Reckless Angel (2 page)

Tom stood outlined in the square of yellow light filling the doorway, in earnest conversation with a round body in print gown and dimity cap. He gestured toward the weeping willow, and the woman's eyes followed his hand. Daniel heaved a sigh of relief. They must have struck lucky. He moved his horse out of concealment, trotting across to the cottage.

“Your pardon for disturbing you, goodwife, but I've need of a chirurgeon.”

“Aye, so your man says.” A pair of shrewd but faded blue eyes scrutinized his face for a long moment. Then, as if satisfied, the woman nodded briskly. “There's nobbut a leech in these parts, but he'll do as well as any, I daresay. Bring the lad within.” She indicated his burden.

“'Tis no lad, goodwife, but a maid,” Daniel said, dismounting awkwardly. He followed his hostess into the kitchen, holding the now freely raving girl-who-called-herself-Harry.

“Lord a' mercy! I don't know what the world's coming to,” exclaimed the goodwife, bustling to the foot of a narrow wooden staircase at the rear of the room. “His sainted Majesty locked up, the prince fled, and neighbor against neighbor. Now there's lasses on the battlefield! This-a-way, sir.”

A small attic chamber was revealed at the head of the staircase. It contained a cot and a huge wooden chest of the kind used for storing household linens against the moth. The air was heavy with the scent of ripe apples laid carefully in rows on long wooden shelves on the far wall. Sacks of meal and flour were piled against one side of the loft, but it was swept clean and had a small, round window, unglazed to let in the fresh night breezes.

“Lay her down, sir, and I'll send my boy for the leech.” She put a knowledgeable hand on the fevered brow and looked grave. “'Tis a powerful fever. Is the wound clean?”

“Red and swollen,” Daniel said, bending to untie the makeshift bandage. “I know little of these matters and could do no more than wash away the blood.”

The goodwife peered, sniffed the gash. “There's no reek of mortification as yet,” she said doubtfully. “But 'tis early days. She'll be best out of these clothes.” She began to unfasten the girl's shirt, but the figure writhed violently, swinging an arm to catch the goodwife a hefty blow on the side of the head. “Ye'd best hold her down, sir,” the woman said a little grimly, rubbing her head.

Daniel fixed his thoughts on little Lizzie as he assisted the kindly body in stripping the fevered girl. It was very clear, however, that this was no little girl but a grown woman, even if a very young one, and it was with considerable relief that he saw her at last respect
ably wrapped in a voluminous shift belonging to their hostess.

“Now, sir, I'll send the lad for the leech, and ye'll be glad of a bite o' supper, I'll be bound.” She bustled to the stairs again.

“I've coin aplenty, goodwife,” Daniel said, following her down to the kitchen. “Your kind hospitality will not go unrewarded.”

“I'd 'elp a King's man in any case,” the woman said gruffly, before giving brisk instructions to a boy of about fifteen who was honing a scythe in the inglenook. The lad grunted and set off, narrowly missing a headlong bump with Tom coming into the kitchen.

“'Orses are bedded down, Sir Daniel,” Tom announced, going to stand foursquare before the fire, warming his backside with a contented sigh. The August evening was not cold, but there was something about a fire, something ordinary and comforting, that chased battlefield horrors as kin cut down kin into the unreal world of nightmare where they belonged.

The goodwife stirred a pot on the trivet in the fire, releasing a rich aroma that set the juices running as the two ravenous men sniffed eagerly. “'Tis jugged hare,” the woman declared with a complacent smile. “No one prepares it better, my man used to say.”

“Is 'e here?” Tom inquired, moving to sit at the long plank table.

The goodwife shook her head. “Dead for the king at Naseby. There's nobbut myself and our Jake now.” She ladled the succulent dark meat and gravy onto wooden trenchers, sliced thick hunks of wheaten bread, and filled tankards with good October ale. “That'll put the heart in ye.” Seeing Daniel glance anxiously to the foot of the stairs, she said, “I'll go to the lass, sir, don't ye fret now.”

Relinquishing his burden of anxiety for the moment, Daniel took the advice and ate heartily, feeling strength and optimism return with each mouthful, each draught of ale. They had just finished when the door opened
to admit Jake and an old man in none-too-clean smock and britches, carrying a jar of leeches and a small bag.

“'Ere's leech,” announced Jake, helping himself to jugged hare.

“Where be patient?” The old man peered myopically around the room, although his nose twitched, following the scent emanating from the pot.

“Abovestairs.” Daniel rose to his feet. “The goodwife is with her.” He led the way, trying to quash his unease at the prospect of this individual's employing his dubious knowledge and skill on the fragile creature raving on the cot.

The goodwife greeted the new arrival matter-of-factly, deftly removing the patient's shift, holding her still as the leeches were applied to arms and chest, lifting her so that more could be placed on her back. Daniel felt the jugged hare rebel in his belly as he saw the loathsome creatures swell, engorged with blood. With a muttered excuse, he went down to the kitchen again, leaving the physicking to those who ought to know better than he what they were about.

Loud screams came from the loft, giving way to the most heartrending sobs. He thumped his tankard back on the table and leaped up the stairs again. “Enough! Has she not lost sufficient blood already?”

“'Tis the only way to cool the blood, sir,” the leech informed him placidly, pulling his little pets off the girl's skin and dropping them again into the jar. The girl's body was covered in angry red bites and her sobs wracked the slender frame as if they would burst from it in solid form.

“Get out!” Daniel ordered savagely, striding to the bed. “She is out of her mind with pain and fever and you have done nought but add to it.”

The leech looked indignant. “And what about my fee, sir?”

“You'll have it!” Daniel reached into the pocket of his doublet and pulled out a shilling.

The old man seized the coin, pocketing it and hastening down the stairs as if afraid that the gentleman
would change his mind and exchange the shilling for a groat.

“Well, if ye'll not have the leech, sir, we'll have to see what we can manage for ourselves,” the goodwife said. “I don't 'old with all this bloodletting, meself. Weakens 'em when they most need their strength, seems to me.”

“Aye,” Daniel agreed. “So why did we send for him?”

“Ye wanted a chirurgeon, sir, and 'e's the nearest we've got in these parts,” the woman said a shade tartly. “O' course, there's old Dame Biddy…a wonder with herbs, she is, but there's those that say she 'as the evil eye. I don't 'old with it, meself, but you takes your chance.”

Herbs were a deal more gentle than leeches, Daniel reflected, and he did not believe in the evil eye. “Send Jake for her.”

 

Henrietta awoke, aware of one amazing and most glorious thing—the absence of pain. Tentatively, she twitched her toes, wriggled her fingers, moved her head. There were no ill effects, so she tried opening her eyes. It seemed to be very bright after the dark, pain-wreathed world she had been inhabiting recently, but although she was obliged to blink several times, her eyes no longer hurt and her head did not pound.

“'Bout time too,” came a mutter from across the chamber. Henrietta turned her head to see a figure who seemed vaguely familiar. A pair of green eyes, alarmingly crossed, squinted in a face wrinkled like a prune. “Nearly gave ye up.” The crone shuffled across the wooden boards and Henrietta, who knew all about the evil eye, instinctively shrank back from the cross-eyed scrutiny.

The crone crackled. “I've done ye no harm as yet, little maid.” She laid a hand on the girl's brow, nodding with satisfaction before turning her attention to the wadded poultice fastened to the wounded shoulder.

Henrietta relaxed, recognizing the touch and attentions as accustomed and comforting. “What day is it?”

“Monday.”

But which Monday? How long had she been lying here? One week…two? She tried to sit up, then decided rather rapidly that perhaps she wouldn't bother. It made her feel far too peculiar.

“Y'are weak as a new-dropped lamb,” said her nurse. “But y'are young. Ye'll get your strength back soon enough.”

Footsteps sounded on the wooden staircase and another familiar figure from dreamland appeared at the head of the stairs. He was tall, very dark-haired, with sharp black eyes in a tanned face. Those eyes went instantly to the bed, then sparked with sudden relief. “Well, this
is
a pleasure.” His voice was deep and smooth, yet seemed to carry a chuckle in its depths, as if its owner found the world and its inhabitants in general amusing.

Smiling, he came to the foot of the bed. “Is all well, dame?”

“Aye, sir, that it is. Fever broke last night and she's been sleepin' like a babe since. She'll be right as rain once she's got 'er strength back, so ye'll not be needin' me anymore.”

“I'd not have you leave until y'are quite certain there'll be no relapse,” Daniel said sharply.

“There'll be none,” Dame Biddy declared. “I've other things to do, sir, than dance attendance on them what 'as no need of it. Five days of my time, ye've had.”

“Ye'll be well paid for it.”

The old dame merely nodded and began packing things into a basket. “The goodwife'll know what to do to feed 'er up and change the poultice. I'm off now.” Without so much as a farewell gesture to the girl she had brought back from the edge of death, she creaked down the stairs.

“I was afeard, at first, that she had the evil eye,”
Henrietta said. Her voice sounded a little stiff, as if from disuse.

Daniel shook his head with a smile. “A fearsome countenance, I grant you, but rarely have I seen such skill. Ye've good cause to be grateful.”

“Aye, I am aware.” She lay looking at him, not troubling to fight the insidious weakness of her limbs but simply enjoying the sensation of her body at peace. “And to you, too, Sir Daniel, I believe.”

“So you know my name.”

“I seem to have heard it spoken.” She frowned slightly. “I suppose I was sometimes in this world.”

He nodded. “Perhaps you will return the courtesy now and tell me how you are called.”

That same calculating look crossed her face and he knew what he was going to hear before she spoke. “Harry,” she said firmly, closing her eyes.

Daniel considered his options. At the moment they were somewhat limited and until she was fit to travel he did not really need to know her family. “And how old are you, Harry?”

There seemed little harm in answering that truthfully, Henrietta decided, and the victory she had just gained could allow a little conciliation. “I turned fifteen on the first of August.”

“And what was a fifteen-year-old maid doing at the battle of Preston?” he inquired in a tone of mild curiosity.

“I went to be with Will.”

“Ah, yes.” He frowned. “So you did.”

There was a moment of silence, then the girl announced, “We were to be married, only…only…”

“Only you ran into a little parental opposition,” he supplied helpfully. “Were you eloping when this battle intervened?”

Henrietta shook her head. “Will would not elope. He went to fight for the king, so I had to go too.”

Daniel found himself unconvinced of the imperative here, but then he was not fifteen years old and in love. “Your family will be distracted with worry for you.”

Her face closed again. “They will care only because if I am not there they cannot compel me to wed Sir Reginald—” She broke off abruptly.

Daniel regarded her thoughtfully. Obviously she had realized that completing the name of the intended bridegroom might give her interlocutor some clue as to her own identity, or at least to the part of the world from which she hailed.

He sat down companionably on the edge of the bed, noting absently that a week's fever had left her wan and peaky. Her hair, which he suspected to be very fair, was now lank, straggling halfway down her back in limp, dirt-darkened strands. “And why does Sir Reginald not find favor?”

Her features screwed themselves into a disgusted grimace. “He's a fat, drunken sot and his breath reeks most foully! He has no hair and his teeth are green—those that he has—and he is old as Methuselah!”

Daniel absorbed this horrifying image in comprehending silence before asking, “Why are you to be compelled to wed this less-than-paragon?”

“Oh, 'tis something to do with bonds and staple-statute. A debt my father owes Sir Reginald.”

“Upon staple-statute?” When she nodded, Daniel pulled at his chin. This debt the girl's father owed would thus take precedence over all other claims on his land and property, and the man he owed could take possession of all land and property at any time he pleased until he was paid in coin of the realm. “So, this Sir Reginald will have you to wife instead. Is that it?”

“No, he will not!” she declared with more strength than a week's fever and a wounded shoulder should have permitted. “For I will not go home to be had.” Her face was suddenly wiped clean of all defiance and the brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “If Will had not been killed, I am certain I would have persuaded him to elope. Even if it meant he
was
disinherited and I had no dowry, we would have managed
somehow.” She dashed the back of her hand across her eyes, sniffing dolefully.

“Love alone is an insubstantial diet, child.” He stood up. “A man is like to starve with naught else to put in his belly.”