Chapter 22 #2
Angelet reached up with one hand, grazing his face with the tips of her fingers. “You’re so angry.”
“Of course I’m angry!”
“It’s bad for me, isn’t it?” she asked. It was the most lucid statement she’d made so far.
“No, love. The blood makes it look worse,” he told her. In truth, it did look bad, but telling Angelet that wouldn’t help at all. “Trust me, it just needs a bandage and some time. It will heal.”
“If it does not…”
“It will.”
Goswin was back then, thrusting a few wads of fabric at him. “Here! Use these!”
Rafe took one and almost pressed it to Angelet’s chest when he realized it was her altar cloth. “Jesu,” he muttered, snatching it back. He gave it to Goswin. “Keep that one clean!”
He took the other wad, which turned out to be his only spare shirt. He ripped one sleeve off, then hesitated. He needed to take the bolt out and then block the wound with the cloth. That would hurt her.
“Angelet,” he said. “I’m going to do something now. It will hurt, but it’s necessary.”
“I trust you,” she breathed.
Rafe told Goswin, “Tear the rest of that shirt into strips. Use your dagger. And don’t look if you’ll get sick!”
Goswin nodded, his eyes wide.
Rafe laid one hand on Angelet’s chest, the protruding bolt between his thumb and forefinger. He took hold of the bolt with his other hand, and prayed. Then he yanked the bolt out.
Angelet’s choked off gasp of pain was the worst sound he’d ever heard.
“It’s done, love,” he said, pressing the dry cloth to her chest. “I’m so sorry. But the worst is done.”
“It’s not,” she murmured, her eyes suddenly dark, the pupils widening.
“Listen, you’ll recover. I promise,” he added recklessly.
“Rafe, no,” she said. “It’s not the wound.”
“What is it?”
“I feel so strange. I think I’m about to…” she trailed off.
“Angelet? Angelet. Stay awake.” Rafe said urgently.
But she couldn’t answer. Her face took on a slack appearance.
Her eyes remained open, but he doubted she could see anything.
It was very similar to how she looked when he first found her in the church at Dryton.
Angelet told him that the seizures rarely occurred close together, but the violence of her injury must have triggered one.
She stiffened in his arms, her body falling prey to the seizure in her mind. Rafe never felt more helpless, watching Angelet be attacked by something he couldn’t even see.
“Angelet! Say something if you can. Anything. Please!”
She said nothing, and her body twisted further.
Rafe took the new shreds of cloth Goswin gave him, and began to bind the cloth to her body by wrapping the longest strips about her.
“What’s wrong with her?” Goswin asked urgently.
“She took a crossbow bolt in her chest, for God’s sake!”
“That doesn’t explain why she’s staring at nothing and can’t talk. What else is wrong with her?”
“Goswin, shut up.”
“What if they smeared poison on the tip of the bolt? That happens.”
Oh, Lord. Rafe didn’t need something else to worry about. “Goswin, shut up.”
Goswin did for a moment, but then said, “The lady needs help. We must find a physician, or a wise woman, at least.”
“We can’t stop anywhere. You saw someone get away, and we have to assume they’ll be back with more friends. All they need is for us to stop moving. They’ll attack as soon as they catch up.”
“You can defeat them!”
“I don’t know how many there are,” Rafe explained wearily. “One man against many rarely ends well for the one man.”
“But she told me you’re the finest fighter in Britain!”
Rage only shook his head. “Won’t help against an archer. Or if one of them slips past and kills Angelet while I fight the others.”
“There must be a safe place around here. A place that would protect a lady. Someplace the others can’t get in.”
Rafe took a breath. As Goswin spoke, the image of the right place came to him. And the road to get there was the one he’d just refused to travel down.
“Jesu,” he muttered. What a trick of fate. The only place Angelet would be safe was the one place he couldn’t dare go.
“Sir Rafe?” the boy asked. “What is it?”
Rafe wanted to strike out in frustration, but there was no enemy about…only his own past folly. “God hates me,” he said. “It’s the only explanation.”
“Sir?”
“All right, Goswin. There’s a place we can go. It will be a vicious hard ride to get there, but both you and she will be safe once we arrive.”
“What about you, Sir Rafe?”
“No time to explain.”
So they rode. Rafe knew every turn and every stretch of road.
Even though he avoided the whole shire for years, it was where he grew up, and the landmarks remained anchored in his soul.
The hunched back of Waterstone Clee to the east, the twist of the river that would join the Severn miles downstream, the massive trunk of a lightning-stuck oak tree at the crossroads north of Bournham, the little village closest to the manor of Cleobury.
They were all there, and guided Rafe as he rushed toward the one place he didn’t want to see.
But he had no choice. Rafe held Angelet on the saddle in front of him. The rough binding over her wound was already splotched with red. More disturbing than the physical injury, though, was her unresponsive state. Her eyes often opened, but she seemed to see nothing, hear nothing.
Before Rafe was ready to confront it, they reached the shadow of Cleobury. Rafe pulled his too-tired horse to a stop, then pulled his hood over his head.
“Goswin,” he said. “This is Cleobury. You’re going to have to speak for Angelet.”
“Me? Why not you?” the boy asked, taking in the scene. The manor looked to be in an excellent state, with freshly ploughed fields surrounding the walls, and quite a few people moving about. Any one of them could recognize Rafe.
“I won’t be welcome here, boy,” he muttered. “I can’t explain now. When we reach the main gate there, just ask for Lady Cecily. Tell the guards that Angelet needs her care.”
Taking a deep breath, Rafe kicked his horse back into movement. Goswin followed on his pony. When they neared the gate, Rafe slowed again, this time out of caution. Cleobury was a fortified manor, after all, and the men on watch were trained to be wary of strangers.
One guard shouted down for them to state their business.
“Hallo! Hallooo?” Goswin shouted up toward the tower. “Help! Please let us in. We’ve a lady with us who needs care!”
A moment later, the wicket gate opened, and two guards came out.
Rafe kept his head lowered. “Keep chattering, Goswin. And no matter what happens, don’t say my name.”
“Friends!” Goswin said. “We seek a Lady Cecily! This woman was hurt on the road, and needs aid!”
Rafe still held Angelet in his arms, and when a guard approached, he slowly lowered her prone body down to the other man, though he hated the idea of giving her up to any man.
Luckily, the guard’s attention was riveted on her face, pale and unconscious.
Rafe’s plain cloak and hood made him almost invisible, at least for the moment.
“Dear Lord,” the guard said. “Is she breathing?”
“She’s alive, but she was struck by a bolt!” Goswin said, leaping down from his pony. The concern in his voice was very real. “Please get her inside!” He rushed to help the guard who was now holding Angelet.
“Send for Lady Cecily,” the guard told his companion. He glanced back at Rafe, but didn't seem to recognize him, or even look at him very hard. “You can take the horses to the stable,” he instructed, already dismissing Rafe from his mind.
The guard and Goswin went ahead of Rafe, who deliberately hung back, using the horses as a shield from unfriendly eyes. However, all the focus was on Angelet as they passed through the gatehouse and into the courtyard.
“What has happened?” a voice called out.
Rafe looked over to see a woman striding out of the great manor house, and was hit with an overpowering sense of regret. Yes, it was Cecily, that same person he first met as a child, and one of the people he’d betrayed.
At the moment, she looked as though she might have been roused out of sleep. She took in the spectacle of Angelet and instinctively pushed back the sleeves of her gown, already preparing to do whatever needed to be done. “Who is this woman?”
“Her name is Lady Angelet,” Goswin supplied. “She needs help! We were traveling, and—”
“Enough! Tell me more later. She must be brought inside,” Cecily said.
As she spoke, the whole party moved toward the manor house—all except Rafe, who walked backwards until he was in the shadows of an outbuilding.
He knew Cleobury very well, and he could get inside these walls again if he had to…
at least, if Goswin did not betray him. If he did, Alric would tear the place apart stone by stone, and the surrounding area tree by tree, until Rafe had nowhere to hide.
Until that moment came, he could hide. He knew that Angelet would be cared for. Cecily was a healer by nature and training. She would do everything she could to make Angelet comfortable.
But all Rafe could do now was wait.