Page 16 of The Forsaken
During the night, the sky cleared and the wind that moved stealthily through the trees died down. The clouds parted like heavy drapes, allowing Kate a breathtaking view of the starlit sky. Moonlight streamed into the roofless chapel, painting the walls in a silvery hue.
Guy de Rosel had settled into an uneasy sleep, his eyes moving rapidly beneath his eyelids. He moved his head from side to side, as if trying to escape the grip of nightmares, but the fever had a hold on him and wouldn’t set him free, one way or the other.
Kate dabbed his brow with her damp veil and tried to get him to take a drink, but the water just ran down his chin instead of entering his mouth. She pulled out her rosary and resumed her seat. Her lips moved in silent prayer as her fingers moved from one smooth amber bead to the next. She prayed for Guy, who was in such agony, and for Osbert, for whom it was already too late. And she prayed for Hugh, who’d lost one brother and would most likely lose the other before long.
Kate fell asleep eventually, and woke as the gray light of dawn crept into the ruin. A dewy coolness had settled over the stones and what was left of the wood. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill.
A few more weeks and summer would be upon them, that brief, glorious season of sunshine and warmth. She’d spent the last two summers at the priory, working from dawn till dusk, with breaks only for meals and prayer. She’d enjoyed working in the vegetable garden and picking fruit in early autumn since the chores gave her a chance to spend some time outdoors. What would she do with all the empty hours of the day once she was back at home? Well-bred ladies didn’t work in the garden or spend days pickling and stewing fruit and vegetables for the coming winter. Ladies sat in their solars, applying themselves to endless needlework and idle chatter, reluctant to step out into the sunshine for fear of ruining their milky complexions.
Kate ran a hand through her hair and rubbed sleep from her eyes before creeping outside to relieve herself. She returned to the church and used some of the water to wash her face and hands. That was the best she could do. She had no hairbrush, or anything to bind her hair, so she just left it loose to frame her face in thick waves.
“Who are you?” The whisper startled her. Guy de Rosel was watching her from the floor. His eyes were wide and clear, and he seemed fully conscious.
“Kate,” she replied without thinking. “Eh, Sister Catherine,” she amended quickly.
Guy reached out and took her hand. His hand was cooler than it had been during the night, and his grip was strong. “You prayed for me,” he said, gazing up at her in wonder.
“Yes, I prayed all night. Well, most of it,” she added, not wishing to exaggerate. “How do you feel?”
“Like a draft horse walked over me, then turned around and did it again,” he replied. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips.
“How’s your head?”
“It hurts, and my vision is blurred, but I feel less muddled,” he said. “My arm feels like molten lead. I will never be able to wield a sword again, will I?”
Seeing fear and uncertainty in his eyes, Kate had no wish to tell him he might not live to see another battle, or even another sunrise. He believed he’d live, and that was as good as any poultice or potion.
“You will,” Kate replied with all the conviction she could muster. “You’ll need time to heal, and lots of practice, but you will wield your sword again.”
Guy nodded. “I’m thirsty, Sister.”
“Of course. I’m sorry. I should have realized…” Kate mumbled. She carefully lifted Guy’s head and held a cup to his lips. He drank and drank, as if trying to douse the fire that raged within him. “Are you hungry?”
“Not really.”
“You need your strength if you hope to fight off this fever. I’ll give you tiny pieces. You don’t even need to chew. Just swallow. Your body will do the rest.”
“You’re very comely for a nun,” Guy said as he forced himself to swallow bits of bread soaked in mead.
“I’m not really a nun yet,” Kate replied. “I was to take my vows in two weeks’ time, but my father summoned me home. My brothers died on the same battlefield where you were wounded. My father has no sons left, just me,” she added sadly.
Guy grasped her hand again. “I’m sorry, Kate, for both your losses. Do you mind terribly not becoming a nun?” he asked, just before she forced more food down his throat.
“Yes, I do. I wasn’t sure at first, but I loved it at the priory. I would have been happy to spend the rest of my days serving God. But now, I will have to serve my father.”
Guy nodded in understanding. “It’s not easy to be a daughter, is it?”
“How would you know?” Kate asked, a smile tugging at her lips.
“I had a sister,” he said. His expression turned grim and he looked away.
“Did she die?”
“She died because of me,” he replied. Kate was about to ask more questions, but Guy’s gaze grew clouded again, possibly from all the mead he’d just ingested. He closed his eyes, clearly exhausted.
“Rest,” Kate said as she let go of his hand. “Just rest.”
“How is he?” Hugh de Rosel asked from behind her. His hair was tousled from sleep and his beard had thickened during the night.
