The Bride Gift (17 page)

“Please?” She gazed up at Guy earnestly. “I must do this and I will not get hurt. You will be there to make sure of it.”

“You had best ensure you do not,” he said. “Or I will beat you, for sure.”

“Thank you.” Helena threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I will not keep you waiting.”

The cottage was still smouldering when they arrived. Utter destruction, everywhere.

Guy caught her bridle. “Look away.”

Helena couldn’t obey. She threw herself from her horse and ran to the figure crouched in the dirt. Around his bent body lay the remains of what were surely his life’s possessions. Broken furniture and smashed pottery littered the ground, clothes flung out across the yard like ragged corpses.

“Peter?” Helena touched the man gently on the shoulder. Blood flowed from a nasty gash, rusty streamers caked to the side of his face and neck. Dead eyes met hers.

“My girl,” he said in a strange, listless whisper. “They got my Flora.”

Helena’s eyes widened in horror. The shock scythed through her middle until she could barely remain standing.

Peter cradled his dead daughter in his arms. Flora’s body lay like a broken poppet across her father’s lap. The child’s skirt had been ripped and pulled above her waist, her nakedness an affront before God. Blood coated the inside of her thighs, staining a young body not yet fully formed.

Gorge rose in Helena’s throat. She tugged gently at the skirt to cover the girl.
Sweet God
, but it was so wrong. The child was not yet ten.

Peter’s head sank over his chest. He rocked his daughter back and forth, slowly. Flora’s eyes stared, frozen in the barbarity of her death.

Such an unimaginable atrocity, it battered at Helena’s mind. A deep, dull rage stirred within her. This couldn’t be.

“Helena?” Guy’s hand was like a brand on her shoulder and she shook it off.

“My girl.” Peter held the limp corpse up to her.

Helena wanted to recoil, but she stood. Her legs shook so violently she didn’t know if they would hold her.

“They got my Flora,” Peter said in his eerie, dead voice. “You take her.” He thrust the child toward Helena. “You take her and help her, my lady. She trusts you.”

The child was pathetically light in her arms, frail as a bird. Around them, the men from Lystanwold moved. The murmur of low words and the clink of armour were apart from her.

She staggered to her feet, clutching the small, broken body to her chest, cold in her arms. Lifeless. She’d known this child. She’d given her sweets on feast days and birthing days, held her hand as they went A-Maying. When Flora had fallen ill with a fever two summers before, Helena and Bridget had brought her to the keep and nursed her there until she was better.

All for naught. The futile rage was like a hand about her neck. She couldn’t breathe.

“My lady?” Geoffrey’s face wavered into view. Her tears blurred his features. “Might I?” He held out his hands for the child.

“Nay.” Helena tightened her hold.

“Geoffrey?” Guy’s voice penetrated the haze. “Get this man on a horse. We need to take him back to the keep.”

“Aye, my lord.” They spoke in hushed tones as if nobody wanted to break the awful silence.

“Helena?” Guy now stood before her. “We must bury the child.” He touched his hand to the side of her face, gently, almost reverently. “You need to give Flora to me so that we can bury her.” His long fingers stroked her skin, warm where she was so terribly cold. “For Peter, we must bury his daughter.”

“For Peter?” His eyes were her only steady point in the shifting carnage all around her.

He nodded. “For Peter.”

With careful hands, Guy took Flora from her. The tiny child almost disappeared in his big arms. Helena trailed them to where Guy’s men had already dug a grave.

“I will have Crispin come and deliver the blessing,” Guy promised. “But a father should not see his child like this.”

“Nay.” It was a vicious affront to life as Guy lowered the child into the freshly dug soil. Children shouldn’t die and in such a manner. With every fibre in her, she wanted to reach out and take the child back from the hungry grave.

They’d never seen Bess lowered into the earth like this. Helena hadn’t held her sister’s broken body, but she’d pictured it too many times to count. She didn’t know if there had been prayers and blessings over Bess because she hadn’t been there. Nobody who loved Bess had been there.

“How long gone?” Guy asked.

“Mayhap an hour,” Ewayne replied.

“Track them,” Guy barked. “Find them.”

His men filled in the grave and he guided Helena away.

“Take Lady Helena back to the castle,” he said.

“Where are you going?”

“I am going to find who did this and make sure they never do it again.” His tone matched the cold within her.

She exalted in his icy anger. It found an answering call within her. There would be blood for blood, a life for a life. “I will come with you.”

“Nay.” His tone remained implacable. “Geoffrey?”

“Aye, my lord.” Geoffrey stepped toward her.

Helena evaded him and faced Guy. She would see this done. This was her fight more than any man here. “I will have vengeance. It is my right.” She was shouting but she didn’t care. Let them hear her, let them know her fury and her pain.

“Make sure she gets there safely, lock her in her chamber if you must, but Lady Helena does not leave Lystanwold.”

Did he not hear her? “
Do not
touch me.” She shoved past Geoffrey to chase Guy. He strode away from her, as if she had no meaning here. As if he could just dismiss her right to enforce justice.

“I will go with you.” She grabbed his arm and pulled with all her might.

“Helena.” Guy’s expression was stone. “Get on that horse and do it now.” The stranger before her made her shudder, but she held firm. “Or by the rood, I will—”

The air suddenly ripped, like the tearing of stiff fabric. Helena spun toward the sound.

The clearing burst into noise and motion.

Guy shouted and leapt toward her. His body hit hers. Something flew past her face, snagging her hair as it went. Guy bore her to the ground.

The breath was driven from her lungs. Motion blurred around her. Ewayne shouted orders. Two men wheeled their horses, hooves tearing up the ground as they mounted.

“Helena.” Guy shook her urgently. “Are you hit?”

“Hit?” Her chest ached where his shoulder had driven her to the ground and it pained her to draw breath.

“The arrow?” he yelled. “Did it hit you?”

“Arrow?”

“Sir Guy!” Ewayne grabbed his shoulder. “The boy.”

“Oh, sweet
Jesu
.” Guy tugged her closer to him as he turned to look where Ewayne crouched.

Geoffrey lay crumpled to her left. The boy blinked in confusion. “I am hit?” he whispered.

Not Geoffrey
. The lad was so gentle and sweet. Helena scrambled toward him. Blood seeped across his tunic in a growing stain.

“Aye, lad.” Guy’s voice grew hoarse as he examined the shaft protruding from Geoffrey’s shoulder. “It is deep,” he said to Ewayne. He clasped the boy by his uninjured shoulder. “I would wager that hurts. Lie still, lad, you do not want to set it to bleeding.”

“Aye, it hurts.” Geoffrey’s breath came short and ragged. “But not too much.”

Tears burned her eyes. God help him, the silly, brave boy.

“We will get you to Lystanwold.” Helena touched light fingers to his forehead. Sweat already beaded his young skin. The effort not to cry was reflected in the tight line of his jaw. “Bridget will fix you right up.”

Guy moved with a terrible swiftness. Before she could protest, he snapped the shaft of the arrow about an inch away from the point of entry.

Geoffrey cried out and slumped into a faint.

“What did you do?”

“It is for the best.” Ewayne spoke from behind her. “This ride will hurt like the very devil, but we need to get him help if he is to survive.”

Guy rose with Geoffrey in his arms as if the boy weighed nothing. “Ewayne,” he called over his shoulder. “I will join you when I can. They will pay for this.”

“Aye, my lord.” Ewayne spun on his heel.

“Helena,” Guy snapped, “you are with me.” He reeled off names, splitting the men until half their company tore out of the clearing with Ewayne. The remainder closed around Guy’s horse, then hers, in a tight circle.

Guy urged Titan into a canter. Helena followed the others, hanging on to her horse grimly. She noted Peter mounted in front of another of the men. Later, she would cry for him and for Flora, but now Geoffrey needed them. If they could save only one thing from this gruesome day, Helena was determined to make it so.

Somebody must have ridden ahead because the keep was ready when they arrived. They didn’t slow as they cantered into the outer bailey and through the curtain wall. Carrying Geoffrey, Guy hurried for the keep as Helena dismounted. Her legs almost gave beneath her. A strong arm righted her and she managed a hasty thanks before she rushed after Guy.

Bridget met her at the entrance to the keep.

“See to Peter.”

“Flora?” Bridget’s thin face creased into lines of sadness as Helena shook her head.

“It was bad,” she whispered. Bridget gripped her shoulder in shared grief. “I think Peter saw it all.”

“God help the poor soul.” Bridget clutched one hand to her breast. “I will see to him.”

“How can I help?” Crispin asked.

“I think you should come with me.” Bridget touched his arm. “And pray they do not have need of you in there.” She jerked her head at the keep.

As Helena ran through the hall, eyes followed her. By now the news would be all around the castle and speculation would run rife.

Willie appeared and kept pace beside her. “Is it Geoffrey, my lady?”

“Aye,” she answered without slowing.

She reached the door to her solar and paused. The chamber was empty. She stood in the corridor a moment, uncertainly.

Willie cocked his head. “They be that way, my lady.”

Rosalind’s chamber was charged with activity. Helena had to quickly sidestep one of the maids as she scampered past with handfuls of bloody linens.

Guy had laid his squire on Rosalind’s fanciful bower by the window. Rosalind bent over the boy, examining his wound and speaking in an intent undertone to Guy.

Helena drew closer. Why had Guy brought him here? She was lady of this keep. Rosalind did not even like Geoffrey.

“You are going to have to push it through,” Rosalind instructed Guy.

The boy looked so young and defenceless. Helena ached to care for him as he deserved. He was hers to protect.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

Rosalind completely ignored her.

Guy looked up briefly, but turned back to Rosalind. “It could kill him.”

Nay
. Geoffrey couldn’t die. She had to get to him and save him.

Guy stood in her way. She tried to get around him, but he shifted, blocking her path.

“It well might, depending on how much he bleeds.” Rosalind bit on her bottom lip, her face grave. “But if you do not take the arrow out, it will kill him for sure.” She kept her eyes on Guy. “It will have to be done swift and sure.”

“What are you doing to Geoffrey?”

“I am trying to save the boy.” Rosalind kept her eyes on her patient.

“I will save him. It is my task.”

“Would it not be easier to pull it out?” Guy asked.

Rosalind shook her head vehemently. “Nay, it is in far too deep and I think it may be barbed. It will do far worse damage if we try and pull it out. You need to get a firm grip on it, Guy, and push it through.”

Helena felt her ire build. It was as if she were invisible.

“
Jesu
.” Guy paled, a few beads of sweat popping out over his top lip. “This is going to hurt, lad.”

Geoffrey’s pain-dazed eyes flickered up and onto his face. His gaze held Guy’s, drawing a kind of strength from his lord.

“Do not touch him.” Helena stepped forward, rounding on Rosalind. “Do not touch him. I will see to him. He is one of my people and my responsibility.”

Rosalind glared at her. “Do not be ridiculous. I am a good healer. I learned from my mother and my grandmother before her. If there is anyone who can save the boy, it is I.”

“You are going to kill him.”

“You know nothing,” Rosalind snapped. “Do it.” She looked beyond Helena at Guy.

“Nay!” Helena stepped betwixt Guy and Geoffrey.

“Helena.” Guy touched her arm gently. “Step aside.”

She reeled as if he’d slapped her across the face. He’d chosen Rosalind over her. Even as some small part of her mind whispered words of caution and good sense, Helena ruthlessly quashed it.

“Will you let your pride cost this boy his life?” Rosalind demanded.

Stung, Helena jerked back. An odd sort of numbness tightened around her throat and spread through her chest. It was like the slow freeze of the pond over the winter. She took another step away.

Guy had hold of the shank of the arrow. He shoved.

Geoffrey screamed and went limp.

Rosalind cried out in triumph as she tugged the bloody arrowhead out of the boy’s back.

“Good.” Rosalind nodded her approval to Guy. “It went clean through. Give me cloths, plenty of them.”

Helena didn’t stay to see what Guy did next. She turned and ran from the chamber.

Chapter 20

The blood hammering at her temples, Helena shut the door to her solar. It slid into place with the reassuring thud of wood meeting wood. She raised the bar and secured it in place.

Her hands shook as she retreated from the heavy wooden shaft. Streaks of gore clung to her nails and her fingers. Peter’s blood, Flora’s blood, even Geoffrey’s, all stained her white hands.

She had to get it off. Helena rushed over to her pitcher and poured water into the ewer. She scrubbed her hands, digging beneath the nails until the water ran pink in the basin. Still, she could smell that dreadful coppery odour of blood and she emptied out the water and poured fresh. She scrubbed again, and again, until the pitcher was empty. The stench still clung to her.