Serpent (37 page)

“He is with us,” he said, his voice hoarse. “My lady, he was badly injured in the fighting at Aber two days ago. With the help of your father, we were able to break through the English lines in order to bring him home. He is… not well, my lady. Not well at all.”

Ianto’s words hit Penelope with the force of a lightning strike. She went from joyful to shattered all in a split second and, as the others watched, the color drained out of her face. She swayed, grasping at Ianto as if to keep from falling.

“What do you mean?” she breathed. “What are you telling me?”

Ianto was struggling. “My lady, he was….”

Panicked, Penelope cut him off
. “Is he dead? Tell me now!”

Ianto could see the pain in her face; he had seen the same pain
on Bhrodi’s face before the man lost consciousness. It was tragic, truly; such emotion from a man and wife who, under normal circumstances, would have never been. Penelope would have been in her world and Bhrodi would have remained in his. Yet they had come together under impossible circumstances, and something fine was growing between them. Anyone could tell that simply by looking at them. Ianto hadn’t seen Bhrodi so happy in over two years, and now this. He was greatly sorrowed, just like the rest of them.

“Nay, my lady, he is not
dead,” Ianto replied, grabbing her because she seemed to be collapsing somehow. She was difficult to hold on to, like water running through his fingers. “But he is badly injured. We had to bring him home.”

The group had reached the top of the road by now and more horses began thundering in through the gates.
The chaos of their swift arrival filled the bailey with dirt and noise. Penelope let go of Ianto and turned for the incoming party. She began to run, dodging men and horses, until she came to the first wagon that was just starting to enter the gates. Running up to the edge of the wagon bed, she was abruptly faced with her greatest fear.

Bhrodi lay in the bed of the wagon with the little old surgeon, the one who had tended
Kevin and Thomas, hovering over him. He was lying on the wood slats; there weren’t even any rushes or blankets beneath him. He simply lay on the wood, his arms and legs askew, like a poppet that had been thrown to the floor. He was unconscious, sporting several day’s growth of beard, and as Penelope’s gaze moved down his body to see where this horrific injury was, she could see that his entire pelvis was wrapped tightly. Bloodied stains marred the entire left side of wrappings and the breeches of his left thigh were stained and shredded.

Shocked, horrified, Penelope hoisted herself into the wagon bed
. The first thing she did was lean over Bhrodi’s face, her gentle hands on his head as she lifted first one eyelid and then the other. His eyes were bloodshot and the pupils were slow to react to the light. She looked at the surgeon.

“What is wrong with him?” she
demanded. “What happened?”

The old surgeon didn’t speak a lick of English. He simply shook his head. Frustrated, Penelope let out a yell of pure frustration.

“Ianto!” she bellowed. “Someone,
anyone
, help me translate to the surgeon!”

Ianto appeared at the side of the wagon; he murmured a few words to the surgeon, who muttered back at him. Penelope expression was frantic.

“Well?” she demanded. “What did he say? What happened to my husband?”

Ianto sighed heavily. “We were in close quarters fighting with some English knights who had cornered Dafydd in a church,” he said softly. “Dafydd had lost most of his mail and protection in his flight from Edward and was dressed only in rags
. Bhrodi gave him his own mail and weapons, my lady. He gave Dafydd everything except his sword. When a group of English knights invaded the church in search of Dafydd, we bought Dafydd enough time to help him escape by engaging the knights. We were outnumbered and heavily out-weaponed. Lord de Shera was without any mail or protection when he caught a morning star in his lower abdomen. It glanced off for the most part; had it hit him directly it would have killed him. Even so, it tore him to pieces.”

Penelope clapped a hand over her mouth or she would have surely become sick
. In fact, she did gag, a reflexive action to what she knew would be a devastating injury. Unable to recover, she gagged again and this time vomited over the side of the wagon, weeping as she did so. She couldn’t help it; she was shattered and everything was spilling out, fueled by her horrible grief.

“Knights on foot do not use morning stars,” she wept and gagged. “What business did they have bringing that type of weaponry into a church?”

Ianto had been joined by Yestin and Ivor, and they watched Lady de Shera become physically ill at the sight of her husband. It was a tragic sight to behold.

“Two knights were on horseback when they entered the church,” Ianto tried to be gentle. “We had been fighting all around the town for most of the day, so each man was as heavily armed as he could manage. The men on horseback tore the church apart looking for Dafydd, but we held firm and fought them off. Lord de Shera was caught by the morning
star after he had pushed a massive bank of candles down onto several knights, severely injuring them. After that, the other knights made a point of trying to kill him. They nearly succeeded and would have had your father not intervened.”

Penelope wiped her mouth and
returned to Bhrodi’s side. She was trying so very hard not to openly sob but it was difficult for so many reasons; Bhrodi’s injury and now evidence that her father had somehow saved him. She stroked Bhrodi’s dirty hair tenderly.

“What did my father do?” she asked hoarsely.

“He entered the church just after Lord de Shera had been injured,” Ianto replied. “He saw Lord de Shera sent to the floor by the first blow and he shouted at the English knights as they went in for the kill. The listened to your father and they left Lord de Shera alone, but the damage had already been done. Your father helped us remove Lord de Shera and smuggle him through the English lines dressed as an English knight. That is why he only wears breeches and a tunic; he made us take off the English armor as soon as we were clear. He said he couldn’t stand the stench of it on him, not even for a moment, but he remained conscious long enough to thank your father. He thanked him for helping him return to the woman they both loved.”

Penelope put a hand over her mouth to
stifle the sobs but it was of little use; they broke through anyway as she wept her tears of anguish. Collapsing forward, she wept on Bhrodi’s chest, so very broken in sorrow. God, if she had only told him she had loved him before he left, then that would have been of some comfort. At least he would have known. As it was, he had loved her, too, only he’d been too frightened or reluctant or shy to tell her. Maybe he had been afraid she hadn’t shared those feelings. But he had told her father his feelings. That was something to hold on to.

But tears would not heal him
. She was unused to weeping and struggled to stop the flow. She sat up, wiping furiously at her face as if embarrassed by her breakdown. She could see Kevin and Edward and Thomas standing by the edge of the wagon, their sorrowful gaze on Bhrodi.

“Help me,” she pleaded. “Help me get him up into the keep.”

Ianto, Ivor, Yestin, and Gwyllim were all on horseback, all exhausted men that were dismounting in an effort to aid their lord, but the English moved in more quickly; they were rested and strong, and between the three of them, lifted Bhrodi from the wagon bed and very carefully carried him towards the keep. As they cautiously moved him up the steps to the keep entry, Tacey emerged from the structure.

Lured by the sounds of men and horses, she had come out to see what all the commotion was about. One look at her brother, however, had her in hysterics.

“Bhrodi!” she cried. “What has happened to him?”

Penelope rushed up the stairs and put her arms around the girl. “Be calm, sweetheart,” she said quietly. “Your brother has been injured. We will take very good care of him and he will be well
again, I promise.”

Tacey began sobbing, reaching out to touch Bhrodi as they carried him past her and on into the keep. “He looks dead!” she sobbed.

Penelope thought he did, too, but she didn’t voice her thoughts. Her arm was around Tacey’s shoulders as she escorted the young girl into the keep, following the men who were carrying her brother. It was like a funeral procession already, with grief and sadness filling the air they breathed. Rhydilian’s keep was now full of it, bleeding sorrow from the very walls.

The spiral steps leading up to the third floor where the master’s chamber was were narrow and steep, and it was difficult to maneuver Bhrodi up the stairs.
Kevin had Bhrodi under the arms and was taking the steps backwards, moving the man very, very carefully so he would not hit his head, while Thomas and Edward supported his legs and torso. It made for extremely slow going but once they were to the third floor, they carried him swiftly into the master’s chamber.

As Tacey stood by the door and wept, Penelope moved quickly into the room and helped the men settled Bhrodi on the bed
. Keeping busy helped her focus on something other than her grief and she grabbed Ianto as the
teulu
filed exhausted into the room.

“Ask the surgeon what he needs,” she said urgently.

Ianto spoke to the surgeon, who was already crawling onto the bed beside Bhrodi and fumbling with his bandages. When the little man murmured in return, Ianto turned to Penelope.

“Hot water,” he replied. “He also needs his medicament bag, which I will go and retrieve. He also says to bring great quantities of wine.”

It was an odd request but Penelope didn’t argue. She ran downstairs and grabbed two of the old serving women, explaining what had happened. The old women ran off in a flurry to collect necessary items and Penelope raced back up the stairs and into the master chamber where Bhrodi was evidently starting to come around. She could hear his low, slow voice and she ran to the bed, a massive lump in her throat when she tried to speak.

Bhrodi, barely conscious, had been roused by all of the movement. His eyes were muddled and his entire body had an oddly numb feeling to hit, but the moment Penelope appeared in his line of sight, it was as if all else faded away
. All he could see was her. He stared at her a moment before speaking.

“Are you real?” he whispered.

Penelope slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from sobbing as she nodded her head. “I am,” she said tightly.
              “I thought I may have dreamed you.”

“You did not dream me. I am real.”

Bhrodi lifted a weak hand in her direction and she collapsed on the bed beside him, taking his hand in hers. Bhrodi, seeing the tears streaming down her cheeks, shushed her softly.

“No tears,” he muttered thickly. “Knights do not weep.”

Penelope couldn’t help it; his statement made her cry harder. “I am not a knight,” she said. “You do not need another knight. I am your wife; you told me so.”

He grinned
ever so faintly. “Aye,” he whispered. “You are my wife. In fact, there is something I must tell my wife.”

Penelope wiped at her eyes. “What is it?”

His tone softened with emotion. “I must tell her that I love her very much,” he breathed. “She must always remember that, for always.”

Penelope broke down into sobs, laying her forehead against his chest
. Bhrodi’s arms went around her, weakly, holding her against him and relishing what he believed would be his last feel of her in this life. He knew he was badly injured; more than likely mortally injured. He’d never known anyone to recover from such a devastating wound and he thanked God that he was conscious at the moment and able to tell his wife what he wanted to. But he could feel his consciousness slipping away again and he hurried as much as he was able to tell her what he needed to. She had to know all of it.

“
Caria
, listen to me,” he whispered. “I was foolish; so foolish. I should have told you of my love for you but I was afraid to, afraid you would not return the feelings. Forgive me for being a coward.”

Penelope’s head came up, her face very close to his. “If you are a coward, then I am
one as well,” she murmured. “I was afraid to tell you of my feelings also, knowing that you had once loved someone very much and that you had lost her. I was afraid you would not let yourself feel such things again. I love you deeply, Bhrodi. You are my husband and my heart and no matter what happens, know that you will be with me always.”

He smiled at her and feebly touched her cheek. When she reached up to touch his face, he kissed her fingers gently.
It was a warm and joyous moment in the midst of such anguish. As Penelope lay her head back on his chest, hearing his slow heartbeat, Bhrodi looked at the men surrounding his bed. He could hear Tacey crying in the background as his gaze fell on Kevin. He seemed to become a bit more lucid as he looked at the man, the dark green eyes wrought with both turmoil and hope. Thoughts began churning in his pain-hazed mind.

“You,” he said weakly. “Come closer.”

Puzzled, Kevin obediently moved around the bed and made his way next to Penelope. He stood there a moment, looking down at Bhrodi and, for a few long seconds, they simply stared at one another. It was no great secret between them that Kevin wanted what Bhrodi had; he wanted Penelope. But it was a secret only between the three of them. There was no shame of the entire castle knowing the details of confidential information. Therefore, as Penelope watched with some curiosity, Bhrodi lifted a hand to Kevin, who hesitantly took it. Bhrodi squeezed hard.