A Whisper Of Rosemary (Medieval Herb Garden 3)

She held the cup long enough for him to take several sips, then eased it back.

“My horse,” he was able to ask now that his mouth was moistened.

The woman nodded. “Aye. He’s well tended. He’s had more to eat than ye have in the day past. ”

“A day?” Dirick croaked, struggling to a seated position on his low pallet.

“Aye. Ye came to me yestereve, lord, an’ ’twas a struggle to get ye in here when ye chose me doorway to collapse in. ” Again, the eyes glinted with humor. “But I coulden leave ye there, now could I? ’Twould get to be horrible cold in here for me auld bones if the door weren’t shut. ”

“Maris. ” Hell. He’d surely lost her by now if he’d been bloody sleeping for a day.

“Ah, aye, ye called for her last evenin’, lord. There weren’t no one with ye, that I could see. ” The head tilted to one side as she looked down upon him. “But she weren’t with ye, were she, lord? Ye were after her, for what I know not, but the leaves will tell me. Here ye, drink all of this now as yer sittin’ up. ” She pushed the mug into his face and brought his hand up to hold it.

Dirick drank the rest of the brew, thankful that the room had righted itself. The old woman, who wore a long, heavy gown that dragged the floor, took his empty cup and peered into its depths. “Ah, aye, I’ll look at these in a moment. ”

He watched as she trundled over to the fire and stirred something in a large pot. She ladled its contents into a bowl modeled in the same crude fashion as the mug and brought it to him, accompanied by a piece of hard bread and a wooden spoon. Dirick smelled rabbit stew, and his mouth began to water when the food came into his presence.

Knowing that he was in need of sustenance before continuing his search for Maris, he would have eaten eagerly even if the food were barely palatable. However, the stew tasted just as delicious as it smelled, and he was so engrossed that he barely noticed that the old woman. She was clucking over his empty tea mug, peering with a tallow candle into its depths.

“Ahh, aye…. Ye’ve some grief of late, milord . . . ’tis sad I am to see it. ” She glanced up at him, then back at the mug. “Yer Papa, ’twas, aye?”

Dirick swallowed a chunk of rabbit meat and stared at the woman. How could she have known? “Aye. ”

Her white head shook sadly. “Much blood, I see ’t…an’ much evil ’round, too…spreadin’ ’round this land. ’Tis a madman’s hand is in ’t, I warrant. ”

“I’ll find him,” Dirick told her fiercely, no longer shocked that she seemed to understand what she could not know.

She nodded. “Aye, Godspeed to ye in that task. I pray ye’ll find it afore more bloodshed. ”

The woman turned her attention back to the herb leaves plastered over the bottom of the mug. “An’ what of this Maris ye was callin’ fer?” The woman spoke more to herself than to Dirick as she frowned into the mug. “Ahh…mmm…. The lady’s bound fer some hardship herself, ’though it don’t ’pear that ye’ll be the one to bring it to her. ” She slanted a knowing look at him.

“Hardship?” Dirick asked. “She’s hurt? Lost?” He struggled to pull himself from the bed, hardly daring to credit the fact that he was not only believing the words from the old crone’s mouth, but asking for direction as well.

“Sit yerself, if ye please, milord…yer jarrin’ the tea leaves an’ I cannot read them,” grumbled the woman. “She ’pears to have no evil ’bout her now. Fact is, I see naught but calm amongst her in th’leaves. Fer now. She’ll soon have a bad time, milord, but ’tis naught ye, nor any man, can shield her from. An’ ye won’ be seein’ her to prevent it, so don’ be harin’ yerself off when yer so weak ye can barely move yerself. It’s all over and done with, lord, an’ ye won’ be seein’ ’er,” she repeated, waving her hand as if to dismiss him into the bed. “Mmmm…an’ I see that she’ll soon be safe in the company of many armed men…so ye’ve naught to worry yerself ’bout, milord. ”

“I—will I not see her again?” he asked. Something hollow settled in his fully belly, and then he dismissed the thought. Even if he should care to see Maris of Langumont again, how would the old crone know of the future? How did she even know of the present?

The woman frowned at the mug, angling the tallow candle over its depths. “Pah!” she

spat suddenly.

“What see you?” Dirick demanded.

“Ahh, nay, ’tis only that I dripped a bit of wax onto the leaves. ” She waved the offending candle in disgust, nearly splattering Dirick himself with hot tallow. “I s’spect ye’ll see the lady again, milord, but not fer many moons an’ ’t may not be to yer likin’ when ye do. But if ye go easy with the lady, mayhap…mayhap ye’ll win her. ”

Win her? Even if he desired to try, the likes of a third son could not win a powerful heiress such as Maris of Langumont.

Dirick snorted and shoved the tattered blanket from his thighs. Go easy with her? He dropped his bare feet to the dirt floor. He had every intention of throttling the life from the wench at the next he saw her…which, if he could stand enough to mount Nick, would be very shortly.

“Milord,” chirped the woman in surprise, “ye cannot be well enough betimes to be up an’ about!”

“Good woman,” Dirick said, dismissing her concern as he groped for the boots resting near his pallet, “I am much thankful for your kindness, but I must be on my way. I must see to Lady Maris and get her to safety. ” He stood, pausing to see if his legs would hold him and if the world had stopped, and then started toward the doorway with a fair amount of stability.

He stopped short, realizing that he had little to thank her with. “Good woman, I’ve only this to leave you with for my gratitude. ” He dug into the small leather pouch that always hung from his tunic. There was only the cloth wrapped dagger—the clue to his father’s murderer—and a very few small coins. Pinching one from the bottom of the pouch, he pressed it into her hand, promising, “I’ll send to you with more as soon as I’m able. I give you many thanks, woman, for caring for me. I’ll see that ’tis not forgotten. ”

The woman took the coin, admonishing, “Milord, ye needn’t be in any such hurry. Ye’ll not see the lady in the murderous mood yer in…and ’tis just as well, else ye’d be prone to do or say as ye shouldn’t!”

“Again, good woman, I thank you, and I thank you even for your dire predictions,” Dirick said, flashing a brief grin, “but I’ll be on my way. ”