A Lily on the Heath (Medieval Herb Garden 4)

“Hail, Lady Judith,” came Piall’s call from below. “What do you see?”

“Two fledglings,” she shouted down. “Orphans. I’ll feed them a bit then be down in a trice. ”

Judith took a minute to loop the rope around the trunk then her waist, tying it securely the way her father and Tessing had shown her. Now she could move about more easily without fear of falling. She pulled off her climbing gloves and tucked them into their place on her belt, then loosened the drawstring on her food pouch. The hawks would prefer fresh meat, but the dried beef would do in a pinch.

She had just slipped a morsel of food into the second eyas’s wide-open mouth when a horrible, snarling barking sound came up from below. Piall shouted and then Judith heard the unmistakable scream of a horse.

The sound of a dying horse was enough to haunt one’s dreams, and Judith jerked upright against the tree, her heart pounding. The snarling and growling became even louder and more fierce as she cried, “What is it? Piall!”

Her knight shouted something, but whatever he said was drowned out by squealing, snarling, barking and growling. She heard more snarling and wild barking, thrashing in the brush below. Then the clang of a sword and an agonized human cry.

“Piall!” Judith screamed and untied herself quickly from the tree trunk. She began to work herself down, branch by branch. All the while, the horrible sounds continued below—clearly a ferocious battle between a pack of dogs, her man-at-arms, and the horses.

By the time she got low enough to see what was actually going on, her heart was in her throat. Piall hadn’t responded to her multiple cries, and although the snarling and barking continued, the fight seemed to have died down. Ill with fear, she looked down through the branches and gasped at the sight below.

“Piall!” she half-sobbed, half-cried…but his body, on the ground near the base of the tree, was bloody and unmoving.

One of the dogs—nay. Oh, nay. Those weren’t mere dogs she realized now that she was closer. They were a pack of wild, rabid, wolf-like canines. White foam dripped from the mouth of the one nearest the tree…the one who saw her just above him.

With a snarl and shuddering cry that sounded pain-filled and desperate, he leapt up at Judith’s branch. He came close enough that she saw the burning red of his eyes and the gleam of his feral teeth.

The others in his pack—just as wild and rabid as he—must have caught her scent, for all at once they were all there: surrounding her tree, scrabbling at the trunk, leaping and vaulting up toward her. Trampling the torn, bloody body of her man Piall.

And Judith was trapped.

FOUR

Tabby drew in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of daisies and honeysuckle. Like her mistress, she enjoyed any opportunity to be out of the chill stone walls of the keep. And after two days of rain and cloudiness, it was a blessing to be able to walk through the grasses and vast gardens beyond the hard dirt of the bailey.

This morrow, with Lady Judith gone on her hawk-hunting mission, Tabby was left with fewer responsibilities than usual. Normally, she must be available if her mistress needed a change of clothing or wanted to send a message to someone within the court. Not that Tabby would deliver it herself, but she was often sent off to locate a page to do the actual running. She was also responsible for maintaining the chamber and ensuring her lady’s clothing, bedding and other belongings were clean and organized. And then there was the matter of her furry charges, the elderly mutt, the spunky kitten—and any others she might adopt.

But with Lady Judith away for much of the day, Tabby finished her work shortly after the midday meal. Just before she left the chamber for a much-desired walk, wherein she hoped she might find a sweet pear on one of the trees, the expected message came from the queen. Tabby did as she’d been instructed and sent word back that her mistress was indisposed and Lady Judith begged forgiveness for being unable to attend her majesty today.

Moments later, Tabby went out one of the side doors used by the kitchen serfs. Soon she was walking among rosemary, thyme and fragrant lavender. Beyond the worn pathways in the herb garden were the orchards, lined with trees of pears, plums and apples. And past the rows of fruit trees, currently boasting fruits in various stages of growth, was a small meadow bordered by a forest.

Tabby passed a cluster of ladies sitting on a bench surrounded by rose bushes. She saw two maidservants picking herbs, likely for the monks or the physicians who attended the king and queen. An orange-striped cat stalked something through the tall grasses to the north of a row of apple trees. Two boys played hide and seek. On the meadow, a group of five men-at-arms stood, pointing and talking. Two of them held bows and wore quivers filled with arrows.

She skirted all of them—particularly the men-at-arms. Her papa, a skilled fighter, had been killed years ago while defending Lady Judith’s father’s estate, Kentwood, during a siege. Tabby spent the next five summers caring for her grieving mother even while she served the young Lady Judith, and the experience gave her a strong mislike for any man who wielded a sword.

As she meandered along the edge of the meadow, Tabby alternately hummed and sang under her breath, for she always had a song in her head. Keeping a wary eye on the men, she picked a handful of flowers and looked for strawberries. Lady Judith would surely appreciate a small bouquet of daisies and wild lilies, and perhaps even some of the feathery, silky grasses that shimmered in the sunshine. And there was little more pleasurable than a handful of sun-warmed berries.

Something rustled in the tall grass and she caught sight of a white cottontail as a brown hare bounded off into the forest. Now Tabby was singing in a normal tone, for no one was close enough to hear her. She could see people in the distance; she wasn’t alone or unsafe. Lady Judith oft warned her not to go about or beyond the bailey alone, for there were unscrupulous men who’d hardly think twice about tumbling an unaccompanied maid—whether she wanted to lift her skirts or nay.

Then, right at the edge of the forest, she heard more rustling. It was more frantic this time. And the creature remained in one place instead of rushing away from her approach. Curious, Tabby stopped singing and walked carefully toward the jolting, jerking brush. Now she could hear sounds of distress, and as she drew closer she heard a soft squeaking.

When she parted the grasses and saw what they hid, she gave a soft gasp and fell to her knees. “Oh, nay,” she cried softly. “Poor soul!”

A white rabbit lay huddled on its side, kicking ineffectually, trembling with obvious pain. Its fur was stained with fresh blood, bright red against its soft coat. A broken arrow was embedded in its left haunch. Tabby cursed the men and their sport, sending a glare in the general direction of the five men-at-arms.

Despite its agony, the terrified creature tried valiantly to elude her hands when she tried to help him…but he couldn’t move quickly enough. Tabby was able to examine the protruding arrow, noting with relief that it hadn’t gone all the way through the rabbit’s leg. But there would be blood when she pulled it out….

Biting her lip then clenching her teeth, Tabby held her breath and positioned her hand as leverage against the rabbit’s fragile leg. She sent up a prayer and yanked the arrow away with one sharp, smooth movement. The creature squeaked and gave a horrid squeal, then lay there panting and trembling. He watched her with one unblinking pink eye as if to measure her friend or foe. Tabby was relieved to see blood oozing from the wound, but not gushing forth as she’d feared. Maybe it could heal.

“’Tis all I can do for you here,” she said, stroking the creature’s soft fur. “And I trow Lady Judith will have aught to say on her return to find yet another occupant in her chamber, but you must come with me for the rest. ”

Taking great care, she was just gathering the shuddering creature up into the long skirt of her tunic when she heard footsteps swishing in the grass behind her. She turned, shielding her eyes against the sun.

“What do you here, good wench?” called the man as he approached. She recognized him as one of the men-at-arms she’d noticed earlier. He wore a livery she didn’t immediately recognize—therefore he and his master or mistress were new to court. Or were not part of the king’s retinue at all, and mayhap he hailed from a nearby estate. The man’s hair was the color of pale wheat, but his skin was tanned golden and his beard and mustache were honey-colored. He carried a bow and wore a sword at the waist. And, as evidence of his warring ways, there was a long-healed scar along his jaw, running up toward the ear.