Page 72 of Rogue Knight
“We will meet back at the castle before the evening meal.”
The one appointed to lead the other group waved as his group of six rode off toward the east.
Geoff turned Athos toward the woods.
***
“Her fever still rages,” Sigga informed the worried Martha, standing at the entrance to the chamber where Emma lay at the back of the cave. Candles lit the dark space but added little warmth. Magnus lay close to the pallet his head on his paws. “This wet cloth does little to cool her even with the chill in the air.” She reached out to bathe her mistress’ face once again, despairing of hope. As soon as she laid the cloth on Emma’s forehead, it became hot to the touch. “She is out of her mind most of the time. Once she awakened but she was so confused I do not think she recognized me. She takes no nourishment. Martha, I am scared.”
“At least she no longer spews up her stomach,” encouraged Martha.
“That is because her stomach is empty, poor mistress. I made her some ginger tea but even that she would not touch.” Looking up at the villein who had come to inquire after Emma, Sigga chided, “You should not be here, Martha. You cannot become ill; Inga will need you for the babe. ’Twill be here any day. If you were to come down with the sickness that has befallen our mistress, it would leave only me and I do not have your skills.”
Martha hesitated, her worried gaze fixed on Emma. “Ye think we might lose her?”
“I refuse to consider it. She will recover. She must.”
Three days had passed since Emma had fallen ill. Sigga was gravely worried. She had friends who had died of such fever. Emma had lost weight for lack of food. And she was weak. They had moved her to a chamber deep in the cave to isolate her from the children and Inga. Only Sigga had spent any time inside the chamber where Emma lay too fevered at times to know where she was.
Emma moaned in her sleep, mumbling, “Geoffroi, Geoffr—”
Sigga dipped the cloth in the bowl of cold water, wrung it out and placed it on Emma’s forehead. “It will be all right, Mistress.”I know you miss him.
“Who is it she calls for?” asked Martha.
“Sir Geoffroi.”
“A… a French knight?” Martha stammered, disbelieving.
After all they had lived through, the question did not surprise Sigga. “Aye, but one to whom we owe much.”One whom her mistress loved.Sigga had observed the inner light that had shown from Emma’s face whenever she was with the Norman. After each of her trips to pick flowers last summer, her eyes had sparkled with some secret knowledge; her face had glowed with happiness. Sigga had known from the beginning that it was not the flowers that drew Emma to the meadow. It was the French knight. Sigga was certain the two loved each other. Sadness overcame her as she thought of the pair. Her mistress had found love only to lose it.
“You should go, Martha,” Sigga urged the woman.
“All right,” Martha said at last. “I will leave… for Inga’s sake.”
“’Tis best. Will you ask Artur to take Ottar to gather some pine needles and herbs? Some garlic root, chickweed and St. John’s Wort? Even in winter they can be found buried under leaves beneath the snow. Ottar has picked those herbs with me before. He knows where to find them. I must have them to make a tea for the fever. She cannot go on like this. If I can get her to take the tea, it may help.”
“Aye,” said Martha, her brows drawn together as she gazed down at Emma. “I will send Artur and Ottar with the guards. Jack can stay with us.”
What neither acknowledged was that if the Normans found them no man could save them. But they kept to the belief they were well protected. Life was easier that way.
As the villein departed, Sigga lit another candle and set it on the rock ledge to replace the one that had burned to a stub. Although her mistress’ fever raged, Sigga kept the fur cover ready because when Emma was not burning up, she was shivering with chills. Remembering the last time, Sigga shuddered. She could not bear the thought she might lose the mistress she loved.
***
The sound of clashing swords rang through the forest startling Geoff. A side-glance at Alain told him his fellow knight was equally bewildered. They were far from the practice yard and, to his knowledge, he and his men were the only ones dispatched to search out rebels around York.
With a shouted, “Follow me!” Geoff spurred his horse into the woods toward the direction of the tumult. Alain, the three other knights and Mathieu followed closely behind.
Geoff emerged from the trees into a snow-dusted clearing.
A scream rent the air.A child’s scream.
Drawing rein, he quickly slipped from his horse and stepped into the bleak space of winter-shrouded ground. Patches of snow lingered in the shadows under the surrounding trees. In front of him lay the bodies of two men, bloody upon the ground, Northumbrian rebels by their beards and weapons. He caught a sudden movement and jerked his head to one side. Two Norman knights stood, their swords drawn and dripping blood.
Clutched in the hand of one was a tearful, squirming Ottar. Shaking the boy, the knight pressed his sword to Ottar’s neck. The other Norman had a horrified Artur pinned to the ground with a sword pointed at his heart.
“Hold!” Geoff demanded, drawing his sword, his eyes narrowing on the knights.
