Chapter Seventeen #3
Joselyn cocked her head. “But I am here, my angel. I will heal you if you tell me what to do.”
He smiled faintly at her, the eager desire to help, the unselfish risks that she had already taken for him.
He thought briefly on the horrific tale Kynan had told him, the depth of Alexander Seton’s debauchery, but he didn’t dwell on it.
If anything, it seemed to underscore what a truly amazing woman he had married, her ability to give and love after the horror she had been dealt in life.
He didn’t think it possible that he could love her any more, but he did.
“Of course, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Listen carefully to what I tell you and you will probably be a better physic than I am.”
She smiled brightly as the magical process of Stephen’s healing began.
*
By evening, Stephen had been cleaned up, wrapped, fed again and plied with mysterious medicaments from his bag.
Kynan had lugged down the straw mattress that was on their bed up in the third floor chamber and they lay it on the floor of the solar, moving Stephen onto it so he would be more comfortable.
He seemed to breathe better sitting up so they wedged the mattress into the corner and propped him up.
Feeling better than he had in days, Stephen ate again when Kynan brought around bread, mutton and beans, and very cheap ale.
As Joselyn snuggled next to her husband propped against the wall, Kynan debated how much to tell of what had occurred on his trip from the kitchen to the keep.
He opted for all of it because sooner or later, the situation would take a turn and it would be best if they were both prepared.
As Joselyn slowly fed Stephen a slab of bread covered in mutton gravy and beans, Kynan pulled up a stool next to them.
“Ye’ve done nothing but eat all day, Sassenach,” he quipped.
Stephen lifted a dark eyebrow. “I have not eaten for three days. I have much to make up for.”
“Ye eat enough fer me army.”
“Tread carefully. If I am hungry enough, you might find yourself on the menu.”
Kynan made a face, sending Joselyn in to fits of giggles. Kynan watched his beautiful cousin, knowing he had never seen her happier. He wanted to make sure she never knew anything else.
“Moray’s men know that I have ye,” he looked at Stephen.
“I saw them as I was bringing ye food and they asked me how ye fared. I told them you were hovering near death and that only time would tell. But they are demanding tae see ye. I told them they could see ye on the morrow after ye’d had time tae sleep. ”
Stephen’s congenial expression faded. “Did they say what they wanted?”
Kynan exhaled sharply and looked at his hands, turning them over and inspecting them.
“I have heard talk that they want tae hang ye as Tommy and Willie Seton were hanged,” he replied.
“But at the moment, they are concerned with fortifying their position at the castle. They fear that Edward will come down around them again, especially with Pembury as a captive.”
All humor was gone from Stephen and Joselyn’s expressions. Joselyn looked at her husband, her wide-eyed expression on the verge of tears. Then she turned back to Kynan.
“Who has said such ridiculous things?” she hissed.
Kynan cast her a sidelong glance, still picking at his hands. “Moray is in charge,” he replied. “I heard it from his men.”
Joselyn was growing increasingly livid. “Who?”
“The knight in command,” Kynan looked at her, then. “Morgan de Velt.”
Joselyn’s eyes widened. “De Velt?” she repeated. “He must be our kin, Kynan. My mother and your mother were de Velts. Do you know him?”
Kynan nodded. “I know of him,” he replied. “He is more English than Scots, hired by Moray. The man is powerful and deadly and, I believe, well paid fer his service.”
“He is a mercenary?”
“Aye.”
“I know him,” Stephen spoke up.
Both Joselyn and Kynan looked to him. “What do you know of him?” Joselyn wanted to know.
Stephen sighed, puffing out his cheeks. There was resignation in his manner.
“Morgan served Roger Mortimer. He is an enemy of Edward, which explains why he is siding with the Scots. And he most definitely knows me. He and I have faced each other before in battle. In fact, that explains how the Scots knew to target me when the walls were breached. Undoubtedly, Morgan described me to them and told them to disable me.”
Joselyn was curled up against him, watching him with wide eyes. “He will want to kill you, then?”
Stephen wriggled his eyebrows. “It is possible,” he said, looking to Kynan. “I will see de Velt in the morning and get to the heart of this.”
“Ye might not like it,” Kynan said softly.
“I already do not like it.”
“Wait,” Joselyn put up her hand to stop them from continuing along that line of conversation. “Ky, we must get Stephen out of here. We cannot think of anything but that.”
Kynan nodded. “Ease yerself, lass,” he told her. “I have already thought of such things.”
“And?” Joselyn demanded.
Kynan grinned, but it was at Stephen. “Perhaps I’m wondering how yer Sassenach will look wearin’ McCulloch tartan.”