Page 9

Healing was boring, uncomfortable, exhausting, and at times, downright painful. Despite the elixir healer harridan had slipped Brandth, he’d spent a restless night. His broken leg slamming him back to consciousness every time he so much as thought about moving the limb.

And furthermore, despite the hushed air that hung heavily over the infirmary chamber, it was a surprisingly noisy place. Throughout the interminable night his healing compatriots moaned, groaned, asked for water, requested chamber pots and one man, thankfully situated a ways from Brandth, farted seemingly every quarter of the hour like he was on a rigid schedule.

And the Deities above only knew why, but the patients were awoken the moment the sun knocked on the horizon. Brandth barely had time to swap greetings with a man who stopped at his bedside, introducing himself as Alange, before the blankets and sheets were thrown back, his shirt unbuttoned and discarded, a damp but thankfully warm rag run over all Brandth’s extremities and torso.

It was disheartening to discover that within a day he’d become as weak as a sea sponge. Alange sitting Brandth upright as easily as a rag doll in order to clean his back. Before proceeding to lay him back down, with much appreciated gentleness.

Daring to crack open his eyes for a moment, Brandth caught a glimpse of a wiry man, a patch over one eye, the cheek beneath it pock marked with scars. A split second later he slammed his eyes shut, his head beginning to throb. Crud, seemed like he was still sensitive to the light this morning. Keeping his eyes firmly closed as a warm damp rag was settled over the lower half of his face, and after Alange had wrestled him into a fresh long tunic, the man set about shaving Brandth. The orderly was no Raschion, but he’d do in a pinch.

Finally, Alange moved onto another patient, leaving Brandth behind to catch his breath. How could using the chamber pot, receiving a rag bath, and having the sheets and his tunic changed be so utterly exhausting? He felt as if he’d waged war against a battalion… and lost.

He must have dozed, next thing he knew a firm hand was resting against his forehead, and an aged roughened voice was in his ear.

“And how are you feeling today, young Lordling?”

Opening his eyes, squinting, Brandth stared into a well lived face. She was bent with age, so it was a little hard to tell how tall she was, but those eyes, they sparkled with energy and amusement, flecked hazel, they emoted a brisk caring. Once, many years ago, this woman would have been stunning. Now she was impressively imperious and so very wrinkled.

“Ouch.”

Brandth winced at the sudden spiking pain, having forgotten, closing his eyes, reaching up to rub his temples.

“That damn light.”

There followed an amused soft chuckle as his head was lifted suddenly, a thick soft bandage fitted over his eyes.

“Give it another day or two. Heads are hard, but they don’t like to be landed on. Now. What about this leg?”

Brandth felt the sheet lift and tensed, but the hands that moved down his leg, trapped between two stiff boards to keep it immobile, were knowledgeable and thankfully gentle.

“It… hurts.”

He conceded.

“If I try to move it.”

“Hah, you even have pretty feet. Wriggle those toes for me.”

Gritting his teeth, Brandth did as instructed.

“Good. Good.”

A hand patting him on the shoulder in reassurance.

“It’s a good, clean break. There will be pain, there will be discomfort. There are those here hurt much worse than you, facing a much longer road to recovery, so…”

“Suck it up?”

“Ah, smart along with being pretty.”

That cracked rough chuckle of amusement sounded again.

“If only I were five years younger.”

Five? Brandth was the one to laugh this time, wincing, the throbbing in his head beating away at him in a steady grinding manner.

“Don’t you worry, drink my special elixir four times a day for the next few days and you’ll start to feel like your old self again.”

“I tasted one of your special elixirs, it was like licking the floor of a stable.”

That chuckle again, followed by another shoulder pat.

“No one said getting better was fun or pleasant. Besides, I always know when my patients are on the mend, when they refuse one of my elixirs and can deal with the pain on their own. What say you, Lordling?”

Brandth gasped, air trapped in his lungs as pain bolted through his entire body, red hot, with vicious claws sinking into his every fibre… and all from a slight tug on the bindings wrapped around the boards on either side of his lower limb.

“Good…. Heavens…. Bring on the elixir.”

“And that’s why they call me the Master Healer.”

Crowed his ancient companion.

Panting, Brandth breathed through the pain until finally it receded like a wave back into the ocean, as long as he remained very, very still and no one touched his cruddy broken leg roughly.

“You are truly gifted madam, I would not steal your valuable time away from those more needy. Why, I would even incur another day under healer harridan’s supervision than waste another minute of your precious time.”

“Healer harridan…?”

“You know the one; no nonsense, occasionally a little heavy on the sarcasm. Not above treating me like a recalcitrant boy in short pants.”

“There’s no one… I assigned Perri to watch over you yesterday.”

“That’s the one. Sounds like an angel… well, at least when she’s speaking to others. Acts like an agent of the devil himself to get her way.”

“Really?”

Curiosity edging the Master Healer’s tone.

“How… interesting.”

A loud moan interrupting their conversation, followed quickly by a man’s reedy voice calling for the Master Healer.

“Looks like I’m needed. You just rest, Lordling. Someone will be along with your medicine and breakfast soon.”

Lying there, blind, Brandth had little to do but listen to the staff bustle around him, tending to the other patients. He quickly established there were at least nine present, including himself. Several suitors from the hunt who had incurred injuries. A young female child with a fever accompanied by hovering worried parents. A man of indeterminate age with burns, thanks to his job as a blacksmith. And three teenagers, a boy and two girls, who had severe rashes due to inadvertently brushing past black thistles whilst they’d been out hunting rabbits yesterday.

Idly, Brandth wondered where Talac was. His friend should have made an appearance by now, to check in on him. Maybe even fetch him a glass of water, as Brandth was getting thirsty, and now that he thought about it, his stomach rumbling in agreement, he was feeling rather hungry. Although he couldn’t really imagine Talac in the role of nursemaid.

Given his growing thirst and hunger, Brandth would even welcome the not so gentle attention of the Master Healer, or even the brusque Perri, who didn’t seem to like him for some insane reason.

Everyone liked Brandth, he was gifted that way. And yet… Healer Perri had given the distinct impression that she found him rather trying. Perhaps because he’d taken a little too much delight in provoking her yesterday. Which he blamed on the pain. He vowed he would be the picture of angelic good grace if she appeared this morning. Especially so if she brought him breakfast.

Brandth promised himself he would be on his best behaviour should he encounter Healer Perri once more. She would find him a new man… if only she would appear and bring him some food. His stomach issuing yet another rumble. Cruddy hell, how did a man go about getting fed in this place?

* * *

Resisting the urge to rub at her bleary eyes, Perri perused the slim pickings remaining on the breakfast tables. Ah, there, scooping up a stone fruit bar before slipping an apple into the pocket of her skirt for later. Expertly she unhooked the fastenings at her collar that held her scarf in place over her face, taking two quick bites of the bar to quell her immediate hunger.

From the gossip circulating it seems she’d missed a rather exciting morning in the great hall. A challenge no less. Darnation, she had no one to blame but herself for her late rising… although, for some strange reason she felt the urge to pin her restless night on the annoyingly too handsome, thinks he’s funny, Lord De’Luca.

No, that would give the man and his already bloated ego way too much credit.

Making quick work of the stone fruit bar, Perri brushed away any crumbs before refastening her scarf. Finding herself checking the fastenings twice, like some nervous schoolgirl. She was being silly. It was a habit when there were suitors present on the grounds of the Lair.

She wasn’t afraid of the suitors reaction to seeing her scars, no, she was apprehensive about what might happen if news of a hideously scarred woman residing at Gloomenthrall reached… his ears, and what he might do with that knowledge.

Come for her? And if he did, the bigger question loomed, what would she do if she set eyes on him again?

A child of about eight came to a screeching halt beside Perri, panting a little, slapping a message into her hand before filching an orange from the banquet table, gifting Perri with a gap toothed grin before racing off in the direction he’d come.

The handwriting belonged to Mary, the missive brief and to the point. - Come. Now. - Just like their author.

An emergency? Perri didn’t pause another moment, moving quickly in the direction of the infirmary. Mentally running through the list of existing patients, conjecturing what might have gone wrong in readiness.

Her first inkling that the emergency might not be medically related occurred to Perri as the large closed doors leading to the infirmary came into view. A sea of pastel silk dresses confronting her, along with a cloud of choking perfume and a clamouring of insistent female voices.

Three or four of her female kin visiting the injured suitors was generally the rule. Over twenty of them? That was unheard of.

Perri, in her dark grey dress and matching veil, the only bright spot her red hair tightly bound back in a plait today, carved her way through the mass like a sabre tiger through a flock of fluttering furdoves. Ignoring them as they called out her name. Pledging that they only wanted to help aid in Brandth De’Luca’s recovery.

Brandth De’Luca? Perri should have known all this fuss was somehow his fault.

Reaching the large double doors Perri turned, raising her arms.

“Shush. There are people ill and dying behind this door.”

Okay, she was exaggerating, but sometimes fighting high drama with high drama was the only solution.

Silence fell abruptly before her Cousin, Mirimelle, wailed.

“He’s dying?”

“He’s dying?”

The words travelled through the group like they were fire alighting dry grasses.

“Now I’ll never meet the Prince.”

“I was going to be Queen.”

“How could you be Queen? I was going to be Queen!”

“Hush.”

Perri stomped her heel against the cobblestone to punctuate her demand.

“Lord De’Luca is not dying. But nor is he receiving visitors. Only medical personnel are allowed beyond these doors for the foreseeable future.

“Oh, then I wish to volunteer my services.”

Her half-sister Reikie announced, patting her chignon and smoothing down her pale green gown.

“Me, too!”

“Yes, I should like to volunteer.”

“Enough!”

Honestly, Perri couldn’t remember the last time she’d been forced to raise her voice, she blamed Brandth.

“Unless you’re willing to empty the slop buckets and chamber pots… because you know that’s what Mary will have you doing, then I suggest you return to the Keep.”

A lot of frustrated sighs were issued, but still the flock appeared reluctant to disperse. Gods above, this lot needed a trade, rather than sitting around all day pinning their hopes on marriage or some day being Queen. Keeping busy would at least guarantee they weren’t bothering anyone here.

“I tell you what. If you wish to write to Lord De’Luca, then I will personally ensure he gets your correspondence.”

The corridor was empty within six heartbeats, only the cloud of perfume remaining to tickle at Perri’s nose. She loved her female kin, most of the time, but some days they could be a little single minded. Which was a good thing today, as it meant she had successfully realigned their goals. Better still, the fruition of those goals was best served back at the Keep and out of Mary, and their poor patients’ hair.

Feeling as if she’d won a war, Perri slipped into the infirmary. A parade celebrating her victory over her kin may have been too much to expect, but no acknowledgement what so ever seemed a little harsh. Several of her colleagues sending her looks that if she didn’t know better could almost be interpreted as a warning. Now why would… Oh, Master Healer Mary was suddenly standing before Perri. Even bent and grizzled, her Great-Aunt still had a commanding presence.

“Finally. Where have you been? I sent for you ages ago.”

“My apologies, there was the crowd at the door-”

“I don’t want to hear excuses.”

Mary waved off Perri’s words. “Here.”

She snatched up a waiting tray, depositing it in Perri’s hands.

“What’s this?”

An ominous feeling of dread descending.

“You’ve seen a bowl of porridge and my special healing elixir before.”

“Yes, of course. I just wondered why you were handing them to me?”

“Because you would think the tray contained gold and a pile of jewels the way everyone is acting. Helsa and Oritt almost came to blows over it. I had to ban them both for the foreseeable future… so once again I’m short staffed.”

“Um…. Ah.”

Oh, heavens, the tray could only be meant for one patient, but surely there had to be someone, anyone else available who could deliver it.

“Now you’re stuttering too.”

Mary grumbled.

“Please tell me you haven’t joined the ranks of the lovesick and adoring?”

“Never.”

The very idea appalling.

“Good. Level headed and patient as the day is long, that’s what I’ve always said about you, Perri. Although funnily, the pretty Lordling has a different story, telling me some nonsense about you being terse and bossy.”

“We just rub each other the wrong way, that’s all.”

Perhaps she could use that as an excuse to avoid this duty.

“Even better, then I know you won’t fall for his silver tongue and winsome ways. He’s yours for the day. Off you go then, the man must be both starving and in pain.”

When Mary gave you orders you obeyed.

Stomping over to Lord De’Luca’s bedside, Perri ran experienced assessing eyes over his form. His colour was good. A makeshift blindfold wrapped around his eyes, indicating he was still sensitive to light. But other than that… and the audible sound of his stomach rumbling, the man looked very good… she meant healthy.

“Healer harridan?”

“How did you know it was me?”

Perri settled the tray on a nearby table, taking a seat beside it.

“Your perfume.”

Gulp, that was a little disconcerting.

“Please tell me you bring food. And water, my throat is rather parched.”

“Yes.”

She went to hand over the goblet, and was struck by the logistics. Given how low Brandth was reclining he wouldn’t be able to lever himself up and hold the goblet at the same time. Suppressing a sigh, she leant forward, sliding her hand around the back of his head, wilfully ignoring how thick and glossy his hair felt as her fingers sank into it. Lifting his head she brought the goblet to his lips, allowing him to drink his fill.

“Thank you.”

His gratitude sounded genuine as she lowered him back down and took her seat once more. Perhaps their encounter yesterday could be marked down to the pain he had been enduring and they could begin afresh today. Then naturally he had to go ruin it.

“I doubt there’s a man alive who doesn’t like to start the day with his cheek pressed up against a soft bosom.”

“You… You.”

The man was a pig.

“Now my morning would be perfection itself if there was food in the offing. I always say… mmpfhing.”

Perri took great enjoyment in watching Brandth hurriedly chew the large spoonful of porridge she’d unexpectedly thrust into this mouth.

“I say, that stuff is stone col… mphf.”

Hah, she’d found the solution to keep Brandth from chattering on. Ready with the next large spoonful the moment he opened his mouth again.

“Mppfinging!”

It was a surprisingly blissful three minutes spent in the man’s company… until the bowl was empty. Crud. Watching as he swallowed the last mouthful. Hah, but she had one more trick up her sleeve. He’d heard the scraping of the spoon, he knew the meal was over. No doubt he intended to batter her ears with all sorts of complaints worded so they made him sound like a gilt tongued poet, rather than the entitled spoilt Lordling he was.

The moment he took a deep breath and opened his mouth once more Perri swooped forward, pressing the elixir against his lips, grabbing his nostrils, pinching perhaps a little harder than was necessary, pouring the entire contents of the vial down in one go.

There was gagging, spluttering, muttered curse words and more gagging. Oh, he did carry on. Perhaps she could fetch another bowl of porridge… oh, no, she had a better idea.

“Mpfingingfikking!”

Hah, Lord De’Luca made quite the amusing sight with her apple thrust into his mouth.