Knight's Rebellion. Suzanne Barclay

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СКАЧАТЬ to mind, she’d played in a corner while her mother fashioned beautiful artifacts from lumps of ore.

      Lady Arianna, Countess of Winchester, sighed, her grimy fingers tightening on the gold candlestick she’d been fashioning when Alys intruded. “Not till your father’s well enough to go with you.”

      “But his broken leg is barely healed. It could take weeks before he’s up to so long a journey,” Alys fought to keep her voice steady. A Sommerville did not rail and whine, even for good reason. “Surely William could escort me.”

      “He’s gone to Scotland on your father’s business. And Richard,” she added before Alys could drag in her other brother, “sailed for France yesterday.”

      “He did? Why was I not told?”

      “You were locked in your room finishing your book.”

      “Aye, but that is no excuse for ignoring my family.”

      Her mother chuckled. “I fear we are alike in that, my love. You lock yourself away with your herbs and potions, I with my metal and files.” She traced the graceful line of the dolphin that formed the base of the candlestick. For all that she was a countess, her lovely face was streaked with dirt, and the linen coif covering her head was askew, leaking strands of blond and silver hair. She’d inherited her talent at metalworking from her goldsmith grandfather. How lucky she was to have wed a man who not only understood her need to pursue her God-given skill, but bit off the head of anyone who decried his wife’s preference for goldsmithing over acting as chatelaine to their castle.

      Would that I could be as fortunate, Alys thought. But then, any husband, understanding or otherwise, was denied her by the special gift that was both bane and blessing. “I know you are weary from nursing Papa though his broken leg, and I hate to add to your burdens, but I must go to Newstead. Surely we can find a way,” she added, for her parents had never denied her anything.

      “I know you enjoy your visits to the abbey and have gleaned much useful information from the sisters for your books, but…” Her mouth set in a stubborn line Alys saw seldom. Doting as she was, Arianna was fiercely protective. “‘Tis too risky.”

      “This is no casual visit,” Alys protested. “I have finally finished the books and would have the sisters copy them as a precaution.” From the velvet bag in her lap, she withdrew ten slender leather-bound ledgers. Lovingly she traced the gilt letters on the topmost one.

      The Healing Way by Lady Alys Sommerville. Volume 1.

      “Oh, Alys. What an accomplishment.” She wiped her hands on the skirt of her gown with typical disregard for the fine material and reached for Alys’s treasure. “Nay, I am still too dirty,” she remarked, glaring at her stained fingers. “Turn the pages for me, if you will.”

      Alys knelt beside her and opened the book. Though the floors of the great hall on the first story were strewn with fresh rushes and those in the bedchambers just below were covered with costly rugs from the East, this garret boasted neither, for fear a spark might catch them on fire. The cold seeped through her heavy velvet gown, but she scarcely felt the chill for her excitement.

      The books contained every scrap of knowledge she’d been able to amass on the subject of cures. Penned in her own neat hand, they reflected her need to bring order and logic to a subject fraught with uncertainty and, all too often, failure. “The first three contain drawings of herbs.” She turned the sheets of costly parchment, pointing with pride to the sketches she’d made of each plant, seed and blossom. “And in the second three are recipes for potions. The third group has lists of sage advice on healing, arranged by ailment.” As she spoke, Alys shuffled the books and opened each for her mother.

      “This is amazing.” The blue eyes Arianna had bequeathed to her daughter sparkled with joy.

      “If only Great-aunt Cici could have lived to see what use I made of the things she took such pains to drum into my head.”

      Her mother smiled. “She loved every moment you two spent together. Teaching you all she knew about healing and herb craft gave her a reason to live long past what any of us expected. What of the tenth? You’ve worked on it the longest.”

      “It was the hardest to write.” Alys shifted the book to the top of the pile, but didn’t open it. Her gloved hands clenched tight on the slender volume. “It’s about magic. About the healing touch of freaks like me.”

      “You are not a freak!” Arianna cried, lifting a hand toward her daughter’s cheek.

      Instinctively Alys leaned back. “Is it normal to shy away, even from the caress of a loved one?” she asked angrily.

      “Nay, but that doesn’t make you…Oh, Alys.” Arianna bit her lip, tears welling. “I did not know it pained you so.” Her brimming gaze darted to the gloves covering Alys’s hands.

      Alys ached with the need to fling herself into the soft haven of her mother’s arms, but that sweet sanctuary had been denied her from her thirteenth year, when the change had come upon her. Though her heavy clothes blocked most of the sensations, a stray touch on her bare face or neck would bring misery.

      “I am sorry I said anything, Mama, for truly it does not bother me.” Most of the time. “I am used to being…separate. It helps me with my work.” Yet it cut her off from so much of life. And caused her parents untold anguish. “I am grateful for my skills, especially when I can help someone.”

      “As you did your papa. If not for your gift, you never would have been able to set his leg properly.”

      Alys shuddered as she recalled that awful day when her father’s squire had come racing back from what should have been a routine ride with one of the young warhorses her father had been training. “Lord Gareth’s mount bolted and they both fell into a ravine,” the lad had shouted. A rescue party had been quickly mobilized. They’d arrived to find the beloved lord of Ransford laying at the bottom of the gulch, sprawled like a broken toy.

      “Your gift is heaven-sent, I know,” her mother said. “But setting the bone was even more agonizing for you than it was for Gareth.” Again her eyes strayed to Alys’s hands.

      “’Tis all right, Mama,” Alys said gently. Inside the thin gloves, her hands ached with remembered torment. “It is hurtful to touch someone who is sore wounded, as Papa was, but if not for my skill, I’d not have been able to align the bones perfectly so he could walk again.” She shook her head. “Better a few hours of pain then to see Papa a…” Cripple. She swallowed the word.

      “You are so brave and uncomplaining, it humbles me.”

      “I am not brave. If I were, I’d be out using my gift to help others instead of hiding away writing books.”

      “But your books are a help, and the healing hurts you,” said her loving mama.

      “That is beside the point.”

      “Not to your papa and me.”

      The pealing of the tower bell intruded before Alys could protest that her gift should be shared, no matter the pain or risk to herself.

      “It is time for supper.” Arianna stood and shook the metal filings from her skirts, her expression troubled. “I know going to Newstead is important to you. Let me see if I can find a way.”

      Alys СКАЧАТЬ