Protected by the Warrior. Barbara Phinney

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СКАЧАТЬ do you know what Lord Taurin will do? ’Tis clear he wishes to keep the child, and if so, ’twould hardly be in his best interests to kill the girl on whom the babe depends.”

      Her eyes flared. “What is the punishment for a slave running away?”

      He shrugged, looking away, not wanting to tell Clara that slavery had been abolished. ’Twould have Clara heading to London to demand Rowena’s release, right from King William. “A beating?”

      “I doubt Rowena would be so fortunate,” Clara answered. “Besides, as a new mother, would she survive a simple beating?”

      He remembered Ediva’s struggle in childbirth. Nay, this Rowena would not have survived a beating had it come directly after childbirth. But it had been at least a month since the child had been born. Surely Rowena had recovered sufficiently to bear her punishment now. He asked, “And you aiding her? What would your punishment be?” In Normandy, those who abetted runaway slaves were often punished more harshly than the slaves themselves. Though the king had abolished slavery, the Normans here would have brought their punishments with them. Aye, Clara was also in danger.

      “My punishment is not important. I am pledged to save lives.” She shook her head, flame-colored hair dancing like a fresh fire. “As a soldier, you wouldn’t understand. You take lives. You don’t save them.”

      He bristled, his teeth set on edge by her accusation. But he would not be drawn into a useless argument. There was nothing more sinister here than a child who’d slipped from the cook’s supervision. “At least all is well, then.”

      She flung out her arm in the direction of the doorway. Her cyrtel, simple and faded, swished out with her. “Nay, all is not well! You’ve terrified my sister, and look what you’ve done to my door!” Her words, like her hand, sliced the air with alarm.

      He turned and cringed briefly at the sight before him. He’d not meant to batter down the door, but ’twas an old thing, brittle with age and weather. The sun had beat down on it for too many years. Now it lay in splinters, good for nothing save kindling.

      His heart sank. The surge of fight in him a moment ago had cost Clara much. Good solid wood was saved for the keep, for defenses and strongboxes. The most Clara could hope to purchase to replace her door, should she have the money, would be a mix of discarded pieces patched together, something that wouldn’t hold up in any of the storms they’d see during the coming winter.

      And even now, the night’s chill rolled unhindered into the tiny hut, one draft fluttering the lamp’s flame. He swallowed, then straightened. “I will replace it on the morrow.”

      “With solid, quality wood, reserved for the keep?”

      He groaned inwardly, knowing the cost and his duty to pay for it. “Aye, solid wood.”

      “And what of tonight? ’Tis cold out.”

      “Burn the scraps we have here.” He glanced around, spying the worn yet laundered curtain the old midwife had used to separate her sleeping chamber on the far side of the hearth. He pointed to it. “Use that for a door tonight.”

      “And what about safety? You were quick to draw your sword, so you know of the dangers that night can bring.”

      He had been quick to draw his sword because he’d thought that someone had broken into her home. “Very well,” he said. “You and Brindi build a fire and share the pallet in the other room. I will sleep in front of the door.” He’d planned to do so, anyway. Nighttime would have been a perfect opportunity for her to slip out to visit Rowena. He had planned to use her table as a bed, as was the custom of many soldiers.

      But considering what he’d just done to the door, ’twould be wiser, not to mention warmer, to set the table on end to block the nighttime draft. “I’ll use the table as a door.”

      With a heavy sigh, Clara began to gather up the scraps of wood, cradling them in the crook of her left arm, but keeping her fingers curled. Brindi, with one eye on Kenneth lest he draw his sword again, reached out to snatch up a few pieces, also.

      Kenneth sagged. ’Twas not the way this evening was meant to go. Aye, his few meetings with Clara today had not gone favorably at all, but if he was to discover where Rowena was, or to convince both Clara and Rowena that the child was better off with his father, acting as he had just now was the worst plan of action.

      As Clara kindled the fire, he hefted up the table and blocked the doorway with it. Soon, the hut glowed with heat and light, a welcome sight for all three. Clara herded her sister into the other room. Then, with a cautious and oddly fearful look on her face, so different from what he’d seen on it when they met in Colchester a month ago, Clara drew closed the curtain that separated the rooms.

      Had it only been a month? He’d gone to Colchester to escort Clara back. The tension in the town that day had been rife, but no one had said a word as to why. He’d just assumed it was Clara’s fiery personality that had made the others eager for her departure, but of course, now he knew differently. Still, she could take a lesson or two from Lady Ediva, who, though strong-willed, was gracious and not given to flares of temper.

      Once the makeshift door was set firmly in place, Kenneth turned. This hut seemed to be some combination of two buildings, with the hearth and its chimney wall shared by both rooms. The sound of Brindi’s quiet whispers rolled through the space above the crackling fire. Kenneth could barely hear Clara’s soft, soothing answers. Deciding to ignore them, he wrapped his cloak around him and stretched out in front of the upended table, his back to the fire and his heart heavy with the knowledge that he’d nearly killed the baby sister of the woman he was sent to guard.

      * * *

      After bedtime prayers, Clara tied her spare sleeping cap under Brindi’s chin and settled her sister on the pallet. Just before curling under the furs they used for bedding, she peered furtively through the flames to Kenneth’s back. With the exception of her family, never in her life had she had a man sleep in such proximity. And yet, she felt safe. Safer than she would have if they’d used the curtain as a door.

      Any manner of beast could have wandered into her home. Bad enough that one of the stray cats had slipped in one morning a week ago and, after having been trapped inside for the whole day, had torn her home to shreds. And there were wild dogs and rodents and who knew what else out there in the night—

      Goodness, though, Kenneth had broken down her door, then simply grabbed her table as if ’twere a child’s toy! And before that, he had threatened her sister with his sword. He may be protection against wild beasts, but who would protect Clara and Brindi from him? Mayhap she should have insisted he sleep on the other side of the door.

      Nay, she knew the night air was unhealthy. And she’d long ago decided that she would not cause harm to anyone. Her aunt, gone now two years, had been Colchester’s best midwife and healer. She had insisted, when Clara made her decision to become one also, that she pledge to God that she would not harm anyone. Clara took that promise seriously and refused to dissolve it for anyone, even surly Norman soldiers.

      She snuggled down against her sister, only now remembering the splinter in her palm. The throbbing heat in it told her it had begun to fester, but ’twas too late tonight to dig it out and cleanse the wound. And she was far too tired and cold to do so.

      As with all children, Brindi was warm, and despite the circumstances, Clara was glad she had been found in Colchester and sent to Dunmow. Who knew what Lord Taurin would have done to Brindi had he found her?

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