Meriel Fuller - The Warrior's Damsel In Distress

‘My twin brother,’ Bruin finished for him. He rubbed at the coppery bristles on his chin. ‘I did think that. It’s possible they have seen each other, I suppose,’ he continued slowly, ‘but I wouldn’t have thought they moved in the same circles. And besides, I don’t think Steffen even ventured into Wales; he always had his sights set firmly on the English castles. But it doesn’t explain why she reacted as she did.’

Gilbert grinned. ‘I hate to say it, but it sounds like you completely terrified her. And frankly, I’m not surprised. You’re in full chainmail, you haven’t shaved...’

Bruin held his hand up. ‘Enough,’ he said, laughing. ‘I know—I’ll make an effort for the morrow.’ Disquiet threaded through him. He had no wish to go around scaring women; Gilbert’s words hung on his shoulders like a chastisement. Had his time as a mercenary changed him that much? Fighting and plundering had given him a warped sense of satisfaction; at the time, he was out for revenge, but against whom? He didn’t know. All he knew was that Sophie was dead and that it was his fault.

Gilbert raised his goblet in welcome as Katherine climbed up to the dais. Half-rising from his seat, he bowed his head respectfully as she approached the table. Bruin and the other knights followed suit. She slipped in beside Gilbert, handing Bruin’s cloak across to him. ‘Here, my lord. Thank you for bringing my nursemaid back to me.’

‘It was nothing,’ Bruin murmured. Eyes, as blue as a kingfisher’s wing, leapt across his vision. His heart jumped at the memory. He scanned the hall, the throng of heads and bodies. He had watched her limp through the door, leaning heavily on her mistress, but then she had disappeared into the throng of people. He would have noticed if she had left; the only way out of this hall was by the main door, or through a curtained alcove set opposite to him, presumably leading to bedchambers above. Every woman in the place seemed to be wearing identical white wimples, drab-coloured dresses.

‘Now, my lords,’ Katherine said, as a servant pushed the heavy oak chair beneath her and she snapped a linen napkin across the red velvet of her gown. ‘Mayhap you would like to tell me what you are doing in such a remote corner of Wales.’

* * *

A dryness scraped Eva’s throat; her tongue, big and unwieldy, stuck to the roof of her mouth. She had been chewing a lump of bread for what seemed like hours, unwilling to swallow, worried that she might choke. Her eyelids drooped; all she wanted to do was climb the stairs to her bedchamber and fall into a deep, dreamless slumber. And forget.

‘Hey, Eva!’ A young lad to her right elbowed her sharply in the arm, laughing. ‘You should go to bed! You’re falling asleep at the table!’

She jolted her lolling head into an upright position, staring hazily at her plate of uneaten food. ‘Help me, then,’ she said to the boy. ‘I’ve hurt my leg; I need to lean on you to reach the stairs.’

He jumped up with a puppy-like willingness, springing back over the low bench. Eva eased herself up carefully, grabbing at the boy’s fragile-boned shoulder. She kept her actions deliberately slow, gradual, not wanting to draw any attention from the top table. The last thing she wanted was for Katherine to come rushing down to help. Or him.

Her movements seemed laboured, unwieldy. The long trestle tables, the flaring torches, swam before her vision. Objects seemed hazy, edges blurred and undefined. What was the matter with her? All she had to do was reach that curtain across the doorway. The boy moved forward and she hopped to keep up with him, pressing down on his shoulder, injured leg raised up behind her.

Pushing the curtain aside, she dismissed the boy. A thick rope curved up along the wall of the spiral stairs; that would serve her now. She would crawl on her hands and knees if need be. Her progress was painfully slow, but at last she reached the next floor, hopping along the corridor to the bedchamber she shared with Katherine and the children.

Clicking up the iron latch carefully, she pushed inside, lurching clumsily across the polished elm floorboards to her truckle bed, tucked neatly against Katherine’s large four-poster bed. The chamber was dim, lit only by a single candle in an iron sconce, the flickering flame casting uneven shadows across the bumpy plaster. Over by a charcoal brazier, glowing with hot coals, Katherine’s three children slept, their small bodies bundled beneath huge furs. Angling herself down awkwardly, Eva lowered herself on to her bed, checking the bandage around the wound. Much as she hated to admit it, her leg seemed much better after Bruin’s deft handling. His cool, strong fingers grazing her skin.

There was a muted tap at the door and Martha came in, carrying a jug of hot water. ‘The mistress bid me bring this to you.’ Her eyes flicked to the lone guttering candle and she clicked her tongue in irritation. ‘Ah, I should have brought you another light.’ An earthenware bowl sat on an oak coffer; she poured the steaming water into it, glancing at Eva. ‘What happened to you? They’re saying in the hall that the big knight hunted you down.’

Her heart lurched at Martha’s choice of words. The girl was young, with a sense of the dramatic. Her plump hands dunked a linen washcloth into the bowl; it swirled around, absorbing the water. ‘I hurt my leg, that’s all,’ Eva replied shortly, an involuntary shiver coursing her slim frame. Hunted down. It had certainly felt like that, to hear that man’s shouts, the bulk of his body thrashing through the undergrowth, pursuing her. If it hadn’t been for that wretched trap, she would have escaped him easily.

Martha’s eyes rounded. ‘They’re saying he was an outlaw, at sea with the exiled Lord Despenser.’

Her heart jolted. Lord Despenser. A knight known for his cruelty, his barbaric methods. ‘That doesn’t surprise me.’ And yet, this knowledge of his past did surprise her, for although the knight had treated her in a brusque, matter-of-fact manner, he had been considerate. Up to a point.

‘Let me look.’ Martha approached the bed. ‘Lift your leg up on to the coverlet, so I can see it more clearly.’ Eva raised her leg. Martha eyed the stocking bound around Eva’s calf, the limp fringes of moss poking out. ‘Did you do this?’

‘He did,’ she admitted reluctantly. A pair of silver eyes startled her vision; she hunched forward uncomfortably. How could that man, that stranger, affect her thus, when he wasn’t even near her?

Martha untied the knot, unravelling the woollen stocking with care. Three wounds gouged Eva’s pale flesh. ‘Mother of God,’ Martha said, ‘it looks like you have been bitten by a dog. I bet it hurts.’

‘Not as much as it did.’ The bleeding had stopped, thank God.

‘But the wounds look as if they might close up on their own? I’ll clean it for you; put a new bandage on. I don’t think you need stitches.’

‘I agree. I have some salve that will—’

The door slammed back on its hinges. Katherine stood beneath the lintel, breathing heavily, her brown eyes furious. ‘He’s only gone and done it again!’ she cried out, marching into the chamber, flinging herself across the bed. Her slender feet, encased in leather slippers, swung clear of the floor. The gold beading worked across each slipper toe gleamed in the shadowed light. ‘That man—will be the bane—’

‘Hush, Katherine.’ Eva put a warning finger to her lips. ‘Don’t wake the children.’ Reaching up, she touched her friend’s sleeve. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

Katherine’s face crumpled, about to cry. Then she took an unsteady breath, drawing herself upright, smoothing one palm across the outspread velvet of her skirts, as if to calm herself. Spots of colour burned her cheeks. ‘Those knights downstairs,’ she enunciated slowly, ‘those knights have been sent by my dear uncle, the King, to escort me back to Lord Gilbert’s castle.’