Day of Wrath (16 page)

Shouting goodbye to Mary, he returned to Merlin, and mounted him. Using his whip, because Merlin seemed reluctant to move, he crossed the common and went into the wood. The sun had gone behind dark clouds, and Merlin was uneasy. Once in the wood, he refused to go along the woodland path and stopped, snorting uneasily.

‘What's got into you, you old fool?' said Nicholas, urging him on with his heels and the whip. But it was no use. Merlin began to play up, side-stepping over every fallen twig, and peering into every coppice. Then he stopped suddenly and refused to budge. The sun came out from behind a cloud and shone through the trees, creating a dappled effect on the ground. Then Nicholas saw something flit behind a tree; a dark, sinister figure, like a being from another world. He jumped and tried to look more closely, but the thing had disappeared. Then a twig cracked and that was enough for Merlin. With an almighty sideways leap, he shied away from the path and tore off through the thicket. Nicholas tried desperately to check him, but it was useless. Merlin was immensely strong. Too late, Nicholas saw the low branch ahead of him. Merlin made straight for it. The branch caught Nicholas across the chest and he fell heavily. Then he lost consciousness and Merlin, riderless, raced back to Peverell Manor.

Chapter Eleven

Nicholas didn't surface until Tuesday morning. He opened his eyes and heard the twittering of the birds greeting the dawn, but he had no recollection of where he was or why he was there. He moved his head but the pain hit him like a blow of the blacksmith's hammer, and he cursed and shut his eyes. Then he tried again. He moved his legs and found they still functioned; his arms and hands seemed normal. But when he tried to raise his head the hammers started again and his neck and shoulders were stiff and painful.

He sank back on his pillow and tried to concentrate, but it was no use, his memory wasn't functioning. Then he must have drifted off to sleep because when he next opened his eyes the sun was streaming into the room and the worried face of Geoffrey Lowe swam into view. A voice was speaking to him.

‘Are you all right, my Lord?'

‘I'll live,' he murmured, noting with interest that his voice appeared disembodied and seemed to come from a long way away.

Geoffrey's face relaxed. ‘Thank God for that. You had a nasty fall, my Lord.'

Then he remembered. Merlin. The figure behind the tree.

‘Who found me?'

‘Mistress Warrener.'

He jumped in surprise and the hammers started up again. ‘Jane Warrener? How?'

‘She was out riding that mare of hers, and saw Merlin rushing along the path like a mad thing, and she guessed you'd had a fall. She went looking for you, found you lying up there in the woods, and came back here for help. Simon and the lads brought you home on a stretcher. But Lord, sir, we all thought you'd had it. Bloody great bruise on your head, blood all over your face from where a bit of tree stuck into you. We cleaned you up, put you in your bed, and waited for you to wake up.'

‘Where's Jane Warrener now?'

‘At home, I suppose. She took a good look at you, said you'd live and off she went. She's a clever wench, that one. Didn't think you'd broken any bones, and told us to let you sleep. She'll be back soon, I shouldn't wonder. Now sir, what can we do for you?'

‘What happened to Merlin?'

‘Oh he's as right as rain – eating his oats, rolling his eyes like he always does. But I don't understand how you came to have that fall, sir. There's not a more placid horse than Merlin. Now Harry … I can understand if Harry threw you off his back. He's all nerves and muscle, but old Merlin's as safe as an old carthorse. That's what comes of losing his balls, I suppose.'

‘He saw something in the woods – something he didn't like the look of. He took one look and galloped off. Unfortunately, a tree got in the way, and I couldn't turn him. He got under it, of course, but forgot he had me on his back.'

‘That explains the bruises on your chest. Jane Warrener guessed that's what happened. Then you must have hit your head when you fell and ended up bruised and concussed. Now you'll have to rest up a bit.'

‘Jane Warrener looked at my chest?'

‘Aye, that she did, sir. I couldn't stop her. She took a look at other parts of you as well. She's a right determined wench, that one, and doesn't care what people think.'

Somehow the idea of Jane running her hands over his body to see whether any bones were broken appealed to him immensely, and he began to feel better.

‘Now get me some hot water, Geoffrey, and some food. Some eggs will do nicely, with bread and some honey.'

‘Shall I bring it up here, sir?'

‘Why not? I'll sit at that table. But first get me cleaned up, there's a good fellow. I can't have Mistress Warrener seeing me in this state.'

‘She'll not care. She saw you in a worse state when they brought you home.'

*   *   *

An hour later, washed and fed, he staggered back to bed, his head still throbbing painfully. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and Jane came in with an anxious-looking Geoffrey behind her.

‘I told her not to come up, my Lord, but she insisted.'

‘Let her come in, Geoffrey. Nothing can stop Mistress Warrener when she's in a determined mood. No, don't you hang about,' he said seeing his bailiff standing there helplessly, not knowing what to do. ‘I'll give a shout when she leaves and you can escort her off the premises. Well, Jane,' he said, as Geoffrey, still with disapproval, backed out of the door. ‘It appears you saved my life.'

He indicated a chair, and she sat down. ‘I found you and went to get help. Anyone would have done the same thing, but it was lucky I decided to go up to the common before I went home. I hope you're feeling better?'

‘Much better for seeing you. There's nothing wrong with me, just a bump on the head and a few bruises.'

‘It looks painful, but probably it looks worse than it is. I'm glad to see you've been cleaned up.'

‘Geoffrey sorted me out. What've you got in that basket, Jane? Have you brought me a present?'

‘Some eggs,' she said, taking off the cloth that covered them. ‘Agnes gave them to me. They were really for my father, but I thought you might have more need of them.'

‘Quite right. Why should that old devil have newly laid eggs?'

‘Nicholas, stop calling my father names. He might be a bit outspoken, but he's kind.'

‘Sorry. Like father, like daughter. Now tell me how did you get on with that old witch?'

‘There you go again. She's a wise woman and a good friend, and there's nothing she doesn't know about herbs; but that doesn't make her a witch. I asked her about the poisonous herbs, and she said most of them would have side effects. Bess, as you know, died peacefully – no vomiting, no drowsiness, no convulsions. So we're no nearer to finding out why Bess died, and as her funeral is today, I suppose we never will. Another thing, what made Merlin bolt up there in the woods? I've always thought he seemed such a docile horse, a bit on the dull side really.'

‘Of course he's dull. He's a carrier horse, just one stage removed from a carthorse. He's not supposed to be temperamental. Not like Harry. But thank God I wasn't riding him. He would've panicked and jumped around a lot more than Merlin when he saw it.'

‘Saw what, Nicholas?'

‘The thing, wraith, call it what you will; it came sliding out from behind a tree. Its face, if it had a face, was covered, and I've never seen anything so diabolical. Merlin sensed it long before he saw it. He stopped dead and refused to budge. Then when it glided out from behind the tree, he bolted.'

‘Was it human or a beast?'

‘I've no idea. Could've been the devil for all I know. Anyway, that's the reason why I was thrown off Merlin, and thank God you came along and found me.'

Suddenly, Jane leaned forward with a look of alarm on her face. ‘Nicholas, you don't think…?'

‘Yes, I do think. I think someone knew where I was going, and decided to remove me from the local scenery. Thank God he didn't quite succeed.'

‘Are you sure it was a “he”?'

‘I didn't have time to notice its sex.'

‘Don't joke. Someone tried to kill you.'

‘Well, at least he picked on me. So far, no one's attacked you, thank God.'

‘That's because I'm a girl, and not expected to know anything.'

‘How wrong they are. Now what the hell … Who's this?'

Someone knocked on the door, it opened and Brother Martin walked in, his good-natured face beaming with pleasure at the sight of Nicholas sitting up alive and well.

‘Now what brings you here, Brother Martin?', said Nicholas, trying to control his irritation. ‘Didn't Geoffrey tell you that I had company?'

‘I'm not staying long, my Lord. We heard you'd had a fall and the Brothers send their best wishes for a speedy recovery. They will be pleased when I tell them that you are on the way to recovery. Brother Michael told me to tell you that a blow on the head must always be taken seriously, and he sends you this tonic.'

The monk rummaged about in the sleeve of his habit, and took out a small glass phial with a stopper. ‘He sends you this healing potion. It will soothe your mind and heal the wound. Drink it and you'll be feeling better in no time at all.'

‘Tell Brother Michael I appreciate his concern, but I don't need a tonic. I intend to get out of this bed as soon as Mistress Jane leaves.'

‘You've been concussed, my Lord. Head wounds are always serious. Delayed shock is a serious risk after a fall from a horse. This is pleasant to take, and will get you on your feet again in only a few hours.'

‘You'd better take it, Nicholas,' said Jane, looking at him steadily. ‘The monks are great healers. You could drink it later.'

Brother Martin unscrewed the stopper of the bottle and handed it to Nicholas. Nicholas thanked him and put it casually on the table by the side of his bed.

‘Thank you, Brother Martin, I'll take it when I need to sleep.'

‘So you don't trust me. Well, let me show you it's quite harmless.'

Brother Martin picked up the phial and took a sip.

‘Excellent, excellent. I can recommend it, my Lord.'

It would be churlish to refuse. Nicholas took the phial and drank down the contents. In seconds, he felt his body become suffused by a delicious languor. His head stopped throbbing and he felt as if he was lying on a bed of soft sheep's wool. Jane's face floated off out of sight, he sank back on his goose-feather pillow, closed his eyes, and sank into a deep void.

*   *   *

When Jane arrived home, her father was waiting for her by the front gate. She sensed trouble. His face was dark with disapproval and he was propping himself up on his stick as if he'd been waiting a long time.

‘Where've you been, lass? People are talking.'

‘You shouldn't listen to gossip, father. However, let's go inside, and you can tell me what they're saying.'

She handed Melissa over to Harold, the old gardener and handyman, who'd been with them as long as she could remember, and walked up the path into the house, her father following more slowly. Their house was stone-built, like Agnes's, but more substantial and built on a bigger plot of land. The window openings had recently been filled in with glass, which her father approved of, because now the openings let in the light but not the cold. She watched him making his way painfully up the path and realised that he was old and she should make allowances for him.

Once inside the bright, warm room, he sank down with a sigh of relief on to the wooden settle and propped his stick up against the side. The floor was covered with bright rugs, and bowls of flowers decorated the window-ledges. Guy Warrener was prosperous. The monks relied on him heavily when it came to selling their wool.

‘Now, out with it, lass. Where've you been?'

‘Up to the Manor to see how Lord Nicholas was getting on.'

‘So they tell me. Seems you found him in the woods, is that right?'

‘Yes, he fell off his horse. I went and got help and I wanted to know how he was this morning. There's no harm in that, is there?'

‘No harm at all. But I advise you to keep away from the gentry, lass. I don't want your head turned. He's not for the likes of you. You might be bright and you're good-looking all right, but the likes of Lord Peverell don't marry the daughters of wool traders. He's charming, I'll give you that, but I'll kill him if any harm comes to you.'

‘Now don't get excited, father. You do exaggerate. I only wanted to pay my respects. Geoffrey Lowe escorted me up to his bedroom…'

‘You went up to his bedroom?' shouted Guy Warrener, trying to haul himself up from the sofa.

‘Of course. That's where you usually go if you're not well.'

‘Don't you smart-answer me, madam. You've no business going into men's bedrooms. The next time you go there he might not be so helpless, and then what'll you do?'

‘I'll do what I please.'

‘I'll not allow it. What pleases you could be the death of you. Believe me, he'll take advantage of you. They're all the same, the gentry. Love you and leave you; it's always been like that. And no one will ever look at you twice when you're one of Peverell's cast-offs.'

‘You do talk rubbish, father,' said Jane, trying to control her exasperation. ‘Now sit down for a minute, and try to calm down. Let me make you a hot drink. All this shouting's not good for you and I'll have you in bed next.'

‘Now stop threating me as if I've got one foot in the grave. I'm good for many more years yet. I've spoiled you, Jane, I can see that,' he grumbled, but he did relax back again on the settle, and watched as she took hot water from the pot over the fire and mixed up a soothing drink of honey and lemon balm. ‘I've watched you grow up into a beautiful wench; aye, with a brain, too. You can read Greek and Latin better than the monks. Yet you ride round on that horse of yours sitting up there like a boy, no saddle, showing those long legs of yours, and I've not said a word. But I can't abide watching you chasing after the gentry.'