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“She protects the witch.”
“She will see Marta dead.”
Hertha was stricken by the vile accusations but refused to remain silent. “I am a healer. I do no harm. Lady Tavia is not evil nor is she a witch. It is all of you who are evil speaking such vicious lies.”
Tavia whispered a thank you to Hertha when she squatted down to look at Marta.
“A wound to the back of the head and lots of blood as you can see,” Tavia said and felt a strong hand grip her arm and lift her to her feet.
“Hertha and Greta will see to her, wife,” Bhric said.
Tavia saw that Greta had arrived and she leaned heavily on her staff as she peered down at Marta and spoke quietly with Hertha.
“I did not harm her,” Tavia said, fearful her husband would think otherwise.
“I never thought you did, but you cannot stay here. The blood on your hands and garments do not bode well for you,” he said and sent an anxious glance to Sven. “See to things here and send everyone to their cottages. Find me when it is done.”
He went to hurry his wife to the keep and stopped when she gasped.
“My leg,” she said. “I must have twisted it when I stumbled over Marta. Her husband went to pick her up. “Nay, I will not appear weak in front of everyone.”
Bhric admired her for that but refused to allow her to suffer in pain. He coiled his arm around his wife’s waist and lifted her feet slightly off the ground. She looked as if she walked along of her own accord when he actually carried her with one arm, her garments long enough and the dark night enough to conceal the truth.
“Who would do this and why?” Tavia asked as they neared the keep, Fen turning his head back now and then to keep watch.
“Let us hope that Marta wakes and tells us,” Bhric said.
“Or I will continue to be blamed,” she said with a shiver of the consequences that that would bring.
“Only fools who refuse to see what is in front of them would believe you hurt Marta,” Bhric said and when they entered the keep he called out, “A bucket of warm water and cloths in my solar now.”
“They believe what they will,” Tavia argued and turned a glance on herself since there was finally sufficient light to see. Her eyes went wide at the amount of blood stained on her cloak and tunic and her hands were nearly covered with it.
Bhric removed her cloak and tossed it into the hearth’s flames as if somehow removing the stain from her would see her innocent. As soon as the bucket of water and cloth were delivered, Bhric got busy cleaning her face first before he started on her hands.
“I have blood on my face?” Tavia asked and instinct had her raising her hands to touch it, and stopped, as if she could feel it when her hands were already covered in it.
“A few spots nothing more,” Bhric assured her since it was the truth, and he gently rubbed the offending specks of blood off her cheek.
When he finished, he pushed up her sleeves before plunging her bloody hands into the bucket of warm water.
“What is in front of them that they do not see?” Tavia asked, his remark returning to her.
“You are a wee one and Marta is not. There is no way you could have hit her in the back of the head with enough strength to cause such a damaging wound.”
“Witch’s power,” she whispered.
“Hush!” he ordered, her feather-light whisper sending a fright through him.
“It is what they will say,” Tavia said. “There is too much speculation being whispered about me, and this incident only ignites the flames more.”
Bhric took her hands out of the bucket and began to dry them, rubbing them vigorously with a cloth. He would not admit she was right, and he worried over the danger it would bring.
Sven announced himself with a shout and knock at the door that rushed opened before Bhric called out for him to enter.
“Marta remains unconscious, but the bleeding from the gash to her head has stopped. She rests comfortably in Greta’s cottage. Greta says time will be Marta’s fate.”
Bhric understood. The more one lay unconscious from a wound the less likely they were to survive it. He had seen it numerous times after a battle and most times it did not turn out well.
