The man dropped to his knees and pressed the bandage.
Rose stood and rushed into the storage room. She found the dried henbane and wormwood and put a spoonful of each into a cup, spilling some on the floor in her haste. A jar labeled poppy arrested her gaze. It couldn’t hurt. Rose threw in a spoonful, ladled hot water from the kettle into the cup, and carried it to Lord Hamlin.
His eyes were still closed, but when she approached, they flickered open and fixed her with a heavy-lidded gaze.
“Here.” She addressed the other knight, whose equally unkempt blond hair and beard were covered in dust. “Give him this tea.”
The man helped Lord Hamlin into a sitting position.
Rose knelt beside the knight holding the bandage. “I thank you,” she said.
The knight stood and she took his place. She held her breath and eased the cloth away from the wound. The bleeding had stopped.
The wound was ugly. She closed her eyes and tried not to think how much it must have hurt when the angry boar thrust its tusk into Lord Hamlin’s leg. She hoped it wouldn’t fester. The yellow pus that sometimes developed in wounds often led to death. O merciful God, let Lord Hamlin’s leg not develop that telltale sign.
She would have to stitch up the wound. God, I don’t know if I can do it!
She had to do it.
His lids hung so low over his eyes, she couldn’t tell if he was looking at her or not. She swallowed past the dryness in her throat. “This is when Frau Geruscha would pray for you, if she were here.”
“You pray for me, then.”
She made the sign of the cross. Her stomach fluttered at the thought of touching him again. But determined to follow Frau Geruscha’s example, she placed her hand on his bare leg. “In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, and by the blood of Jesus, heal Lord Hamlin’s leg. Amen.” Please, God. And help me not make a mess of this.
Opening her eyes, she saw the cup of tea still in his hand. He seemed to read her thoughts and took a gulp. Could he read the panic rising inside her?
She would give him some time to drink the tea before she attempted to sew up his wound, although she knew the tea would help very little. She hoped God would be merciful and he would pass out from the pain, as the little boy yesterday had done.
The prospect of what lay ahead forced Rose toward the window and she looked out, searching the only entrance into the castle. She willed Frau Geruscha to be there, straining her eyes, hoping, agonizing. But Frau Geruscha was nowhere in sight.
Lord Hamlin’s men were talking. “We were closing in on him,” the red haired one said. “He was hiding out in the cave.”
“Had it not been for the boars, we would have caught him,” the blond one answered.
“He must have sent demons into them, the way they came after us.”
So Lord Hamlin had been injured while searching for the evil Moncore. But now was not the time to think about Lord Hamlin’s valiance in trying to rescue his betrothed. Frau Geruscha was not coming. Rose was alone in caring for Lord Hamlin’s leg wound.
Wilhelm held the cup to his lips and watched the healer’s apprentice walk to the window, giving him a clear view of her profile. Her brown hair glowed in the sunlight that poured through the glass. Her nose and chin were small, her cheekbones high, and her lips full and perfect. He recognized her. She was the girl he’d seen on the street with the dog.
He knew about this girl. His father had recently approved Frau Geruscha’s request to have the maiden as her apprentice. If he remembered correctly, her name was Rose. She was a beauty, a woodcutter’s daughter who ordered his knights around as if they were lackeys. But he’d been betrothed since he was five years old, so he was used to guarding his heart. Besides, he wasn’t likely to be tempted by a woodcutter’s daughter—or a healer’s apprentice—no matter how beautiful.
Her wolfish dog sat in the corner of the room and eyed Wilhelm’s two knights, who were staring at Rose. The dog growled low in his throat, his forelegs pulled in tight, ready to spring at the men if the need arose.
Wilhelm studied Christoff and Georg. With a fair maiden in their midst, he knew his men too well to doubt their thoughts. He suddenly agreed with the dog. He didn’t want them staring at her.
“Christoff, Georg, you may go now.”
They tore their gaze away from Rose. “My lord?”
“Unless you want to watch her sew me up?” He raised his eyebrows.
The men seemed to realize what was coming and practically raced each other to the door. From outside, Christoff called, “We shall wait nearby.”
Wilhelm grinned at their haste. He brought the tea to his lips and drank until he had swallowed some of the leaves and all of the liquid, the bitter taste lingering on his tongue.