Page 27 of Castle of Refuge

“Wait here.” She went into an adjacent storage room.

“Audrey, is it?” one of the servants said. “Tell us about where you came from.” She looked younger than Audrey and her fingernails were stained purple and brown. Her green eyes were on Audrey, and she had tiny freckles on her nose and cheeks.

“It is not very different from here.”

“Tell us something about it.”

Audrey took a deep breath, trying to push away the fear that was rising up, fear that they would discover who she was if she told them about where she was from. But she could surely be vague enough. She wanted so much to be friends with the other servants here, but it was difficult not to worry or want to protect herself—the consequence of her deception.

The five other maids sitting around the table stared at her, waiting. She couldn’t tell them that just a mile from her home was the sea, with its dramatic rocky coastline and vast blue waters. If she told them that, they might repeat what she said to Mistress Wattlesbrook, who would in turn tell Lord Dericott, and he might realize who she was.

At least her headscarf covered her scars, so they did not know about those—unless Philip or Mistress Wattlesbrook had told them. Did all the servant girls who had sat by her bedside know about the scars?

“It has green hills and trees and fields, just like here. The people look the same.” Audrey shrugged.

“Are you from a city or a village?”

“A village. Near a village.”

They looked curiously at her, as if she were different from them, all except Joan, who just smiled timidly at her. Was her speech different enough from theirs that they would notice? Her tutor had taught her to speak precisely and formally, but she did not always follow the rules of noble etiquette and speech.

Mistress Wattlesbrook raised her voice. “If you are finished with your food, get back to work. But not you, Audrey.” She fixed her gaze on her. “You are not well enough to work a full day. You are to go back to bed.”

Audrey followed her mistress from the room, grateful she was so kind. When had anyone treated her so well? Sybil was sometimes kind, but not always, and her friend Helena possessed a warm and loving heart. But this woman did not know Audrey, and certainly did not know she was the daughter of a viscount.

Mistress Wattlesbrook took her up the stairs and down the corridor to the bedchamber where she’d been sleeping.

“I know you will not want me to sleep in this room, now that I am a servant,” Audrey said. “I must sleep with the others, in the serving maids’ quarters.”

“In good time,” Mistress Wattlesbrook said, smiling as she set the cup in her hand down on the little bedside table and ushered Audrey into bed. She tucked her in and handed her the cup. “Not until you are well. Until then you will stay here, where you can rest in peace and quiet. Now drink that.”

Audrey obeyed, sipping the slightly bitter herb drink. “Thank you. You are the kindest woman I have ever met.”

Mistress Wattlesbrook opened her mouth but didn’t speak. She blinked several times, staring down at Audrey. “I believe you have been treated with a lot of unkindness in your life,” she said softly. “And I am very sorry for that. But you will find that our Lord Edwin—Lord Dericott, I should say—is as kind a master as you would ever want. Now try to rest, and I will come back before supper and see how you are feeling.”

“Thank you.”

After Mistress Wattlesbrook left and Audrey had drunk her tea, she sank down into the soft bed and closed her eyes. Soon she’d have to sleep on a small cot in a room with all the other maids, so she might as well enjoy this bed while she could.

***

Edwin hadn’t sat on a horse since he’d come home to Dericott Castle from London over five months ago, and as he rode, he could feel himself continually slipping or otherwise losing his balance.

He’d been riding his entire life. He and his faithful horse, Shadow, had jumped, raced, and jousted with the best of the knights of England. But now he could hardly go faster than a walk without almost falling off. And he was only going around the grounds of the castle.

He rode up the rocky hill to the northwesternmost part of the Dericott demesne. Just as he was almost to the top, he startedslipping to one side. He pulled on the reins, halting Shadow, then used the saddle horn to pull himself back into the middle of the horse’s back.

He sat trying to get his breath. Was he so weakened that trying to right himself in the saddle would send him gasping for air? He clenched his teeth, held on tightly to the saddle horn, and let Shadow heft them over the last boulder to the top of the hill.

He surveyed the land below—fields and forests, a stream, a fish pond, flocks of sheep and geese, and herds of cows. He was responsible for this demesne, for its people, its animals, and its crops. And yet he felt like only half a man. He could hardly even sit a horse.

Before the injury, he’d rarely been beaten as a swordsman. Now, if someone attacked him or his family, could he defend himself or anyone else? Could he even fight back?

He did not blame the soldier who sliced his arm nearly off, causing him to have to have it amputated by the London surgeon. That man was only doing his duty, defending himself and his fellow guards. Edwin had been fighting for his freedom and the lives of his younger brothers. He would not be beaten, even if it cost him his life.

And he would not let this beat him. He would practice sitting his horse, practice his sword-fighting skills, but he had to admit he would never be as strong with one arm as he had been with two. And it was eating him up inside.

He guided his horse down the hill back toward the house. He could and would learn how to balance in the saddle with hisleft arm gone, and he would do his best not to let himself be humiliated.