Page 18 of The Forsaken
The old man looked as though he were about to say something more when he spotted the bodies in the cart. “Lord Jesus, preserve us,” he breathed and crossed himself beforestanding aside to let the cart pass. He shut the gate and followed behind the cart, shaking his head and muttering.
A boy of about ten ran from the stables, ready to help with the horses. His eyes sparkled with excitement, which turned to dismay as soon as he saw the contents of the cart. He looked ready to bolt but held his ground, prepared to do his master’s bidding.
Hugh dismounted with a grunt of relief, threw his reins to the boy without saying a word, then strode purposefully toward the keep. Walter helped Kate down from the cart before leading two of the horses toward the stables. Kate remained by the cart, uncertain what to do next.
A few moments later, a heavyset older woman rushed out the door. Her hair was covered with a veil and she wore a faded gown of brown homespun. She wiped her hands on the apron tied about her ample waist, as though suddenly remembering they were soiled from whatever she’d been doing when Hugh called for her. Lines of grief etched the woman’s face as she slowly approached the cart and held out a work-reddened hand to gently touch William’s body. She bowed her head in sorrow and crossed herself.
“Lord, have mercy on his soul,” she said quietly as silent tears slid down her cheeks.
Hugh came up behind the woman and she turned and opened her arms to him. He walked into her embrace, burying his face in her shoulder. He appeared to be crying, and the woman, who was nearly as tall as Hugh but much wider, held him tightly and whispered words of comfort.
“Come now, me boy,” she said as she held Hugh by the arms and gazed on him with love. “Ye must remain strong, Hugh. Ye’re the master now.”
Hugh nodded miserably. “Guy is barely holding on.”
“I’ll see to Guy, and to William,” the woman said. She turned to Walter, who’d come out of the stable, having brought allthe horses inside. “Walter, I know ye’re tired, me lad, but if ye’d bring in some firewood, I’d be most grateful.”
She turned to Hugh and began issuing orders as if he were her subordinate, her earlier grief set aside while she took the situation in hand. “Hugh, get Guy to his room and lay him on the floor by the hearth. And get a good fire going in his bedchamber. Soon as ye can, lad. Alf, get water on the boil,” she said to the old man, “and tell Aileen to bring clean towels. Walter, once ye bring in the firewood, see to his lordship’s body. Alf will help ye.”
“Shall I bring him to his bedchamber, Mistress Joan?” Walter asked.
“Don’t be daft. That’ll distress his wife and child. Bring him to the small chamber off the kitchen and lay him on the bench. And ye, come with me. What’s yer name, then?” Joan asked Kate as she motioned for her to follow her into the keep.
Kate was about to reply when a young woman exploded from the doorway into the yard. Her fair hair was uncovered and hung down to her waist, and her dark eyes were wild with anguish. She was dressed in a gown of red velvet and her throat was adorned with a necklace of gold and rubies, the vibrant color pulsating with life in the face of death. The young woman wrung her hands and howled with grief when she beheld the body in the cart, then suddenly quieted and went deathly pale as if she were about to swoon. She swayed on her feet as she reached out to grab hold of the cart to steady herself.
Hugh rushed to her and took her in his arms just in time. The woman collapsed against him, sobbing. Hugh held her close, his hand stroking her golden hair as she cried. The gesture seemed to come naturally to him, speaking of a close relationship between the two.
“He fought bravely, Eleanor.”
“He can’t be gone,” Eleanor moaned over and over. “Not my Will.”
“Hugh, make sure the boy doesn’t see his father like this,” Joan said as she took charge of William’s widow. “Come now, me lady. I’ll see to his lordship’s body. Come inside and get hold of yerself. Ye must remain strong for yer bairn, aye?”
Eleanor tried to get around Joan and back to the cart, but the older woman blocked her path and glared at her as if she were an errant child trying to grab a sweet. “Go back inside, me lady. Ye’ll see yer lord when he’s good and ready to be seen, and not a moment afore. Behave in a way that would have made him proud of ye.” Joan whipped out a handkerchief and pressed it into the woman’s hand.
Eleanor was still weeping, but softer now. She dabbed at her swollen eyes and wiped her streaming nose. “All right. I’ll go inside,” she whispered. She allowed herself to be led away by Hugh, who had his arm around her shoulders and spoke to her softly. Kate looked after them, her heart contracting with sorrow. No matter which side you were on, it was the women and children who bore the brunt of the fighting, left to mourn their losses and find their way in the world without their husbands and fathers.
Joan looked after the retreating figures and then returned her attention to Kate. She raised one eyebrow as she beheld Kate, still awaiting an answer.
“My name is Catherine Dancy. I was on my way home from Holystone Priory when I came upon Walter, who asked for my help.”
“Well, God bless ye and keep ye, Mistress Dancy. Guy’s wound looks well-tended to. Me name’s Joan Wilbanks. Ye may call me Nurse or simply Joan, whichever ye prefer. We’re an informal wee household. I was nurse to the de Rosel boys since the day they was born, and love them as if they was me own.”
Like many people who’d been born and bred this far north, Mistress Wilbanks spoke a mixed dialect of English and Scots, and most likely boasted a few Scots in her line. Most people this closeto the border did, since Berwick changed hands between England and Scotland with almost predictable frequency.
“And what were ye doing at the priory?” Joan asked conversationally as she stealthily took Kate’s measure.
“I was a postulant, but my father summoned me home,” Kate explained.
“Yer family lose someone at Towton?” Joan asked, instantly drawing her own conclusions.
“Three of my brothers.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, lass. Ye must long to be with yer parents. Forgive Hugh for keeping ye from yer home. He wouldn’t hold anyone against their will unless he were desperate.”
“He didn’t hold me,” Kate replied. “I could have left, but Guy needed me.”
“He still needs ye, by the look of him,” Joan replied. “Help me get some food on the table, and then we’ll see to Guy, unless ye’re too weary.”
