“That is true. My aunt Beatrix continues to live there. I have every right to visit her. How does that condemn me?”
“You had time to plan your husband’s death while you were there. It is well known that you did not want to marry him and are still not reconciled to the marriage. It is equally well known that before you even met him, you caused him much grief. The conclusion is obvious. You want to rid yourself of him.”
“If that is so, why did I help him take Wroth Keep? Also, I could have poisoned him myself at any time and blamed it on that filthy kitchen. But I had his kitchens cleaned instead.”
“You did that?”
“Oho! So another one is quick to believe that the changes were Lady Amelia’s doing. After living here in this filth hole for so long, she all of a sudden decided to take his property in hand, is that right? Oh, believe what you like. Believe also that I would leave to a chancy arrow what I could easily have done properly. I do not do things in half measures, Sir Thorpe. If I had wanted my husband dead, he would be dead.”
“You have always been against him, Lady Leonie. Can you deny that?”
“I shall neither make denials nor offer excuses for what I felt in the past. I was told the Black Wolf was a monster. Alain Montigny was my friend and your lord meant to kill him if he could find him. Yes, I despised him for coming here. Alain, whose home was stolen from him, had to flee for his life. I would even have gathered my people to help Alain keep what was his, but he chose not to fight.”
“But you chose to do so, Lady Leonie.”
“There you are wrong,” Leonie said frigidly. “I cursed the Black Wolf for the usurper he was, only that. My people did the rest, taking my anger as theirs. It became their cause. But the only harm I have ever done him was when I wounded him on my wedding night.” She added hastily, “And that was an accident—one he doesn’t even remember.”
Thorpe scowled blackly. “Then it is good that Rolfe doesn’t want you near him.”
Leonie gasped. “You have not heard a word I’ve said! I wish to help him. I can ease his suffering. I can—”
“You can stay away from him. Even if he would relent and let you treat him, I do not trust you, Lady Leonie. It is because of my foolish tongue that you are wed. Once I saw you, I was foolish again, thinking it was not so bad that you and he marry. But I was wrong. And he is wise enough now not to trust you again.”
“You are a stubborn man, Thorpe de la Mare, and I will pray for my husband’s sake that you do not remain so. Odo will do him more harm than good.”
“The leech? He is finished now, and Rolfe will heal quickly, as he has always done. Did you think this was his first wound?” Thorpe shook his head.
“I hope you are right.”
As he watched her walk away, Thorpe’s eyes narrowed. Mildred, who had waited in the shadows, listening, saw his look and made her decision. Stepping forward, she hissed, “You are wrong about her.” She received the full impact of those dark eyes, but she steeled herself, adding, “She knows all there is to know about healing and giving comfort. And she would not harm my lord Rolfe. She even threatened Odo, knowing his bumbling ways. Ask Sir Evarard if you do not believe me.”
“Women defend each other whether or not there is cause,” Thorpe said disdainfully.
“As do men.”
“He does not need her help!” he growled. How did this woman have the temerity to challenge him, he wondered. Were the Pershwick serfs even worse?
“She would not harm him!” Mildred insisted. “She was furious when she learned he was being falsely accused of beating her. She has made the truth known, for his sake. Is that the action of a woman who bears him hatred?”
Mildred left then, amazed by her outburst. And like Lady Leonie before her, Mildred was the recipient of Thorpe’s narrowed gaze until she was out of sight.
Chapter 25
AFTER four days, Rolfe was worse. Thorpe was at wit’s end. It had seemed a simple wound. Rolfe had received worse than that and recovered quickly. This wound actually seemed to be sapping his strength. A fever started the second day and climbed until Rolfe raged in delirium, calling for his wife one moment and cursing her the next. He didn’t recognize Thorpe at all.
Odo, that cur, had sneaked out of the keep, escaping before he could be blamed for Rolfe’s worsening condition.
Thorpe did not know what to do. No, that was not the truth. There was one thing he could do, and finally he did it, sending a servant to fetch Rolfe’s wife. When she came into the room, her servant Wilda with her, he had the grace to look ashamed. He flinched when she let out a stream of curses.
“Why did you not call me sooner?” she demanded of Thorpe. “The dirt within the wound is killing him.”
“I did not change his bandages,” Thorpe replied defensively. “So I haven’t seen the wound.”
“You should have! I warned you Odo would do more harm than good.”
“Can you help him?” Thorpe asked humbly.
Looking at the pus-infested wound, she said, “I truly do not know. How long has the fever been this bad?”
“Three days.”
“God’s mercy.”
Thorpe lost his color. The hopelessness in her manner said all he needed to hear. Praying, he moved closer to the bed and watched her. First she forced liquid down Rolfe’s throat, succeeding in getting him to swallow. Thorpe felt respect well up in him. Then she began crushing leaves to pack onto the wound along with some foul-smelling stuff. Water was set to boil and she began mixing together the contents of several bottles.
When she brought a little knife out of her basket, Thorpe gripped her wrist. “What is that for?” he demanded.
She eyed the large man. “His wound will have to be opened so I can search for what is causing this fever. Would you like to do it?” she asked him pointedly. Thorpe shook his head and let go of her wrist.
Leonie cleaned the knife, then very carefully removed the leaves she had packed against the wound. Using the knife, she started to probe inside the wound, cleaning it. There was complete silence for several long moments, and then she let out a horrified cry.
“Death is too good for that leech.” Leonie glared at Thorpe in a way that made him feel wholly to blame for Rolfe’s condition. “He removed the arrow, but he left inside a piece of Rolfe’s chain mail that the arrow carried with it!”
She extracted it slowly and carefully, then resumed cleaning the wound. When clear blood finally began to ooze from it, she sighed gratefully. With the wound now clean, she covered it with her concoction.
At last she sat back and looked at Thorpe, her expression no longer anxious. “The blood must be allowed to seep from the wound until his fever abates, so we know the illness has left it. I will not sew the wound until then. He will be weakened more by this, but I dare not stop the bleeding until I am certain the wound is clean. I have tonics to aid him in fighting the fever, and to restore his strength.” Thorpe nodded and she went on. “I will give him something for the pain too.” When he remained silent, she asked, “Will you let me stay and watch his progress and do what needs doing?”
“He is out of danger?” he asked softly.
“I believe so, yes.”
“Then stay, my lady.”
“If he wakes enough to realize I am here, he may not like it.”
“Then he will not like it,” Thorpe said stubbornly, too grateful to care what Rolfe would think.
“Very well.” She sighed. “But I ask you not to tell him what I’ve done.”
“Why not?”
“I do not want him upset while he recovers. Let him think the leech healed him as he should have done.”
“I would not lie to Rolfe.”
“You do not have to lie. Just say nothing about it. I will try to leave before he awakes.”
Late the next day she was bandaging the wound after pulling its jagged edges together, when Rolfe’s eyes opened and locked with hers. The fever had ravaged him, and there was a heavy growth of beard covering his face. He looked terrible, and his eyes grew dark with anger when he saw her.
Leonie said not a word, but finished what she was doing and left the room. Thorpe, sleeping in a chair by the hearth, woke when he heard the door closing. He approached the bed.
“So, you are back with us?”
“Where have I been?” The voice was very weak.
Thorpe smiled at his old friend.
“You came very close to dying.”
Rolfe eyed him skeptically. “From a little arrow hole?”
“That little hole was stinking with disease. You had a very bad fever.”
“Never mind that. What was she doing in here? Is this how you guard my back, by letting in the very one responsible—”
“Easy, Rolfe.” Thorpe cut him short. “I do not think her guilty of this. I am sure she is not.”
“I told you what I saw.”
“Yes, and that was damning—but not conclusive,” Thorpe told him obstinately.
“You defend her now? You wouldn’t trust her at all before this. I don’t want to believe her capable of this, Thorpe. I believed I was making progress with her, and now this.”
Thorpe shook his head. “You haven’t had time to consider what happened without the pain of your wound clouding your thoughts. Think well before you place the blame on her, because anyone could have fired that arrow. It could have been a man turned out from one of the keeps we won, or even someone from here for that matter. Did Pershwick ever attack with weapons before? Then would they do so now, when you have their lady firmly in your power?” He moved away a bit and eyed Rolfe carefully. “Do you know why she was against you before? Did you ever ask her about it?”