Lord of the Blade (18 page)

"This is so sudden," said Corbett. "I am not
even certain he has had the proper training."

"He knows the basics," reassured the baron,
"as that I've seen to myself, though I must admit I'd taken it no
further. How do you see his skills?"

"He is a true aim with the longbow," Corbett
responded. "In fact," he hated to admit it,

"better than any of my men."

"Do you think he has the will that it takes
to be a knight?"

"Will, he has. But of loyalty or respect,
especially to women, I sincerely doubt."

"He has already proved his loyalty to you by
saving your life," reminded Kenric. “And as for the women... that
will change. He will be knighted.”

Corbett had no choice but to obey his liege
lord. But he could add a suggestion of his own. He stroked his hand
over his chin in thought.

"My squire, Delwynn, is ready for
knighthood. He also has saved my life."

"Then he will be knighted as well."

Kenric pulled out a parchment from beneath
the blanket. "This arrived this morning while you were still…in
bed. It’s a missive from King Edward. He insists you choose your
wife soon. He’s suggested a tournament where you will announce your
bride.”

“I have no bride,” Corbett remarked, still
furious Devon had seen to that earlier.

"The king knows that, Corbett. And it was
his command that Malcomn be knighted.”

“Then he’s already decided to give my lands
and title to Malcomn.”

“He’s given you one last chance, Corbett.
Your future rests on your decisions.”

Corbett exited the room only to find Gilda
waiting for him. He brushed past her, but she picked up her skirts
and followed.

"How do you intend to sentence that
maidservant who attempted to poison my husband?"

Corbett kept on walking. "'Tis you who has
made the accusation, not I."

"Well surely she is guilty," she stammered,
"and the law says she should go to trial."

"And the law also says, if she is not found guilty
the accuser must suffer the punishment instead," reminded Corbett.
Gilda stopped and dropped the hem of her skirt, mouth opened as
Corbett headed to the great hall for a bite to eat.

Corbett seated himself at the dais, giving
orders to Brother Ruford to prepare him a bath this eve, as well as
to have a pallet delivered for Devon. She had a guard watching her
for now, but Corbett didn’t feel good about letting her out of his
sight. She was sure to get into trouble. He needed to go over the
list of villeins accused of crimes, and prepare a trial later. He
needed to think of Devon’s trial as well, but every time he did, he
found a knot in his stomach. This was one duty he wasn’t going to
enjoy.

A tall, thin page waited silently at
Corbett's side with a small towel, and a bowl of water to wash the
lord's hands before he ate. Corbett noticed Brother Ruford smiling
as he acknowledged the lad. Leighton, the Earl of Warwick's son, a
boy who tried Corbett's patience with his clumsiness, stood at his
side.

"Nay." Corbett shook his head and motioned
for the page to continue toward Gilda.

As the lad moved on, he stepped on the toe
of his own shoe, spilling the water. Embarrassed, he fled before
Corbett could reprimand him. This was more than Corbett wanted to
cope with. The thought of a useless squire was almost worse than a
defiant servant. Or at least, one servant in particular. And when
he saw Gilda hurrying across the room towards him, he decided not
to stay for the meal after all.

"I would have one more request for you,
Brother Ruford," he said as he stood.

"Only one?" Ruford asked with a forced
smile. Corbett knew the monk was overwhelmed since he still had his
duties at the monastery. He’d served as temporary steward for a
year now, but Corbett had promised him he’d find a replacement
soon.

"I will have my evening meal in the solar
tonight. Give my regards to Lord Cedric, and tell him to please
feel free to visit the baron whenever he wants. Corbett left the
hall just as Gilda seated herself next to him.

"Quick, Devon, hand me that bowl."

Devon reached for the cooling broth of herbs
to which Heartha pointed. It had felt good to once again be near
her, however the work was now doubled, and talking was scarce as
the servants rushed around the kitchen trying to prepare the extra
food that was needed for their guests.

She eyed the guard watching her from the
door and wished he would leave. If only she could get some sound
advice from Heartha. She felt like a caged bird with the cat
watching over her in case she should try to fly.

"What is this?" asked Devon looking at the
bowl. "A new concoction to mesmerize the taste buds of that
handsome Lord Cedric?" She mused with her guardian, and pretended
to play matchmaker the same way Heartha had done to her with
Delwynn.

"Far from it." Heartha wiped her hands in
her apron, and tucked a stray gray curl of hair back under her cap.
As Devon handed the bowl to Heartha, a strong, pungent very
familiar odor filled her nostrils.

"Heartha,” she asked. “Of what does this
consist?"

"'Tis naught but a combination of herbs and
squill."

Squill?
Oh yes, that red oniony
looking flesh that now floated to the top of the dish.

"You have made this before, haven't
you?"

"Aye, my child, every time one of Sefton's
bitches goes into labor. He hates to see them suffer, so I make it
to ease their pain. But ’tis a chore getting the bitter potion down
their throats."

She strained the liquid into a bottle, and
handed it to the kennel boy who awaited patiently. "Now remember,"
she reminded him, "tell Sefton ta use it in small doses. I don't
want him ta come blamin' me for poisoning his favorite bitch."

Poison!
Of course. Now she knew why
the pungent smell of the potion seemed so familiar. It was the same
smell that nauseated her the night she spilled the baron's healing
herbs.

"Heartha? Can that potion kill a man?"

"Aye, I s’pose so." She washed her hands and
scurried across the room to finish plucking the feathers from a
goose. Devon followed closely behind. "Too much of anything is no
good. Too much of that over a period of time would be fatal." She
pushed the goose towards Devon, and handed her a sharp knife. "Why
do you ask, sweetie?"

"Do a lot of people know of its potency?"
She looked down at the goose, knowing Heartha intended for her to
gut it. Squeamishly, she pushed it towards a young lad preparing
others, and with a flirtatious smile, handed him the knife.

"'Tis no secret, I s'pose. Actually, I
learned the potion from Orrick. My daughter, Wilona, used it in
small doses often when she helped to deliver many a babe. Even the
baroness asked that she be given it when the time came for her to
give birth."

Devon never knew Wilona, but remembered
Heartha once telling her that it was her own midwife daughter that
delivered Malcomn.

"Did Orrick have many friends?"

Heartha quickly grabbed a large piece of
venison a serf had handed her, and threw it on the chopping block
before she answered. Devon stepped out of the way of several
bustling servants and moved directly across from her.

"Orrick was mysterious indeed. He didn't
talk to many." Heartha seemed to wrack her brain trying to
remember. "In fact, I believe Wilona and myself were really the
only ones he confronted besides Kenric and Corbett. I suppose it
was because he wanted to share his healing secrets with the only
ones who would listen. Oh yes, and Gilda too. The baroness would
often visit him in his tower.”

Devon’s eyes darted back to the guard at the
doorway, knowing that at any minute he may wander over and pull her
away from Heartha. Quickly, she picked up the large ornate fixture
that served as the lord's salt cellar and refilled its contents,
trying to look busy.

"Tell me about Orrick's tower." Devon often
shivered at seeing the eerie, dark turret that loomed high at the
opposite end of the castle, as she fetched water from the courtyard
well.

"I had 'most not given it a thought, since
Orrick disappeared," explained Heartha, handing the bowl of venison
to a kitchen worker, and relaying instructions. She quickly wiped
her hands in her apron and brought a pestle and mortar to the
chopping block to grind up some herbs. "No one dares to bother it,"
she continued, "as most are superstitious and feel it bad luck to
disturb that mystical place." She picked up the meat cleaver to
move it out of the way.

"I bet there are a lot of secrets buried in
that old room," said Devon. She felt for her good luck charm,
fingering it in her pocket.

Heartha slammed the meat cleaver into the
wooden table, and Devon jumped, spilling salt everywhere. The old
woman leaned over to look across the table straight into Devon's
eyes.

"Ye have a knack for gettin' in ta trouble,
missy. And ye best not be thinkin' of climbin' those tower
stairs."

Devon's eyes quickly flew to the salt cellar
as she hurriedly moved it to the side, brushing away the spilt salt
from the table and catching it in her hand before replacing it. It
was much too expensive and precious to waste.

"Now why would I want to do a thing like
that?"

Heartha pursed her lips, shaking her head.
This woman knew Devon only too well.

"Ye never did tell me why that guard watches
yer every move." Heartha bobbed her head in the guard's direction
and continued to grind the herbs with a renewed force.

"He is there by Lord Corbett's orders.”

Heartha’s arm slackened on the pestle and
she looked to Devon with a quizzical eye.

"And what did ye do ta deserve this type of
treatment?"

"'Tis not what I did," she proceeded
cautiously, "but what I was accused of doing."

The pestle slammed down against the wooden
table this time, and Devon surmised that scolding look upon
Heartha’s face that she had often seen when not obeying as a
child.

"If there is somthin' I should know, child,
ye had better o' tell me before I hafta hear it from the rag
pickers."

Devon hesitated, but then thought it best
she know. “I may be going to trial."

"What?" Surprise along with worry knitted
the old woman’s brow. Then a sadness shone in her eyes and Devon
only regretted not telling her sooner. She eyed the curious
servants, as the room seemed to suddenly close in upon her. The
noise level in the kitchen subsided as the servants tried to hear
their conversation.

“I’d rather not speak of it here.”

Heartha’s eyes scanned the room, and a small
nod of acceptance said she understood.

"Get back to your work then. But I expect an
explanation as soon as yer able."

Devon carried the salt cellar across the
room, handing it to a young boy to place on the dais. She peeked
around the curtain wall, but did not see Corbett dining with the
others. Then the guard took a step towards her, and she thought it
best to get back to work. In the buttery that openly adjoined the
kitchen, Mercia filled a flagon of wine from a vat. She looked up
shyly and smiled.

“I have been ordered to return to the
baron’s chamber,” she said. “But…by myself.”

"Mercia, I must see the baron again. I must
let him know I would never do anything to harm him."

"No!" Mercia's smile disappeared as fast as
it had come. "You have been forbidden to enter the baron's
chamber."

"Then I will sneak in tonight."

"But the guards."

"I will enter through Malcomn's chamber when
everyone is asleep," she explained. "I'll come through the
wardrobe, as you have seen Leahla do. You must warn her.”

"B…But… "

"I have to let the baron know I did not
betray him. Go now, Mercia. The baron awaits his wine, and the
guard who watches over me may be suspicious if I tarry longer."

Mercia quickly left and Devon turned, but
was stopped by a mighty force. She may have just as well walked
into a wall, as her face was now smashed into the solid chest of a
huge warrior. Slowly raising her eyes to find the face which
accompanied this body, she recognized only all too well the firmly
set jaw of her lord.

"Lord Corbett!" Nervously hoping he had not
heard her conversation with Mercia, she bit her lip and looked to
the ground.

"Is my face so unappealing that your shoes
find more interest in your gaze? I saw you speaking with the
baron's maidservant. What was it that held your conversation?"

"I merely wondered how the baron was
faring."

"Well, you could have asked me.”

Not knowing how to answer, Devon focused her
attention upon the busy servants.

“Devon, look at me." His voice seemed to
soften, but Devon was convinced she would not grant him the look he
demanded. She was sure a strict punishment was coming for the way
she’d acted earlier. She wondered if she’d be cleaning the
garderobes next.

"Lord Corbett." Delwynn's voice cut the
tension as he approached Corbett's side.

"What is it?" Corbett's voice snapped.

"Excuse me, m'lord, but if you won't be
needing me for awhile, I'd like to check with the chambermaid to
see if my sleeping pallet has been repaired from your raven's
exploration."

"Raven?" broke in Devon, before Corbett
could answer. "Are you sure it wasn't a rat, or perhaps several
rats that ruined it?"

Delwynn’s lopsided grin told of his
amusement. "Rats?" he asked. "Lord Corbett keeps his solar very
clean, I've never seen a rat in his chamber. But even if there was,
I'm sure the raven would scare it off."

"That'll be all, Delwynn," interrupted
Corbett.

"Yes, m'lord," answered Delwynn hurrying
away without another word.

Devon folded her arms in disgust. "I do
believe you were wrong about the many large rats that infest the
solar," she fumed. "For I seem to recall only one - and he didn't
occupy the floor!"