The Truest Heart (3 page)

“How such a man commands loyalty, I know not.”

“I fear gold can make many a man beholden to the sway of the king’s wishes. And no doubt there are other ways as well.”

‘Twas the hand of fear that Baldric referred to— they both knew it. “And no doubt King John has employed such ways,” said Gillian, “and of a certainty will yet again!”

Brother Baldric glanced at her sharply. “I pray you, Lady Gillian, let us speak no more—”

Gillian heard no more, for just then a fierce wind ripped away his voice and stole it aloft; snatching at the voluminous folds of her mantle, the gust sent her hair rippling behind her like a streaming pennon, even as it pushed her back a step. The fingers of one hand clutched at the fastenings of her mantle to keep it from being torn from her shoulders. It was plain, of woven wool, as was her gown; there had been little time to gather her belongings that night at Westerbrook, and Papa had directed that she take warm clothing. With her other hand, she tugged a sable skein of hair from across her eyes and fought to regain her balance and her breath.

Still gasping at the icy sting of the wind, she felt Brother Baldric stop short as well. But it was not the wind that brought his step to a halt, and a stricken cry of horror to her own lips …

The storm had left its legacy.

They had just rounded the massive boulder that guarded the cove. Splinters of wood littered the beach beyond. Here and there, ragged swatches of sail clung to the rocks, fluttering in the breeze.

And the bodies of several men.

“Last night’s gale,” Brother Baldric’s tone echoed her own shock. “It must have carried the ship too close to shore.”

Before she knew it she was standing beside first one body, then another and another.

Shocked, she stared down into faces robbed of the vigor of life, white and pallid and bloated, their lifeless eyes turned to the sunbleached sky. Her stomach churned, as surely as the waves had churned throughout the gale. It was only too easy to envision the helpless frailty of their ship against the momentous forces of the sea—perched dizzily atop the crest of a wave, hurtling through the air, battered against the rocks that rose like jagged teeth just off the headland. Any craft, no matter how sturdily built, would have been as fragile as dried tinder.

“Do you know them, Brother Baldric?”

Baldric shook his head. “Nay. They are not from this area, I’m certain of it.”

Refuge. The word played anew through Gillian’s mind. Was it refuge these men sought as they sailed around the point? Yet there was no refuge for these men. Or perchance their families even now were patiently awaiting their return …

But they knew not that they were dead. Gillian felt sick at heart, sick to the very depths of her soul.

Something of her feelings must have been displayed. Brother Baldric shook his head.

“My lady,” he said gently. “Do not look like that. You must remember, it is—”

“I know. God’s will.”

“Aye,” he said heavily.

“Forgive me, Brother Baldric, but I cannot help but wonder at God’s ways.” She could almost hear the vengeful pounding of the waves surging against the rocks. A guilt like no other shot through her. She had cowered in her bed, fearing for her safety, while these men had perished so very near! Had they been alive, any of them, as the perilous waves carried them to this place upon the sand? Ah, but they were so very close …

If only she could have warned them of the danger of the rocks! If only she could have saved them. But alas, if they had been alive, the wind had masked their cries. And so, she hadn’t heard them. Could she have saved them, if she had?

Her gaze rested upon the last man. Unlike the others, his eyes were closed. Heedless of the wet sand that soaked her mantle and gown, she slipped to her knees. Reaching out, she brushed the gritty sand from one lean cheek. The grayish pallor of death was upon his skin, yet it struck her that he was not so cold as she’d thought he would be. Was it merely the warmth of her own hand? Or but a wish so fervent it might have been true?

“A pity all of them died,” Baldric lamented sadly. “I shall see to it that they are buried in the churchyard.”

Gillian heard, but only distantly. Her attention was captured solely by the man next to whom she knelt.

Nay, she thought vaguely. It could not be. Shock stole her breath, the very beat of her heart. She could have sworn there was the veriest movement beneath her fingertips. But she did not snatch her hand back as every instinct compelled that she do.

“This man is not dead,” she said faintly. “He is alive … Brother Baldric, he is alive!”

Chapter 2

Brother Baldric stood numbly. His fingers knotted on the ties of his rough gray robe. “That cannot be. Lady Gillian, you have only to look at him to see he is beyond salvation.”

“Do not say that!” Gillian’s tone was fiercely adamant.

As if he heard, the man turned his head ever so slightly. A low moan emitted from lips that were dry and cracked, the sound long and raspy and filled with torment.

Brother Baldric still had yet to move.

“Brother Baldric, you must help me! Is there someone from the village who can help us move him to the cottage?”

“Aye,” he said shakily. “The miller’s sons Edgar and Hugh. They are strong lads, as strong as any in the village.”

“Then fetch them, Brother Baldric, and hurry!”

Baldric did not move. A shiver played over him. This man lay helpless in the sand—unable to move, unable to speak—and Baldric could not take his eyes from him …

“Brother Baldric!”

The urgency of her tone must have finally gotten through to him. With a nod he set off toward the village as quickly as his legs would carry him.

By the time he returned with Edgar and his brother, Gillian was nearly as pale as the man at her knees. Her tone low, she directed that the pair take him to her cottage. Within minutes, the man was lying on her straw pallet in the corner.

In troubled silence she and Baldric watched as Edgar and the other youth deposited the man on the bed. Baldric nodded his thanks before they departed. And when Gillian nearly scurried forward, he laid a restraining hand on her arm.

“My lady, wait.”

There was something in his tone that made her regard sharpen. “What is it?”

He nodded toward the man lying prone. “My lady, I must remind you … we know not who this man is. This may not be wise.”

“Brother Baldric, this man is injured!”

Baldric slipped his hands into the sleeves of his robe, his expression both grave and torn. He stared with shadowed eyes at the man stretched out upon the pallet. Heavily he spoke: “May God forgive me,” and he briefly cast his eyes heavenward. “You should be wary of taking this man beneath your roof, for what if he knows that you are Lady Gillian of Westerbrook? In truth, I know this man not, yet I sense danger.”

Gillian gave a shake of her head, sending a spray of dark tendrils across the delicate curve of her cheek. She brushed at it impatiently—and replied thusly as well.

” ‘Tis not possible that he knows who I am.”

“My lady, what if it is?”

“Nay, ‘tis not.” Clearly she shared none of Baldric’s qualms. “This man was on a ship that was merely passing by, on its way to Wales or Ireland, mayhap. Besides, how could anyone know I am here on this far reaching corner of England? We were careful on our journey here. We spent the nights either out in the open or beneath the roof of the church. My identity is not my own. Those in the village do not know me as Gillian of Westerbrook. To them I am the widow Marian, come to spend my grief over my husband’s death in seclusion.”

Indeed, the story was one that Brother Baldric himself had concocted. Though Gillian abhorred such deceit, at length she had conceded that it was best.

“Nonetheless, I urge caution.”

She remained adamant. “Brother Baldric, this is unlike you. You have dedicated your life to helping others. Why would you not wish to help this one? He may well die without it—indeed, he may die anyway!”

“Then perhaps it is God’s will.”

“God’s will. God’s will! ‘Tis just as you said a moment ago. It was God’s will that brought the storm—God’s will that brought him here!”

“Aye. There may be some truth in your words. Still, I think we should not abandon caution. My lady, I would not speak ill of your father, for I admired him greatly. Yet when it came to King John, he was rash. We sought to save you by bringing you here. I fear for both you and Clifton … as I feared for your father. And indeed, I can hide it from you no longer. My lady, I have heard rumors that King John searches for you and Clifton—that he has dispatched an assassin.”

She paled. “I do not know why he troubles himself.”

“The king is a vengeful man. And no doubt he is angry still at your father’s attempt on his life—your father and the other man.”

“But this man cannot even move,” she stated with calm. “He can do me no harm.”

Gillian did not abandon her cause but swept an arm toward the corner. Her whole life she was ever one to lend a hand or a word to those in need. Did Baldric not understand her need, her resolute desire to help this man? For the sight of his shipmates, their bodies mangled and bloated, had been shocking. Baldric had gazed upon the solemn face of death many times, as she herself had not. And their desperate flight—and that of her brother Clifton— along with the tragic death of her father so recently, had wrought a change in her. Though she always greeted Baldric with a ready smile, there was an endless sadness that lurked within her now. Baldric frightened her anew with the statement that the king searched for her, but she tried to hide this.

Brother Baldric fretted aloud. “If only I did not have to accompany Father Aidan just now. But alas, those many years while the people of England lay under the Pope’s interdict, there were those who abandoned the Church and have yet to return. ‘Tis for their souls that Father Aidan wishes to minister.”

“And rightly so. It is his duty,” she agreed, “and yours, Brother Baldric.” Her eyes softened as they rested upon him. “As for me, I must tell you, you worry for naught.”

“For naught? You will be alone with this man, this stranger. Oh, I should have had Edgar and Hugh take him to the village instead!”

“It is too far and he is too ill.” She raised her chin, the picture of dignity and grace. ” ‘Tis the right thing to do. The only thing to do,” she stated, the pitch of her voice low and musical. “I must help him, Brother Baldric. I must.”

There was no use in arguing, and he finally agreed that she was right. With a sigh he took both her hands within his. “I must make haste, else Father Aidan will be convinced I have forsaken him. Is there anything you need before I go?”

“Only your assurance that you will keep yourself safe—and Father Aidan as well.”

“And on that score I can only say that I will try. Take care, child. Take the utmost care.”

“I will,” she promised. “May God be with you, Brother Baldric.” Leaning forward, her lips brushed his cheek.

His footsteps carried him to the door. He glanced back over his shoulder one last time. Lady Gillian was already at the stranger’s side, lines of worry clearly writ on the smoothness of her brow. She appeared small and delicate next to the broad span of the man’s shoulders.

Baldric shook his head, his expression grave. He mumbled, too softly for her to hear, “I pray I never rue the day I made this judgment.”

*

Gillian bent anxiously over the stranger. Her pulse clamored wildly, for he was so still. So silent. Fear surged within her like the roiling of the sea. Dear God, was he dead then after all?

Swiftly she laid her ear on the breadth of his chest. Ah, he still lived! She could feel the beat of his heart; it lumbered slow and steady beneath her ear.

Slowly she drew back to look at him. A trickle of water dripped from his temple to the pillow beneath his head. What remained of his clothing was sopping as well. That would not do, she realized. Why, if he remained in these rags, he would surely sicken further.

Without thought, her hands moved to his body. She worked almost frantically at the laces of his tunic, parting it and shoving it aside to reveal his chest, tugging it from first one shoulder, then the other, and finally over his head.

His boots came next, followed by the tattered strips of his chausses. Fumbling a little, her fingers came to his drawers. At least they weren’t completely ruined.

At last he was naked. Perchance a part of her was aghast at her daring, but this was no time for modesty, neither hers nor his.

And so she found out, as her gaze traversed the length of him. Her mind fleetingly registered a wide chest shadowed with curling black hair, limbs that were long and brawny … the unmistakable evidence that he was profoundly—starkly—a man…

Due to the nature of the task at hand, her inspection of that part of him was mayhap a trifle hasty. She guessed that all was well there and he’d suffered no injury nearby, though, in truth, Gillian could hardly be certain …

Now on to the other side.

She pushed and grunted and sought desperately to heave him to his stomach—and failed. Shoving aside the unruly tendril of hair that persisted in falling over one eye, she rocked back on her heels in frustration. Sweet mercy, but he was heavy! ‘Twas not that she was so weak, she told herself. Though her stature was not large, neither was she frail. She’d grown used to hard work while living here. She fetched water from the well and carried wood for the fire, far more than she’d been able to when she’d first arrived. Nay, the man was simply too big! Indeed, his feet dangled over the end of the pallet.

Gillian’s eyes narrowed. Her head tipped to the side in fervid consideration. Finally, she braced herself and pushed beneath his shoulder, peering at the top half of him as best as she was able. Now for the lower half. Biting her lip, she placed a hand on the bony ridge of his hip. Taking a deep breath, she felt her cheeks heat as she deliberately avoided focusing on his nether regions. Gingerly she cupped her fingers under one naked thigh and lifted his leg. In this way she was able to discern those injuries that were visible.