“She never locks her door,” the worried servant was behind him. “She was weeping this morn… I am afraid for her, my lord. She’s not been right since the lord passed.”
That was Tevin’s first inkling as to why the servant seemed to be so worried. It also clarified the boy’s statement of the mother’s door being locked. He rattled the door latch.
“Lady Penden?” he called gently. “Please open the door. We have a good deal of wounded that require your attention.”
He received no reply. Rattling the lock once more, he again spoke softly, asking her to come forth. Still no answer. When the servant began to whine with fear, he took action. There was no time for pensive ponderings or sweet pleas. Something was wrong. Even if there was not, the lady was required in the hall and he would not tolerate her stubbornness.
Tevin was a broad man; though he may not have possessed the lanky height that Brac had, he was nearly twice as wide. The width of his shoulders was the first thing anyone noticed about him. Lowering a massive shoulder, he took a large lead before ramming the left side of his body into the door. The panel creaked and shook, but remained fast. Standing back, he lashed out an enormous booted foot and kicked the latch. The iron twisted. With another kick, it bent further and splintered the wood around it. Tevin gave one last kick, with a grunt this time, and the door swung open.
The room was large and cluttered, but comfortable. Tevin’s dark eyes darted around the room in search of the lady, finally coming to rest on a titian-colored head on the opposite side of the bed. He rounded the furniture, seeing that Lady Penden was sitting upright on the floor, leaning against the bed. Her head was down, staring at her lap. She was unmoving, like stone.
That was enough for Tevin. With a growl, he chased the vexed servant from the room. He did not want anyone else to view the scene.
When the damaged door slammed shut and they were alone, he knelt beside her, trying to assess her state. With all of his other worries, he could have easily become angry that she had added to them. But all he could manage to feel at the moment was extreme concern.
“My lady?” he said quietly. “Can you hear me?”
Her luscious reddish-brown head bobbed slightly. Her hair was askew, covering her features. “Are you injured?” he asked gently.
After an eternal pause, she shook her head sluggishly. “I could not do it.”
He barely heard her. “Do what?”
Her head came up then, the lavender eyes red from crying. There was such pain in the cool depths that it literally reached out to strike him. Then he noticed the dagger in her hand. Tevin gazed back at her, realizing what she meant, feeling more horror and guilt than he had ever imagined possible. He reached down and tossed the dagger to the other side of the room. An examination of her wrists showed that she had slightly cut herself across one of them, hardly enough to draw blood. But the intent was obvious.
“No, no…,” he murmured. His self-control, fed by his emotions, left him and he encircled her in his massive arms. “No, my lady, not like this. You will not meet your end like this.”
She was tense in his embrace, stiff as he held her. But after a moment, it was as if all of the sorrow and confusion she was feeling suddenly vanished when she realized that warm, comforting arms held her. Her arms went around his neck and horrid, deep sobs bubbled out of her chest. Tevin held her so tightly that he was sure he was crushing her. He felt so horribly guilty that this woman felt she had no hope, no comfort, and nothing left that death was her only escape. He shouldn’t have felt responsible, but he did.
She wept like a child as he held her. Though Val was downstairs and in need of help, Tevin felt that he had to spare these few moments for Lady Penden. He’d spared her little else.
“I am so sorry,” Tevin whispered into her hair, not knowing what else to say. “I do not know much, my lady, but I do know death. I have seen much of it. All I can tell you is that this too shall pass, and these dark days will seem less so. You have your son and a host of knights that serve only you. I know that we are a weak substitute for your husband, but we nonetheless support you. The sun will shine again, my lady. You must have faith.”
She couldn’t answer. Everything from the past few days was coming out in torrents of grief. Tevin let her cry, hoping he was at least bringing some comfort by simply being there. He tried to ignore the growing sensation of the pleasant feel of her in his arms. Since that moment when he’d seen her at the chapel yesterday, he’d done nothing but think on her. He’d known other women. He’d even married one. But he couldn’t ever remember a woman that stuck with him the way Lady Penden did. She had a nameless charm that went beyond normal attraction. He was starting to feel like a fiend.
He ended up sitting on his buttocks with the lady clutched against him until the tears would no longer come. It really hadn’t been that long, but to him, it had seemed like an eternity of warmth and compassion. Even when she was silent and quivering, he continued to hold her. It began to occur to him that he wanted nothing more at this moment than to hold her. But that was wrong, and his conscience wreaked havoc within his mind. Had his motives been pure, he would not have been so torn. The fact that he felt guilty for holding her told him that his motives went beyond normal comfort. He was finding some distorted gratification in it. He liked it.
“My lady,” his lips were against the side of her head. “I realize that this is more than likely not the most opportune time to speak on this subject, but we have many wounded in the hall that require attention. Though we can hardly expect our needs to supersede your own, I would consider it a personal favor if you could find the strength to tend the men. They are in great need of you.”
Her arms were still around his neck, her face in the crook between his neck and shoulder. When she lifted her head to look at him, Tevin felt a jolt run through him as their eyes met.
“How selfish of me.” Unhappily for him, she slowly unwound her arms from his neck. As he watched her, she struggled for composure. “Your men are injured and all I can do is think of myself. Forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive.”
She smiled weakly. “I doubt that is the case, but you are kind to say so.” She wiped at her face, erasing the last of the tears. “I am not usually the dramatic type, but it seems that all you have witnessed since coming to Rochester are dramatics and hysterics.”
It was an effort for him to keep his hands to himself. She was so deeply filled with sorrow and his natural compassion begged to wipe away a tear, or squeeze her hand to ensure some measure of comfort. But he would not. He’d done more than he should have already.
“As I told you yesterday, there is no need for any apology,” he said quietly. “You and your family have suffered a great loss. Your grief is natural.”
Her lavender eyes grew steady. As he watched, she seemed to draw on the last reserves of strength she must have held. But it was a fragile composure. “Grief, indeed. But madness… surely there is no excuse.”
She suddenly stood up, prompting him to also rise. The contrasts in their sizes were pronounced. Tevin was easily twice as wide as the diminutive lady and a head and a half taller. It seemed that she had something more to say to him but could not seem to bring forth the words. After a moment, she simply moved for the door and he followed. But she abruptly paused before opening it and he nearly ran into the back of her.
“May I ask a question, my lord?” she asked.
He was hesitant. The last time she asked a question, he divulged details that had almost driven her to insanity. But he nodded. “Aye.”
“Have you ever lost someone close to you?”
“Many people, my lady.”
“May I ask who?”
“My father, my uncle, my older brother.”
“In battle?”
“I lost my father and brother in the same battle.”
She digested those facts. “When you said that these dark days will pass… will they indeed?”
&nb
sp; He nodded, slowly, his dark eyes studying every curve, every delightful contour of her face. “They will appear less so in time.”
“It does not seem like it.”
“I know. But you must trust me.”
She took a deep breath, for strength and for courage, and lifted those magnificent eyes to him. “Your comforting presence has meant more than you can know to me and my family and to that end, I am eternally grateful. To thank you seems wholly insufficient.”
He smiled weakly, feeling humbled. “Your thanks is more than adequate, I assure you.” Then his smile faded. “But you must promise me one thing.”
“Anything, my lord.”
He began to look around as if he’d lost something. Cantia watched as he took a few steps towards the massive wardrobe and reached down to collect the dagger he had thrown. His dark eyes were fixed on her.
“You will never try anything like this again.”
She nodded, embarrassed and ashamed. Opening the chamber door, they made their way down to the hall in complete silence.
Tevin didn’t take any chances. He kept the dirk.
*
Though there were others who were more severely wounded, Cantia’s first patient was Val simply because she happened to be the closest to the door. It took Cantia a matter of seconds to figure out that Val was, in fact, a woman, and her features registered the surprise.
But she said nothing as she examined the patient, determining that she had a few broken ribs and a broken collarbone. Tevin held his sister steady as Cantia and a serving woman bandaged up the ribs and then secured the left arm into a permanent, wrapped position so that the collarbone would heal. It was a relatively simple procedure that had taken less than an hour. But the relief Val, and Tevin felt, was immeasurable.
Cantia had Val moved into the small solar, away from the bulk of the wounded, for the sheer fact that she was female. It was not proper for her to convalesce in a room full of men, even if the woman was dressed like a knight. Oddly enough, Cantia asked no questions of Tevin as to the identity of the female knight. She simply accepted it on face value and moved on to her next patient.
Though Tevin’s attention was focused on settling his sister, he could not help but be distracted by Lady Penden as she moved among the wounded. He was impressed by the fact that she was able to put the needs of others over her formidable grief. It must have been exceptionally wrenching for her to tend men with arrow wounds, knowing her husband had died days earlier in the same manner. But she said nothing, focused on helping those who needed her. From what he’d seen over the past few days from her, he’d expected nothing less.
Tevin eventually accompanied Val into the solar and saw to her comfort there on a bed that the servants had placed near the fire. He was glad that the result of her having been slammed off her charger was just a few cracked bones. In the heat of the battle, it could have been much worse. Val had been given a brew of willow bark that eventually caused her to drift off to sleep somewhere near dusk, at which time Tevin left her alone. He had many others wounded and would use the time to see to them.
The great hall was darkening as evening fell. A fire burned brightly in the hearth, sending ribbons of smoke into the air. As Tevin entered the hall, the first thing he saw was Hunt and his big yellow dog sitting near the fire. The boy had a big piece of bread in his hand and the dog licked at the crumbs on the floor.
“My lord,” Simon Horley somehow had snuck up behind him and he’d never heard him. “How fares Val?”
“She is sleeping,” Tevin replied. “Do you have a casualty report?”
“Nine dead, twenty-seven wounded,” Simon replied. “Considering the fierceness of the battle, I had expected worse.”
Tevin nodded. “Is everyone attended to?”
“Aye,” Simon replied. “Your knights are in the knight’s quarters, awaiting your debriefing.”
Tevin usually gave a small talk after every battle. It was usually to discuss the battle as a whole, how well it was managed, and if there could be any improvements made with skill or manpower or weapons. But tonight, he didn’t feel much like talking about it. Perhaps it was because he had been preoccupied with Val, or perhaps it was because he was too spent. The past few days had been inordinately draining, both physically and emotionally.
“Tell the men to get some rest and we shall speak on the morrow,” he said. “I shall sleep with Val in case she needs anything.”
Simon nodded. “Very good, my lord.”
With a wave of his hand, Tevin dismissed him. At some point, he realized that Hunt was walking over to him, winding his way amongst the wounded on the floor. The yellow dog followed behind. When Hunt reached him, he stood there looking up at him, chewing on his bread.
“Are you hungry?” the child asked.
Tevin shook his head. “Nay, boy. I am here to look after my wounded.”
Hunt took another big bite of bread. “Mam already did that.”
“Where is your mother?”
“In the yard.”
Tevin nodded his thanks for the information and proceeded to the exit of the keep. The kitchens and yard were on the opposite side of the bailey. It took him a moment to realize that Hunt and the dog were trailing after him.
“I thaw the dead men,” Hunt said as they crossed the dusty ward. “Are you going to give them grand funerals?”
Tevin looked down at him, a disapproving expression across his brow. “Why did your mother allow you to see dead men?”
Hunt had finished his bread, but there were crumbs all over his face. He gazed up at Tevin with blue-eyed innocence. “They were in the ward. I thaw them. One of them had arrowth sticking out of him.”
Just like Brac. Tevin didn’t know what to say so it was best that he say nothing. As they neared the kitchen enclosure, he spied a few women in the yard, bent over a large iron cauldron. It was steaming furiously and they were removing pieces of cloth from the boiling brew with big sticks. Even in the darkness of the bailey, he could see great clotheslines of boiled rags strewn all over the yard.
As he stood at the threshold to the enclosure, Cantia suddenly emerged from the warm, moist kitchen with a tray in her hands. She spoke to the servants stirring the pot, asking them to add more lye to the mixture. The bandages were for the wounded and she wanted to make sure that they were clean. Then she spied Tevin and Hunt at the yard gate.
“My lord,” she headed straight for him. “I was just coming to find you. I thought perhaps you might like something to eat.”
As Tevin gazed at her, he quickly realized one thing; he was glad to see her. “And I was coming to find you to discover the state of my wounded,” he said steadily.
“Perhaps we should go into the keep and discuss it while you eat.”
He merely nodded, allowing her to lead the way. Hunt raced to his mother’s side, holding her hand as they retraced their steps across the bailey. Tevin followed along behind, his eyes alternately scanning the ward and scanning Cantia. He tried not to watch her, the smooth sway of her slender backside, instead focusing on their surroundings. It had long been a habit, as it was the habit of most knights, to be constantly aware of his surroundings. Threats often lingered in the shadows. But no threat this night could capture his attention more than Cantia’s graceful figure.
Somewhere during the day, she had donned a heavy linen apron and tied a kerchief around her head to keep her gorgeous hair out of her eyes. The garments were simple, course even, but she still wore them like a goddess. The woman could wear nothing that made her look bad. But more than that, her spirit seemed much improved. She had greeted him with a clear, even expression and had even smiled, however faint. He was pleased to see that she appeared in a better state of mind.
Entering the cool, dark keep, she took the food into a small alcove directly off the entry. It was barely large enough for three people, but there was a small table and an even smaller hearth that smoked and sparked as she set the food down. Tevin stood just ou
tside of the doorway until he realized that she wanted him to come in and sit down. He did so, silently, as she removed the cloth covering the contents of the tray. A large piece of bread, butter, a pitcher of wine and a knuckle of beef await him.
“I thought you said you weren’t hungry,” Hunt was standing beside him, puzzled, as he eyed the food.
He looked at the boy. “Your mother had gone to much effort to feed me. The least I can do is eat.”
Hunt looked up at his mother. “I’m hungry, too.”
She put her hand on his head. “You ate enough for three people earlier this eve.”
“But I’m still hungry!”
Before Cantia could reply, Tevin tore his bread in two and handed the boy a chunk. “Here.”
“Butter, too?”
Tevin indicated the butter and knife, to which Hunt helped himself generously. The lad pulled up a chair and sat next to Tevin, eventually picking at the beef knuckle. Cantia pulled his hand back the first time he tried.
“Nay, Hunt,” she admonished. “This is his lord’s meal. Consider yourself honored that he has shared his bread with you. Do not ask for more.”
Tevin tore a big piece of beef off the bone and handed it to the boy. His dark eyes looked up at her. “The worst I can tell him is no. There is no harm in asking for more. Most ambitious men do that, and then some.”
She smiled, properly contrite. She put her hands on Hunt’s little shoulders. “Thank you for being so kind to him.”
Mouth full, Tevin watched Hunt stuff his mouth with the beef. “He is easy to be kind to. You have raised your son well.”
“Thank you,” she said softly. “His father deserves a good deal of the credit.”
Tevin’s gaze returned to her, watching a melancholy cloud suddenly drift across her face. He moved to another subject quickly. He said the first thing than came to mind.
“Cantia,” he said, pouring himself more wine. “That is an unusual name.”
She struggled not to linger on thoughts of Brac, focusing on Tevin’s statement instead. “It is the ancient name for Kent.”