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The Bolt
Adelina had been proud of the way she’d handled the voyages along Cumbria’s coastline in the longboat. As soon as William’s galley left the sheltered waters of the Solent, her innards let her know this journey was going to be different.
Roland installed her in the stern, wrapped her in a blanket and held her as the vessel plowed its way through gray swells. She did her best to hold on to the contents of her belly, but when Roland teased that she looked a little green, the inevitable happened. She was beyond grateful he’d had the presence of mind to station a wooden bowl nearby.
“I’m sorry,” she groaned, trying to avoid breathing on him.
“Don’t be,” he replied, bestowing a kiss on her forehead. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t experience mal de mer. I’m one of the fortunate few not afflicted with it.”
She said a silent prayer of thanks for the patient and thoughtful man she’d agreed to wed. Slowly but surely, her belly got used to the pitch and roll of the waves. She was drifting into sleep, safe in Roland’s arms when the cry came on the wind.
“Patrol boat. Every man to his station.”
Roland tensed. “We are two men short,” he rasped. “They need me.”
He got to his feet and tucked the blanket up to her chin. “Don’t go anywhere,” he quipped before he left.
She curled her beleaguered body into a ball against the rough wood, turned her face away from the salt spray, and prayed.
* * *
Taking a place on one of the rowing benches, Roland hoped William’s captain was skilled enough to know they’d be better off without the sail. The wild wind wasn’t helping but rowing hard might carry the galley out of range of the patrol boat’s crossbows.
He was about to give the order himself when the command came.
The available crewmen took up an oar and put their backs into rowing in cadence with the coxswain’s drumbeat.
The galley crested waves then plunged into the valleys as the storm worsened. Roland hoped the weather would make it difficult for the English archers to find their target. He was proven wrong when a bolt thunked into the nearby mast.
Through the spray, he could barely see Adelina huddled in the stern. It was unlikely any arrows would reach her there, unless they pierced the wood at the back of the galley. He raged inwardly at the thought of her being injured.
The drumbeat quickened when two more bolts struck the mast.
Roland pulled with all his might for what seemed an eternity until the captain shouted, “They’re giving up the chase.”
He lurched to his feet, intending to make his way to his beloved when pain exploded in his shoulder and sent him reeling backwards.
* * *
Adelina raised her head when she heard the captain’s shout. They were safe. Only the storm remained to contend with now. But then she saw Roland fall. A faint hope he’d stumbled fled quickly when Thyst rushed to his aid.
A scream that drowned out the howl of the wind rent the air. It wasn’t until she found herself kneeling in a pool of water beside Roland she realized she was the person screaming.
“It’s nothing,” Roland rasped as his glazed eyes rolled and he lapsed into oblivion.
Staring in disbelief at the arrow sticking out of his shoulder, the blood pumping from the wound, and the pallor of his skin, she willed herself not to retch. They’d come too far and endured too many setbacks for him to die now. But she knew men had succumbed to lesser injuries.
If she’d been wounded, Roland’s strength would see her through. She vowed to be strong for him. Most of the crew were still rowing furiously. Trying to make his stricken lord more comfortable, Thyst barked commands to anyone who would listen.
“Tell me what to do,” she shouted over the wind.
He replied, his lined face contorted by worry, but all she heard was the word Blood.
Time ceased to have meaning and the storm lost its power over her as she struggled to staunch the bleeding by wadding up her mother’s cloak. Thyst broke off the tip of the bolt that had gone right through to Roland’s back and slowly eased the projectile out of his body. It was a relief, but the flow worsened. When the captain ordered the sail unfurled, more oarsmen scrambled over rowing benches to help Thyst who held his comte’s son out of the water in the bottom of the vessel. One tried to take over her task but she shook her head.
The urge to rage at the injustice was powerful, but Adelina refused to lose control of her emotions. She swallowed hard when she espied a corner of Roland’s plaid peeking out of the hidden pocket of the cloak. She drew it out, removed the bloodstained cloak so she could press the plaid to the wound, then reapplied the pressure. She kissed his forehead and called on the spirit of his long-dead Scottish grandmother to heal him.
She thanked the Lord God her beloved had remained oblivious throughout the ordeal.
