Lord of the Blade (14 page)

"Help me off with my clothes," ordered
Corbett, scooting toward the edge of the bed.

Startled, Devon looked up, remembering the
night in the larder. Surely, this couldn't mean what she
thought?

"My tunic is covered with dried blood," he
explained. “And the linen has melded to my body. I would not severe
my wound further by attempting this myself."

Devon rushed to his side, embarrassed by her
own thoughts. He was wounded and needed help. But that bed and the
way he had lounged upon it, had her mind racing as usual.

Corbett flinched as Devon slowly peeled the
blood-stained material from the wound on the back of his
shoulder.

"My lord!" she gasped, now eyeing the gash.
"You have been wounded severely, I must tend to it at once."

"'Tis naught but a mere flesh wound," he
casually commented as if he had barely noticed.

Devon quickly tugged away the remainder of
the plastered tunic from his body, wincing when Corbett struggled
to muffle a cry of pain. His pride wasn’t admirable at a time like
this. No one needed to pretend strength in such a situation.

"You would try using water next time." His
voice was gruff, laden with pain. "I don't take a liking to my skin
being ripped from my body while still alive."

She was trying her best to help him, and
still he thought to correct her in her servant duties. He acted as
if he thought she enjoyed seeing him in pain. After running behind
his horse most the day trying to keep up with the hunt, she knew
what pain was, more than anybody. The bottom of her shoes were worn
through, and her feet were blistered. She’d never complained once,
but if he was going to complain about his wound, she would make
certain he had good reason.

"Hold still, my lord," she directed, "for
there is still a piece of cloth that is not quite removed."
Purposely scraping the dried cloth with her nails, she ripped it
quickly from his wound with great force.

"Arrrrrrgh!" he growled, gritting his
teeth.

"Forgive me, my lord," she replied, "but is
this mere flesh wound causing you great pain? I thought a fierce
warlord like yourself would slice your own flesh for sport and
never even flinch."

"I am not a warlord," he bellowed. "And tend
to the wound properly or your trial may be tonight after all."

Devon despised the way he spoke to her, yet
continued more carefully as she knew he was more than capable of
carrying out his threat. Mayhap she was being a little harsh with
the wounded man, but she felt she had earned the right. After
bringing the ewer and basin closer to the bed, she dampened a cloth
with water and placed it upon his shoulder to cleanse the
wound.

"God's toes!" he shouted, quickly arching
his back from the harshness of the cold water on his open
wound.

"I am sorry, my lord," Devon stammered,
quickly jumping back for fear he may strike out in rage.

"Continue," he answered much milder now, "I
did not mean to frighten you."

Devon quickly cleansed the wound the best
she could, and picked up the herbal paste that Heartha had left.
Corbett pulled back with caution.

"Heartha made it, my lord, not I. So you
need not worry that I might try to kill you."

"I did not mean to imply that." So he said,
but she knew the thought had crossed his mind. "I merely wondered
what was in it."

She smeared the paste on as she continued to
talk.

"I do believe 'tis but a paste made from St.
John's Wort," she explained. "'Tis useful in closing wounds and
works miraculously to ease swelling and pain."

"Do you know much about herbs?" The
casualness of his question was belied by the way he watched her
from the corner of his eye. She almost felt as if he were
questioning her as to her capability of creating a poison.

"I know very little about herbs," she
confessed. "I only know of this one from hearing Heartha say it
helped to heal the soldiers’ wounds. She has made it many times
after a battle."

"Yes, of course," he replied. The short
silence broken, he continued his investigation. "If you know
nothing of herbs, how is it you managed to concoct such a potion
for the baron?"

She knew which direction his questions were
leading. She needed to explain herself, and this may be the time to
do it.

"I simply got the recipe from Heartha." She
lavishly piled on more of the salve, content with her defending
answer.

"Oh, then she will be able to vouch for what
was in the baron's drink?"

Devon's hands stopped where they were. She
had fallen into a trap of which she could not escape without
telling the entire truth. As Heartha had not even been aware that
Devon had cleverly obtained from her the antidote to the baroness's
poison, she would not even know she was defying Devon's story until
it was too late.

"Nay, my lord. I am afraid she will not."
Devon quickly walked from the bed, putting down the bowl on the
nearby table and wiping her hands in a rag.

"You make no sense, woman."

She picked up some clean wrappings and
continued her ministration.

"Your wound is deep, my lord," she replied,
purposely taking attention away from the previous conversation.
"Shall I sew it up for you to help insure 'twill not scar?"

Corbett's body stiffened at her suggestion,
and Devon was sure he visualized her sticking a needle into his
open wound.

"Nay," he answered quickly. "Just bind it
tightly, for another scar does not bother me."

Devon smiled inwardly as she picked up
several of the clean linens. Her ploy was working. Corbett’s
thoughts were guided elsewhere. She wrapped his wound in
silence.

"Why is it you seem to be keeping something
from me?" he finally asked, "And especially when your life may
depend upon it?"

Devon ceased her gentle touch and tightly
brought together the strip of linen as she tied a wicked knot.

"How is it you can believe I can be capable
of murder?"

"I did not say that. And once again, you
have managed to evade answering my question."

Devon cleaned up, and washed her hands in
the basin.

"Would there be anything else, my lord?" she
finally asked, after running out of things to keep her busy.

"Aye. Help me off with these blasted boots."
He struggled to unlace them with one hand. Devon had tied the
wrappings so tightly he found it hard to bend over. She nimbly
unlaced the thigh high leather riding boots, being careful not to
look up. The first one came off with little effort, but the second
one seemed to be stuck. She got to her feet, and placing his foot
between her thighs, she bent over and tried to tug it loose.

The pain in Corbett's shoulder was nothing
compared to that of his loins. He couldn't help but see down
Devon’s bodice from her awkward position in front of him. With each
tug of his boot, his foot thrust back and forth between her thighs.
His groin hardened as his imagination took over. With one more
quick tug, the boot came loose and Devon went tumbling backwards
only to land on her bottom upon the floor.

Corbett stifled a laugh, but not before she
noticed.

She threw the boot she was still holding
across the room, and got to her feet as quickly as possible.

"I suppose you will want me to remove your
breeches next?" she asked in fury.

Corbett slipped from the bed like a wildcat,
sleek, slow and stealthy. Her eyes settled on his thighs filling
out his clothing nicely. One tug of the tie at his waist and they’d
fall to the ground. "I think I can manage." Her eyes followed his
hand as it reached for his waist. If she didn’t turn away soon,
she’d have her first look at a naked man.

She spun around so fast, she nearly fell.
She looked at the wall while he finished undressing, and didn’t
turn around until he’d slipped under the covers.

"What do you intend to do with me?"

"What do you suggest?"

"I did nothing wrong,” she tried to convince
him. “If only you would look in your heart, you would see it
too."

"You give me no reason to think otherwise,"
he responded crisply.

Devon knew he was right, but how could she,
a mere servant, accuse a noble baroness of attempting to kill her
own husband and expect anyone to believe her without proof? She
could do nothing to prove her innocence until she found evidence of
Gilda’s guilt.

"If there will be nothing else, I should
like to retire now, my lord."

"Of course. I could use the rest myself," he
commented settling cozily under the covers.

Devon turned around, eyeing the room but
could not find a sleeping pallet anywhere. There wasn’t a chair in
the room, and she wasn't sure where to sleep.

"My lord?" she finally asked, although she
already regretted it.

"Hmmmm?" he questioned, his eyes closed.

"The room is void of a sleeping pallet."

"Aye," he commented, never opening his eyes.
"I had my squire's pallet removed, as it had been horribly chewed
by rats while we were on the hunt. I told him to sleep in the great
hall tonight until it could be replaced."

Devon's eyes scanned the floor quickly,
hoping not to see any rats. She had always made sure her own pallet
lay close to the fire in the great hall. It was much safer that
way, as the rats tended to lurk in the dark shadows. And though the
hall was always very crowded, she had used her good looks to
maneuver the young lads into giving her the prime spot before the
fire. Now she realized the prime spot was none other than Corbett's
bed, and she had no intentions of playing the same game with
him.

"Rats," she repeated out loud, wondering if
he had any idea how much she feared them.

"Aye," mumbled Corbett, eyes still closed.
"All the big ones tend to gather in the solar at night. I think
they like it in here because 'tis much warmer than the great hall."
He shifted under the coverlet, making himself more comfortable and
adding to her uneasiness. "Why do you think my bed is raised so
high off the ground?"

Devon surveyed the bed, raised upon a high
wooden frame. She envisioned herself awakening on the floor with a
dozen large rats nibbling at her body while Corbett lay safely upon
the high bed, never even caring what was happening below.

"I had planned on being alone tonight."
Corbett scratched his head and looked at her. "But if I decide to
keep you here any longer, I'll make sure a pallet be delivered
soon. For tonight I suggest you find somewhere else to sleep, but
just be certain not to leave the room."

Devon knew damned well he intended for her
to sleep with him as there was no other option available besides
the rat-infested floor. Still, she had to hear him say it.

"And where might you suggest I sleep?"

"Wherever you desire," he answered with a
smile on his face. Rolling to one side, he yawned and snuggled
deeper into the covers.

So tempting it was to see his bed. And more
tempting yet to see the man upon the bed. She couldn’t help but
think beneath the coverlet he lie naked. Never would she crawl into
the lion’s lair willfully. Devon didn't move for several minutes,
pondering the situation. And only did she breathe a sigh of relief
when she heard Corbett finally snoring.

Wearily rubbing her face in her hands, she
was beyond tired. Her feet ached and her belly grumbled. It had
been a very long day. With a deep sigh, she lowered herself to lay
on the rug before the fire. With no coverlet or pillow, she curled
up in a fetal position and finally, very uncomfortably, drifted off
to sleep.

The baroness paced her room impatiently,
arms crossed as she waited for her henchman, Thorpe to arrive.
There was a knock at her door and she opened it quickly. Her eyes
scanned the corridor before she grabbed his tunic and pulled him
inside.

"We've got trouble," she explained in a low
voice.

"What's that?" Thorpe was as big as an ox,
and had the mentality to match.

"Her name is Devon. She's a new maidservant
at the castle."

"Shall I take care of her?"

"No. It'll bring too much attention to
me."

"What's she know?" Thorpe talked in hushed
tones also, never moving from his position by the closed door.

"She knows about the poison. Somehow she's
found out."

"Will she say anything?"

"She hasn't yet. I believe I've scared her
enough not to talk. Corbett's taken her into his care and he's
obviously enthralled with the girl. But if he gets her in bed she
just may talk."

"I see your concern,” said Thorpe. “I'll
keep an eye on her."

"Good. Now, the next problem."

"Another?" Thorpe's bushy brows raised on
his face. The wrinkles in his leathered skin were more severe now
and the baroness could see the last eight and ten years had taken a
toll on him. But it would soon be over. "Do you mean your
confrontation with Boltoff?"

"Nay. Although he’s figured out the plan has
changed, he's not a threat yet. I'm speaking of our latest visitor
to the castle - the baron's brother, Lord Cedric."

"He won't remember you."

"He'd better not get the chance to or it'll
ruin everything. I've managed to stay away from him for this long,
I don't want him spoiling things now."

"I see your point. So what do you want me to
do? Get rid of him?"

The baroness fingered her chin in thought
and considered the idea. “Just keep your eyes and ears open for
now. If I manage to keep away from him it may be all right. He's
not the real problem here. That girl Devon is where my concern
lies. Watch her like a hawk. If she seems to be getting brave
enough to open her mouth we'll have to do away with her. If our
plan goes through before she has a chance - then it won't
matter."

"I'm here for you," Thorpe interjected. "I'm
always here for you, Dextra."