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“Sorry to trouble you, mistress,” one of the knights says, “but we are checking all dwellings for the rogue knight, Sir Victor, and his comrades. Might we take a look around your home?”
It hadn’t crossed my mind that the search would extend to our homes.
“Well, no one is here but my grandmother and myself. I would never allow a rogue in my home.”
“All the same, mistress, but we still need to have a look around.”
Objecting will do me no good, so I oblige. “Why, certainly, my lord. But may I state that my grandmother is very ill and has taken to her bed. Will you mind being quiet for her?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Sir Malek says. “Move aside and let us in, girl. This exchange has taken too long already, and we have a lot of homes to search. Do you have a barn?”
“No, sir,” I reply. “We have no animals to tend.”
“Very good, then.”
I stand aside and the knights enter. There isn’t much for them to search. Sir Malek still looks out back, even though I assured him that we have no barn. He can look in the outhouse for all I care. The shortest of the three enters the bedroom and is quiet as requested. He drops to the floor and looks under both beds, then rises to his feet.
“There is no one here except the ladies. We can move on.” He looks at me. “Thank you, mistress. I hope your grandmother feels better on the morrow.”
I nod and head back to the kitchen. Sir Malek is in the apothecary and the other knights join him. He has the beetroot poultice held up to his nose and grimaces as he inhales it.
“What in the devil’s hell is this? It smells like dung and dirt.”
“It is a poultice that eases a cough,” I reply. “I’ve been using it on my gram.”
Sir Malek sets the poultice down and points to the shelves lined with jars. “And you and your grandmother create all this witchery? Where is the black cauldron you brew it in?”
I try to suppress the anger rising in my chest. “’Tis not witchery, my lord. It is used for healing.”
His dark eyes bore into my face. “This is all witchery and incantations. The doctor is for healing.”
“Not if you’re poor,” I snap back.
He stares a moment longer, a smirk now lifting the sides of his black goatee. He runs a hand over his bald head. “I remember you now, girl. Your tongue is as sharp as your man’s. You belong to the lad that chided me in the streets, the one who disagreed with my choice in a dueling partner.”
I keep my posture and my wits. “I belong to no one.”
The twisted smile he wears causes the hairs on my arms to take notice.
He huffs. “I can see why no man can keep you. The fire in your tongue matches the flames in your hair.” He puts the lid back on the poultice and shoves it in his pocket.
“That is my gram’s medicine,” I say. “Please do not take it, Sir Malek. I will need it if her cough returns before the morn.”
He steps closer to me. “Well, it looks as though you have enough witchery here to make her some more. I would get to work if I were you.”
The knights head out the door, but Sir Malek hangs back, his eyes cutting me to the bone, but my shaky legs manage to hold firm. I stare into his eyes right back, refusing to cower.
“Let me see this woman who raised such a feisty lass,” he says, heading towards Gram’s room.
“Please do not disturb my grandmother, sir. She is very ill.” I take hold of his arm to stop him, but he yanks it away.
“Unhand me, girl, or you will lose said hand,” Malek threatens.
“Please, sir. She’s an elderly woman—”
Malek ignores my pleas and steps into Gram’s room, his eyes more folly than curiosity. He pulls a cloth from his chest plate when he is nearly nose-to-nose with Gram.
“She reeks of death already, girl. Are you sure she’s not rotting in this bed?”
