If he were able to capture Moncore, he could tell his future father-in-law, the Duke of Marienberg, to bring his daughter out of hiding. Wilhelm’s betrothed would finally be safe.
But Moncore had eluded him before. The fact that one man had continued threatening Lady Salomea’s safety, despite Wilhelm’s best efforts, was a frustration like he’d never known, a splinter he couldn’t gouge out no matter how hard he tried.
With long strides, Wilhelm headed back into the Great Hall. He’d find Georg and Christoff and discuss where to hunt for Moncore. They would ride out in less than an hour.
Morning sunlight winked through the narrow window as Rose moved about the southwest tower. The only sounds were the blows of the blacksmith’s hammer ringing from the castle courtyard. She straightened jars of herbs, checked to see which of them needed to be replenished, and began sweeping up the old straw from the stone floor. Once finished, she would sprinkle new rushes and dried lilac over the chamber floors.
Rose so wanted to impress her mistress, but had failed miserably. Frau Geruscha never turned ashen at the sight of blood, never shrank from the bad smells, never grew squeamish when sewing up a wound.
O God, make me like Frau Geruscha.
Because one day she would be expected to take over her mistress’s healing work, Rose grew increasingly more desperate to be a good healer. If she returned home a failure, her mother would torment her until she accepted one of her suitors—a desperate widower with nine children, an old man with no teeth, anyone with a little money.
A commotion in the courtyard cut her musings short. She put her broom away in case the noise was the result of someone in need, coming to the healer for help.
As the shouts drew closer, her stomach knotted. Frau Geruscha was away and might not be back for several hours. Please, let them not be coming to see Frau Geruscha. She stood in the middle of the room and held her breath as she stared at the door, waiting.
“Frau Geruscha!” a masculine voice boomed. Someone pounded on the door.
Rose rushed to unlatch the door. Three men stood at the threshold. The middle one’s arms were draped over the shoulders of the other two. His head hung down so that she couldn’t see his face. Sweat dripped from the dark hair clinging to his brow.
She recognized the men on either side as the two knights who yesterday had traveled alongside Lord Hamlin and Lord Rupert. That meant the one in the middle was—
Lord Hamlin lifted his head, his face pale. His eyes riveted her with a look of pain.
Chapter 2
Rose couldn’t stand there gaping, so she spurred her mind to action. “Lay him on the bed. Where is he hurt?”
The two knights eased him down. “Right leg,” one of them said. “Wild boar gored him. Where’s Frau Geruscha?”
Of course they wanted Frau Geruscha, the healer, not her lowly apprentice. “She’s gone.”
“Where?” The man with the dirty blond hair barked the word, tension showing in the wrinkles between his eyes. “Where did she go? We’ll fetch her.”
“I know not. The woods somewhere, gathering herbs and visiting the sick.” She averted her eyes to Lord Hamlin’s leg, lest the man’s dismayed expression drain her of courage.
She sank to her knees beside Lord Hamlin. The dark stain on his hose indicated an injury on the outside of his calf. The boar’s tusk had sliced through his leather boot, its jagged edges dangling open. “Help me get this boot off.”
The knight nearest to her was twice her size, with red hair sticking straight up on top of his head. He bent over and tugged on the shoe.
“Ahhhg,” Lord Hamlin groaned.
Rose glanced up. Lord Hamlin’s eyes were closed and his features clenched in pain. Compassion squeezed her stomach like a fist.
Once the boot was off, blood dripped from his foot off the side of the bed. She grabbed a knife from a nearby shelf and half cut, half ripped the cloth away at his knee. The material stuck to his leg, held on by dried blood.
Running to the adjoining room, she fetched a bowl of water and a clean cloth. She dipped the cloth into the water and repeatedly soaked his leg until the water turned bright red.
She must not focus on the smell or sight of the blood, must not dwell on the fact that this was Lord Hamlin—the duke’s eldest son—bleeding all over the floor.
Gently, Rose pulled the cloth away from the jagged wound, which extended the length of his calf and looked very deep. Fresh blood oozed from the gash. She used her thumb and fingers to push the two edges together while pressing a linen cloth against it with her other hand, angrily commanding herself the whole time not to get sick.
Lord Hamlin moaned low in his throat.
Thinking about his pain made her stomach twist. Don’t think about it. Be like Frau Geruscha. What would Frau Geruscha do?
“You there.” She glanced up at the redheaded knight, who squatted beside her. “Hold this.”