The Kindling (10 page)

Sir Durand heaved a sigh. “As I would not wish ill to befall you, I shall serve as your escort, but only for an hour.”

“I thank you,” she said and once more drew alongside him.

The distance between the outer walls and the wood being covered by way of a dirt-beaten road, it was lightly traveled by those from outlying villages who journeyed to the castle to do their duty to Lord D’Arci, seek his counsel, deliver foodstuffs to the kitchen, and sell their wares. And, as Helene and the knight passed in the opposite direction, she felt the same curious regard from them that she had felt from those upon the walls. Though she guessed the men-at-arms and villagers were accustomed to seeing Sir Durand walk to and from the wood, it was surely an oddity for him to be accompanied by a woman.

While she and the knight tramped the light-dappled wood during the hour that turned into two, they discussed little of import while she sought and found an aged branch. To her surprise, he obligingly stripped it of its bark using the lesser of two daggers he wore upon his belt, the greater dagger being one whose hilt was jeweled the same as that which Sir Robert had taken from Sir Mark, the Wulfrith knight he had captured. Doubtless, Sir Durand’s was also a coveted Wulfrith dagger.

By the time Helene finally located a sizable patch of the herb she required, she was certain the knight would be relieved to be rid of her. And yet he had become strangely at ease and, rather than point her to the road as expected, escorted her back to the castle.

When they parted in the inner bailey, Helene was pleased by how pleasant an experience it had been considering there had been little hope at the outset. Smiling at having secured Sir Durand’s promise that he would allow her to examine his injuries when she later tended the men-at-arms, she entered the donjon. And found Sir Abel waiting for her.

Chapter Nine

“You went alone with him to the wood?”

Helene halted just inside the great hall and stared at the man who sat at the far end of the high table. He had come belowstairs. How? Had someone aided him? And why had he come? He had hardly seemed receptive to leaving his chamber, let alone covering such a distance that included the treachery of stairs.

Thinking the answers must lie with the other occupants of the hall, she looked to Lady Beatrix who sat beside her husband at the center of the table where, it appeared, Lord D’Arci had been consulting his ledgers prior to her entrance. Next, she cast her gaze to Lady Isobel seated before the hearth, a piece of needlework in hand. And there was Baron Wulfrith coming off the stairs.

“You went alone with him?” Sir Abel repeated.

She gripped the staff tighter and resumed her stride. “If you refer to Sir Durand, I did go to the wood with him.”

“Why?”

Struggling against taking issue with his demanding tone, she refused him answer until she ascended the dais. “Not only did I owe the knight an apology for having struck him on the night past, but there are things I need that only the wood can provide.” She laid the staff on the table before him.

His gaze touched so briefly on it that she knew he was offended by the offering.

“Thus,” she continued, “better I went with Sir Durand as my escort than no escort at all.”

“You are sure of that?”

Yet another allusion to something dangerous about the man. “Why should I not be? He
is
a knight.”

Sir Abel snorted. “Do you so soon forget that murdering miscreant, Sir Robert, was also a knight?”

She stiffened, less and less liking her audience with him. Indeed, if were they alone, she would walk away. “I do not forget, and I never shall.” She stepped back to the edge of the dais and, knowing it might appear unseemly, raised the hem of her skirts to reveal the dagger strapped ankle to calf. “For that, I now wear this.”

He narrowed his gaze on the weapon, then looked back at her. “That can be taken from you.”

“Perhaps.” She dropped her skirts. “But tell me, is it your intent to imply Sir Durand is of the same ilk as Sir Robert?”

His jaw shifted, and he glanced to where she felt Baron Wulfrith’s presence behind her. “There are things you do not know about Sir Durand.”

Feeling the stir of temper that Sister Clare had taught her to gentle, she stood straighter. “Since none will tell me what those things are any more than he is of a mind to reveal them, I must assume that, as he remains at Castle Soaring without the weight of chains about him, he can be trusted to serve as my escort in a wood I do not know.” Only at her finish did she realize the height to which her voice had ascended. And chastised herself for becoming so riled. But then, never had she found herself in such a position—as if brought before accusers with none to stand alongside her.

She looked to Lady Beatrix and Lord D’Arci, then over her shoulder at Baron Wulfrith who stood just off the stairs, hands clasped behind his back as he regarded his brother with something like warning in his eyes.

Helene shifted her gaze to Lady Isobel who had settled back in her chair.

“I am sure you were most safe with Sir Durand.” It was Lady Beatrix, and when Helene turned to her, the woman gave a slight smile before addressing her older brother. “Do you not think, Wulfrith?”

Momentarily distracted by the oddity of showing respect for the head of their family by eschewing his Christian name, Helene almost jumped when Sir Abel spoke ahead of his brother.

“Regardless, ‘tis unseemly.”

It had been difficult not to rise to anger when Sir Durand had said the same, but with this man it was impossible.

Helene swung around. “Lest you forget, Sir Abel, my place in life is not the same as those places held by your mother and sisters. I am no lady. I am no maiden. I am a villager, a healer, and a widow with a child, and so what may be unseemly to you is life as I live it. And though I am sure you believe it is within your rights to take me to task for accepting aid from a man you hold in low regard, you are wrong. You have no such rights over me. And never you shall.”

She did not try to identify the emotions that skittered across his face, for she did not care if they were anger, regret, chagrin, or mere annoyance. All she cared was that she find air to breathe in a place that was not stuffed full of Wulfriths.

She slapped a hand to the staff and gave it a push that sent it rolling.

Though Sir Abel’s gaze did not waver from hers, he brought his left hand down upon it, arresting its progress that would otherwise have ended in his lap.

“Methinks you shall require that if you wish to regain your chamber,” she said, then turned and descended the dais. However, she had but two steps behind her when she realized she was not done. She looked around. “’Tis Sir Durand you ought to thank for that.” She pointed her chin at the staff. “I chose the branch, but ’twas he who fashioned it. For you.”

Head high, she resumed her course and traversed the hall. Though she did not think ahead to where she was going, or if there was even a place for her to go, as she neared the kitchen passageway, it seemed a good choice.

Only when she was certain she was out of sight did she halt to compose herself so she would not draw attention upon entering the cook’s domain. Had she really done that? Said those things?

Ah, wee Helene, you did,
Sister Clare came to her again,
just as ever I am saying you should not. And now you regret it as always you do.

Remembering the nun’s “See, did I not say?” look that had been most familiar to Helene as a young girl, she winced. How she had hated disappointing Sister Clare, so much that for the nun, as much as God, she had learned to control her tongue. But with Abel Wulfrith—

“Well, that I did not expect from her,” Lady Isobel’s accented voice wended down the passageway.

“I believe there is much about Helene of Tippet one would not expect, Mother,” Lady Beatrix said. “And ’tis not as if anger is not her due.”

There came a grunt of laughter. “Annyn would like her.” It was Baron Wulfrith. “Quite well, I vow.”

Helene did not know who this Annyn was and, hearing Sir Abel’s voice, decided it did not matter. Putting her shoulders back, she continued to the kitchen and found it more full of Lord D’Arci’s servants than the hall had suffered from an excess of Wulfriths. Fortunately, such was not the case with the garden beyond where she sank onto a bench, put her head in her hands, and tried to deny herself the comfort of tears.

“My brother spoke where he should not have.”

Helene had heard the heavy tread of the one who entered the garden but had hoped he had not come for her. Thankfully, she had been given half an hour in which to calm her mess of emotions such that her cheeks had cooled and it was possible the whites of her eyes were more in evidence than the crimson strain to which she had subjected them.

She looked around at Baron Wulfrith where he had halted on the path and wondered at his lack of stealth that had been present after he had returned her to her pallet on the night past. Was it intentional? A means of alerting her to his presence? Regardless, she was grateful.

Certain the imposing man would never look at ease in a garden, she said, “He did speak where he should not have. I am thinking, though, that he did not send you to tell me so, Baron Wulfrith.”

His smile was slight. “You seem to know my brother fairly well.”

“Hardly at all.” She lowered her gaze and smoothed her palms down her skirts that evidenced the fistfuls she had gathered when she had first come outside.

With two strides, the baron placed himself before her. “It was Lady Beatrix who won the argument that I should seek you out since it was I who brought you to Soaring.”

As she looked up his imposing height, she noted the Wulfrith dagger he wore and momentarily wondered where Sir Abel’s was, for he surely possessed one—unless it had been lost in battle. Not for the first time acknowledging that, despite his silver hair, Baron Wulfrith was a handsome man, she said, “I imagine it was Sir Abel your sister argued against.”

He inclined his head. “As told when I came to you in Tippet, I believe Abel has had enough time and distance from the battle he survived in yon wood that he might begin to accept his losses and start anew, and yet he fights me. That is why I asked you to come—and the reason I ask you to stay, though I would not fault you if you have decided to leave.”

She had, had not, then had again. But as frustrated and unsettled as she was by her stay thus far, she had told the baron she would try, and less than two days was far short of trying.

“I gave you my word, and my word I do not give where I do not intend to keep it. Still, methinks you ought to look elsewhere for a healer that better suits your brother.”

“I would, but I do not believe there is any better. Previous to your arrival, he had not left his chamber, and yet this day he descended to the hall without aid.”

Imagining how long the passageway must have stretched, how numerous the stairs must have felt, how deep the wound to his warrior’s pride when he had come beneath the gaze of others, Helene dragged her lower lip between her teeth.

“And do you know why?” the baron asked. “From his window, he saw you leave the inner bailey with Sir Durand and became concerned when an hour passed and you had not returned.”

So that was how he had known, though she should not be surprised considering his note of her hasty withdrawal from his chamber. Doubtless, further inquiry had revealed that Sir Durand and she had gone to the wood.

Helene sat forward. “I appreciate his concern, but after what you just witnessed, I do not see how you can believe I am suited to caring for him.”

She sensed the baron’s impatience and knew it must be a trial for a warrior that even King Henry did not wish to cross to try to reason with a woman so far beneath his rank. However, only after what seemed considerable thought did he respond.

“Abel would not wish you to know it—I am not even sure he knows it himself—but my sisters have reported that ere he returned to full consciousness following the blows that provided him an intimate view of death, he spoke your name several times, as well as your son’s.”

Helene did not think she had ever been so aware of the simple act of breathing as she had become since arriving at Soaring, but again she felt the pressure of breath below her throat and its absence from her mouth and nostrils. What did it mean that her name had been upon Sir Abel’s lips? Perhaps he—

Nay. If it was anything, it was desire that had made him speak of her from out of the darkness. And yet, he had spoken of John as well…

Dear Lord, why am I in such turmoil over a man I can never truly know? Why can I not simply leave him to his misery and go home to what I
do
know, that which is real and true and safe?

“Baron Wulfrith,” she said, “I believe you seek to gain my continued service by leading me to believe your brother has a care for me beyond passing interest. Though I do not doubt you know that I would be receptive to such feelings, surely you cannot think I am so fool to imagine there could ever be more for me than there was for my mother who birthed a son…”

You do it again, wee Helene.

So she did, but what harm was there? Her story was not unique, for many were the common misbegotten children of the nobility. And so, wishing Sister Clare away—though, in truth, there were few things she wanted more than to walk beside the nun again—she continued, “…my mother who birthed a son and daughter, both of whom were put in her belly by a man who was not born to a commoner’s life and would never make of her more than a pleasant diversion.”

As Baron Wulfrith stared at her with those same assessing eyes she had earlier felt in the hall, she straightened from the bench. Fortunately, he had not drawn so near that she had to strain her neck any more than when she had been seated. “I understand your motive, and I think it honorable that you care so deeply for your brother that you would see him restored to your family as fully as possible, but do not try to make of me a pawn whose sacrifice is of no consequence.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You speak nearly as forcefully and freely as my wife, Lady Annyn.”