“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, hecouldhide. 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.
Chapter 23
Angelet awoke in an unfamiliarplace. She blinked, looking around in confusion. Soft spring sunlight filtered in through the open window. The room seemed too large to be meant for one person, and certainly too lavish for her. This was someone’s home, not any religious house or infirmary run by a holy order.
She felt the bed linens under her fingertips…marvelously smooth and soft fabric, finer than anything she’d slept on during her years at Dryton. The tight weave of the linen was closer to that of the altar cloths Angelet embroidered. As she turned her head, she reveled in the feather pillow. The scent of lavender—dry, warm, and summer-sweet—surrounded her. Something had gone wrong, and she’d been mistaken for a princess.
Then she remembered something had goneverywrong. She’d been hit with a crossbow bolt. Angelet put her hand cautiously to her chest. But the wound was now padded and bandaged. There was still pain, but it was only a dull pulse.
Someone had cared for her in an expert manner. Who?
Before Angelet could sit up or call out, she heard a voice from the other side of the door. Then a woman walked into the room and went directly to the open window, all the while humming quietly to herself. She had golden hair looped and braided around her head, a style suited to a highborn wife. The lady’s left hand rested on her belly, which was rounding with an obvious pregnancy, and she tapped her fingers in time with her little song.
She’s singing to her coming child,Angelet realized with a pang.
“Hello?” she asked out loud.
The woman broke off singing and turned from the window. She smiled at Angelet with a warmth beyond mere politeness. Had they met before? Angelet felt as if she knew the other woman, though she couldn’t think where or when they ever would have met.
“Good day, my lady Angelet,” the woman said. “You are doubtless confused, but I assure you that you’re safe here.”
“Where is here?”
“This is the manor of Cleobury, in Shropshire. Do you not know the name?”
Angelet shook her head, and promptly groaned at the wave of dizziness that assailed her.
“Oh dear, lay back. You need more rest.” The woman was at her bedside in seconds, pushing Angelet back against the pillows and smoothing her forehead with a cool hand. “I am Lady Cecily. My husband is Sir Alric Hawksmere, and my father is Rainald de Vere. Do these names sound at all familiar? Your boy asked for me specifically.”
“My boy?” Angelet felt so confused. Had she somehow come to the place where her son was being fostered?
“Goswin.”
The image of wild, red-haired Goswin floated into her memory. “Goswin. Oh, yes. I’m sorry, but I remember nothing of what happened. I suffer an affliction, you see…”
Cecily gave a crisp nod. “One that strikes your brain first and then your body, leaving you unconscious and unable to move. It appears that the wound you received must have caused you to suffer a fit. No surprise—when the body suffers, the soul feels its pain. All healers worth their salt know this, whether a midwife or the most learned doctor.”
Something in Cecily’s tone—the lack of fear—made Angelet say, “Youtended me? You’re a healer? I thought you the lady of the manor.”
“I am both of those things,” Cecily said. “I have worked for years to help my people with whatever ailments come their way, from winter coughs to more serious illnesses. The plants from my garden are very useful in many cases.”
“You spoke as if my symptoms were familiar. Have you seen anyone like me before?”
Cecily’s eyebrow arched. “No. But I will do what I can for you. Have no fear.”
“You don’t even know me.” Why was this stranger offering such assistance? What did she want from Angelet? Money? A favor of some sort? Did she think that Angelet was more important than she actually was?
“But Idoknow you,” Cecily was saying. “You’re Angelet, and I am Cecily. Women in this world are all sisters, in a way. That is enough, is it not?”
“My family ties are much more knotted than that,” Angelet said miserably.
