Protected by the Warrior

“I doubt Rowena would be so fortunate,” Clara answered. “Besides, as a new mother, would she survive a simple beating?”

He remembered Ediva’s struggle in childbirth. Nay, this Rowena would not have survived a beating had it come directly after childbirth. But it had been at least a month since the child had been born. Surely Rowena had recovered sufficiently to bear her punishment now. He asked, “And you aiding her? What would your punishment be?” In Normandy, those who abetted runaway slaves were often punished more harshly than the slaves themselves. Though the king had abolished slavery, the Normans here would have brought their punishments with them. Aye, Clara was also in danger.

“My punishment is not important. I am pledged to save lives.” She shook her head, flame-colored hair dancing like a fresh fire. “As a soldier, you wouldn’t understand. You take lives. You don’t save them.”

He bristled, his teeth set on edge by her accusation. But he would not be drawn into a useless argument. There was nothing more sinister here than a child who’d slipped from the cook’s supervision. “At least all is well, then.”

She flung out her arm in the direction of the doorway. Her cyrtel, simple and faded, swished out with her. “Nay, all is not well! You’ve terrified my sister, and look what you’ve done to my door!” Her words, like her hand, sliced the air with alarm.

He turned and cringed briefly at the sight before him. He’d not meant to batter down the door, but ’twas an old thing, brittle with age and weather. The sun had beat down on it for too many years. Now it lay in splinters, good for nothing save kindling.

His heart sank. The surge of fight in him a moment ago had cost Clara much. Good solid wood was saved for the keep, for defenses and strongboxes. The most Clara could hope to purchase to replace her door, should she have the money, would be a mix of discarded pieces patched together, something that wouldn’t hold up in any of the storms they’d see during the coming winter.

And even now, the night’s chill rolled unhindered into the tiny hut, one draft fluttering the lamp’s flame. He swallowed, then straightened. “I will replace it on the morrow.”

“With solid, quality wood, reserved for the keep?”

He groaned inwardly, knowing the cost and his duty to pay for it. “Aye, solid wood.”

“And what of tonight? ’Tis cold out.”

“Burn the scraps we have here.” He glanced around, spying the worn yet laundered curtain the old midwife had used to separate her sleeping chamber on the far side of the hearth. He pointed to it. “Use that for a door tonight.”

“And what about safety? You were quick to draw your sword, so you know of the dangers that night can bring.”

He had been quick to draw his sword because he’d thought that someone had broken into her home. “Very well,” he said. “You and Brindi build a fire and share the pallet in the other room. I will sleep in front of the door.” He’d planned to do so, anyway. Nighttime would have been a perfect opportunity for her to slip out to visit Rowena. He had planned to use her table as a bed, as was the custom of many soldiers.

But considering what he’d just done to the door, ’twould be wiser, not to mention warmer, to set the table on end to block the nighttime draft. “I’ll use the table as a door.”

With a heavy sigh, Clara began to gather up the scraps of wood, cradling them in the crook of her left arm, but keeping her fingers curled. Brindi, with one eye on Kenneth lest he draw his sword again, reached out to snatch up a few pieces, also.

Kenneth sagged. ’Twas not the way this evening was meant to go. Aye, his few meetings with Clara today had not gone favorably at all, but if he was to discover where Rowena was, or to convince both Clara and Rowena that the child was better off with his father, acting as he had just now was the worst plan of action.

As Clara kindled the fire, he hefted up the table and blocked the doorway with it. Soon, the hut glowed with heat and light, a welcome sight for all three. Clara herded her sister into the other room. Then, with a cautious and oddly fearful look on her face, so different from what he’d seen on it when they met in Colchester a month ago, Clara drew closed the curtain that separated the rooms.

Had it only been a month? He’d gone to Colchester to escort Clara back. The tension in the town that day had been rife, but no one had said a word as to why. He’d just assumed it was Clara’s fiery personality that had made the others eager for her departure, but of course, now he knew differently. Still, she could take a lesson or two from Lady Ediva, who, though strong-willed, was gracious and not given to flares of temper.

Once the makeshift door was set firmly in place, Kenneth turned. This hut seemed to be some combination of two buildings, with the hearth and its chimney wall shared by both rooms. The sound of Brindi’s quiet whispers rolled through the space above the crackling fire. Kenneth could barely hear Clara’s soft, soothing answers. Deciding to ignore them, he wrapped his cloak around him and stretched out in front of the upended table, his back to the fire and his heart heavy with the knowledge that he’d nearly killed the baby sister of the woman he was sent to guard.

* * *

After bedtime prayers, Clara tied her spare sleeping cap under Brindi’s chin and settled her sister on the pallet. Just before curling under the furs they used for bedding, she peered furtively through the flames to Kenneth’s back. With the exception of her family, never in her life had she had a man sleep in such proximity. And yet, she felt safe. Safer than she would have if they’d used the curtain as a door.

Any manner of beast could have wandered into her home. Bad enough that one of the stray cats had slipped in one morning a week ago and, after having been trapped inside for the whole day, had torn her home to shreds. And there were wild dogs and rodents and who knew what else out there in the night—

Goodness, though, Kenneth had broken down her door, then simply grabbed her table as if ’twere a child’s toy! And before that, he had threatened her sister with his sword. He may be protection against wild beasts, but who would protect Clara and Brindi from him? Mayhap she should have insisted he sleep on the other side of the door.

Nay, she knew the night air was unhealthy. And she’d long ago decided that she would not cause harm to anyone. Her aunt, gone now two years, had been Colchester’s best midwife and healer. She had insisted, when Clara made her decision to become one also, that she pledge to God that she would not harm anyone. Clara took that promise seriously and refused to dissolve it for anyone, even surly Norman soldiers.

She snuggled down against her sister, only now remembering the splinter in her palm. The throbbing heat in it told her it had begun to fester, but ’twas too late tonight to dig it out and cleanse the wound. And she was far too tired and cold to do so.

As with all children, Brindi was warm, and despite the circumstances, Clara was glad she had been found in Colchester and sent to Dunmow. Who knew what Lord Taurin would have done to Brindi had he found her?

She bit her lip. ’Twas an awful situation. And out there, hidden away, closer to Dunmow than Colchester, was Rowena. Clara would have to make sure that Taurin never found her. And never learned she and Brindi were here in Little Dunmow, despite there being only a day’s journey on horseback between the two settlements.

Please, Father, don’t let the guild masters tell Lord Taurin anything!

* * *

Daylight had begun to bleed into the sky when Clara, waking, eased herself back from her sleeping sister. Outside, in the coop, her rooster crowed, boldly announcing the new day.

She turned, sensing heat on her cheek. Surprisingly, a fire blazed in the hearth, its flames dancing around her best kettle, which hissed with steam.

She peered through the hearth to see the table righted and the doorway clear, with early-morning freshness rolling in to mix with the fire’s warmth. But no one was in sight. Where was Kenneth?

Clara rose, slipped past the curtain and stepped outside. Long, dark shadows stretched from the forest behind her house, shading her garden. She spotted Kenneth to her right, easing up the hatch to her chicken coop at the far end of the garden. The hens inside cackled their disapproval.

Though he still wore his clothes from yesterday, they had been brushed and straightened. His dark tunic and lighter leggings fit him well. She could see strong muscles along his back as he reached into the coop.

“Shh, ladies,” he cooed softly. “I just want a few eggs. You can spare them.”

Clara shoved her hands on her hips. “But I cannot!”

The hatch slammed shut and Kenneth spun, his hand dropping to his sword. Clara rolled her eyes. Only a soldier would take his sword to the henhouse for eggs.

“I was going to coddle you some eggs, but your hens are reluctant to move off their nests. I think I’ve upset them.”

“They’re fussy old women. I usually let them set for a while and come back when the sun is above the trees.” She looked up. “The sky is still clear. Was it cold for you last night?”

“I’ve slept in colder spots.”

She was glad to hear that, for all he’d had to keep him warm was his cloak, which was now tossed over his shoulders. Slipping past him, she lifted the hatch and propped it up with her shoulder to ease her hand under the hens’ warm bodies for their eggs. One old bird pecked her in defense, and Clara hastily recoiled. Automatically, she reached out with her left hand and received a sharper peck that time.

“Ouch!” She jumped back quickly, and the hatch slammed shut on her festering hand. She cried out again.

She stepped away, curling her stinging hand and biting her lip. Her palm hurt far more than it should from a simple splinter, and seething with the pain, she marched away from the coop, toward the corner of her hut, where the sun’s rays were reaching into the village and she could get a better look at her wound.

There, she peered down at her hand and sagged. The skin was red, shiny and open. The splinter site angrily announced that the wooden door to the dungeon had been filthy. Such filth had caused her flesh to fester. When she reached down to touch the skin with her finger, it felt smooth and hot.

“Let me see it.” Kenneth came up behind her and took her arm.

She fisted her hand and pulled it closer to her chest. “’Tis nothing but a scratch. The hen startled me, ’tis all.”

Kenneth shook his head. “If there is nothing there, then there is nothing to hide.” He firmly turned her wrist, easing up only when he noticed her grimace. “But if you are injured, you will need to have it cared for.”

“’Tis only a small cut.”

Kenneth tilted his head and raised his brows. “You say you pledged to do no harm, but you’re harming yourself. Therefore your word is about as healthy as that hand.”

Reluctantly, hating his rationale, she opened her fist. Kenneth frowned. “I’ve seen worse, of course, but a wound like this must be cleaned before it can heal.” His tone softened and he met her gaze with dark, unexpectedly warm eyes. “You’re a midwife, Clara. You should know that.”

“Aye, I do! Yesterday, ’twas not so bad, so I decided to wait until the light of day to pick out the wood. It has worsened overnight, unfortunately.”

“And it’s begun to fester. If you ignore it, ’twill cause a red streak up your arm and you will get very sick.”

She looked up at him. He knew a lot about injuries for a soldier. He must have seen plenty of them. “I know about the blood fester. My aunt would have used a leech on it, which are plentiful in Colchester with the Colne River close by. But I have none here. I’ll have to use that water you’ve heated to open the wound and dig out the splinter.”

“Nay, I’ll do it. You’ll probably shake too much. Do you have any salve? Honey would be best, but I fear it’s been in short supply lately and best saved for new cuts that have been cleaned.”

She blew on the hot flesh. “You sound like you have experience. Aye, honey works best before a cut begins to fester. In a copper pot above the hearth is a salve. It smells awful, so I usually mix it with wintergreen, which also helps to cool wounds. That’s in the clay pot beside it.”

He looked around, spying a bench along the low front wall of the hut. “Sit down and I’ll get what I need.”

“My thanks.” She sat. “But you’re a sergeant at arms, not a healer. How do you know of these things?”

“I have had to stitch many a wound. I recently sewed up Lord Adrien’s leg.”

“He fought here before I came?”

“Not in a battle, but against those who had tried to take over the keep and kill Lady Ediva.”

She bit her lip. “I had heard about a danger to Lady Ediva, but thought the old midwife had been responsible. Surely she hadn’t stabbed Lord Adrien?”

He shook his head slowly. “Nay, I believe she sought to stop the fight and was murdered for it. I will tell you the whole tale another time. First we need to clean that wound.”

Kenneth stopped at the corner and turned. “Your aunt was a healer and midwife, also?”

“Aye. My mother sent me to be with her years ago, and I learned the skills from her.”

“Where did you live before?”

“By the sea. My father was a fisherman.”

“Was?”

“He went out on his boat one day and didn’t return. My mother had too many children to feed, so she sent me off to my aunt in Colchester.”

“Is your aunt still there?”

Clara shook her head, not trusting her voice to explain. She’d tried her best to save her aunt’s life, but in the end, had lost the woman who was more of a mother to her than her real mother.

Finally, she dared to speak. “She died several years ago, and I took over her home and the craft.”

“Craft? You make it sound like midwifery should have its own guild.”

Her eyes flared. “We should. Too many people think only the lowest class of woman should be a midwife or a healer. With a guild, we would have more protection.”

“Healers with their own guild? What nonsense. ’Twill never happen.” He disappeared around the corner before she could snap back that such would happen someday.

A short time later, she was settled on the bench and Kenneth was dribbling hot water on the wound. She sucked in her breath. It stung like a bouquet of nettles. But with the small blade from her healing kit, he deftly coaxed the filthy splinter from her tender flesh.

“Let me mix the salves.” He returned a moment later with a dollop of mixed salves on a clean strip of linen. “You’re right when you say that one stinks. It smells like cattle.”

“’Tis ox gall. I found it in the old midwife’s things. ’Tis very effective, so it must be quite fresh.” She looked up at him. “Is Brindi still asleep?”

“Aye. She would have been exhausted, having traveled so far yesterday.”

“She’s used to riding, but I doubt they’d have given her a mount of her own. Poor thing, she must have been terrified. Clinging to the courier’s clothing.” Though the ride to Colchester took not quite a full day, it would have been long for a child.

Sitting down beside her, Kenneth dipped his forefinger into the salve and began to spread it on the wound, eliciting a quick indrawn breath from Clara. “Do you think she would have thought they were taking her to Lord Taurin?” he asked.

Clara pulled back her hand. “How much do you know of Lord Taurin and Rowena?”

“Only what I read in the message Lord Eudo sent. She was pregnant when she ran away. You took Rowena in for the rest of her confinement. The babe was delivered safely, and you have concealed the mother and child ever since. I’m sure if you asked Lord Adrien, he would allow you to read the missive, also. My lord is a fair man and believes that a person deserves the right to face his accusers.”

“’Twould do no good to ask for that, for I cannot read.”

Kenneth hesitated. “I saw labels on your pots, written in English. How did you know about this salve if you can’t read the label?”

“’Twas the old midwife’s labeling, not mine. She even had a book she wrote in.”

“A book? Like a Bible?”

“Aye, though not as thick. It must be a record of her medicines.” Clara shrugged. “Since I can’t read it or the labels, I had to test the contents of each pot first to find out what each contained.”

“How? By tasting? ’Tis dangerous.” He sniffed the salve. “Not to mention quite disgusting.”

“I know most healing substances by smell and texture.”

Kenneth fell into a heavy silence as he continued his work. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Nay, I think there is. Your mouth tightened when I mentioned the book.” She studied him. “Why should it bother you?”

He paused in his ministrations and looked up at her. She drew in her breath. How did she get so close to him? Aye, he was handsome to look upon, and indeed she was tempted to reach out and stroke his cheek. To discover for herself if the burr of his short beard was as rough as it looked.

Nay! He was an unwelcome guest forced upon her. He said he was here to protect her. Only a part truth, she was sure, for she knew he would side with Taurin should the man arrive and demand Rowena. She’d dealt with this back in Colchester when the guilds had met and told her that Rowena’s life was not worth the wrath of the Normans. Clara disagreed. If not for Lord Eudo’s sergeant at arms ordering Taurin’s men out of the town, she would have surely ended up jailed or in the stocks until she revealed the location.

Clearing her throat, she focused on Kenneth as he straightened the strip of linen. “What is so bad about that book?”

“I cannot say for certain. Lord Adrien and Lady Ediva were poisoned before you came. I think ’twas also why the old midwife was murdered.” He paused. “The man knew she would reveal his guilt, for only he knew where to find the poisons in her stock of medicines.” He looked directly into her eyes. “Where did you find that book? What have you done with it? We searched for proof the midwife stored poisons, but we couldn’t find any. I suspect that Lord Adrien would prefer it be burned after all he and Lady Ediva endured.”

“I found a box buried in the corner near the hearth. I noticed the dirt was softer there.” She shifted away. “When I saw that the ground was disturbed, I dug and found the box. In it was the book.”

He was nearly done wrapping her palm, and he quickly finished. “Did she make this book herself?”

“Mayhap. Someone had cut parchment to small squares and sewed them along one edge. But ’tis only a few pages and is very old.”

“What does it say? Is it a ledger?”

Clara yanked back her arm. “I told you that I cannot read.” She looked down at the wound. It throbbed less now. Kenneth had done a good job and the wintergreen had cooled the site. She looked up at him. “My thanks. But you still have a door to replace.”

“Aye, ’twill be done. I honor my pledges.”

Noise sounded from within the hut, and Clara stood. She’d been altogether too close to Kenneth as he tended her wound and was now glad for the diversion. “Brindi’s awake. We need to start this day. I have much to do, and you should return to the keep. I am sure Lord Adrien will need you.”

“Nay, I’m staying with you, Clara. If Lord Taurin should come looking for the woman you’ve seen fit to hide, then you would be in the most danger. We both know the punishment for those who defy the king.”

“Lord Taurin is not the king.”

“But he has influence with him. King William could give him a writ to do whatever is necessary to find Rowena, because she has defied a Norman.”

He wiped his hands on a portion of a remaining dressing he’d brought out with him. His voice then dropped as he shot a sidelong glance in her direction. “Of course, ’twould be best for all if you simply told me where Rowena is so I can deliver the son to his father for his own best interests.”

Chapter Four

Clara flew to her feet, fury surging up with her. “How dare you even think I would simply blurt it out! Is that your true reason for being here?”

“Nay, I am here to protect you. Mayhap even from yourself!”

“You know nothing of this situation, save what was written in some Norman missive penned by a Norman. And his understanding of the situation was told to him by some treacherous guild masters! None of you know what Rowena has endured. And you think you can simply ask me to betray a woman I have pledged to keep safe? Are you addled?”

For the briefest of moments, Kenneth looked bewildered. Clara wondered if she’d switched languages. So far, their conversations had been totally in English, which he spoke well enough, albeit with a heavy accent.

Then the moment ended. Whatever Kenneth was thinking at that moment was gone. He rose, standing a full head above her, his long, lean form looking far stronger than she’d first realized. “I am not addled, woman,” he ground out. “’Tis as obvious as the nose on your face that the son needs his father, and that the mother, with barely two coins to rub together, cannot provide for him properly. Even King William’s mother knew enough to allow William to be raised by his father’s people. Given to his father, Rowena’s child would have food in his belly and clothes on his back!”

“Aye, food from a brutal father who would wrench mother and child apart, then kill the mother? I expect you feel ’tis fine for a man to use a woman, then kill her when she stands up for herself! And you think that a child only needs food and clothing? Nay, you know nothing of family life! Nothing!” Her voice cracked. “A child needs its mother. Believe me when I say that!”

She then threw up her hands. “Why am I even talking to you? You’re a soldier who knows only encampments and battles and polishing mail for your master!”

He laughed, a hearty, bold outburst that proved he was genuinely enjoying himself! Immediately, she felt herself bristle, her face heating while humiliation burned inside of her. Her mother had often said that redheads had hot brains that caused their hair to be such a fiery color. Well, her brains were very hot right now!

Finally calming, Kenneth shook his head. “Oiling the mail of as fine knight as Lord Adrien is a privilege, not a duty for a fool. My lord has taught me too many important things, and I am privileged to pledge my life to him.” His smile dissolved, replaced by a dark stare. “And be thankful that even though I threw you in the dungeon yesterday, I will also lay down my life for you, for this I have pledged to my lord to do.”

She would not be lured away by the sudden turn of his temper. Scoffing, she tossed up her bandaged hand. “What nonsense! I am but a Saxon midwife. You make me sound like a precious princess to be protected.”

“I know nothing of fine ladies and fancy princesses,” Kenneth answered. “I only know that I will protect you.”

A part of her leaped inside, but she would not be like a young girl taken by charming words. “Until Lord Taurin arrives.”

“Thanks to your stubbornness, woman, Lord Taurin may be on his way here right now! Led here by the townsfolk of Colchester. Your people.”

She stilled, then swallowed. Aye, she’d pledged to keep Rowena safe, and her baby with her, and aye, she’d die in order to keep such a pledge, but what if Taurin was on his way? What would happen then? Her own people would have turned on her, leaving her to the mercy of Taurin and his men.

Her heart squeezed. Then the question would be, could she keep Rowena safe? What if Taurin attacked the keep? She’d pledged to save lives, not cause them to be lost in battle.

Dear Lord, guide me and keep Rowena and her babe safe.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she sank onto the bench. For a long moment, she just swallowed and thought and rethought all that was happening. Then she felt a soft hand on her shoulder and looked up to find not Kenneth offering sympathy, but Brindi. Through watery eyes, she saw Kenneth frown with curiosity behind the little girl.