Wings of the Storm by Susan Sizemore

Author:Susan Sizemore [Sizemore, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General, Romance, Women Physicians, Middle Ages, Historical, Fiction, Time Travel
ISBN: 9780061082573
Google: IwWOE61mPo8C
Amazon: 0061082570
Publisher: HarperPrism
Published: 1992-07-14T23:00:00+00:00

Jane woke in the last stretch of darkness before dawn and lay on her back, eyes tracing the thick lines of rough wooden beams supporting the low ceiling. She knew she'd dreamed of Berthild, reliving the sight of the outlaw dragging the struggling girl away. She'd dreamed of other things, too. She didn't want to try to catch the disjointed images just waiting to jump up to bedevil her waking thoughts. Some of them managed to flit to the surface despite her efforts to ignore them. She'd dreamed of Daffyd ap Bleddyn. She'd often dreamed of Daffyd ap Bleddyn, but never before had he been holding a gun.

The incongruity of the weapon he held on the would-be rapist in her dream was enough to take much of the horror from the situation for her. She couldn't help but see the dream image again: the half-clothed outlaw, the armored fighter holding out a weapon. Instead of a disemboweling sword stroke, a silent shot was fired. Then Daffyd ap Bleddyn blew on the smoking barrel of the gun and bolstered it in his sword sheath. It was completely ludicrous.

It was just her technologically oriented subconscious trying to help her put the trauma in perspective, she told herself. It was just weird. You'd think she'd be more prone to a wake-up-screaming-with-rivers-of-sweat nightmare than to weird, almost funny, images. Still on her back, she shrugged.

The movement reminded her she'd been bruised and mauled. Some of the marks were still sore. But whatever had happened to her, she recalled grimly, was nothing compared to what Berthild was going through. She wished there was something she could do to find her. Maybe she could talk to Sir Stephan. Get him to help Daffyd hunt down Sikes, perhaps.

She rose from her bed, determined to talk to the young man as soon as possible. She should have thought of this yesterday, she chided herself sternly as she pulled on her shift. The servant was up and gone from the outer room already, but there was a bucket of water left for her. Jane bathed quickly, then finished dressing while chewing on a hazelwood twig. Sibelle had told her it was a Welsh trick for cleaning teeth taught to her by her granny Rosamunde. Jane was grateful to dear Granny Rosamunde for such helpful household hints.

It was barely light when she came into the hall, but all the servants were up, ready to make the most of the longer hours of daylight. Sir Jonathan was seated at the high table alone, dipping his fingers into a bowl of cheese curds. He watched her come across the rushes, a welcoming smile lighting his square-jawed face. He gestured her to the seat beside him. It would have been rude to make a run

for the open air of the courtyard.

She settled onto the chair, bidding him, "Good day. Sir Jonathan."

"God's blessing on you," he returned. "You don't look as if you slept well," he told her after studying her face for a few moments.

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