The Winds of the Heavens (Sons of Rhodri Medieval Romance Series) (2 page)

Rhun indicated the injured man by the hearth. “We want to stay with our brothers. We’re worried about Baudoin.” He suspected the Norman name would surprise her.

Her eyes widened.
Duwiau!
They were as blue as the summer sky. “He’s your brother also?”

Rhydderch’s abrupt reply betrayed his irritation at having to explain once again their connection to a Norman. “He’s married to our sister. He’s the Earl of Ellesmere.”

Glain’s eyes showed momentary surprise, but she returned her attention to Rhys’s leg. He stirred and moaned. She spooned a small amount of a thick potion between his lips, then carefully wiped his sweating face. Rhys calmed.

Rhun asked about the ingredients. His mouth fell open as Glain turned to him.

Pray to God I’m not drooling.

“A pinch of mandragora to help him sleep again and to dull the pain.”

Both men nodded their understanding, though Rhun had no idea what she had said. His thoughts were not on potions.

They observed intently as she sealed the torn skin with egg whites and covered it with a clean cloth. She mixed up a chalky white powder with water, dipped strips of linen and bound the damaged leg, crooning softly. Rhun assisted by supporting the broken limb. Rhydderch bathed his brother’s fevered brow. Soon both men were humming with her and suddenly they looked up at each other in shock. It was a lullaby from their childhood. The memory washed over Rhun, strengthening his hope for Rhys’s recovery. Rhydderch pressed his lips into a thin line. Always the more emotional, tears welled in his eyes. He sniffed and wiped his sleeve across his face.

Glain’s voice interrupted. “Help me raise him up and I’ll rebind his ribs. He’s a strong man to have survived this, but obviously your family abounds in strong men. You’re the sons of Rhodri ap Owain.”

The twins again coughed nervously and shifted their weight and position. Rhun frowned at the confusion in his twin’s eyes as they stood either side of Rhys, supporting him.

Glain smeared a poultice on the broken ribs. Rhun thought he detected the ingredients from the aroma. “What’s the poultice composed of?”

She kept her concentration on her task. “A mixture of radish, bishopwort, garlic, wormwood, helenium, cropleek and hollowleek.”

Rhydderch inhaled the scent. “How do you prepare it?”

Glain pointed to the mortar and pestle. “I pound them up and boil them with celandine and nettle. Everything must be put in a brass pot until it turns dark red, as now. The remedy soothes aching bones and will help him heal.” She smiled broadly, first at Rhun then at Rhydderch. “It’s good for men to be interested in matters of healing.”

Rhun’s heart raced. Rhydderch scowled at him.

She bound Rhys’s ribs with strips of cloth dipped in the remains of the chalky mixture. She bade the twins lay him back down, turning her attention to his swollen ankle. “The bone isn’t broken, but I’ll bathe it with knitbone from time to time. I’ll check on the swelling on the morrow.”

Rhun wished her hands tended to his
swelling
in the loving way she touched Rhys. A glance at the still scowling Rhydderch told the same story.

Glain sighed and looked over at the man lying by the hearth. “Now, the Earl. Imagine a lowly Welsh bonesetter tending a Norman Earl.”

Rhun felt compelled to explain. “If he wasn’t our brother-by-marriage—”

She shook her head. “He’s a man who needs help no matter who he is. The Earls of Ellesmere have a reputation as fair men, despite being Normans.”

Rhun smothered his anger at the rebuke. Rhydderch’s sneering grin made things worse.

She knelt beside Baudoin and ran her hands over his body, probing slowly. Rhun again wished he was the one lying injured. This must stop. He had to regain control of his rampant arousal. The ache was unbearable. Was he bewitched?

Glain finished her examination. “He’s cut and badly bruised. This swelling on the back of his head looks ugly. I’ll tend to his injuries, but the best cure for him is rest. Your brother must convalesce too before you journey on, a sennight at least.”

Rhun rubbed his chin. “My sister is with child and Baudoin will want to be with her at Ellesmere Castle when she is delivered. However, we thank you for your care of our wounded. We’ll stay here while they heal.”

He turned to speak to Rhydderch, but Glain took hold of his hands. He forgot the pain of the rope burns as her warmth penetrated his skin.

“Your palms are hurt. I will salve them.”

He was too dumbstruck and tired to object. Not even his brother’s jealous scowl dissuaded him from yielding to her ministrations. As her delicate fingers spread the cool balm he was tempted to lift his jerkin and have her salve the welts on his belly—

—and mayhap the ache lower down—

Rhydderch jerked him out of his reverie, a grim expression on his face. “On the morrow I’ll send riders to the main camp and to Ellesmere Castle with news of what’s happened. Carys will have sensed something is wrong. Come, brother, let’s leave these two fools who fall into gorges in the capable hands of the lovely Glain. They need her more than you do. We’ll find a pallet, and perhaps a tankard of ale.”

They swaggered out, their arms thrown heavily around each other’s shoulder. Rhun winked at Rhydderch, singing the lullaby the bonesetter had hummed, suspecting his twin was also wishing fervently he could take the
lovely Glain
to bed.

***

Glain gripped the edge of the pallet where her injured charge slept in his drugged state and breathed a sigh of relief. Good thing this beleaguered Prince could not see the beads of sweat on her upper lip. The moment the redheaded twins had entered her small home, she had been overwhelmed by their presence. Was it their size? Their notoriety? The red hair? The green eyes?

They had been angry with each other. Perhaps exhaustion had set them on edge? How hard it had been to keep her voice steady when explaining the poultice, suddenly aware of the gown she wore for tending injuries. Its short sleeves allowed for ease of movement, but it seemed both men had been fascinated by the sight of her bare arms, and she had wanted to cover them. Or perhaps not? The possible transparency of the material had never occurred to her before.

Despite the cooling properties of the salve she had used on Rhun’s hands, his heat had burned into her. The idea such men might find her attractive sent a chill of anticipation rushing up and down her spine. She took in a deep breath. No! The sons of Rhodri ap Owain would never be interested in a village woman. Noble blood flowed in their veins.

The sound of Rhun’s fingers rasping against the stubble of his chin had made her want to caress his tired face, to soothe his concern for his brother. Perhaps it was the presence of two badly injured noblemen and the heavy responsibility of caring for them that had her sweating one moment and icy cold the next. The hot wetness seeping from between her legs embarrassed and worried her. The experience had left her breathless. She couldn’t wait to tell Isolda.

Isolda verch Llewelyn ap Aldwyn unbraided her hair and raked her fingers along her scalp, relieved to be rid of the tight plait. Such a long, wearying day! The sooner she left Affetside, the better. The people welcomed her, grateful that she had left her own village of Llanfarran to take the place of their healer. However, they understood she would only replace the recently departed Moyra temporarily. She could never leave Llanfarran forever, never be separated from her twin.

Everyone was aware of her departure on the morrow. A steady stream of complaints kept her busy from dawn till dusk. She understood their fear at the prospect of being without a healer and assured them she would return from time to time. She liked Affetside. Why did she expect to live forever in the same village as Glain? Some invisible thread kept them joined, rendering unthinkable a life apart from her sister.

The people of Llanfarran should consider themselves lucky to have a skilled bonesetter and a gifted healer in their midst. The little village was their birthplace, where their parents had died. They had depended on each other, shared the despair of grieving orphans. Their healing gifts had helped them survive and prosper.

Wearied by the long day of dealing with fears and superstitions, of patiently reassuring people, she pulled her dress over her head and slumped down on the pallet. She looked forward to returning home. The short journey held no threat. Ewan the Smithy, her uncle-by-marriage with whom she lodged, would accompany her.

The route meandered by Cyfyng Gorge. She shuddered, remembering the nervous excitement of travellers who had ridden into Affetside with a tale of two men being taken to Llanfarran after falling into the gorge. She had gleaned only second-hand snatches of their account of the daring rescue. Glain no doubt tended them. Good thing she was going home.

She sensed her sister’s excitement to impart some news. How in tune they were, even when apart. They divined each other’s thoughts, though they never spoke of this ability. People feared such notions. They guarded the secret, one of many they shared.

As she drifted into sleep, her knees tucked into her chest, she recalled fondly her parents’ despair at the antics of their mischievous girls. How she and Glain had hated being reprimanded as children, yet punishment had never deterred them! A tear trickled down her cheek. She would welcome even a scolding word from her long dead parents now. She sniffled and pressed her hand to her cold nose. The last thing she remembered before sleep claimed her was the comforting aroma of the healing herbs she had handled during the day.

***

“She’s coming, Glain, your sister’s coming!”

Glain looked up from her close inspection of the covering on her patient’s broken leg. “Thank you, Gwilym. You’re a good and faithful lookout. Take this packet of herbs to your mother as a reward.”

The urchin beamed, grabbed his prize and ran out of the cottage. Lord Rhys was as comfortable as she could make him, drugged to ease his pain. The other man, the Earl, still lay in a stupor by the hearth. She must speak with Isolda before her sister entered the village, to let her know of the arrangements for her to stay in another cottage—and why.

Was she doing the right thing? Despite Rhun and Rhydderch’s obvious interest the previous evening, common sense told her neither man would wish to marry a humble bonesetter. Noble blood ran in their veins. They were the sons of a prince. The reality pained—she had been drawn at once to the one called Rhun. Strange—the men were twins, yet one definitely drew her eye, and her heart, and other unmentionable parts of her body.

However, she would not be any man’s mistress. She wanted a family, children, a husband who loved and cherished her, though she often despaired of the chances of finding such a man in Llanfarran. Male twins stumbling into their village presented a perfect opportunity to play the trick she and her sister had used to hoodwink others. The men might be angry once they found out, but they too were twins; they would understand and accept with good grace. Better to enjoy an amusing interlude with these attractive men than to have her heart broken.

All seemed in order as she glanced round the cottage, throwing on her shawl. She stole away quietly and hastened to meet her identical twin.

***

Isolda sat down heavily on a massive fallen oak. “But I am weary, Glain. I want to go home.” She came close to stamping her foot like a petulant child. Ewan shrugged his shoulders and sat beside her. “Uncle and I have been walking since dawn. Why can’t we go to the cottage?”

Glain explained about Rhun and Rhydderch ap Rhodri bringing their wounded brothers. “There’s no room for you to sleep!”

Isolda had seen the unmistakable signs of the rescue. She shuddered to think of anyone lying injured in the narrow gorge. “I heard about the accident and was told the men had been brought to Llanfarran. But there is more to this than you are telling me. The gleam in your eyes betrays you.”

Ewan came to his feet with the aid of his staff. “I see it too. Glain has something naughty in mind.”

Glain reddened. “Just a harmless idea.”

Ewan chortled. “Aha! Full of mischief, as usual.”

The twins exchanged a smile as Glain laid out her plan. They would lead the noblemen to believe they both pursued the same woman. The ruse had worked before with unsuspecting swains.

Ewan wagged his finger. “You’d best be careful. One of these days you’ll be caught in your own net. You say they are princes?”

Glain shook her head. “Their older brother is the prince, the one with the broken leg. They’re sons of Rhodri ap Owain.”

Ewan arched his brows in surprise. “The patriot? Why wouldn’t you want them to woo you?”

Isolda had not met the twins, but she understood her sister’s concerns. “Men of noble birth aren’t interested in village girls—not as wives.”

Their uncle sat down again with a sigh. “Maybe you’re right. Too bad. I would be proud to boast my nieces-by-marriage were wed to famous Welsh patriots.”

They shared the humour, but Isolda noticed a hint of sadness in Glain’s eyes. Her sister took a deep breath. “Now, go to Ivor’s cottage. There’s food ready for you both. I must get back to my charges. Take care Rhun and Rhydderch don’t catch us together.”