Wolf's Cross (12 page)

“And he banished him?”

“I don’t know his master’s intent, but your Lukasz left last night with the clothes on his back. I’m certain he’s not returning.”

T
he more she thought about it, the more sense it made. Lukasz had always been petty and easily offended, and too fond of his own meager status. It was as if all his flaws had conspired to destroy him in one night.

As petty as he was, he had been left with only one outlet for his anger: her. He must have left to run after her straightaway. He knew the path she walked home. She shuddered at what might have happened if he hadn’t caught up with her. Would he have come into her house? Threatened her family? Her brothers were strong, but they slept too deeply. She could easily imagine a dagger slitting a sleeping throat or two before enough of alarm was raised to rouse them.

But the events of last night were still such a jumbled mess in her mind that she hadn’t spared a thought to wonder which German Lukasz had attempted to evict—not until she saw the broken latch on the door to Josef’s room.

Lukasz’s room.

“Josef!” she yelled, pulling the door open and almost spilling Josef’s breakfast in the process. “Josef!” she repeated, unnecessarily, as he turned to face her, clad only in a long nightshirt, seated at the foot of the bed.

“Are you all right?” she asked, deeply relieved to see him smile weakly in response. The odd realization struck her that, however unknowingly, Josef had punished her nemesis as much as the outlaw Darien had. The thought broadened her smile until she felt the tug of the bruise on her cheek.

“I seem to fare better than I deserve,” he said. “From your abrupt entrance, you must have heard of my nighttime visitor.”

She looked at him: strong as he was, the injury still weighed upon him. As much as his expression and posture tried to project a hale physique, she saw the lie of it in the beads of sweat on his brow in the cool morning air, and in the lack of color touching his lips. “You shouldn’t be sitting up.”

“Perhaps not,” he sighed. “I thought that when God granted me the strength to resist being waylaid, He might have left me with the power to stand up this morning.”

Maria shook her head and set his breakfast down, then helped him back into bed. “You haven’t seen how badly you were wounded.” She took a clean cloth and wiped the sweat of his exertion from his brow, from his cheek, and from his neck. She lingered a moment with her hand against his face.

“I have felt it.”

“Let me look at it, and see what damage you’ve done to yourself.”

His brow furrowed. “My lady, allow me some modesty, please.”

His addressing her as “lady” instantly reminded Maria of their relative statuses. Whatever comfort she provided him, that couldn’t change. She pulled her hand away, wringing the cloth.

“Sir, did you allow the doctor to see you last night?”

“I was unhurt.”

“Do you wish to see him now?”

“I am healing fine.”

“You’re my responsibility. If you don’t wish me to examine your wounds, I will fetch him.”

He muttered something quickly in German that Maria couldn’t quite understand. Something about God testing him again. Then he said, “Do me the favor of turning your back a moment?”

“As you wish.” She turned away from him. “I can fetch the doctor, if that would make you more comfortable.”

“I serve the Hospital of St. Mary in Jerusalem. Caring for the sick and wounded is a tenet of my Order. I know doctors and their practices.”

“You are afraid of what he might do?”

“No. But I know that such men, once called to assist, find their own vanity ill-served if they do nothing—even if nothing should be the best course of action.” He sighed and said, “Turn back around, then, and satisfy yourself that I am in no distress.”

She turned, and Josef made a point of staring up at the ceiling and not meeting her eyes. He had drawn the sheets up around his waist to cover his privates, and had pulled his nightshirt up to expose his abdomen.

She stared at him for several long moments. He might not realize it, but she had already seen all that the sheet covered. And, ironically, the concealment only drew her attention, firing her memories of what was hidden. Her cheeks flamed.

“Maria?”

“Yes,” she answered, quickly bringing her attention back to the wounds in his abdomen. The linens that bound his wounds were spotted with stains of old blood, but fortunately there were no signs of fresh blood or other discharges.

“These need to be changed, in any event,” she told him.

He grunted as she untied the knots and removed the old dressing. She frowned at his stomach. The wound was an ugly, jagged crescent that arced around his navel. The edges were tied shut by coarse stitches, threaded either by his comrades in the Order or by the Wojewoda’s doctor.

But, Maria had to admit, as horrid as the wound appeared, it
did not display any of the signs she knew to look for. The flesh showed only some flushing next to the black clotted lips of the scar, no white, no red; and nothing seeped from the wound except a few drops of healthy ruby blood where he had stretched too far against his stitches.

Seeing how well he was actually doing was a balm for her soul, as if God had granted a blessing in compensation for the torment of the prior night. She sighed and touched his hand, their relative stations completely forgotten.

“You have not hurt yourself unduly.”

“Good.”

“God has blessed you with strength.” She turned to look at his face. “Please avoid testing the limits of that blessing.”

“I can try.” He surprised her by squeezing her hand.

She stood still for a moment, then told him, “You need a new dressing on that wound.”

She worked quickly, binding the ugly scar with clean linen. As she worked, Josef’s sheet shifted slightly and she found herself once more beginning to blush. When she was done, she turned her back again so he could rearrange his sheets and his nightshirt. And so she could hide the burning on her cheeks.

“May I ask, what caused that wound?”

Josef stayed silent behind her.

“Sir?” She couldn’t help but look over her shoulder. Josef had already managed to regain his modesty. His expression, however, had gone tense. He glanced at her, then shook his head. “I am not permitted to discuss it.”

She turned around. “You can say nothing?”

“No, I have taken vows—” He stopped and stared into her eyes so intently that she reached up to touch her own face. She winced slightly at the touch. “Forgive me, Maria, but you’re injured yourself.”

She shook her head and turned away. “It’s nothing.”

She was a lowly servant. No one else at Gród Narew had showed any interest in the small abrasion where Lukasz had struck her. No one had any concern for it. Why would
he
be the one to notice it?

Her heart caught a bit when he asked, “Did some man strike you?”

“No,” she said sharply. Too sharply. The false denial hung in the air between them as obvious as the cut on her face.

“Maria, as a member of the Order, it is my duty to protect the innocent—”

“Nothing. It is nothing. I tripped and fell.” She brought him his breakfast and added, “I’m sorry, but I have other duties to perform. May I have your leave?”

“Of course. But are you sure—”

“Thank you, sir.” She turned and left him before the lie became an unbearable weight.

I’m sorry, Josef, but I’ve made vows of my own
.

G
od seemed intent on teaching Josef humility. He had worked very hard to conceal the pain he had felt last night, and had used his past as a talisman to keep his thoughts within the bounds of chastity as Maria bent over his half-naked body and tended to his wounds. As she touched him.

But apparently he was not to be permitted to lull himself with such victories. First there had been Maria’s direct challenge. He had not expected the question, though he didn’t know why. Maria had no reason to know the details of his obligations, or what he was permitted and not permitted to talk about.

Still, it had caught him off guard.

As had the realization that someone had struck her. He had been so preoccupied with his own pains and pandering to his own
modesty that he hadn’t even noticed the mark on her cheek and the growing shadow under her eye. It had been so unexpected that he hadn’t been able to help blurting it out when he had noticed.

She had snapped the denial at him almost as if in retaliation for his own secrets. He had tried to get her to say more, but had only succeeded in driving her away. Now the dark mood that had gripped him as she’d left gave the lie to his pretensions to virtue.

All he knew was that someone had threatened her, and that once he got his strength back, he was going to teach that person some proper manners.

F
or the next two days Maria forced herself to be brief in her dealings with Josef. He was recovering, and he needed little in the way of assistance other than her changing the dressing on his wound. She told herself that anything beyond that would be less than proper, for more reasons than she cared to count. More than propriety, though, her lie to him weighed upon her, and every moment with him she felt the wound on her cheek and felt the unspoken question in his eyes.

Who did this?

Why hadn’t she told him? Why did a promise to some outlaw long gone by now matter so much to her? Why did it matter at all?

In any case, by shortening her visits to the strictly necessary, Maria was able to walk to and from Gród Narew in daylight. That was more of a concern now that she knew that Lukasz had been banished and might be lurking, awaiting some sort of reprise no matter what Darien might have threatened him with.

Then there was Darien himself. Frightening in his own right …

But an outlaw like that wouldn’t stay long within the sight of
one of the Duke’s fortresses. He was likely far away by now, and she would probably never see him again.

So why had she lied to Josef?

The thought struck her as she entered Josef’s room with his supper; perhaps it was a fear that Josef would think less of her, knowing that she received the attentions, however unwanted, of someone like Lukasz.

As she stepped through the door, she told herself that Josef was not one to condemn her for something that was none of her own doing. If she was an honest woman who wished to do fairly by him, she should admit her lie and tell him of both Lukasz and Darien.

Josef must have read something in her face, because he asked her, “Did I offend you, my lady?”

“Sir?” It was hard to conceal how much the question flustered her.
I need to tell him
.

“Ever since I asked about your face, you’ve been distant. Please forgive me if I was too forward in my question.”

The words died in her throat. She could not find the strength within her to admit what had happened. Not only because of Lukasz, but because of Darien. And because if Josef would not condemn her for Lukasz’s actions, he certainly would for her dishonesty.

She unconsciously touched her still-tender cheek. The eye above it had grown a shadow of a bruise over the last two days, and still he was the only person who’d seen fit to comment upon it.

“Please, there was nothing wrong with your question,” she told him, sick at compounding her lie. “It was an honest mistake.”

“It was your affair. I have no place trespassing where I wasn’t invited.”

Her lies twisted into a sour ball in her stomach. She sucked in
a breath and tried to put on a glad face she didn’t feel. “I bear no ill will for your concern, sir.”

He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “Is there another reason for your silence, then?”

“I—” How could she answer
that
? “I do have other duties, and they must be occupying my mind as well as my time.”

“It is selfish of me,” Josef said, “but I spend most of my time alone in this room. The solitude wears on me.”

“You’ve seen none of your fellows?”

“My Komtur has come to pray with me.” He smiled weakly. “God forgive me, but while he offers me spiritual strength, fellowship is not his strong suit.”