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She began to whistle, though it was difficult to get enough spittle in her mouth. She strolled from the great hall, knowing he was staring at her, wondering if he would yell at her.
He remained silent. Did he feel guilty?
She did not tell any of the women to serve him.
That afternoon, she rode Marella into the village of Oxborough to visit her friend Ellen, baker Thomas’s daughter. As she pulled her palfrey up in a side alley, she heard the veriest whisper of a sound, but it was just strange enough, just loud enough so that she looked up. A huge saddle balanced precariously on a window opening. She had no time. The saddle hurtled down, striking her on her head and shoulder, flinging her into a pile of refuse.
She looked up. She saw no one, save a shadow. She felt the pain swamp her. She called Ellen’s name, then sighed softly and let herself fall into oblivion.
20
SOMEONE WAS LICKING HER.
No, it wasn’t a someone. It was Alfred. Why was she at the Healer’s cottage?
Hastings forced her eyes to open.
“Ah, finally she is awake,” the Healer said, so close to her face that Hastings’s eyes crossed. “Can you hear me?”
“Aye, I can even see you, Healer.”
“Good. I’m going to lift your head and you will drink. It is not too foul a drink so do not complain.”
Was that a man’s chuckle she heard?
She obediently raised her head and downed the liquid. It tasted of strawberries. “It is delicious,” she whispered, caught a shaft of black pain through her head just from those few words, and moaned.
“It is good you don’t see the color,” the Healer said. Hastings heard her say to someone else, “The potion will relieve her of the nausea and lessen the pain in her head and shoulder. I have examined her. She will not sing for a while, but she will mend.”
“What else is in it, Healer?”
“A bit of ground gentian to calm your belly and just a small chunk of pounded iris root.”
Hastings nodded, closing her eyes against a sudden shaft of pain. Alfred’s scratchy tongue on her cheek felt good. It tickled. She even managed a small smile.
She heard the man say, “I will leave her here then. I have duties that must be attended to. I will fetch her this afternoon.”
“Aye, that will be fine, my lord.”
My lord? It was Severin. She tried to raise her head to see him, but the dizziness forced her back down.
“Do not move, Hastings. You should know better than to try that.”
“I just wanted to see Severin.”
“You will see him later. You heard what he said. Duties. Men—I learned when I was just a little nit—they always have duties. What are duties, I ask you? Aye, duties are drinking and wenching and slicing each other with their swords and carving each other with their axes. Severin is no different. They are a wicked breed. I would say a worthless breed, but since they are necessary so that the next generation of them may be spawned, it would be going too far. Aye, a pity we cannot bring them all together and let them fight each other off a cliff. Close your eyes, Hastings, and rest. Alfred will lick you to sleep.”
The damned cat did lick her to sleep.
When she next opened her eyes, the pain in her head was only a dull throb. She felt only tightness in her shoulder. Her belly was calm. Severin was staring down at her.
He lightly touched his palm to her forehead, then to each cheek. He sat down beside her. “You feel cool to the touch. The Healer says you will be fine. Do you remember what happened?”
The hazy fog lifted in her mind and she nodded slowly. “Aye, I remember now. I rode into Oxborough village to visit Ellen, Thomas the baker’s daughter. I was going to tether Marella in the alleyway. A saddle fell on me from an upper window. I don’t remember anything else. No, I remember that I fell into a pile of refuse. It smelled very bad.”
“It is a very strange coincidence. It was one of my saddles that hit you. Gwent had taken it to Robert the leatherer to mend it. It is big, fashioned for a warhorse. You were lucky it didn’t strike you directly on your head. Also, you no longer smell of refuse. The Healer bathed you. It is a relief. Ellen found you. She ran to the keep and fetched me. I brought you to the Healer.”
“But why would your saddle—of all saddles—fall on me? Nothing like that has ever happened before.”
