain in the granary. The milch cows and their calves grazing in the meadow by the river looked plump and healthy. He had not won these lands, but he was the steward of them now. It was his responsibility to protect them.
He crossed the commons and walked through the village. A few people were about, tending to tasks outside their homes: shucking beans, churning butter, weeding their gardens. He greeted those he met and they responded politely. The villagers remained wary, but he felt they were warming to him.
He hoped Rhosyn’s attitude toward him was also improving. At least she no longer seemed to want to kill him. He smiled at the thought that this was progress.
He looked for her first at the tanner’s. They told him she had already been there to check on the miller and his son and then left again. He would have to seek her out at her cottage.
But when he arrived at her dwelling in the forest, there was no sign of Rhosyn. Where was she? At first he was worried, but gradually he grew irritated. Had she forgotten about Anselm? His broken leg was not nearly as serious as the burns afflicting the miller and his son, but she still had a responsibility to look after the wounded knight.
He started back to the village and met her on the way. Her expression was closed and wary, which irritated him “Where have you been? I thought you were going to return to the castle and dose Anselm with poppy.”
Her lovely dark eyes narrowed. “I sought to go there, but the guard at the gate turned me away.”
“Did you not tell him that I asked you to return?”
“Of course, I did. But he would not listen.” Her tone was sharp. He could not blame her for being angry. She must have been very tired when she arrived at the castle. Being turned away meant she’d made the journey there for no purpose.
“I will deal with the guard. But I would like for you to come to the castle now. Anselm is in pain.”
“I’m certain he is, but after seeing the miller and his son, I realized that all the poppy juice I have will be needed by them. Their wounds are much graver and their pain more intense. I decided to gather some willow bark.” She held up her basket. “’Tis a good treatment for pain and will aid Anselm in healing. I have some willow bark brew already made I can bring to the castle. But I will need more and it has to steep for several days. I don’t like to be without a supply, especially since my store of poppy juice will not last. I have other herbs I can use to treat pain. Mandragora, neep and henbane all work, but you have to be very careful using them, as they can be poisonous.”
He nodded, impressed with her knowledge. “You are the one who understands all those things, so I will agree to whatever you suggest. Do you think you could bring the willow bark to the castle soon?”
“Aye, as soon as I’ve put the new batch steeping.” She turned to leave.
“I would like to watch. I will come with you.”
She did not turn around or comment as he fell in step behind her. He wondered if she was annoyed with him. He was a bit annoyed with himself. He had many responsibilities waiting for him at the castle. Taking the time to watch her at her work seemed very indulgent.
But he could not help himself. Everything about her intrigued him. Her cottage. The herbs she harvested and prepared. Her beauty. Her secrets. He wanted to know everything he could about her. More than anything, he yearned to be with her. Around her he felt alive and full of hope. The pall of grief and discouragement he’d fought against ever since Emma died seemed to fall away when he was in Rhosyn’s company.
*
Curse the man! Did he not realize that having him around made it difficult for her to concentrate? She could not think clearly in his presence. Although at least preparing the willow bark did not require much thought. It would be much worse to have him watch her while she was calculating dosage or other tasks that required concentration.
She felt a little calmer when they reached the cottage. This was her domain and she was in control here. But as soon as she went into the stillroom and began to work, she felt flustered. He stood in the doorway and watched her. The space was so tiny and he was so big. ’Twas like having a stallion in a pen made for goats or sheep.
She sought to keep her hands steady, but inside she was trembling. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to forget he was there.
When she finished cutting up the twigs, she made the mistake of looking at him. Their gazes locked and all the air seemed to leave the small chamber. She had no sense of either of them moving but all at once they were standing face-to-face.
His blue eyes pierced her like a dozen arrowbolts stabbing, shredding her resistance. She raised her hands as if to protect herself. But instead of pushing him away, her hands came to rest on his chest. He brought his own hands up to cover hers.
His gaze ensnared her as he entwined their fingers. He drew her hands up to his neck, pulling her against him. She gasped in shock. Their bodies were pressed together. She could feel the solid heat of him. Reason told her to fight, but her body refused to do so. Instead, her body yielded. Even as her belly registered that the hard ridge pressing against it was his phallus, she found herself drawing closer. Which meant their mouths were closer. He bent his head and their mouths were joined.
The kiss was tender, careful. The sweetness of it made her shudder. Delicate kisses, his lips provoking. She tasted him. Warm. Alive. Male.
It triggered all the longing inside her. Her arms tightened around his neck and she opened her mouth and kissed him back. Lips and teeth and tongues in a wild dance of need and hunger. Her body was on fire and she needed his to douse the flames. Nay, not douse them, but fan them higher until they were both incinerated. If only the flame would consume their clothing. She wanted to feel her bare skin against his. To writhe against his hard, scorching body. To be joined with him.
Madness, but she did not care. She was possessed, her need so fierce, it reduced all thought to ashes that swirled away in the wind.
Where it would have ended, she didn’t know. Mayhaps with her sprawled on the stillroom table. Herbs, tools and jars knocked to the floor. Fitzhugh on top of her. Inside her.
But somehow he still possessed some control. He raised his head. Reached for her hands and clutched them in his own. “Rhosyn. Sweeting.”
The sound of her name, even whispered so imploringly, restored her reason. She realized what they were doing. Where they were. Who he was. A hated Saeson. Her people’s oppressor.
She took a deep shaky breath. What had come over her? How did this man do these things to her? What sort of spell did he cast? She was the one who was supposed to know magic.
She drew back. Her hands slipped from his. His expression was sorrowful. Nay, it was tortured. She felt the same. Her body ached for his. Her skin shrieked its protest at losing connection with his.
But there was the willow bark to prepare. And three injured people depending on her. She must think about that. She returned to her task, putting the crushed twigs in a bowl, then going into the main part of the cottage to stoke the fire in the hearth and put on the water to heat. When it was hot, she returned to the stillroom and poured the water over the twigs. Each time she mov
ed from one room to the other, she had to pass Fitzhugh. She pretended he wasn’t there. Pretended she hadn’t just kissed him passionately. Thankfully, her task was simple and did not require much concentration.
Once the twigs were steeping, she fetched the brew of willow bark she’d already prepared. “I am ready to go to the castle.”
He hadn’t spoken after he ended their embrace and he didn’t speak now. They walked in silence back to the village and past the houses. She thought of all the people watching them. The gossip that he was bedding her would be all over the village. It would do her no good to deny it. Besides, it was half-way true anyway. She would have let him take her maidenhead. He was the one who called a halt.
Why did he do so? Was it that he did not think it was the proper time or place? Or, could it be he did not desire her?
And yet, she had felt the proof of his passion. He had clearly been aroused. So, why did he hold back?
He was such a puzzle. Given that he was Saesneg knight, his behavior was even more mystifying. She shot a quick, surreptitious glance at him, and her body responded with an answering ache of longing. Somehow, she must find a way to avoid being around him. Nothing good could come of her dallying with him. If they spent too much time together, it would inevitably happen. He was a man and everyone knew they could not control their lustful urgings. And she was no better, no better at all.
She felt miserable, more agonized and unhappy than she had been since she left behind the horrors of Cardiff. She had come here to forget, to be free of the darkness of her past. But there was no freedom or safety here. She was caught in a terrible tangle of desire. Desire that could only lead to heartbreak.
Chapter Twelve
She appeared distressed and it was his fault. He had forced them into that situation by insisting he come with her to her cottage. He had wanted to be near her and he had gotten his wish. But at what cost? He hadn’t known she would react like that. She’d given no inkling she desired him. Yet, obviously she must. Otherwise she would not have responded so eagerly.
It had been a revelation. A thrilling and yet troubling revelation. Her attraction to him appeared to be nearly as strong as his was for her. Which meant they must avoid each other in the future. He could not act on his yearnings. Even if she shared them. It was too risky. She was so finely-made. If she conceived and something went awry during the birth, he would never get over it. Losing Emma and her babe had been difficult enough. But this woman—he could not imagine losing her.
Which made little sense. Emma had been his wife, while this woman was a virtual stranger. They’d known each other a few days. He should not feel this intense connection to her.
They left the village commons and started up the trackway to the castle. Rhosyn still had not spoken. Since he was behind her, he could not see her face. Yet he sensed she had closed herself off from him. Buried the passion she had expressed so intensely in the cottage. It was thrilling to recall the feel of her slender arms around his neck. The softness of her lips. The pressure of her body against his, lush and yielding.
His arousal, which had faded for a time, reasserted himself. He was a lackwit. There was no purpose in dwelling on what happened. He must forget the passionate embrace they’d shared. Refuse to even think about it.
He moved up beside her. “How much of the willow bark brew should Anselm take? And how often?”
“A big swallow. But it’s terribly bitter. He will need some ale or water to wash it down with. ’Twill relieve his pain for a few hours. But it can cause stomach discomfort. If that occurs, I will give him something to ease that distress.”
He half-hoped Anselm had stomach pain. Then Rhosyn would have to come back to the castle to treat him. Nay, that was selfish and cruel. He could not wish Anselm to suffer more.
And Henry, he had nearly forgotten about Henry. They had to bury him today. Hopefully, Father Kennet would stay sober enough to perform the rites. William considered confiscating the store of wine used for communion during mass. They might need it for other purposes. Such as dosing the wounded. He grimaced. He had a dozen problems to deal with, many of them serious.
When they reached the castle, the gate was open. As they passed the watchtower, William considered finding out which of the guards had turned Rhosyn away the night before. But he could deal with that later. Now he must get Rhosyn and the willow bark to Anselm.
“He’s in the barracks.” He motioned as they entered the bailey.
Rhosyn halted, her expression wary.
“I’ll go with you. No one will harass you, I vow it.” When she still hesitated, he added, “I’ll ask all the men but Anselm to leave.”
Reluctantly, she followed him to the knights’ quarters.
When they arrived, Adam and Stephen were in the main room, but there was no sign of the wounded knight. “Where’s Anselm?”
Adam got up. “We moved him to the loft. “Don’t worry, we were careful of his leg.”
William looked at the healer, then pointed to the ladder leading to the upper level. “I’ll go first.”
He climbed the ladder and saw Anselm lying on a pallet. “I have brought the healer. She has something that will ease your pain.”
Anselm shrank away. “I don’t want her. I am better. I don’t need any more poppy.”
William glared at the wounded knight. “She has brought a decoction of willow bark. You will take it.”
William moved aside so Rhosyn could climb into the loft. He motioned for her to approach Anselm.
“He’ll need something to drink afterwards to wash the taste away.”
William cursed himself for forgetting this. He called down to Adam to bring some water or ale.
Rhosyn knelt down beside Anselm and placed the jar of willow bark nearby. She examined Anselm’s leg. As she did so, William kept a stern gaze on Anselm.
Adam returned with a skin of what William assumed was water. Rhosyn held out the jar of willow bark tincture to Anselm. “Take a big swallow. ’Tis bitter, so drink it quickly.”
Anselm did as she asked and then made a horrible face. “Jesu!” he muttered. Rhosyn took the skin from William and handed it to Anselm. He gulped water some down, his features contorted together with disgust. “I’m not certain ’tis worth it. That stuff is foul.”
“Wait and see.” Rhosyn rose and motioned to the jar she had left beside Anselm. “In a few hours, take another dose.”
William and Rhosyn climbed down from the loft and left the barracks. “Will you go to the miller and his son now?” William said as they stood in the yard.
“Aye. There is naught more I can do for Anselm.”
She turned to leave. William caught her arm. “Wait. Please. I…” He looked at her, helpless with yearning. For a moment, he saw an answering look in her eyes. Then she turned away.
*
“There has been no sign of the Welsh for days. Mayhaps they have left the area.” Adam and William were in the barracks buckling on their swordbelts. They had already donned their mail.
“Mayhaps,” William responded. “But we can’t grow complacent. They’ve already caused enough damage.” He thought grimly of the miller. His wounds had quickly grown poisoned, and Rhosyn had told William there was no more she could do for the man, except try to ease his suffering. At least the miller’s son’s wounds had started to heal. There was hope he would not only survive, but suffer no lasting damage.
“Two men lost.” William shook his head. “And Anselm’s leg will not be healed til almost Yule.”
Adam grunted in response. Like the other men, Adam was tired of going out on patrol day and night. That was part of the reason William was taking his turn. He wanted his knights to see how seriously he took the Welsh threat. He also hoped that getting away from the castle would help him forget about the healer. Although he had seen her only briefly the last few days, and then only to discuss the miller’s decline, Rhosyn was never far from his thoughts. Nights were the worst. Now, instead of his grief
over Emma keeping him awake, it was memories of kissing Rhosyn that haunted him.
They set out, riding along the river away from the village. It was a warm, sunny day and they were sweltering. William could see why his men had come to dread the daytime patrols even more than the nighttime ones. Wearing mail in the heat was miserable. The linen headwrap he wore under his mail coif was already soaked with sweat. But no one wanted to suffer Henry’s fate of an arrow in the throat.
William repressed a shudder. It was one thing to be injured in combat, when you had a chance of defending yourself. The idea of being struck down by an arrow out of nowhere was terrifying.
Yet, at this moment, everything seemed tranquil. The river bank was bright with late flowers. He knew the yellow ones were goldenrod, but wasn’t certain about the fluffy white and pink ones. Rhosyn would know. She would also know which ones could be used for medicines. Even here, he could not stop thinking about her.
They crossed the river at the ford and rode through the pastureland. The brambles in the hedgerows were heavy with purple berries. Dark brown cattle dotted the hillside, accompanied by a drover. William decided to go and talk to the man and find out if he’d seen any sign of the Welsh.
The drover wore rough leather garments and his skin was weathered to a nut brown hue. With his dark hair and small stature, he could easily be Welsh himself. William greeted the drover and asked about raiders. As he struggled to respond, William realized the drover didn’t know much Norman French. Like most of the local people, he probably spoke Saxon. But gradually they were able to make out that he had seen no one but knights from the castle.
William thanked the man before he and Adam returned to the trackway.
“Do you think that means the raiders have left?” Adam asked.
“Hard to say. They could easily be hiding. And at night it would be difficult for the drover to tell our knights from mounted raiders.”
“Which makes these patrols seem like a waste of time. At least during the day. They’re not going to come out in the open when they know we’re around, and we don’t dare venture into the woods.”
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