Protected by the Warrior

Kenneth skimmed the earlier entries, dated many years ago. He turned the pages and found the few months leading up to the old midwife’s death. Several in the keep had been poisoned last year, including both Lord Adrien and Lady Ediva. The midwife had been murdered in order to cover up the identity of the man who had committed the crime. It had been a terrible blow to everyone in Dunmow. Even now, there were still questions unanswered. Perhaps this book held the key.

’Twould be good to have this record opened and hopefully find the truth.

And then destroy the book. It served as a reminder of a dark and painful memory that still roamed through the rooms of the keep like a hungry wolf.

“Why not start reading now?” he suggested. “We can begin with a few simple words just to get you used to seeing them.” He smiled at her hopefully. ’Twould be good to begin a lesson, not just for learning the secrets of this book, but to earn Clara’s trust. Aye, that would be needed, for the sideways look she had just shot him spoke of her suspicion more than anything else.

He shoved the book to his right and then dusted off the bench beside him, inviting her to sit. Her cyrtel today was soft green and a lovely color, the color of moss in autumn, complementing her pale skin. But her vibrant hair demanded something more daring. Briefly, he considered what colors she should wear.

A smile hovered on his lips. Red. Aye, a bold red that no modest woman should wear and no redhead would consider. But she would never own a cyrtel like that, for the color was far too expensive, and if nothing else, Clara was practical.

Discarding his silly thoughts, he opened the book to the first page and devoted his attention to it. Cautiously, Clara sat down beside him. Brindi looked from the pastries to him. Her annoyance showed clearly on her face as she realized supper was being delayed for a silly reading lesson.

“This looks like a list of herbs the old midwife had one year,” he commented as Clara leaned toward the book.

“It’s set up differently than the next few pages,” she said.

Kenneth turned the page. “This is a ledger of who bought what herb and what she charged for it. I can see the date here. ’Twas Michaelmas when she collected her fees.”

Clara leaned forward. “Hopefully by then I will be able to read what I need to charge. But let’s go back to the list of herbs. ’Tis best we start there.”

Encouraged, Kenneth carefully flipped back a page. The leaves of parchment were stiff and he decided to hold the corner rather than press the page open at its spine and risk tearing the pages. “We will start at the list. See this letter? ’Tis an N.” He made the sound as he traced the shape with his finger. His lessons as a youth, and even this past winter, were paying off. Holding open the page with his left forefinger, he took up Clara’s right hand, closing all but the forefinger into a fist as he carefully showed her how to trace the letter. She would feel nothing on the parchment, but ’twas important to figure out how the letter was formed.

Clara stiffened, but he continued the task. “The next letter is an E. Eeee. Then the next two letters are T.” He sounded out that letter, then put the word together so far. “N-e-t-t.”

Relaxing, Clara allowed him to trace her finger along the four letters. ’Twas the easy part, for the cursive script flowed easily along. But Kenneth didn’t know his herbs and Clara wasn’t volunteering the word in English. “What word is this?” he asked her. “Neet? Net?”

Clara shrugged. “Neet? I’m not sure ’tis an herb at all.”

“Nettle!” Brindi popped up between the pair, squeezing them apart as she cried out the word.

Glaring at her sister, Clara snapped, “Nettle has a different sound!” With a sharp glare, she shoved her sister’s head back down, pushing the girl to the floor.

Kenneth snickered. “I think Brindi may be right. In English, the letter E has two sounds. And I know the last two letters have the ‘le’ sound.”

On the floor, Brindi called out, “I told you so!”

“You were right, Brindi,” Kenneth said, leaning over to speak to her. “The description says something about causing a rash, but the stingers dissolve when boiled.” He looked at Clara. “Is that true?”

Clara opened her mouth, but her sister cut in before she could speak. “’Tis true!”

The tiniest of frowns creased between Clara’s fine reddish eyebrows, and she swallowed. She looked slightly annoyed and almost hurt.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked her quietly.

“No!” she announced. “Brindi is young and smart, too smart sometimes, so she will learn quickly. But I need to learn this, and my sister is not going to better me.”

“I don’t want to stop, either!” Brindi called out, her back leaning against the bench as she sat on the floor below them.

Clara twisted about and shot her sister another fast glare. Kenneth felt the smile that hovered on his face melt away. Was Clara jealous of Brindi?

“I want you to show me the next letters,” Clara announced.

Clearing his throat, Kenneth began on the next word, slowly pronouncing each letter. As they reached the last letter, having tried various forms of pronunciation, both he and Clara turned to peer down at Brindi, who looked up with curiosity.

“Are you going to guess this word, too?” he asked her.

Brindi looked over at her sister. Slowly, a soft, indulgent smile spread over Clara’s face and she nodded. “Go on. Say the word.”

“Tisane?” The little girl’s eyes were wide with caution.

Clara nodded. “Aye, that’s it.”

Kenneth asked, “’Tis a tea, ’tisn’t it?”

“Aye, but this word indicates you are to pound the herbs first. We also use this preparation for barley water. ’Tis good for babes, to prepare them for food.”

She smiled at him, any insecurity she had from Brindi shouting out the words now gone. Brindi popped back up between them. “Please let me read, too, Clara. I won’t be rude again, I promise.”

Clara shifted away from Kenneth. “I doubt that promise, but you may listen in.”

Brindi scrambled up between him and Clara, her attention focused on the worn book before them. She immediately asked which words they had pronounced.

Kenneth pointed to the two, and as the girl traced each scripted letter with great exaggeration, he looked across the top of her head to Clara.

She met his gaze, her smile hesitant.

“You will learn all of this, Clara. I promise.”

She laughed. “Aah, another empty promise?” Abruptly, she sighed. “I know, but I was only thinking of how this must be what a real family is like in the evenings.”

Kenneth felt his heart chill. How different her childhood must have been. Her father missing at sea, her mother unable to feed her children, shipping them off to other relatives, not being a mother at all. No wonder both sisters seemed to vie for his attention. His upbringing was far different. A strong family unit, separated only when his oldest sister decided she wanted to play that stringed instrument and drove her siblings from the house. He’d thought for many years that all childhoods were like his.

“Are we going to continue the lesson?” Clara cut into his thoughts.

The lesson had been meant to earn her trust so she would reveal Rowena’s location. That single purpose suddenly soured in his stomach as guilt flooded him.

But ’twasn’t the only reason, he told himself. He’d hoped to find a mention of the poison used on Lord Adrien and Lady Ediva. Still, what kind of honorable Christian man was he, that he would use this lesson time for his own purposes? He should just take this book and burn it, now, and never mention it to anyone in the keep.

Then what would he use to teach Clara? He didn’t want to stop this lesson. Seeing Clara move from jealousy to love for her sister and wistfully describe her thoughts was as potent as any dose of medicine she could mix up. It warmed him and settled something restless deep within him.

But ’twas all a ruse, and suddenly, he hated it. He stood. “Nay, it’s far too late, and I am hungry, as I am sure Brindi is, also.”

“Aye!” Brindi agreed. “Time for our sup!”

Kenneth scooped up the book and set it on the mantel. When he turned back, Clara set a bowl of pottage down in front of him. Then she did the same for Brindi. After serving herself, they all bowed their heads and gave thanks. The grace was barely finished when Brindi dived into her meal with the gusto of youth.

“Is there something wrong?”