the battle for England’s crown seem like a squabble between kittens.
* * *
Clara continued to work with Lady Ediva, encouraging her to take some strong broth and nettle tea. That done, she helped the babe to suckle properly.
Ediva cringed. “I ache all over, Clara. He hurts me.”
While Ediva’s tone was weak and petulant, Clara knew ’twas more from fatigue than personality. Ediva had already decided she wanted to feed her own babe and not hand him over to a nurse. “Aye,” Clara agreed softly. “He will until you get used to him, but ’tis just for a short time, and then you can rest. Remember how I said that ladies who refuse to nurse often waste away?”
Ediva obeyed, and after, Clara showed Margaret how to rub some herbed oil on her mistress. Finally, all was cleaned up, and Clara tucked Lady Ediva into her bed for some much-needed rest. The wide-eyed boy lay swaddled in a cradle between the bed and the well-stoked brazier, a sealed skin of warm water set beside him to keep the chill at bay. Margaret dozed on her pallet at the far end of the room while Clara guarded them all. Her hand throbbed where she’d slammed it into the dungeon door, but the dim light of evening made it impossible to deal with.
She was too agitated, anyway, her thoughts far away from her own pain. Rowena and her child were safe. The only other person who knew of their new location was her small sister, Brindi, whom she’d told before sending her home. Should Lord Taurin—
A tear dropped down onto her lap as she rose. Nay, Brindi was safe and far away from Colchester. Clara had returned the girl to their aged mother, to their home near the seaside and away from the clutches of the guild masters who’d forced her out.
She fisted her hands and the left one stung sharply. She’d acquired a splinter from the door to the dungeon, and now that she wasn’t busy, it throbbed. Forget it. She’d deal with it on the morrow when the light was better. The end of the day was fast approaching.
Clara paced to the window, anxious for some air to clear her mind. She quietly eased the vellum shutter from the window, wanting only a few breaths of fresh air before she blocked out the cool evening again.
She leaned forward. Having abandoned her wimple and veil earlier, the light breeze brushed over her neck and through her thick hair. Glad for it, as her cyrtel clung to her and was in need of laundering, she stretched out as far out as she could manage.
The window had a direct view of the village below, in particular, her small hut at the center. Her gaze automatically fell on it.
In the darkening evening, a shadow passed in front of her home, someone thin and stealthy. A breath or two later, the door, set at the side of the hut, opened. Then, as Clara stared hard, a lamp was lit, spilling light onto the small herb garden for a brief moment before the door shut tight.
She gasped. Someone was in her home.
A sharp rap cut through her and she jumped. After a glance around the solar, and noting all was as it had been a moment before, she heard the knock again. Someone was at the door. Quickly, she set the vellum frame back into place and hurried to crack the door open a tiny bit.
Kenneth stood at the threshold.
“’Tis time for you to return to your hut,” he growled out softly.
She stepped out into the corridor. “And not to the dungeon? Have I earned a reprieve somehow? Oh, mayhap you’ve come to your senses and realized I have done nothing wrong!”
“Anyone who deliberately puts an entire town at risk should be imprisoned, but, nay, Lord Adrien pledged to Lady Ediva he would protect all in Little Dunmow. Apparently, that includes you. I will escort you home.”
Did he think her a fool? She’d have to be addled not to realize that Kenneth would want Rowena’s child given to his father and, as a result, would stay close to discover her location.
Ha! If Kenneth believed that by dogging her footsteps day and night she would, out of frustration, finally tell him where she’d hidden Rowena, he was sadly mistaken. She was the oldest of several children and had dealt with all her siblings’ childish ways. She could easily outlast this one man’s pestering.
But ’twas a moot point. “I am not ready to leave Lady Ediva yet.”
“Is she still in danger?”
“Nay, but—”
“Is the babe safe? Is Margaret there to watch them?”
“Aye, but—”
“Then there’s no reason for you to linger. By not resting, you risk your own health. Lord Adrien will come here soon, and with Margaret’s help they will be fine dealing with Lady Ediva and her babe. Now, get your cloak.”
Irritated that she’d been interrupted and annoyed even more that Kenneth was right, Clara pursed her lips.
“As I suspected, your stubbornness will be your downfall.” He turned. “Stay, then. Lord Adrien will not be happy to see you after he ordered you home to sleep. I expect he’ll suggest the dungeon instead. Or, just as unpleasant, the grand hall. By the way, all the soldiers have been celebrating the birth of Lord Adrien’s son....”
“Fine,” she snapped. She was not unreasonable. And, aye, she needed a good night’s sleep. “Wait here.”
She slipped back into the solar, carefully took her wimple and veil, and fitted them hastily on before throwing her cloak over her shoulders and returning to the corridor.
In the flickering torchlight, she noticed Kenneth’s mouth turn up at the corners ever so slightly. She huffed as she marched past him and his smug insolence.
Downstairs and out in the bailey, they waited for the gatekeeper to open the small door within the larger gate, and Kenneth stepped out first, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Obviously satisfied that all was safe, he held out his hand to help her step through. She took it, finding it warmer and stronger than she expected. But as soon as she was safely on the path that wound down into the village, she tugged her hand back.
The late-spring night had turned colder than she’d expected. Clara looked up at the display of stars, bright because the quarter moon had yet to dominate the darkness. Clear skies always went with chilly nights. She pulled her long, dark blue cloak closer while darting a glance at Kenneth, noting that the cold didn’t seem to bother him. He wore only a lightweight cloak tossed over his broad shoulders and a knee-length tunic over snug leggings. The leather thongs that secured them pressed against his sculpted muscles. Long and lean, he was the very essence of both ease and readiness.
Clara slowed as they approached her hut. Only a short time ago, she’d spied a stealthy figure enter her hut. Now, as they rounded the corner of her hut, she could see light bleeding from around the edges of the old, worn door. Her intruder was still there.
Was it Rowena? Had the young mother slipped into the village with her child? Clara swallowed. Was her babe sick? Was that why Rowena risked a visit?
Clara turned, determined to capture Kenneth’s attention to keep it away from the door. “You have seen me home, Kenneth, and I thank you for it. Good night.”
The man laughed, a noise that bore little resemblance to humor. “Do you expect me to depart? ’Tis not what
