Page 16 of The Forsaken (Echoes from the Past #4)

William’s corpse gave off a putrid odor, decomposition having set in.

He’d been dead for four days, and even though the weather was cool, his corpse needed to be buried sooner rather than later.

Kate tried not to look at what was left of William as she settled next to Guy, who was still insensible.

Walter drove the cart, while Hugh led the horses ahead of them.

The horses were spooked by the reek of death, so couldn’t be downwind from the cart.

Kate brushed Guy’s hair out of his face and laid a cool hand on his brow.

His chest rose and fell evenly as he slumbered on.

She couldn’t bring herself to look at his arm, which was a horrid shade of crimson beneath the bandage.

She prayed they would get to where they were going soon.

She could smell her own sweat and fear beneath the putrid smells in the cart, and her head itched from lack of washing.

She hadn’t had a proper meal since leaving the priory, and she could feel that her courses were about to start.

Her back ached, her belly cramped painfully, and her breasts were swollen and sensitive.

She had nothing to use as rags if she began to bleed before they arrived at their destination, but couldn’t raise the issue with the men.

They stopped only once to buy food and feed and water the horses, and then they were on their way again.

Guy came to twice, but only for a few minutes at a time.

Kate tried to get him to drink, since he couldn’t manage any food, but he only took a few sips.

When she spoke to him, he didn’t reply, not even with a grunt or a squeeze of the hand.

The day seemed to go on forever as the cart rattled along rutted tracks and muddy lanes.

Kate’s back groaned in protest and she tried to get more comfortable by leaning against the side, but had to fold her legs beneath her since William and Guy took up almost the entire cart.

It was nearly dusk by the time Hugh pointed out the shadowy bulk of Castle de Rosel in the distance.

It stood squat and square on a hillside, overlooking the nearby town of Berwick, its crenellated tower dark against the lavender sky.

The castle wasn’t as grand as some Kate had seen.

It was more of a keep, but it looked impregnable.

Kate could see the dark outlines of arrow shafts, but several glazed windows that had probably been added later also graced the top floors.

The light of a candle flickered behind one of the windows, but otherwise, everything was quiet and dark.

A chorus of barking erupted as they drew closer to the castle wall, and the gate swung open, revealing a nearly toothless old man holding a lantern.

“Saw ye coming, I did. We was beginning to give up hope. The Earl of Stanwyck returned from the battle two days since. Suffered heavy losses. Thank the good Lord ye’re home, Master Hugh. ”

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 before standing 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 all the 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 close to 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.”

“No, I wish to help.”