Warwolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 0)(72)

Behind her, she could hear small talk from the knights as they passed into the town. De Russe, riding behind her, came up beside her and handed her a purple flower that he’d ripped from a vine they’d passed. The flower brought a weak smile to her face and she held on to it as they continued into the town proper, past the waddle and daub buildings and the inhabitants of the town who, at just past noon, were winding down their business for the day.

Children ran about, playing, and Camulos found a dog friend to sniff at but the dog ran off, leaving poor Camulos rather bewildered. But Ghislaine didn’t notice any of it; she was starting to feel dizzy as her flaming cheeks and burning eyes raged. It hurt to even keep her eyes open, so she closed them, briefly, to bring them some relief.

Up ahead, Gaetan was speaking to Téo and Wellesbourne about the town and the possibility of finding a physic for Ghislaine. But as they chatted, a shout from behind stopped them.

Gaetan turned around, swiftly, just in time to see Ghislaine hit the ground as she fell from her horse, unconscious.



“When did you say she was injured?”

All nine knights, Jathan, and the silly dog were crowded into a small, grossly dirty one-room hut that was near the Worcester cathedral. Mannig was the man asking the question. The abbot at Worcester had referred the knights to him when they’d shown up at the cathedral door carrying a feverish, half-conscious woman. Mannig was actually an apothecary, not a physic, but he was known to treat the sick and injured and, at the moment, he was the best option they had. The abbot didn’t know of a local physic to refer, so they had to go with the apothecary. Gaetan, greatly distressed by the turn of events, answered the man’s question.

“Three days ago in an ambush,” he said. “What will you do for her?”

Mannig was a tiny man with a bushy beard and a bald head. He was also very old and had seen a great deal in his life, which meant he lacked tact at times. He simply spoke what was on his mind because he had no time for pleasantries.

Moreover, he was looking at nine very big Norman knights and was quite puzzled as to their presence, especially in the heart of Saxon England, but that curiosity would have to wait. He had a sick woman on his hands and the knights wanted answers. When the knight who seemed to be the leader of the group asked the question, Mannig turned back to the bed where the woman was sleeping feverishly and fitfully.

“She has the poison in her,” he said. “It is a matter of taking the poison out and healing her humors. She is in very bad humor.”

He was speaking with a strange mix of his language and Latin terms, which gave the knights pause when listening to him. They were all multi-lingual, as was necessary in these times, but it took them a moment to decipher what he was saying. Even so, Gaetan already knew what the old man was telling them. He was impatient with a fool who spoke the obvious.

“What will you do for her?” he asked again, trying not to sound angry or desperate about it. “And what can we do to help?”

The old man glanced over his shoulder at the patient. “Everything depends on how much poison is in her body. If it is too much, then I can do nothing. But if there is a chance….”

Gaetan cut him off. “Then examine her now. Waste no more time.”

The old man dutifully went to the bed and bent over Ghislaine, peeling back the layers of clothing on her leg. The movement jolted her awake and she slapped her hands over the leg that the old man was trying to uncover, trying to stop him from moving her painful limb. Gaetan, Aramis, and Téo went to the bed, quickly, to calm her.

“Be at ease, little mouse,” Gaetan said quietly, kneeling down by her head and pulling her hands away from her thigh. “We have brought you to a healer. He wishes to inspect your wound.”

Ghislaine looked at him, her eyes big in her pasty face, and shook her head. “Nay,” she breathed. “It is nothing. I must go now.”

She tried to get out of bed but many hands stilled her as the old man finished peeling back her cote and shift to get to the trousers she wore beneath. The entire time they’d been traveling, she’d never parted ways with her trousers, which she was comfortable with, but she’d continued to wear the cotes that Gaetan had given her, making for many layers and an awkward mix of clothing for the lady warrior who had never dressed like a lady.

It had also been part of the problem when the arrow penetrated; there had been many layers to go through, taking many layers with it into her leg. There was a binding around her right thigh, stained with seepage, which the old man carefully unwrapped. All the while, Gaetan kept eye contact with Ghislaine to keep her calm.

“We are in Worcester,” he told her softly. “The priests at the abbey sent us to this man. He will help you.”

In just the past few hours, Ghislaine had gone from lucid and feverish to hardly lucid and burning with fever. The poison in her body was creating a muddled mind and her thought processes were affected.

“The abbey?” she repeated. “Where is the abbey?”

Gaetan smiled faintly at her. “Not far,” he said. “We took you there first.”

“The abbey is still here?”

He nodded to the odd question, stroking her forehead simply because he couldn’t help himself. She was so very sick and he felt so very miserable for her, an odd reaction from a man who had little compassion for anyone other than his men. Even when Adéle had been giving birth to his sons, he’d been away at the time and had spared little thought to the woman who was struggling to bring forth his children. It was cold of him and he knew it, but it was of no matter. There was no emotion involved when it came to his bedslave, a mere possession and nothing more.