The Lady of Fairhaven (4 page)

The work of the day settled into the tired muscles of her arms and legs, but her heart soared with the thought that she had made a difference in another’s life. It had felt good to see Mr. Pratt’s neighbors share their meager belongings. The villeins were not so poor that they had naught to share. The land had been prosperous.

Without the customary knock, the door to her chamber flew open and Oliver strode angrily over to where she sat. Four guards followed him. As of late, many of her father’s guards had left the service of the castle because of Oliver’s poor temper. It did not seem strange to find these men unfamiliar.

“
What is that animal still doing in the manor?” Oliver bellowed.

“
I am keeping him in my room where he does not offend you, Uncle,” Gillian replied.

“
He offends me now. I do not want him inside. Do not defy me in this again, Gillian.”

One swift wave of his hand set one guard in motion to remove Dog. Although wary, Dog made no attempt to fight the rope slipped around his neck. A gentle tug set him off for the pen.

Something about losing the company of Dog unsettled Gillian. What did her Uncle intend by removing him from her presence? Before the door was shut behind the retreating animal, Oliver turned on his niece.

“
What do you mean interfering with my business?” he shouted.

“
I don’t know of what you are talking about, Uncle,” she squeaked.

“
I’m talking about the supplies you carried into town for the smithy today,” he hissed.

“
You see his hut burned down and he had nothing.”

“
Enough! You think I don’t know what is happening in the village?” His voice rose to an angry squeak.

“
I didn’t mean to imply that…”

“
I know everything I need to know about in the village,” he interrupted. “We are not responsible for reparations for acts of God.”

“
I wasn’t suggesting that. It has always been to our best advantage to see to the needs of our people. Their prosperity is ours. We had some surplus and since the smithy lends aid to the entire village, I believed…”

Once again Oliver blurted in before she had completed her thought. “It is not for some silly chit to think. It is my responsibility to insure the prosperity of the castle. You are never to make decisions in this regard again.”

“
I promise, Uncle. I will endeavor not to offend you in the future,” Gillian chirped. She had not made an outright pledge to never help anyone, just that she would attempt to keep her efforts a secret.

“
I will insure that you follow my instructions. I am tired of your arguments and interference. What you need is a lesson in obedience. I will not have it said that some addle brained chit will interfere in my demesne.”

“
It is my demesne and within my right to maintain…” she stopped in mid sentence. Clearly she had gone too far. Oliver’s eyes narrowed hatefully. Gillian stepped back. Her hazel eyes, wide with fear, reflected the golden red flames from the fire. She cautiously backed away from her uncle as the two large guards approached.

Before her uncle struck her, no other person had ever laid a hand on her in anger. A terrible feeling was rushing through her, and she was powerless to stop it. The two big guards grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door. Huge hands bit into the soft flesh of her upper arm. Her first instinct was to scream.

If only she could cry out for help. No! That would only endanger the people around her, her friends. Silence was their only protection. And silently she descended the stairs to the great hall and then farther out into the bailey. Servants watched as she made her way through the hall with the guards. Whatever was on Oliver’s mind for her, she was certain she was not going to like the accommodations. A gasp of fear broke the silence of the night as they made their way through the courtyard. The cold night air stung at the tender flesh of her face.

She knew most knights and warriors would rush to her aid if she didn’t control herself. A sudden fear that she could be responsible for the deaths of those fighting to protect her scared her more than the fate that awaited her. She had to hold herself silent. Certainly he would prevent so much harm that he could lose his hope of her estate. In this she was certain.

Gillian’s whole body trembled. The crisp night air woke her senses, and a new attempt to struggle free from her captors ensued, but fighting only weakened her. Her strength was just a fraction of these soldiers.

“
Whatever I’ve done, Uncle, I’m sorry,” she begged. “Please do not do this.”

“
I will not suffer disobedience from some stupid girl,” he explained. With one hand signal the two men tied her to a table. Pulling a broken broom handle from its concealment revealed Oliver’s plan for her.

One knight held her down over the table, and the other struck her hard just below the shoulder blades with the wooden handle.

Gillian knew her cries would be lost in the silence of the night, outside the stone walls of her home. She fought the stabbing pain that robbed her of breath, but a wave of nausea soon engulfed her. Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed hard to keep the contents of her stomach in place. The necessity of breathing overcame the instinct to stifle the retching contractions of her stomach. She gulped in a large draught of air then emptied her stomach into the hay.

She saw the guard with the stick move and she tensed before the second blow struck just inches below the first. Pain engulfed her senses, and she wondered who had made the groaning sound. While sucking in a deep draught of air a third flash of pain stung near her shoulders, and then a fourth. Unable to catch her breath between blows her mind reeled in a dizzy sickening fog.

Her mind fought the light and the pain that came with it. Gillian surrendered to the serene comfortable darkness. And then she felt nothing.

Gillian was placed on her bed by one of Oliver’s guards who had held her to the table. He stood in the room unwilling to leave. His hollow eyes shifted as Anne fussed over Gillian’s body.

“
How does the lady fare?” he asked. Concern etched the corners of his eyes. Finally, he said, “It was too much. She is just a wee bit of a thing.”

Anne could only shake her head. Although wounds were a part of a warrior’s life, she had never seen Gillian or any other woman hurt like this, and the angry tears that filled her eyes and the pain that tightened her throat prevented any reply. She pushed the reluctant guard out of the room.

Anne removed Gillian’s garments down to her chemise. Cool compresses were applied to the angry red welts that were rapidly turning a deep purple. As soon as she inspected the wounds, Anne sent for Giles.

From the moment the door opened, Giles froze in stunned silence. The silent tick of his clenched jaw passed the seconds he stood watching Lady Gillian’s shallow breathing. He listened to Anne’s request to seek out a healer, and a new rush of fury filled him. But he was glad he had a task to tend to, lest he go straight in and beat her uncle senseless.

When the knight returned with a healer, Gillian had not moved a muscle. Anne and the old woman settled in to stand watch over the chatelaine, as she lay unconscious. Salves made from herbs were rubbed onto the deep ugly welts. Two attendants let Gillian’s body mend and rest uninterrupted. By midday, Gillian finally awakened. A rich meat and vegetable broth was spooned into her mouth with the hope of sustaining her strength.

The pain set into the battered flesh making every movement agony, every breath anguish. It was more squeak than cry that drew the healer’s attention. Every function required more effort than Gillian could muster. Her weak body lay limp on the bed. The simple act of speaking drew a pain from breathing so intense, silent tears streamed down her cheeks.

Bitter, drug spiked wine prepared by the villein was gently spooned into the mouth of the shivering patient. Having little else to do than attend to her friend, Anne administered the drugs patiently. Checking for fever and finding none, the maid administered more wine and watched their patient fall back to sleep.

During the second day, after both women fell into exhausted sleep on pallets near the injured woman’s bed, a weak moan signaled Gillian’s awakening. Response to her groans was immediate, and the two hovered over the chatelaine optimistically. With a sense of resignation, they watched the lady of the manor suffer through the pain of reemerging from her mind numbing state.

“
God help me! What happened?” she cried. “I hurt, Anne.” Another course of tears ran down her cheeks. “Everything hurts.”

“
I know, My Lady,” was all Anne could say. “’Twill all be well soon.”

Gillian’s hand searched for a cold nose or warm muzzle, but found none. “Where’s Dog? she asked.

“
You must first know that the animal is alright. He was placed in his pen just before you were beaten, and there he has remained at Sir Oliver’s orders. He, like the rest of us, is waiting for your swift recovery.

Gillian closed her eyes as the pain and nausea once again washed around her. “It seems I must be more careful next time,” Gillian replied.

“
No! You must not be left unprotected from now on,” Anne insisted. “Giles has made preparations to keep you safe while you are here.” Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper.

“
Yes! I will avoid my uncle in the future. The village needs me.”

“
The village will not have benefit of you if you lie dead,” Anne snapped in frustration.

Anne’s blunt comment stalled Gillian’s retort, and even more so, it shattered all thought. The argument was too compelling to ignore. But what must be done to insure the safety of the village.

“
I wait for Aunt Elinor’s reply to my missive,” Gillian explained. “Has my messenger returned with her reply?”

“
I’m afraid, My Lady, that one of Gile’s men found young Henry’s body while hunting in the woods. Your letter never made it to your aunt. Henry was brought down with an arrow to the back. Giles believes you must, at this point, secure a safe passage to your family.”

Gillian gasped, triggering an immediate piecing pain bursting through every muscle in her body. She leaned her head against the pillow and moaned. Even breathing seemed too large a task.

“
I must get word to my aunt,” Gillian replied. “This situation is intolerable.”

“
Insure your own safety first. Gillian we must leave this place, and soon, before your uncle finds out you are well.”

“
Or the two guards return,” Gillian said.

“
They will not be returning,” a voice said from the door.

Gillian looked at Giles, who was now entering the room. He turned his head back toward the door and then at the two women. Smiling, he said, “Only God can decide their fates now.” Turning back, Giles placed himself outside the door. This time his sword was drawn.

“
I understand,” Gillian said. Then, in a whisper, she said to Anne, “Make arrangements as best you can, but I cannot endanger your life by taking you with me.”

“
My lady, my life will be endangered if you are found missing while in my care,” Anne responded. “I must go with you.”

“
So be it.”

Once outside the portcullis, Gillian and Anne made their way through the meadow, past the road. A nearly opaque fog penetrated the margins of the woods, edging the road and then spreading far away from the manor. As quickly as possible, the two reached the edges of trees. They both found it dark and foreboding in the dim hazy light of dawn, and both women were soon swallowed up as they plunged inside its protective boundaries.

Anne led the way through still another meadow and around a small duck pond. Secluded as it seemed, its location was well known by village folk and highway travelers alike. It was not a place to tarry.

The fast pace left Gillian gulping air into a painful chest. Every breath was an effort. “I think I need to rest,” Gillian begged. “I can’t breath.”

Reluctantly, Anne stopped. Turning back, she said, “These woods are not safe for anybody, much less the two of us. We must continue before sunrise.”

Gillian inhaled the needed air to restore her strength. The hot burn in her chest from overworking an injured body subsided, as did the metallic bloody taste that permeated her lungs with each breath. Determined to keep a swift pace, eventually, Gillian waved her hand forward, signaling that she was able to continue.

“How long do you think we have until they send a search party after us,” Anne whispered.

“It won’t be long,” Gillian said. “I suspect they will send a horse-mounted search party as soon as our absence is made known.”

Suddenly, Anne raised her right hand and turned toward Gillian. With her other she covered her mouth. Slowly, both she and Gillian lowered themselves to the ground. “There are several men up ahead,” Anne whispered. “I can hear them talking.”

Crawling on her hands and knees, Gillian crept close enough to the camp to view its inhabitants. Peeking over the low knoll, she spotted three knights sitting around a fire roasting a rabbit on a spit. They were still talking and laughing and Gillian was sure they had not heard the two women approach. The simple garb Gillian and Anne had chosen for their escape proved noisier than she would have liked, but the colors had obviously blended in with the surrounding landscape.