In some ways, it was fortunate that Merrick had been wounded in his arm by a boar spear; otherwise, she might not have learned what to do now. Fortunately she did, and she tried to concentrate solely on her task, determined to do her best so that Ranulf’s wound would heal cleanly, without infection, even if it would leave a scar. At least he was alive. Thank God, he was alive.
As Bea worked and prayed her hope and gratitude, Maloren hovered nearby, anxious but blessedly quiet, handing Bea what she asked for without hesitation or squeamishness.
As Maloren watched her lambkin working with such skilled composure, she saw not the child she had nursed and fussed over and worried about all these years. She saw Bea’s mother reborn, only with a competence and capability her dead darling had never possessed.
“There now,” Bea said, sitting back and wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “I’ve done the best I can.”
“That’s as tidy a stitching as ever I’ve seen,” Maloren assured her. “He’ll get better, you’ll see.”
“I pray God you’re right,” Bea said, rising. “Stay with him, Maloren. I doubt he’ll wake soon, but if he does, call for Tecca and have her bring him wine and water, and bread and meat, if he can eat it. He must get his strength back.”
“Won’t you be here?”
“I hope to be, but first, I have to speak to the people of Penterwell.”
BEA LOOKED OUTover the villagers gathered in the main street of Penterwell and thought of Ranulf lying pale and wounded in his bed, the same bed where they’d so recently and happily consummated the love they shared.
“People of Penterwell,” she announced, her voice strong and carrying down the street lined with curious people. “Your castellan and one of his patrols have been attacked. Even now, Sir Ranulf and several of the men who serve to protect you lie wounded in the castle.
“Ever since he came here, Sir Ranulf has tried to be a fair and just overlord. He’s been as horrified as you by the recent murders of at least two good men and poor Gwenbritha. He’s tried to find out who is responsible, to no avail. He has overlooked things he need not because he understands your reasons for disregarding the king’s law and sympathizes withyou. But murder and now an attack upon him and his men mean the time of patience is at an end.
“I ask you, I plead with you,” she said with firm resolve, “if anyone knows anything about the murders, or the men who fought Sir Ranulf’s patrol today, tell me. You must no longer think only to protect your own selfish interests, your cache of tin, the coins you’ve earned by smuggling. Do you think those men who killed Hedyn and Gawan care what happens to you? Do you think they see you as anything other than something to be used to gain more profit for themselves? Will they hold a hall moot and listen to your disagreements and try to render fair judgment? Will they be your voice before Lord Merrick? Will they represent you to the king and try to keep him from making laws that are harsher and taxes more unfair? Or will they cause the king’s anger to fall ruthlessly upon you all?
“Help me find out who is responsible for these deaths and the attack today. Let us bring them to justice, before worse befalls us.
“Think about what I’ve said, people of Penterwell. Think about Sir Ranulf, lying wounded in his bed, and how he waited, hoping that one of you would have the courage and wisdom to come forward before things went this far. Have pity on yourself, if not for him or those already dead and those they left behind, and help us catch the men who seek to do you harm.”
Bea fell silent, having said all she had come to say. For a long moment, only the cry of the gulls broke the quiet while she waited, more than half anticipating someone would speak up then and there.
They did not. Instead, the people began to drift away, muttering among themselves.
“My lady?”
She discovered Myghal at her elbow. “Yes?” she asked, wondering if he had something to tell her that could erase her disappointment and despair.
“It’s little Gawan, my lady,” he said. “I stopped in to see Wenna and he’s got a fever. She’s frantic, my lady, and begged me to ask you to come.”
As concerned as Bea was for little Gawan, she hesitated. What if someone finally decided to come forward and she wasn’t at the castle to hear them?
“Please, my lady!” Myghal begged, desperation in his eyes. “He’s burning up with it. And he can’t keep his milk down, either.”
That decided her. And, she told herself, she need not stay long at Wenna’s cottage. If little Gawan were seriously sick, she would have Wenna and the baby come back to the castle with her.
Together she and Myghal hurried along the lanes until they came to Wenna’s cottage. Myghal stepped back to let Bea open the door and enter.
The moment she did, she sensed that something was wrong. There was no fire and the cottage was not as neat as—
She felt the sharp tip of a sword between her shoulder blades. “Not a sound, my lady,” Myghal said quietly behind her. “Not a word.”
She whirled around to face him, backing into the room as he moved forward, the sword now at her throat. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “Have you gone mad? Where’s Wenna? Where’s the baby?”
“They’ve been taken and there’s only one way to get them back,” he replied. “Sit there on the stool, my lady, and don’t move, or I might have to hurt you, and that I don’t want to do.”
Bea could hardly believe what was happening. “Myghal, please! If they’ve been abducted, we should go to the castle, fetch more men to search—”
“I know who took them and where they went,” he said as he gestured with the sword. “Sitdown, my lady.”
She did as he ordered. All those times she’d been uneasy in his presence, she’d been right to worry. How many times had this snake been close to her and she’d convinced herself she had nothing to fear?
