Conquering Knight,Captive Lady by Anne O'Brien

Author:Anne O'Brien [O'Brien, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-08-17T06:25:25+00:00

Rosamund sighed as Mistress Kempe bustled in. It promised more pain.

‘If it’s not one thing, it’s another. First foul water, and now this. Let me look at you, my lady…’ She swept Petronilla and Edith out of the way, poking with fingers far less gentle than Gervase’s. ‘Bruising. Discolouring of the skin.’ She prodded and poked again. ‘No bones broken. No permanent damage, lady. Mind you, I can’t say it won’t be sore for a few days.’

‘Ow!’ Cross, Rosamund made no attempt to hide her discomfort.

‘A cup of wine,’ Mistress Kempe demanded, then burrowed in a leather pouch at her waist and extracted a small pottery vessel. ‘I brought this on the off chance.’ Removing the stopper, she shook a quantity of dark powder into the wine and stirred. ‘Drink this.’ She grunted as Rosamund grimaced. ‘It’ll not poison you. There! Good! Common knapweed.’ She gave Edith the pot. ‘Put the rest in warm water and apply it to the lady’s shoulder frequently. It will take away the stiffness.’

Rosamund allowed the events to flow on around her. It seemed to have nothing to do with her. Now that she was warm, the pain retreating a little, a strange lassitude took over, so that even the loss of her mare, although a constant beat of sorrow, seemed to be at a distance.

‘Excellent!’ Mistress Kempe peered at her. ‘I’ll send some more knapweed up with my daughter. And the bark of the white willow—steep it in wine and drink it to ease the pain. Send for me if she does not get her full movement back in her shoulder. I warrant she will.’ Her little eyes, almost hidden in wrinkles, twinkled. ‘My lord seemed distraught.’

‘He was concerned for my daughter,’ Petronilla remarked.

‘Concerned, is it? Seemed more than that to me.’ The witch peered at Rosamund again. ‘He’s a potent lord, and no gainsaying. I’d give you a love potion to attract the man if I thought you needed one.’

‘A love potion? That’s the last thing I want.’ Startled, Rosamund flinched as Edith began to lace her into a loose gown.

‘No, you don’t. He already has eyes for you.’ Mistress Kempe chuckled at Rosamund’s misunderstanding. Then she slid a sly, mischief-making glance at Petronilla. ‘Or perhaps you could make use of it, lady. For my Lord de Mortimer. A pinch of lavender, pinch of valerian root, mixed on a Friday evening when the moon is waxing. That’d do the trick, my lady. He’ll look at no one but you.’

Petronilla smiled calmly with firmly pressed lips and superb dignity under the circumstances. ‘Thank you, but no.’ She pressed a coin into Mistress Kempe’s gnarled hand.

‘As you wish. I’ll leave it here anyway!’

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