Wren (The Romany Epistles) (25 page)

Orac once again sat on his throne. The door duty guards
dragged away the body. Orac nodded to Portan.

“In recognition of actions proving his loyalty to the
throne, crown, and person of His Majesty Justus Orac, King of the Kilanore
Mountains and the valleys between, Tourth Mynth, son of the late Lord Tourth
Mynth, is hereby awarded the title of his father and family previously declared
obsolete by this crown, thus assigning him all the duties and privileges
entailed by such a personage. Here witnessed by the Lord Avery, Lord Nornham,
Lord Ryhmin, and myself, Lord Portan. Good luck, Lord Iselyn, you have a
difficult task before you.”

Shock hit me in the chest. My thoughts froze. I would have
stood there like an idiot if Wren hadn’t saved me yet again. She fainted.

~~~~~

I reluctantly released my hold on oblivion as pain laced
through the haze. Gradually my surroundings filled my senses, hearing returned
first. The awareness of someone caressing my hand followed on its heels.

Kat whispered harshly, “You mean you let her fight in a
battle?”

The hand holding mine tightened and the stroking stopped. “I
didn’t have much choice, Kat. We arrived separately. I was surprised as anyone
else when she turned up between the battle lines unprepared for a skirmish.”

“Still, you should have done something.”

“I did. As soon as I could, I sought her out.”

“Hardly soon enough.”

A racking cough close by filled the awkward silence.

“How is Arthus? Is his cough improved?” Tourth’s voice was
softer than normal as though he didn’t want someone nearby to hear.

“He will recover.” Kat shifted with a rustle of fabric. “The
healer gave him this mixture to drink twice every day. It smells awful, but it
seems to be helping.”

Another silence.

Tourth cleared his throat. “He loves you, you know.”

“What?”

“Arthus—he loves you.”

“Says who?” Kat demanded.

“Wren. She shared her observations right before you left for
Philon’s.”

Kat laughed softly. “Figures she would see it first.”

“You know?”

“Of course. I might be slow, but I am not an idiot. He asked
for me when we met up with him and Isacrus on the road. Burning up with fever
and half out of his mind and the fool asks for me instead of a healer.”

“And you knew then?”

“Well, that and the kiss.”

His fingers tightened around my hand. “Kat.” His voice took
on the tension of a drawn bowstring. “You are baiting me.”

“I will tell you how it works out.”

“No, you will tell me now. He kissed you?”

“I am a grown woman.”

“I am your older brother.” Tourth’s grip on my hand turned
painful. “Kat, if you don’t–”

“Tourth,” I protested. “You are hurting my hand. Leave off
pestering Kat.”

“I will get the healer,” Kat said, rising to her feet
quickly.

Tourth dropped my hand like it had turned into a scorpion.
“Wren, I can’t just let–”

I opened my eyes to find him frowning fiercely at me. Not
the best of first sights, but I was simply thankful he was alive. “Think for a
minute. You know Arthus. You know Kat. Leave them be.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but the healer arrived
without Kat. It was the same young man from the battlefield.

“Mistress Romany, we meet again. I was hoping you would
follow my instructions.”

I closed my eyes, too weary to keep them open. “I did.”

“Standing for a tribunal is not resting.” He removed the
dressing and began prodding. I was soon too busy enduring the resulting pain to
point out that he had said nothing about resting.

“How does it look?” Tourth asked the healer. I opened my
eyes to find him watching the healer work. Worry lines that hadn’t been there a
moment ago bracketed his mouth and pulled at his brows. Before I thought, I
reached up to touch his cheek. He looked down at me, surprise widening his dark
eyes. I let my hand fall, too exhausted to keep it raised.

“I will be fine, Tourth. None of the stitches are pulled.”

“She is right.” The healer began reapplying the bandage. “A
few days of complete rest and her strength will return.”

Tourth claimed my hand again. “She will rest.”

The healer retied the last knot with a grunt clearly indicating
his skepticism. “Let me know if she develops a fever and let her rest.” He rose
to his feet. “That means no talking. Now close your eyes.” I obeyed. “Sleep. I
don’t want to see them open for at least eight hours. And you, Lord Iselyn, I
suggest the same for you. Lord Portan ordered your allotted cot and bedroll
sent over. I ordered them set up in the corner over there. Now go.”

I missed the gratifying sight of the young healer herding
Tourth off. I didn’t miss the soft brush of Tourth’s fingertips on my cheek
before he moved away.
Thank you for sparing us all, Redeemer. Your grace
amazes me.
Sleep claimed me a few breaths later.

Wren slept. I did not. I wish I could have blamed it on
Arthus’ ragged breathing, but I have slept through worse in the past. My
worried thoughts kept me alert and staring at the taut canvas roof of the
invalid tent only a foot or so above my head.

Low lantern light threw grotesque shadows. It burned for the
sake of the healer passing between cots to check on patients. For such a young
man, the healer was a vigilant caretaker. He made rounds frequently on silent
feet with a glare for me because my eyes were still open.

Rolling on my side, I watched Wren sleep across the tent and
struggled with my heart. I loved her. An admission easy enough to make, but
torturous to carry through to completion. She was a wanderer. True, her stories
of her family, the few I could remember, indicated she had not always been one.
The fact remained that come spring she intended to move on. Did she endlessly
seek something, or was she running from something? I never asked. Suddenly
wishing I had pushed for more answers, I rolled over to face the canvas wall.

Arthus coughed in his sleep and shifted. One of the other
patients moaned. The healer moved to him with a whisper of reassurance and
soothing noises.

I closed my eyes.

Offering one’s heart always came with risk. Simple rejection
seemed small compared to the myriad of other possibilities my suddenly
pessimistic mind brought forth. The worst being that she left early, ripping
the remaining days away from me. She entwined my life and I didn’t want her to
ride away.

Father, help me.

I offered so little, a valley on the brink of destitution
and a people worn to the bone facing a long winter with little in the stores.
King Orac would most likely claim most of Hawthorne’s stores as spoils. Her
skills meant survival for more than just our household. Perhaps I would wait to
offer her my heart. Time would give me a chance to probe her heart and see
where she stood, and how I could entice her to accept.

My personal failings marched through my thoughts as I jammed
my flat pillow into a better position and closed my eyes again.

I needed sleep. Even more, I needed to know what to say to
make Wren stay.

I woke to a throbbing ache in my thigh. My hand moved
instinctively to the source only to brush the linen bandage. Memories of the
battle marched into place.

“Ready for food?” Dardon sat on the ground next to my cot
cleaning his boots. Sunlight backlit the canvas around us.

“How long have you been there?”

He shrugged. “I came to check on you and Arthus. Tourth
demanded I sit watch on you until he got back. Apparently you aren’t allowed
out of bed yet.”

I attempted to move my leg. Pain subdued the impulse before
my toes rose an inch.

“I wouldn’t try that if I were you. Your healer threatened
to tie you to the bed if you did anything foolish. I think he means it.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Shifting my upper body instead, I
adjusted my pillow. “How is Arthus?”

“See for yourself.” Dardon jutted his chin at the bed
halfway across the tent. Arthus and Kat sat with shoulders meeting, heads bent
in conversation. “I would say he is doing fine. Does Tourth know?”

I nodded. “He is still struggling with his role.”

Dardon’s eyebrows rose. “What role?”

“Exactly.”

He considered that for a moment, devoting intense attention
to the instep of his left boot. “Nope. That wasn’t the bee in his britches this
morning. It was something else.”

“What?” I tried to prop my head up, but it wasn’t
comfortable.

“He was mighty agitated. Muttered something I didn’t catch
before he headed off to speak with King Orac.”

“Hmm….” My stomach rumbled loudly. “You mentioned food?”

He smiled. “Aye. Coming right up.” Leaping up, he strode off
toward the far end of the tent. I watched his movements with envy. It would be
quite a while before I would be able to move like that without a twinge of
discomfort.

While he fetched food, I attempted to prop myself up again and
look around. Besides Arthus’, three other cots filled the room. I guessed one
of the two empty cots was Tourth’s. The last was occupied by a stranger,
unconscious, his middle bound from sternum to hip with a dark red blossom
spread along his left side.

“It looks like pottage for you.” Dardon sat back down on the
ground. Steam rose in wisps from the large wooden bowl in his hands. He
promptly filled the spoon. “Healer allowed milk, but not berries. Apparently he
is concerned you will lose your stomach.”

“Where is Hiller?”

He planted the hot pottage in my mouth with so little
ceremony I almost coughed it out in his face.

“Recovering in a different tent. Not a broken bone in him.
Amazing considering the way he was worked over.”

I swallowed. Warmth coated my throat, soothing the dryness.
“And his eye?” I gulped again as the memory of his face made my stomach turn.
Dardon shoveled in another bite before I caught my breath. I choked on it
before swallowing.

“They thought he might have lost it, but as the swelling
receded, they changed their minds.”

“Good.” Another ill-timed bite. I coughed my way clear and
protested. “Are you trying to kill me? Slower.”

“Fine.” He scooped the next bit with exaggerated care.

“Stop torturing the invalid.” Iscarus stood over us, frowning
at Dardon.

“Are you trying to finish her off with that spoon?” Warrick
asked as he appeared behind his brother.

“Fine, complain about it. I never claimed to be a nurse and
I doubt you could do much better.”

“In fact, I am certain I can.” Warrick held out a hand for
the bowl. Dardon gave it over with a smirk. “Now get out of the way while I
show you how it is done.” He scooped out a reasonably sized spoonful and
dropped it in my mouth.

“Now how did you learn that?” Dardon demanded. “Spend much
time nursing?”

“No, just in the nursery with my daughter. This is about the
consistency of her mash.” He gave me another bite before I could do more than
smile at the incongruous picture his words brought to mind.

“You should spend more time practicing.” Iscarus nodded his
head toward Kat and Arthus leaving the tent. “With the way things are going,
Arthus and Tourth will both be setting up nurseries soon.”

I choked on my pottage, barely containing it.

Dardon thumped me on the back so hard it hurt.

“Tourth is going to what?” I asked the moment I could.

“He is going to ask you to marry him,” Iscarus replied.

Warrick smacked his brother’s shin.

“What? It isn’t like he asked me to keep my mouth shut.”

“How do you know?” My thoughts disseminated like scattered
chaff, isolated and fruitless.

“He asked me how I got my wife to marry me.” Warrick met my
gaze. “He’s set his mind on convincing you to stay. He is stuck on this idea
that you want to go.”

“Do you?” Dardon frowned at me.

“No.”

“Then put the idiot out of his misery,” Warrick advised.

All three dropped into uncomfortable silence. Warrick
continued spooning food into my mouth without meeting my eyes. Dardon broke
away first.

“If you are going to handle this, I am going to go talk to
Tourth about moving everyone back home. This camping stuff reminds me too much
of the war.” He gathered his boots. “Glad to see you are better.” He tramped
out without waiting for my reply.

Iscarus muttered. “Got to go check.”

“Get out of here, wimp.” Warrick waved at him.

“I am glad you are going to stay, Wren. They need you here.”
Iscarus left.

“Big mouthed–” Warrick focused intently on scraping the last
bite from the bowl. Upon putting it in my mouth, he rose to his feet.

I eased back onto my side, seeking a comfortable position
for my now aching arm. I was surprised to find him still standing there when I
finally settled.

“Tourth needs you.” Then he walked away.

I lay in silence, stunned at what just transpired. Fitful
sleep came like a haze.

When I woke, the sun had set. My stomach bit hungrily at my
gut and my mouth tasted of old cloth. The healer moved like one of the shadows
among the cots. I looked for Tourth. The familiar outline of his shoulders
against the pale canvas of the tent was all I could see of him. He slept with
his back to the room.

“Are you in pain?” The healer touched my shoulder.

“Reasonable. The ache in my bones from not moving is almost
worse at the moment.”

He nodded. “A common complaint under the circumstances. I
will let you up tomorrow morning, with assistance and no walking.”

“May I have something to eat and drink?”

“Certainly. I will wake your nurse and have him bring you
something. Now no sitting up, understand?”