No, she wouldn’t, and Ranulf had to smile—at least a little—at the notion of Bea striding into Penterwell and commanding the villagers to turn over the smugglers who’d attacked his patrol.
On the other hand, maybe they would. “Am I seriously hurt?”
“She had to stitch the wound. I swear, Ranulf, I very nearly fainted when I saw all the bloody linen. I told her that was work for a physician. I think she took a terrible risk doing it herself. What does she know about medicine?”
“A great deal,” he answered as he struggled to sit up, gasping when he felt the stitches tugging at his flesh.
“I’m not sure you should do that,” Celeste cautioned.
“I’ve been stitched before.” And all things considered, he didn’t feel too bad. His side hurt, and he was rather weak—from lack of blood, no doubt—but it could be worse.
He might have been dead. “And the smugglers? Were they captured?”
“You were outnumbered. Kiernan said more came to join the men already on the beach. Since you’d been wounded, he ordered a retreat.”
“Kiernan did?”
“Who else? And you were hurt.”
“Gareth, the garrison commander, is more than competent to assume the leadership of a patrol. Or was he wounded, too?”
“No,” Celeste answered a bit peevishly. “A few of the other foot soldiers were hurt, but none seriously. It was Kiernan who fought off the man who attacked you—a big brute he was, too. I should think you would be grateful.”
“I didn’t know that, and Iamgrateful,” Ranulf replied. “He’s clearly a better fighter than I supposed.”
Celeste became a little less stiff. “Would you like some wine?”
“Later, please. What of the sheriff? Did anyone go to the village and tell Myghal about the attack?”
“I assume so. I was more concerned about you. Maloren left some bread and butter for you, and some roast chicken. Would you like some?”
He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he knew he needed to regain his strength. “Please.”
As she went to fetch the tray waiting on the chest, he gingerly felt his bandaged side, noting the scent of his sicklewort ointment. He was quite sure Bea had done a more-than-competent job tending to his wound. God’s blood, what he wouldn’t give to see and hear her haranguing the people of Penterwell!
The door flew open with a bang and Maloren, her eyes wild, her hair disheveled, came into the room as if propelled by a great gust of wind. “She’s gone! My lamb’s gone!”
“Sir Ranulf is not to be disturbed,” Celeste declared.
Celeste might have been invisible for all the attention Maloren or Ranulf paid to her as he struggled to sit up, ignoring the pain in his side while his heart thudded wildly. A fear more terrible than any he had ever felt—not even when Edmond held him under the water—tore through him.
“There’s no need for such excitement,” Celeste said with obvious disdain. “She’s in the village.”
Maloren turned on Celeste as if she’d stabbed her. “Shewasthere but now she’sgone!”
Ranulf climbed out of the bed despite the pain it caused him. He was nearly naked, but he didn’t care. “Get me my clothes and my sword.”
“You can’t get dressed! You’re supposed to rest!” Celeste cried as she dragged her attention away from Ranulf’s bandaged body to glare at Maloren. “Where would she go?”
“We don’t know, you silly slut!” Maloren retorted. “If we knew, she wouldn’t be missing!”
Ranulf clutched at the bedpost. There was no time to be lost, no time to get into his mail. “Where are Myghal and Kiernan?”
“Kiernan’s already gone to the village to help search for her,” Maloren said, wringing her hands. “I don’t know where that Myghal is.”
“Likely in the village with Kiernan. I’ll meet them there.”
“You can’t!” Celeste protested. “You’re hurt.”
