Tender is the Knight (20 page)

             
Richard looked at him. “You,” he said pointedly. “You will go with Thomas and you will kill him. Then you will tell his men that St. Austell has murdered Thomas and lead the siege from within.”

             
Douglas wasn’t entirely enthusiastic about the plan. In fact, he was deeply displeased. “Captain de Bretagne has been very good to me, my lord,” he said. “To kill him is….”

             
“Are you loyal to me or to de Bretagne?”

             
There was only one answer Douglas could give. “You, my lord.”

             
“Then do as I say,” he snapped. “And if you fail, do not return to Launceston. I do not accept failure.”

             
“Aye, my lord.”

             
“Oh, and one more thing.”

             
“My lord?”

             
“Give orders that the knight from St. Austell should be thrown into the vault immediately. Then you will tell Thomas that the man has already departed so he does not suspect what we have done.  I do not want a St. Austell knight running free within these walls. I have plans for the man.”

             
With a heavy sigh, Douglas quit the room. His heart was heavy but he knew he had little choice.  Passing through the darkened entry, he headed out to the bailey to make preparations for departing for St. Austell.  He was so preoccupied that he didn’t notice Thomas standing back in the shadows near the solar door.  It was so dark in the entry that to miss something as obvious as a person standing there would not have been unusual.   Thomas, of course, had heard every word spoken.

             
Leaving the solar under the pretense of departing for St. Austell had only been a ruse. Thomas knew the earl well enough to know the man would not have let his insolence go unpunished, but to give Douglas an order to assassinate him had been a bit shocking. Not unexpected, but shocking nonetheless.  Now, the lines had been drawn.  Now, Thomas knew what he had to do.

             
He would tell Dennis everything.  As of this moment, he was no longer allied with Launceston.  He would beat the earl at his own game even if it killed him.

             
And it just might.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

              “When the arrow penetrated her chest, it punctured her lungs and introduced poison to her
body,” the surgeon said.  “She has a fever now and I fear it may get worse.  Your wife is showing no signs of improvement.”

             
It was early afternoon on an unusually clear day. Dennis sat, ashen-faced, listening to the physic from Falmouth describe Ryan’s current physical state.  Six days after the event, she was growing weaker and Dennis was beside himself with despair. It was like a nightmare he could not awaken from. 

             
“Is there anything to be done for her?” he asked, trying not to sound as if he was begging. “Anything at all?”             

             
The surgeon was a very old man who had been on the crusades with the Lionheart those years ago. Like others in his profession, he had learned much from the Arabs and their mysterious medicines.

             
“I am doing all I can,” he assured the young lord. “I am making a poultice of ingredients I know to be helpful in cases like this.  I am doing all that I can to draw the poison out of her body.”

             
“What kind of ingredients?” Dennis asked.

             
The old surgeon shrugged thoughtfully. “Many things,” he said. “As you have seen, we have cleaned out the wound regularly, which I believe has helped a great deal. Had we not done that, I am sure your wife would be dead by now.”

             
Dennis closed his eyes, trying not to think on the wound cleansing the physic had been doing for days now, rinsing the wound with a mixture of alcohol and vinegar that caused Ryan to scream in pain every time. It was exhausted and horrifying every time the wound needed to be cleaned.   They had just accomplished such a cleaning an hour before and now Ryan remained in a weary sleep with Patrizia watching over her. 

             
“What about this poultice?” Dennis asked, his voice hoarse.  He was so exhausted and distraught that he could hardly think straight. “Tell me what is in it before you put it on my wife.”

             
The old physic began to pull ingredients out of his satchel.  They were in the loft of St. Austell’s keep, now turned into a place for the physic to work his magic.  Dennis, as well as Charlotte and Clive, watched the man with interest.  They were all exhausted and grieved over Lady d’ Vant’s injury.  In fact, Charlotte hadn’t taken off the red shawl since it was given to her.  Even now, sitting next to her brother, it was wrapped around her neck in silent tribute to a woman she no longer hated.

             
“Mustard,” the physic said as he held up a small bag, “rotten bread, and vinegar. I mix it together and it will help draw the poison out.”

             
“Rotten bread?” Dennis repeated with disgust.

             
The physic was firm. “There is something in the rot that heals wounds,” he said. “I have learned my trade well, my lord.  You must trust me when I say that the rotten bread has healing qualities.”

             
Dennis wasn’t entire sure about letting the man put rotten food on his wife.  He looked at Charlotte, who merely shrugged. Then he looked at Clive, who looked about as weary and confused as Dennis was.  Dennis eventually turned back to the physic.

             
“You have seen it before?” he asked, indecisive.

             
The physic nodded confidently.  “Many times, my lord.”

             
Dennis jaw ticked as he thought on the proposition.  As he saw it, there wasn’t much choice.  They had to do all they could. He was torn, so very frightened for Ryan, but at this point he was willing to try anything.  The physic was right; she was not improving. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing her.

             
“Very well,” he said with resignation. “Do as you must.”

             
The physic nodded and went to work on the poultice as Dennis left the loft and very quietly opened up the door to the master’s chamber.  It was dim inside, a fire burning weakly in the hearth, and it smelled strongly of peppermint and cloves.  The physic thought the strong scents helped ward off disease, but it hadn’t worked very well. Poison had claimed Ryan.

             
Patrizia was sitting by the head of the bed, sewing on a garment.  When she saw Dennis, she smiled politely and stood up, moving away to give him privacy with Ryan.  The man had hardly left her side since it happened.  Dennis took the seat Patrizia had occupied as he heard the door shut softly behind him.

             
Ryan was lying on her back, her head turned away from him and her left arm up over her head.  She was sleeping lightly and Dennis took a moment just to look at her; she was as pale as the sheets she lay upon and her right shoulder and both breasts were bandaged tightly with boiled linen.  Her lovely amber hair was braided, courtesy of Patrizia, and there was a faint coating of sweat on her face and neck.  The longer Dennis watched her sleep, the more despair he felt.

             
Never in his life had he known such happiness. He had always been so different from those at St. Austell, those who were supposed to be his family and vassals.  He was big, sensitive, and quiet; everyone else was loud and callous and, at times, reckless.  He never really understood them and they rarely ever understood him.  No one ever completely understood him although Charlotte had tried. 

Then came Ryan; after their initial meeting when things were not entirely smooth, she had eventually accepted him.  She had embraced his ideals and supported him when he needed it.  He had fallen fast for her, and he’d fallen hard. The woman had gotten under his skin and
he felt as if he truly belonged with her. He’d never felt that before.  He loved her a great deal, more than he could express. In fact, he’d never told her, afraid she did not feel the same way. Now, he stood to lose her.  He couldn’t even stomach the thought.

Dennis lay his head down next to her
, praying to the God that so often ignored him, begging Him to spare Ryan.  He was in the process of pleading when the door softly opened and the physic appeared.

“My lord?” he said quietly as he came into the chamber. “I must apply the poultice now.  I will require your help if she moves around too much.”

Dennis lifted his head, wiping away any remnants of tears he may have had. “You only cleaned the wound an hour ago,” he said. “Can you not let her rest for a while longer? It exhausts her so every time you tend the wound.”

The physic fixed him in the eye. “Your wife’s condition is deteriorating,” he said pointedly. “We do not have time to waste.”

With a heavy sigh, Dennis stood up and moved out of the way so that the physic could get close to Ryan.  Patrizia entered the room, carrying a small wooden bowl of the poultice mixture and more boiled linen.  The moment the physic touched Ryan, however, she awoke with a start.

“Nay,” she moaned, trying to move away from him.
“No more, please!”

It broke Dennis’ heart to hear her beg.  He moved around the other side of the bed to both comfort her and hold her still so the physic could administer his treatment.

“I am here, love,” he said, sitting on the bed and putting his arms around her. “The physic is not going to clean the wound. He is going to put medicine on it.”

Ryan began to cry. “Please,” she wept, clinging to him as much as her weakened state would allow. “Please do not let him hurt me.”

Dennis held her as close as he could while the physic began cutting away the bandages with a knife. “He is trying to make you well,” he said, kissing her forehead. “You know I would never let anyone hurt you if I could help it.  We must let the physic put medicine on your wound so that you will get well.”

Ryan was sobbing heavily by that time, clinging to him as the physic, with Patrizia’s help, pulled off most of the bandages.  The wound was revealed, puckered and oozing
, just above her right breast.

“Lay her down, my lord,” the physic said softly. “It looks as if I will have to clean the wound again before I can apply the medicine. It is oozing a great deal.”

Dennis lay her back down on the bed but not without a struggle.  When the physic moved to clean the wound again, they could hear her screaming down in the bailey.

***

Thomas heard the screaming as he entered through the gatehouse of St. Austell.  It was a distant scream and he didn’t give it much thought as he rode into the outer bailey.  His gaze drew in the sight of the interior of a fortress he had been fighting against for many years; the outer bailey was torn up, littered with make-shift shelters for whatever remained of St. Austell troops because their bunk house had been partially burned when Miguel had laid siege.  About two dozen men could occupy it which meant the rest of the men had to sleep in whatever shelters they could make.

It was a mighty fortress that had been kicked and kicked again.  The northern wall had men working on it, repairing it with gray stone and not the red that the rest of the castle was constructed from.
As he and his two hundred men entered the bailey, a knight was there to greet them.

But it wasn’t any knight; it was a big woman in armor with a long red scarf around her neck.  Thomas was momentarily confused as the woman came out to greet him.

“I am Charlotte d’ Vant,” she said, focusing on Thomas because he was leading the column.  “Who are you?”

“Sir Thomas de Bretagne,” Thomas replied. “We are from Launceston. Your man came
a few days ago soliciting our help.”

Charlotte nodded, peering closely at him. “De Bretagne?” she repeated. “Are you related to Lady
d’ Vant?”

“I am her father,” Thomas replied. “I was told she was wounded in the pirate’s siege.”

“She was.”

“How does she fare?”

“Poorly.”

Charlotte motioned for the grooms to begin taking custody of the mounts.  Thomas dismounted, pulling off his gloves as he approached Charlotte.  His weary face was full of concern.

“
How
poorly?” he asked, pain in his tone.

Charlotte could see he was genuinely concerned.
She could also see a bit of Ryan’s features in his weathered face. “I will take you to her,” she said, subdued. “Tell your men to make camp in the outer bailey.”

Thomas issued orders to Douglas, who turned to the men and began barking commands.  Thomas followed the woman in mail through the gates that led into the inner bailey, only to be faced with a small village inside.
Make-shift shelters were built and cooking fires burning.  Dogs and children ran about freely. Scowling, he looked around.

“What goes on here?” he asked. “Who are these people?”
             

Charlotte didn’t even look to see what he was talking about; she already knew. “
Their homes were burned when the pirate attacked,” she said. “They have nowhere to go.”

“And
d’ Vant allows this?”

“His wife told him to.”

Thomas shut his mouth.   The woman led him into the keep, with its great hall filled with soldiers sleeping and eating, and smelling like barracks, and took him up a flight of spiral stairs to a third floor above the hall. There was a loft and two chambers on this dark and musty level. The woman led him to the second door at the end of the corridor and quietly opened the panel.

The room was dimly lit, smelling strongly of something h
e couldn’t quite identify.   He saw a pretty dark-haired, dark-skinned lass sitting by the hearth sewing and, as his eyes adjusted, he saw Dennis sitting near the head of the enormous bed. When Dennis glanced up and saw Thomas, he stood up quickly.

“My lord,” he said, crossing the room. “You received my message?”

Thomas nodded; he couldn’t help but notice how utterly pale and weary Dennis appeared. More than that, his manner was eager and very nearly submissive. He wasn’t at all like the arrogant, stubborn man who had come to claim Ryan. In fact, Thomas hardly recognized him. He was rather shocked.

“I did,” he replied. “How is my daughter?”

The pain in Dennis’ eyes was naked. “Not well,” he said, his throat tight with emotion. “She took an arrow in the siege a few days ago. The physic is doing all he can for her but she weakens.”

Thomas’ sighed heavily, his gaze moving to the still figure on the bed.  Sorrow
weighed heavily upon him. “What happened?” he asked. “She should have been well protected from the battle. What in the hell happened?”

Dennis could sense pain, accusation. “She felt an obligation to the villagers who were wounded,” he said, feeling as if he had somehow failed in his duties as a husband and protector
, and now he was confessing those failures to her father. “When she left the keep to help the wounded, she was struck. Trust me when I tell you that I told her to stay to the keep. I told her not to open the door and to remain safe. Her strong sense of duty forced her to disobey me.”