Page 52 of Warrior’s Lady

The bishop? Camden brought his hand down over the man's eyelids, closing his eyes forever.

"Go in peace," he whispered.

Again time slowed as the battle died all around, until only his own men remained standing. Eager to make his way home, Camden stood and made his way to Rhiannon's side. He placed Rhiannon gently in the saddle, then signaled to his men to ride out.

Swinging up into his saddle behind Rhiannon, he charged ahead, leading the way back home. With the assassin's death, his secrets and his people were safe.

As a warrior he understood death. As a man, he hated that he had caused it for his own selfish gains. He pulled Rhiannon closer against his chest. The warmth of her body comforted him somehow, working its way inside him, soothing his conscience.

Snow continued to fall lightly as he and his men made their way home. Camden frowned as they neared the rise to the castle. A dark pile of rubble and a gaping hole in the outer wall remained a reminder of the deception that had taken place there this day.

The group of men did not go to the gate, but entered the castle over the tumbled and obliterated stones of the wall.

Camden came to a stop, frowning at the damage. "How long?" he asked as Orrin came up beside him.

Orrin understood the question. "I can have the wall repaired within three days."

Camden shook his head. "Too long. We'll be too vulnerable to attack."

"The men will serve a constant guard."

"It is the spy within our midst that has me most concerned. How easy for him to pretend to guard the breach at night or rebuild it during the day, then slip away unnoticed?"

"I'll not make it easy. I intend to guard the breach myself."

Camden cast a smile of appreciation at his friend. "Even you must sleep."

Orrin straightened. "No one will enter or leave this castle without my notice; I give you my vow."

"We'll both share the duty, as we always have."

Orrin nodded and turned away to resume supervising work on the wall.

At the stairs to the keep, Camden dismounted and grasped Rhiannon's waist, assisting her from the horse. "We need to get you cleaned up. I will send for the healer."

"Please, I just need to rest."

He studied her for a long moment before he nodded. "If you will not see a healer, then you must promise me that you'll drink the tonic I send to your chamber."

"I promise," she said. A few moments later Rhiannon found herself ensconced in her bedchamber. Despite the chill that wracked her body, she hesitated to approach the crackling flames in the hearth.

She glanced down at the charred hem of her dress and what was left of her shoes. She slipped them off, leaving crumbles of ash and leather on the floor beside them. Several large blisters covered her skin where her slippers had been. Red burns streaked up her legs, discoloring her flesh. A stinging pain rippled across her legs. She was lucky. Burns and blisters she could heal from. Rhiannon shivered at the memory of the heat creeping up her legs. If Camden had not arrived when he did, she would have perished in a blaze of flames.

Before her thoughts could turn down darker roads, a parade of servants entered the room. Two men carried a copper hip bath that they placed near the fire. Four more men entered behind them carrying large buckets of steaming water that they dumped into the waiting bath. Two women brought a linen towel and a plate of freshly baked bread with a chunk of golden cheese. Mistress Faulkner brought up the rear of the procession. She placed a mug of cool liquid in Rhiannon's hands.

"The master asked that you drink this. All of it."

Rhiannon brought the mug to her lips and drank the bittersweet ale inside. When she finished, Mistress Faulkner took the mug from her fingers and handed it to a waiting maid. Then she proceeded to lead Rhiannon to the bed, where she carefully laid out a green damask dress along with a pair of soft leather slippers.

"Milady," she said when the others had left. "I made this dress for you, to thank you for your help with Charlotte and her child." Mistress Faulkner cast her gaze to the thick woolen carpet as she spoke. "I treated you poorly. I shall not do so again."

"The dress is beautiful," Rhiannon said, uncertain what to think or do. "Thank you for your kindness." Could she trust the chatelaine? She seemed sincere enough. Or was this offering another attempt to humiliate her?

Mistress Faulkner helped Rhiannon take off the ruin that was her dress, then assisted her into the hip bath. Pain streaked across her feet and up to her legs as she settled into the water. She lathered her body and hair quickly with the lavender soap, then rinsed, as eager to wash the smell of smoke from her skin and hair as she was to be freed from the heat of the water against her burns.

When she was done, the chatelaine assisted her from the bath, wrapping her body in a soft linen towel. Rhiannon settled in a chair near the fire, careful to keep her legs and gee from getting too close to the heat. At the sight of the flames, she flinched but forced herself to breath slowly. This fire would warm her and help dry her hair. This was not a fire of destruction.

As her hair dried, the pain in her feet and shins lessened. Rhiannon drew her legs up, placing her feet on the chair. She studied her legs. Where the red streaks used to be, only smooth flesh remained. She frowned, suddenly confused. "Mistress Faulkner, what was in the tonic that Lord Lockhart sent for me to drink?"