Page 40 of The Herald's Heart
She stared up at him, still blocking the entrance.
“May I see Aedwin?” Talon asked.
The woman jumped back from the doorway at his request. “Oh, aye, Sir Talon. But ...” She wrung her hands and looked to the far end of the cottage and back.
What ailed her now? Talon strained for understanding. “Come, woman. You must show me to the boy.” As if he could not find the child himself in the space of one room.
“It is just that ...” She straightened her shoulders and seemed finally to recover herself. “Do not frighten him, Sir Talon.” She backed a few steps away from the door.
“I will not do that, mistress.” He ducked his head and entered the small dwelling.
“Aye, I believe ye’d not mean to frighten him, but he is so frail and weak. I fear for his life, even though the fire hurt only his legs.”
He followed her to a cot at the back of the room where she knelt by the bed and took her son’s small hand in hers. Silent tears dripped down her face.
The frail, gray-skinned creature on the cot bore little resemblance to the boy who had held his hand in the bailey or the robust, laughing Aedwin who tended the spit in the kitchen. Truly, the child seemed more like some wounded knights he had seen after battle, their injuries so sore that they welcomed death and hence sought no aid. The thought of this child dying in like pain curdled his blood.
“Have you no medicines to help him heal?”
“Nay Sir Talon. The abbey provides medicines to the village.”
“And the Earl of Hawksedge is not willing to pay for an alchemist or healer to provide more.” It was not a question but a confirmation of all that Talon now knew about the father figure he had yet to see after twenty long years. The man was sanctimonious, greedy, and selfish, with no drop of charity in his icy heart. “Then you rely solely on the abbey for healing?”
Waiting for aid to come had killed more than one man. It would take some time traveling on foot to and from the abbey. Waiting that long might kill Aedwin.
“Aye, sir,” Aedwin’s mother replied. “Father Timoras has some knowledge of healing, but mostly the women of the village help each other tend to those in need.” The distraught mother crossed herself. “Sometimes the anchoress will bless special potions made by the abbess when naught else helps.”
“Why do these women wise in healing not come to the village every day to see to the needs of folk?”
Aedwin’s mother turned her head and shoulders to look at him in quiet astonishment, then crossed herself again. “Surely you know that an anchoress is dead to the world and may not leave her anchorage.”
“Aye, ’twas the nuns I spoke of.”
“Oh.” Aedwin’s mother seemed to sag with relief. “Theirs is a cloistered order. Only the abbess may go out, and even she will not travel at night.”
“Then I shall send for Mother Clement.” Talon turned to go and see his will done.
“Nay,” Aedwin’s mother grabbed his hand, but her desperate cry held him back. “’Tis taken care of already.”
“The abbess has already been here?”
“Nay, but this very day, Larkin stopped to tell me she was on her way to gather the blooms the abbey needs to make a healing balm for Aedwin. She promised to return and tell me when the balm should be ready.”
“Larkin, you say.” Talon spoke with studied care. Afternoon had waned and dusk moved quickly toward night. “Has she not returned as she promised?”
“Nay. ’Tis worrisome.”
“Rest your mind. I will make certain you receive word this night.”
“Thank you, Sir Talon. God bless you.”
The wondering gratitude in the woman’s eyes made him severely uncomfortable. “Save your prayers for your son, mistress. He needs them more than I.” He left, Cleve at his heels.
“Larkin should have returned by now, Cleve.”
“Mayhap. But things in the woods can be difficult to find. And I heard these flowers do not bloom until nightfall.”
He wrinkled his brow. “Does no one else but Larkin seek that which is difficult to find?”
