Warwolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 0)(67)

“They must not come to Mercia!”

“They are already in Mercia.”

Alary’s eyes widened as he realized what the Norman said was true. He groaned, as if becoming ill. “They are crawling all over the south of Sussex and Wessex,” he hissed. “Of course they are in Mercia!”

Kristoph watched the man closely, hoping this didn’t mean he was about to lose another body part. “Do you want to keep them away?”

“They must stay away!”

“Do you want to keep them away?”

Alary labored to climb up from the dirty straw, staggering because he couldn’t quite catch his balance. He ended up leaning against the wagon to steady himself.

“How do I keep them away?” he finally asked. It sounded like a plea. “Tell me!”

Kristoph felt a huge surge of hope in that question. Maybe – just maybe – he could keep himself alive and in one piece until he had the opportunity to escape. If he could convince Alary that he was of help, that he could help him keep the Normans away, then perhaps that opportunity would come at some point.

Kristoph could only pray.

“I will tell you the secret on how to keep the Normans away,” he said. “But you cannot threaten me any longer. You cannot cut off any more fingers and, for God’s sake, feed me and let me sleep in a bed. Keep me alive and I will tell you how to keep the Normans away.”

Alary was so drunk that he didn’t have his usual steadiness of mind. What Kristoph was offering was quite attractive to him. Even though Tenebris wasn’t actually his but a fortified lodge belonging to his brother, still, it was the only thing he had. He didn’t want to relinquish it. The fear of losing it to the Normans was wreaking havoc within him.

“I will,” he finally said, wiping his running nose with the back of his hand. “What will you tell me?”

“Feed me and we will discuss it.”

One of the best moments of Kristoph’s life was when Alary ordered his equally-drunken men to unchain the prisoner, but he wasn’t so drunk that he left Kristoph unattended. With a drunken four-man escort, Kristoph was escorted over to the smelly, low-ceilinged tavern where he sat on the floor by the hearth and enjoyed a feast of boiled mutton and bread.

But to Kristoph, it was the best meal he’d ever tasted.

He tasted hope.

Maybe he would live through this, after all.

At least, that was what he thought until the next morning when Alary woke up with a headache and no memory of their conversation.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN




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A Fire Within


Nearing Worcester

Worcester was a city that was partially in ruins.

Surrounded by a massive forest and bisected by the River Severn, a waterway that flooded the city now and again, Worcester had seen better days. Tribes had attacked it from the south some twenty years earlier and burned a great deal of it, and reconstruction had been slow because of continued tribal battles that had been going on since the great burning. But the cathedral stood, soaring into the cloudy sky, like a great bastion of hope and faith amidst the ruins of the struggling city.

After leaving Evesham, she was back to riding her shaggy mare, Ghislaine led the knights through trees and meadows towards this downtrodden city. Three days since the arrow strike that had nearly crippled her, she was wasn’t feeling particularly well but she wasn’t one to give in to illness or injury of any kind. The Normans had learned that about her. She’d only ridden with Gaetan the night of her injury when he’d rushed her to Evesham Abbey where the knights had proceeded to tend her – all of them, in fact.

Every one of them knew what she had done to draw out the enemy and save them from an ambush, so in that one swift motion, she’d changed the minds of them all. It had been an act of bravery by a woman like none other. Even de Moray, who had always been so suspicious of her, was now a believer in her honesty and intention to help. Although the price of proving her worth had been high, it had been worth it in Ghislaine’s opinion. It was worth it even more in the way that Gaetan was now being so attentive to her.

But he wasn’t the only one. When it came time to tend her wounds, it was like having nine physics while Jathan simply stood by and watched, praying furiously while the knights dealt with the wound. When they’d reached Evesham after the attack, the priests from Evesham’s cathedral were very helpful and brought boiled linen and medicines, herbal remedies, that promised to help the wound.

Once they were able to take a close look at the damage, they could see that the arrow had missed her bone. It was a clean puncture straight through her leg. Unfortunately, Aramis has been correct – it was a dirty wound. The arrow had pushed leather and fabric into her leg as it traveled and that was something that needed to come out. The knights knew it and so did Ghislaine. As she bit off her groans of pain on a rag, Gaetan plucked out the debris by candlelight with a long set of iron tweezers provided by the priests.

It had been a rather harrowing experience but one that had understandably bonded Ghislaine to the knights. They’d all been wounded at one or more points in their lives so they well understood her agony when it came to cleaning out a wound.

But Ghislaine was strong. She didn’t faint or go into hysterics even when Gaetan put stitches in her leg, and Aramis patted her on the shoulder more than once during the procedure. The big knight with the muddy dark eyes remained by her side until Gaetan’s eyesight began to give out in the weak light and then he took over, cleaning out what Gaetan had missed. When both Aramis and Gaetan were satisfied they’d sufficiently cleaned the wound, it was doused again with wine to cleanse it and honey was applied as a salve to keep away the poison. Gaetan then wrapped it up tightly.