Silverhawk (23 page)

When she took up the drying cloth later, she noticed a gown nearby. Someone had left it while she dozed. Thankful for the braziers that warmed the cozy solar, she quickly dried, wrapped the damp cloth around her hair, and considered the gown.

It was soft wool dyed in a shade of light blue, trimmed in bands of deeper blue at the neck, sleeves, and hem. It was a bit large, but the girdle of braided wool in the same shade as the trim allowed her to gather the extra fabric into a respectable fit. The thoughtful lady had also provided slippers.

She dressed quickly, then sat on a small bench to attack the problem of her hair. Without a comb, she’d have to dry it and let it hang loose. She was nearly finished when a soft knock sounded.

“Yes?”

Lady Clysta entered with comb in hand, round cheeks creased in a smile. “You look rested already,” she said. “Here, I thought you might need this.”

Emelin struggled to pull the comb through her hair until the lady held out her hand. “Let me do that, my dear. It’s hard when you can’t see what you are doing.” She took the comb and began to work it gently through the tangles.

“Thank you for the gown and slippers,” Emelin said. “You are very kind to a stranger.” The gentle rhythmic pull through her hair was calming. Her mother had performed this same ritual. A wave of longing washed through her at the memory.

“I do appreciate your kindness,” she repeated. “But I must be on my way. Sir Giles was escorting me to my brother. He will be anxious that we haven’t arrived.” By Heaven! Why had she said her brother and not Lord Osbert?

She rushed on. “If you will continue to care for my knight—”
My knight?
—”I can resume my journey.” Oh, she was making a muddle of this explanation.

“We can’t allow you to travel alone,” Lady Clysta replied gently. “Perhaps we can send a message to your brother. He could come for you.”

Emelin’s breath caught. That would be disastrous. Garley and Lord Osbert here to take her back? And the dear old couple would be drawn into the confrontation.

“Again I thank you, but please believe me when I say that would not be a good idea. Much better if you send me along with that messenger.”

“And where would that be, my dear? Where are you going?”

Emelin paused. Why did she not admit the truth? She had to get to Langley because a wedding to Lord Osbert awaited. A knot swelled in her throat. She couldn’t. Not now.

“My brother is visiting at Langley Castle,” she said at last. “That’s where I must go.”

The comb stilled in her hair. “He is a friend of Lord Osbert’s?” Lady Clysta’s voice cracked. “The lord of Langley was once a frequent visitor here. We haven’t seen him for many years. I believe guilt prevents him from returning.” Movement of the comb resumed, more carefully than before.

The chamber was quiet until the old lady added, “It was Lord Osbert our Mangan served as squire.”

“I’m so sorry.” Emelin didn’t know what else to say.

“We did not blame him, but Lord Osbert suffered our son’s loss deeply. He was sincerely attached to Mangan, you know. I believe he feels responsible still, and to be confronted with my dear lord’s grief after all this time—” The lady’s wistful voice trailed off. The comb paused. “They were such good friends once, serving King Henry.” The comb resumed briskly. “When you are ready to continue your journey, we will be happy to send an escort.”

A few more strokes, and Lady Clysta said, “There now. Your beautiful hair is dry.” The cheerfulness in her voice sounded strained. “Please join us in the hall.”

“Thank you. First I want to see how Sir Giles is doing.” Before she left, she had to know that “her knight” would recover. Her stomach sank at the thought of leaving. But she had delayed so long. Hands clasped, she followed Lady Clysta down the stairs to the great hall.

People bustled around the huge chamber setting up tables for the meal. Emelin followed the lady of Granville across the floor to the merrily burning fire. She was guided to a carved chair trimmed with an embroidered cushion.

Sir Daviess sat nearby in a matching chair. He stared at the flames. When the ladies approached, he looked up and favored his wife with a charming smile.

“You are very beautiful tonight, my dear,” he said. He turned to Emelin. “And this is the lovely lady who brought our injured knight to us. Welcome. You were very brave to support him earlier. He is resting now.”

Lady Clysta stopped at her husband’s side. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, my lord.” She took his hand. Emelin’s heart clinched at the affection between the two. What would a marriage like theirs be like? One where each person accepted, understood, the other’s frailties.

Would Osbert of Langley accept her failings? Could she accept his? When Giles questioned her, she’d insisted he was innocent of wrongdoing. But she wasn’t sure he was totally guiltless. Any woman would worry about a prospective husband who had buried two wives.

Sir Daviess leaned toward his wife and, although his voice was low, Emelin could hear his delicately worded apology.

“I seemed to have been mistaken again today.” His voice was tinged with sorrow.

Lady Clysta touched his cheek in a gentle caress. “It doesn’t matter, my love,” she murmured. “I understand. And this time, you have realized the difference sooner.”

She drew him to her shoulder, and the two were quiet, seeming to draw strength from each other. At last, he lifted his head and smiled a genuine welcome at Emelin. She was taken aback by the charm of the elderly man.

“Now if you had arrived yesterday, we could have offered you fine company and dance,” he teased. “But our guests left with the dawn and took all the young men. The minstrels followed them. Fine minstrels, the d’Oleons. We enjoy them each time they visit.”

“I am sorry to have missed the music.” Emelin rose. “If you will excuse me, I’d like to look in on Sir Giles, to see that he’s comfortable.”

The tower chamber was dim, lighted only by a torch and a flickering candle. A lone narrow window onto the bailey was covered with what looked like a stiffened blanket. Two braziers gave off some warmth.

The first thing to hit her nose was the faint smell of stale blood. Looking around, she had no complaint about the neatness of the room. The used bindings and dirty water had been carried out and the floor around Giles brushed clean. Still, traces of sickly sweet, copper scent lingered. After a moment, she identified other odors—burning charcoal, pitch and tallow of the lights, the must she’d noticed earlier that emanated from the stone walls.

She did not smell dust nor dirt nor the sour stench of stale perspiration and unwashed bodies. A cared-for place, where the inhabitants valued cleanliness, then. She had learned the importance of a clean infirmary at St. Ursula, although many people ridiculed the idea of clean hands and instruments. Some even thought it dangerous, seeing that water from wells often sickened those who drank it.

Giles had been moved to a pallet where he lay motionless. She knelt at his side, ran the back of her hand across his forehead, his cheeks. Still over-warm, but cooler than he’d been this morning. His chest rose and fell in shallow movements, his breath heavy from between parted lips.

Now that Sister Ressa had removed the fragment of metal from the dagger wound, perhaps he would recover with no further problems.

That meant Emelin could leave with a clear conscience. Early in the morning she would set out for Langley. She would ask Lady Clysta tonight for someone to guide her.

Sliding her fingers across the back of Giles’ hand, she slipped two inside the loose circle of his curled fist. Hard and callused and marked with scars from duties as a soldier, his hands had been gentle when they kept her from harm, kind when they sheltered her from the rain. So soft when they caressed her. What was he doing in England, really? This knight was a puzzle she had no time to solve.

A sound at the door made her turn. Sister Ressa carried in fresh bandages and with a silent efficiency unbound the wrap and replaced the linen pad. The old one was stained and crusty with blood. A trace of fresh red indicated the wound continued to seep.

Emelin watched the process. “Will he recover?” she whispered.

The nun tied off the new wrap. “God knows. I’m afraid I deepened the hole in his side when I fished out the metal. But it is clean now and your man is a fighter. Pray, my lady. It is in God’s hands.”

She started across the floor, then paused. “When my brother served with our king on Crusade, he treated many injured soldiers. He told me he discovered that when a wound bled freely, the man was more likely to survive. He did not understand why, but I believe the blood washes away the impurities, and the injury cleans itself.”

With a shrug, she opened the door. “If this knight bled freely, I believe it was beneficial.”

Throughout the ministrations, Giles had not moved. Now Emelin studied him, tracing the line of his dark brow, the high bridge of his nose. On impulse she pressed her lips to the side of that arrogant nose, then to the beautiful still mouth. Pain lodged over her heart. Her eyes grew blurry and tears eased down.

“Goodbye,” she choked out.

Blotting the dampness on her face, she stepped from the chamber into the cool autumn dusk and turned toward the hall.

The meal passed in a haze. Lady Clysta had to repeat a comment twice, then attributed the “dear girl’s distraction” to worry over the delay of her trip. After a brief consultation with Sir Daviess, she declared that two Granville knights would escort Emelin to Langley the next morning.

Emelin should have been thrilled with her plan to leave. Of course she was glad to go. It was the only course open to her. The lengthy journey would give her a chance to fashion a story that would mollify the people there. And protect Giles. First she must ensure silence here.

When Lady Clysta conducted her to the small chamber she’d been given, Emelin launched the first step in her sketchy plan.

“My lady, you and your husband have been so kind, I hesitate to ask anything else of you. However, I must request a great favor.”

The older lady looked over her shoulder and lifted her thin brows in question. “We will do what we can for you, my dear. What is it you require?”

“If anyone should inquire after Sir Giles, it would be best if you knew nothing of him.” Emelin hoped the lady wouldn’t require further explanation. Both she and Sir Daviess had shown discretion up to now so perhaps it would suffice. Emelin was reluctant to reveal the details of her story.

“May I ask why?” Lady Clysta was calm as she opened the chamber door. Inside, braziers warmed the air, and a large tapestry hung along the wall. Its intricate embroidery displayed a young knight riding a prancing horse. The youth was dressed in a white surcoat with a red cross picked out on his chest. Without a word, Emelin knew the figure represented the lady’s son.

She turned and looked Lady Clysta in the eyes. “It’s better that you don’t know.”

“My dear, I cannot lie if someone asks.”

Emelin felt the gentle rebuke. “No, no. I don’t ask you to lie,” she hastened, looking away. “Simply…could you say only that I came to you and asked for help to return home? You gave me shelter and sent me off with two guards. You need not mention the injured knight unless asked directly. Do you?”

“So your brother did not direct this man to accompany you?”

Emelin met Lady Clysta’s eyes again. “No. Sir Giles helped me, but no one knows about him. If my brother discovers I traveled alone with this knight, he will kill him. I…I would not want that to happen. He saved my life.”

The other lady studied Emelin. Then she tipped her head to the side and said, “I shall have to consider it. If you could tell me your whole story, it might help me decide.”

Arms crossed at her waist, Emelin shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you right now. Perhaps one day.”

She felt the gentle rebuke when the lady answered, “Then you should get some rest. Tomorrow will bring a new day and clearer thoughts.”

As Lady Clysta closed the door, Emelin shook her head again. She’d welcome any new thoughts that would help her face the problems back at Langley.

Sunlight outlined the closed shutters on the small, narrow window when Emelin opened her eyes. How advanced was the day? She had to prepare for the lengthy journey ahead. The problems she’d struggled with last night hadn’t resolved themselves. Nothing for it but to lie and hope the two men believed the tale.

In the cool room she hurried to don her gown and slippers. Twisting the now-smooth length of hair into a braid, she tied the end with a strip of linen Lady Clysta had provided. A thoughtful, generous lady.

Being with her brought back the faint memories of Emelin’s mother, the more recent ones of Stephen’s mother. Emelin had thought she no longer missed those relationships. Now faced with the motherly Lady Clysta, she felt a longing to be comforted.

She shook it off. She was no longer a child, but a woman who would bear her own children. And she vowed to be a loving, understanding mother.

The corridor was deserted. In the great hall, a few stragglers lingered.

A maid saw her at the foot of the stairs and hurried forward. “My lady, if you would like to sit, I will bring you cheese and bread.”

“Has Lady Clysta come down?” Emelin was surprised to see so few people around.

“Oh, yes. She has gone to the infirmary with Sir Daviess. Sister Ressa summoned them.”