E. M. Powell (25 page)

“Do it.” The big knight’s voice rumbled deep in his chest.

“You need have no fear of him,” said the blue-eyed one.

The sister nodded to Wilfreda, who bent to the knight’s torn breeches. She held the thick woolen material as still as possible. With a flash of the scissors, the sister cut around it. Only jagged strips of material remained, stuck to the moist wound.

“I will check on the poultice,” said the sister. “Wilfreda, remove those bits of material. Use this.” She handed the novice a piece of fresh linen, then made for the small room at the back of the infirmary with quick steps.

Wilfreda sat on the edge of the bed and immersed the cloth in the hot water.

The big knight watched her, silent except for his breath loud through his wide nostrils.

“What are you doing, Wilfreda?”

She looked up at the question, surprised the blue-eyed knight should have remembered her name. So many folk didn’t. “I’m going to soak the wool stuck to his wound. It should come away easier.”

“Good.” He nodded in approval.

She took out the wet linen and placed it carefully over the matted, bloodstained fragments that edged the wound.

The big man held still.

She judged her time and carefully peeled the offending material away.

Her patient stiffened, then relaxed as he realized the delicacy of her actions.

“Well done. You indeed have a skilled pair of hands. It is a pleasure to see you work.”

Wilfreda shot a glance up at the second knight. His smile was wide, his expression set in admiration.

“Th-thank you, sir knight.” She resumed her task, mortified yet delighted at his praise.

“Do you concur, le Bret?” said her observer.

The patient grunted but seemed content.

“That is praise from my companion, my dear,” said the second knight. “He’s a man of few words.” He bent closer to look at her progress. “My word. You are a miracle worker. An angel of mercy, one might say.”

Wilfreda shook her head, a huge lump of pride in her throat.

“Even more remarkable, given your sad affliction.” His blue gaze held hers.

He…he didn’t mind her eye.

“How many years have you been an infirmary sister?”

She would have laughed, but it would have made her hand shake. “I’m no infirmary sister, sir. I’m only a lay postulant, a servant to the Abbess.”

“What? With healing hands like yours?”

“Yes, sir.”

“A shocking waste. Do you agree, le Bret?”

The big knight nodded, eyes closed.

Wilfreda’s heart soared. She must have this talent, if this grand knight thought so. Maybe this was God’s way of showing her true vocation.

“And what did the Abbess have you doing today?”

She dipped another piece of clean linen in the hot water. “S-serving at table.”

The knight raised a mocking eyebrow. “The Abbess is too grand to serve herself?”

“N-no.” Wilfreda gave a shocked giggle. Fancy her joking about the Abbess with this gentleman. “She has visitors today.”

“Of course,” he said. “Nuns like to show off to each other.”

She shook her head as she picked off some stray strands of wool from the oozing wound, mindful of not touching the agonized flesh. “One was a nun, well, an anchoress. The other was a knight.”

“An anchoress and a knight? How odd. Here, let me take those from you.” He held out a sheet of clean linen for her to place the bloodied wool within.

“I’m near finished, sir knight.” She spoke reassuringly to the injured man. Emboldened by his friendliness, she addressed his companion. “How did the wolf get him?”

“We were traveling at night, through the forests.”

“From what I know, sir, that’s very dangerous.”

“Indeed.” To her shock, his blue eyes glistened with sudden tears. “But I’ve been trying to find my betrothed. She has run off with another man, a knight who has turned her heart against me.” He gave her a wry smile. “If only you could heal hearts. I have to find her before she marries, to try and change her mind.”

“I will pray for your intentions, sir knight.” She placed a last strip of linen on the wound.

“Thank you, Wilfreda. I’m sure God will listen to your intercessions.” He sighed. “Just ask him to bring me to my beloved Theodosia.”

“Theodosia?” Wilfreda looked up at the knight.

“That is my beloved’s name.”

“B-but, sir knight, that is the anchoress’s name.”

“Are you sure?” Bewildered hope lit the knight’s eyes.

“Aye.” Wilfreda struggled to keep her hope in check, her hope that she, Wilfreda Percy, would answer this noble knight’s prayers. “The knight with her was called Sir Palmer.”

The knight drew his head up and gave a slow blink. “That is he. The man who turned my dear one’s head. They are putting forward some pretense of her being a religious woman? Goodness, the lies.”

“But you’ve found them.” She gestured to her patient. “Maybe this poor man’s suffering was God’s way of leading you to them.”

“Indeed.” The knight seemed overcome with emotion. “Can you take me to them?”

Wilfreda got to her feet. “Indeed I can, sir. They are with the Abbess in her visitors’ parlor.”

The knight looked at his companion. “I’ll not be long.”

Sir le Bret nodded.

“Wilfreda.” The knight took her hand in his, the strength of his grip a surprise.

Blood surged to her cheeks. Her bitten nails held grime from the pots, as well as congealed blood from her work on the wound. The blue-eyed gentleman seemed to care not.

“I will be forever in your debt,” he said. “Now, shall we make all speed?”

She nodded. “Aye, sir.”

He tightened his grip further, and Wilfreda tried not to wince.

He smiled. “Indeed, you are an angel.”

CHAPTER 18

Mother Ursula hurried along the corridor to her second-floor bedroom, irritation growing with every step.

Bless Wilfreda, she was willing enough, but she was chuckleheaded beyond belief. Every task had to be explained fifty times, shown a hundred. Give her a job, and she’d somehow muddle it up.

Ursula passed one of the novices, sweeping the corridor with the due diligence she’d expect.

“God bless you, my child.” Ursula hustled by.

The novice gave the Abbess a quick curtsey and continued with her task.

Ursula opened her bedroom door, hoping Wilfreda worked within. Of course not. The room stood clean, tidy. Empty.

With a frustrated sigh, she made her way back down the corridor.

“Have you seen Wilfreda?” Ursula asked the novice.

The broom didn’t stop. “No, Mother.”

Ursula went back down the many steep stairs and along to the kitchens. “Is Wilfreda in here?” she called from the doorway.

The cook looked over from her preparations. Her face shone from perspiration and steam. “She was doing the pots, Mother, but was called to the infirmary. Goodness knows what she’s doing, but she hasn’t returned.”

“I’ll send her. When I find her.” Ursula rolled her eyes. “In the meantime, can you please prepare food for two travelers? Enough for a few days.”

“Certainly, Mother.” The cook went to task another novice, and Ursula set off in the direction of the infirmary.

She cut through the silent cloisters, then up a back flight of stairs. She was quite out of breath by the time she entered the quiet room. Her eyes lit on the latest admission.

Three of the sisters gathered around the bed, their long black robes masking the occupant. The sweet smell of an onion poultice hung in the air. Clean linen bandages awaited their application.

Ursula walked up to the bed, and her stomach lurched when she saw its occupant.

“Good afternoon, Mother.” The sister in charge continued her work.

Ursula forced a calm demeanor. “Good afternoon.” She cast a cool, professional eye over the prone man. Inside, her spirit quailed.
A great, scar-faced brute
,
Theodosia had said of one of Becket’s murderers
.
That, to a fault, was the knight who lay on one of her infirmary beds. “What ails this poor man?”

“A wolf bite,” said one of the other sisters.

The gaping wound on his thigh was covered with the soothing poultice. More was the pity. Ursula would be happy for  this monster to suffer all the torments of hell for the wrongs he had committed. She nodded sagely as if she considered his predicament. “A sorry tale, sir,” she said. “How did you escape from the ferocious animal?”

“Fought it. So did my lord.” The man’s thick-tongued voice had the roughness of a rogue.

“Dreadful.” Ursula tutted in a parody of sympathy. The sisters began the precise task of bandaging the wound. “And what happened to your lord?”

“He’s here.”

“Ah, God be praised.” Ursula could feel that cursed muscle quiver in her jaw. It always happened when she told untruths. Even good ones. She looked around to cover it. “I must congratulate your lord on his valor. Where is he?”

The knight shrugged. “Went with that girl.”

“Wilfreda?”

“Think so.”

“Sisters, do any of you know where Wilfreda went?” Ursula folded her arms and slid her wide sleeves over her hands, the better to hide her trembling.

“No, Mother,” replied one.

“We went to prepare the poultice while she removed the knight’s torn clothing from the wound,” said the second.

“She did a good job,” said the third, the sister in charge. “But when we came back, she’d gone. I’m afraid I don’t know where. You know Wilfreda, how absentminded she is.” She gave a knowing little smile, then confirmed Ursula’s worst fears. “Happen she’s lost that poor blue-eyed knight, and he’s wandering unaccompanied around the monastery.”

The other sisters tittered.

Ursula thought she might be sick there and then. “Then I shall find her. Enough of your unkindness, Sisters.” She turned on her heel and made for the door.

♦ ♦ ♦

“T-the Abbess’s parlor is up these stairs, sir.”

“You lead the way, Wilfreda.”

The novice did so and marveled once again at her newfound authority. She tapped at the closed door. No reply.

She looked around at the sound of metal sliding over metal. The knight had drawn his sword. She gulped.

“Don’t be alarmed, my dear.” He laid a hand on her arm. “Palmer is a complete ruffian, and I want to be ready for him.”

Wilfreda swallowed hard and tapped again at the door. Nothing. She raised her gaze to the knight’s. New courage she might have, but that didn’t extend to walking into the Abbess’s parlor without permission. “They’re not answering, sir.”

“Or they’re gone.” He shoved past her, flung the door open, and marched inside, pulling her with him.

He was right. The room, flooded with pale sunlight, was deserted, with the remains of the earlier lunch still scattered on the table.

Wilfreda put her hands to her face, brought them back to her apron, clasped them, unclasped them. “I s-should tidy up, sir. Otherwise the Abbess will be angry — ”

The knight booted the door shut with a bang. “She’s not the only one,” he said.

She took a step back at his controlled yet furious tone. His blue eyes, so kind, she’d thought, blazed with disdain.

“Where could they be?” he said.

“I d-don’t know.” It came out as a wail.

His nostrils flared as he paced the floor, sword in one hand. It caught the light in a sharp gleam, near blinding her. “Think, girl. Think. You were with them as they ate.”

“Not all the time, sir. I was in, I was out. Bringing things, like they asked, and, and, I spilled the water — ”

“Oh, spare me the details of your tawdry little life. You are as boring as you are hideous.”

“Sorry, sir.” She bowed her head and waited.

“Now, think. Think. They may have said something, done something. Anything could be important. Just think, girl.”

Wilfreda chewed her lip. “They talked about a letter.”

“What letter?”

“I don’t know, sir.” She raised a shaking hand and pointed toward the chest. “M-mother said it was in there.”

He was to it in four strides. He bent down, pulled open the lid, and spilled the contents across the floor. Picking up a rolled paper, he opened it out and read it without saying a word.

Oh, Lord, was this any help? “S-sir?”

He tucked it beneath his surcoat. “Wilfreda.” His kind smile was back.

Her knees buckled in relief. “Will this help you find your betrothed, sir?”

The knight’s smile broadened even further. “It is more help than you could possibly imagine.”

“Oh, g-good.”

He held up a finger and beckoned to her. “Now, come over here, my dear. I want to say thank you.”

♦ ♦ ♦

Theodosia sat astride Quercus in the stable yard as Benedict stood holding Harcos’s reins.

“How much longer do you think the Abbess will be?” he said. “I want to get a good few miles in before darkness falls.”

“Be patient. I’m sure they’ll be here soon.” Theodosia cared not. She used these last precious moments to savor the atmosphere of the Abbey, with its safety, its security, before she was cast out into the harsh world once more. The world of sin, of danger. She took a deep breath to try and collect herself. As Reverend Mother said, the world where she might find her mother, her one consolation in this terrible quest.

“She’s only gone to arrange some food,” said Benedict. “What on earth could be keeping her?”

As if conjured by his words, Mother Ursula came through the archway that connected the yard to the abbey. But she bore no bags, no baskets. She hastened to them as if chased by a foam-mouthed dog.

“They’re here,” gasped the nun.

“Who are?” said Benedict.

“Le Bret. Fitzurse.”

Theodosia went rigid. “But how — ”

“They asked for sanctuary in the infirmary. Le Bret has a huge wolf bite at the top of his leg,” said Ursula. “Ride. Ride for your lives.”

Benedict swung himself up into saddle.

Theodosia collected Quercus’s reins and felt him respond, ready to set off. “Do they know we’re here?”

The nun raised despairing hands. “I fear so. Fitzurse befriended my servant while she tended le Bret for a wolf bite.”