The Fifth Knight(73)

“I will pray for your intentions, sir knight.” She placed a last strip of linen on the wound.

“Thank you, Wilfreda. I’m sure God will listen to your intercessions.” He sighed. “Just ask him to bring me to my beloved Theodosia.”

“Theodosia?” Wilfreda looked up at the knight.

“That is my beloved’s name.”

“B-but, sir knight, that is the anchoress’s name.”

“Are you sure?” Bewildered hope lit the knight’s eyes.

“Aye.” Wilfreda struggled to keep her hope in check, her hope that she, Wilfreda Percy, would answer this noble knight’s prayers. “The knight with her was called Sir Palmer.”

The knight drew his head up and gave a slow blink. “That is he. The man who turned my dear one’s head. They are putting forward some pretense of her being a religious woman? Goodness, the lies.”

“But you’ve found them.” She gestured to her patient. “Maybe this poor man’s suffering was God’s way of leading you to them.”

“Indeed.” The knight seemed overcome with emotion. “Can you take me to them?”

Wilfreda got to her feet. “Indeed I can, sir. They are with the Abbess in her visitors’ parlor.”

The knight looked at his companion. “I’ll not be long.”

Sir le Bret nodded.

“Wilfreda.” The knight took her hand in his, the strength of his grip a surprise.

Blood surged to her cheeks. Her bitten nails held grime from the pots, as well as congealed blood from her work on the wound. The blue-eyed gentleman seemed to care not.

“I will be forever in your debt,” he said. “Now, shall we make all speed?”

She nodded. “Aye, sir.”

He tightened his grip further, and Wilfreda tried not to wince.

He smiled. “Indeed, you are an angel.”





CHAPTER 18

Mother Ursula hurried along the corridor to her second-floor bedroom, irritation growing with every step.

Bless Wilfreda, she was willing enough, but she was chuckleheaded beyond belief. Every task had to be explained fifty times, shown a hundred. Give her a job, and she’d somehow muddle it up.

Ursula passed one of the novices, sweeping the corridor with the due diligence she’d expect.

“God bless you, my child.” Ursula hustled by.

The novice gave the Abbess a quick curtsey and continued with her task.

Ursula opened her bedroom door, hoping Wilfreda worked within. Of course not. The room stood clean, tidy. Empty.

With a frustrated sigh, she made her way back down the corridor.

“Have you seen Wilfreda?” Ursula asked the novice.

The broom didn’t stop. “No, Mother.”

Ursula went back down the many steep stairs and along to the kitchens. “Is Wilfreda in here?” she called from the doorway.

The cook looked over from her preparations. Her face shone from perspiration and steam. “She was doing the pots, Mother, but was called to the infirmary. Goodness knows what she’s doing, but she hasn’t returned.”

“I’ll send her. When I find her.” Ursula rolled her eyes. “In the meantime, can you please prepare food for two travelers? Enough for a few days.”

“Certainly, Mother.” The cook went to task another novice, and Ursula set off in the direction of the infirmary.

She cut through the silent cloisters, then up a back flight of stairs. She was quite out of breath by the time she entered the quiet room. Her eyes lit on the latest admission.

Three of the sisters gathered around the bed, their long black robes masking the occupant. The sweet smell of an onion poultice hung in the air. Clean linen bandages awaited their application.

Ursula walked up to the bed, and her stomach lurched when she saw its occupant.

“Good afternoon, Mother.” The sister in charge continued her work.

Ursula forced a calm demeanor. “Good afternoon.” She cast a cool, professional eye over the prone man. Inside, her spirit quailed. A great, scar-faced brute, Theodosia had said of one of Becket’s murderers. That, to a fault, was the knight who lay on one of her infirmary beds. “What ails this poor man?”

“A wolf bite,” said one of the other sisters.

The gaping wound on his thigh was covered with the soothing poultice. More was the pity. Ursula would be happy for this monster to suffer all the torments of hell for the wrongs he had committed. She nodded sagely as if she considered his predicament. “A sorry tale, sir,” she said. “How did you escape from the ferocious animal?”

“Fought it. So did my lord.” The man’s thick-tongued voice had the roughness of a rogue.

“Dreadful.” Ursula tutted in a parody of sympathy. The sisters began the precise task of bandaging the wound. “And what happened to your lord?”