Page 15 of The Forsaken (Echoes from the Past #4)

ELEVEN

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.

“He spoke to me. He seemed aware of his surroundings,” Kate added.

“And his arm?”

“I don’t think it’s gotten worse. I will change the dressing once it gets light.”

Hugh shook his head. “There’s only one other thing we can try now,” he said, as he looked down on his brother. “I didn’t want to do it if he was dying, but if there’s even the slightest chance he will live…”

“What will you do to him?” Kate demanded.

She felt protective of Guy, more so now that he’d spoken to her.

She wasn’t sure why she’d been honest with him, but something in his eyes had prevented her from lying to him.

Geoffrey had advised her to always trust her instinct, and her instinct had been to trust Guy de Rosel.

“I will cauterize the wound.”

She gasped. “No!”

“Sister, no amount of mead will stop the putrefaction from spreading. Guy will either live, or he will die, but we can’t remain here any longer.” Hugh added, “Will you help me?”

“Yes,” Kate whispered. Her stomach clenched at the thought of hurting Guy so badly, but Hugh was right.

She had nothing on hand to treat the infection.

It hadn’t gotten worse, but it hadn’t gotten better.

Guy was still feverish, and the wound was oozing pus, a sure sign that the putrefaction was spreading and would soon kill him .

“I will send Walter to gather some wood for a fire,” Hugh said. He walked off, leaving Kate with Guy.

She reached for his hand and began to pray again, wishing she could give him some of her strength and vitality, and continued to pray as Walter and Hugh made a roaring fire in the nave.

Its blaze seemed incongruous inside the chapel, especially since it was meant to be a healing flame and not a purifying, punishing pyre.

Kate removed Guy’s bandage and exposed the ugly wound to the light. She held her breath as the stench of decay assaulted her, but didn’t move away.

“I need you to hold his arm still,” Hugh said. “Can you do it, or should I ask Walter?”

“I can do it.”

“Probably best if you both hold him. He’s strong as an ox when he wants to be. Walter, hold his shoulder in place and Sister Catherine can hold his lower arm.”

Kate gripped Guy’s arm with both hands and held it against the stone floor by the elbow and wrist. Guy’s eyes fluttered open. He looked confused, but the sight of the glowing blade brought him to his senses and nearly undid him. His gaze filled with terror. “Please, Hugh, no,” he pleaded.

“I’m sorry, brother, it’s the only way,” Hugh replied.

The searing blade came down on the open wound, filling the chapel with the stench of roasting flesh.

Guy let out an inhuman roar and went rigid as a plank, then his legs began to quiver as Hugh held the blade over the wound.

Guy jerked wildly and Kate brought all her weight down on his arm to keep him from yanking it away.

Had Walter not been holding his upper body, Guy would have broken free.

As it was, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he mercifully lost consciousness, unable to bear the agony any longer .

Kate wiped away her tears with the sleeve of her habit once she was able to release Guy’s arm. The puckered skin was red and raw and smelled of charred flesh.

“Let it cool completely, then bind it,” Hugh commanded. “After that, we leave.”

“I must return home,” Kate told Hugh once she got hold of herself. “My parents will be frantic.”

“You’re coming with us, Sister. We can’t manage without you. You have my word that I will deliver you to your father as soon as Guy is settled in his bed and William is in his grave.”

“Seems I don’t have a choice,” Kate retorted.

“Walter can’t look after him properly on the journey,” Hugh replied, unfazed. “I need him to see to the horses and the armor. You’re doing God’s work,” he added with a sour smile.

Kate didn’t bother to argue. In truth, she couldn’t leave Guy.

He needed her a lot more than her father, and he would benefit from her ministrations, even if they were feeble.

She watched as Hugh and Walter tied up the armor in bundles made of their cloaks and tossed them over her horse to make room in the cart.