Chapter 4 #3
Inga’s terror-filled eyes fastened on Emma, telling her without words who it was.
She remembered the French knight from the day he had accosted her friend outside Feigr’s shop on Coppergate.
Eude, the tall, burly Norman with dark hair and a heavy jaw.
A sudden loathing came over Emma, fueling her rising fury.
Seeing the bruise on Inga’s face, Emma could imagine what had happened.
Artur had apparently heard the commotion, bringing him to her chamber. “What has happened, Mistress? Do you need help?”
“Aye, I need Sigga’s hemlock and wormwood potion that warms and brings sleep. Inga is hurt and needs rest.”
He took one look at Inga, curled into herself on the bed, and departed.
Emma took off her fur-lined robe and draped it over the young woman, then sat on the bed next to her, holding her hand, waiting for the potion to arrive. “Inga, can you speak?”
Inga’s hand was cold despite the heat from the coals in the brazier and the warm robe covering her.
“My father… Oh, Emma. The Norman was not alone. The men with him beat my father when he tried to protect me, before the Norman….” She broke off and shut her eyes tightly as if trying not to see the images that haunted her.
“The knights who came with him took my father prisoner. I am afraid of what they will do to him.” Then with a shudder, she added, “At least he did not see my shame.”
“Oh, Inga.” It was as I feared.
On the young woman’s face, the bruise seemed to darken. She had obviously been struck. Her heavy, golden hair, always neatly confined to a long plait, was loose and tangled.
Artur returned with the potion, a bowl of water and a clean cloth.
“Thank you, Artur. I had not thought to ask for the water and cloth, but they are needed. I must bathe the dirt from her face.” Emma would not mention what had happened to her friend.
Artur was a man who had lived long enough to understand what a young woman like Inga might have suffered but he would say nothing.
The terrible truth would remain a secret.
“Do you need aught else, Mistress?”
“Yea.” A plan was already forming in her mind. “Once Inga is asleep I will need to borrow a gown and cloak from Sigga. And then I would ask Sigga to sit with Inga. I am going out but I will let you know when I leave.”
“You would leave the house tonight?” He sounded aghast.
“I must.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“Nay.”
“You must take care. The Normans will spare no one. Keep to the shadows.” His countenance fell in resignation as he turned to go.
She called after him, “Artur?”
He paused at the door. “Yea?”
“Do not mention what you have seen here to anyone save Sigga.”
He nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
Emma helped the stunned girl to drink the potion that would send her to sweet oblivion. Then she waited for it to take effect.
Once she was certain Inga was deep in sleep, Emma removed the robe she had placed over Inga.
Carefully, she peeled back the edges of Inga’s cloak and gasped.
Inga’s tunic and shift had been torn from neck to the hem, leaving her naked and exposed.
The girl would have been no match for the Norman.
“He forced you, the bastard,” she hissed under her breath.
Inga’s small breasts were bruised and there were more bruises on her hips and slim thighs.
And blood. It was caked in streaks on her skin from her woman’s center halfway down her thighs.
The rampaging beast had hurt her, hurt her badly.
A sudden rage rose within Emma. He will pay for this. If she could find a way, she would see him dead for what he had done.
As tenderly as she could, Emma cleaned the blood from Inga’s young skin and wiped the streaks of dried tears from her cheeks.
Once she had finished bathing Inga, she gently pulled the torn gown from under the girl and took one of her own shifts from the chest at the foot of the bed.
After some difficulty, she was able to put it on Inga, thinking it would be best if she did not wake to see the bruises on her breasts and hips.
She would surely feel them, but at least she would not have the sight of them to remind her.
The torn and soiled garments Emma took downstairs and burned in the hearth fire. She was standing over the fire, watching the soiled clothing turn to ash, when Sigga met her with the tunic and the cloak that would disguise Emma as a servant.
“The clothes you asked for, Mistress.”
“Thank you, Sigga. I will return them.”
“Are you certain you are doing the right thing, my lady?”
“Aye, I must save Feigr if I can.”
Sigga’s gaze followed Emma as she climbed the stairs to her chamber. Setting the clothing aside, she carefully combed the tangles from Inga’s hair using her own carved wooden comb, then tucked the cover around the girl and smoothed the hair from her forehead.
Tears fell as Emma faced the stark reality: Inga might look innocent in her sleep, but her innocence was no more.
Once she had made Inga as comfortable as possible, Emma dressed in the servant’s clothing.
Sigga had given her the best tunic she had, a crimson one she kept for special days.
It was so like Sigga not to want her mistress to be seen in the ones the servant used to prepare their meals.
Still, it would serve. It was looser than her own fine gowns and would mask her slender curves.
Wrapping Sigga’s cloak around her against the cold night air, she set forth, bidding Magnus to stay. She would not take him with her lest he growl at some knight and be slain. Her errand was one of mercy.
Sir Geoffroi had offered her his service. She would test the sincerity of his offer, risking much to save Inga’s father. Even entering the den of Lucifer himself.