Page 127 of The Knucker King

Robert turned and fled through the open door, the Grim in hot pursuit.

Avice dropped her hands from Joan’s eyes. The woman blinked – dumbstruck – and sat still as a stone on the pallet, her chest rising and falling in ragged pants. The midwife fumbled for her pendant. She clasped it, the cool crystal soothing the blood roaring in the ears.

“Goodwife Joan?” Avice croaked, her eyes roving her face.

She focused on the midwife, shaking uncontrollably.

“It is alright.” Avice released her pendant and fumbled for Joan’s wrist. She pressed her patient’s palm to her chest. “Breathe with me…” She took a long slow inhale, and then an exaggerated exhale.

Joan chewed her lip and nodded. She copied Avice’s steady breathing pattern, again and again, until some colour returned to her face.

“Th-thank you,” she stuttered, a little colour returning to her cheeks. “You stopped him.”

Avice nodded. “I am glad we ended it before it escalated.”

Bramble trotted back in then, licking a drop of blood from his nose, and made his way over to the pallet. Is she alright? Tell the pup I am sorry we did not get here sooner.

The pup. Avice blinked back tears, even her familiar knew Joan was too young for a life like this. “He wants to know if you are alright?” she asked, gesturing to him.

“I think so,” Joan replied. She reached to pat his shaggy head. “Thank you…” She turned to Avice. “What is his name?”

“Bramble.”

Joan scratched behind his ear, and he closed his eyes with a huff. “Thank you, Bramble.”

Avice unstrapped and rifled through her medical satchel. “Hold this to your bruise,” she instructed, pressing a crystal to the purple mark on her cheek. “And drink this.” She handed her a bottle of healing waters.

She pushed herself up. Now the excitement was over, her limbs felt heavy. Her hat had fallen off in the scuffle. She stepped over to retrieve it, her gaze sweeping the messy cottage. Clearly, Robert had not been keeping up with the housework during the storm and while Joan was lying in.

Avice faced her patient. “I originally came to check in on your health after the birth.”

Joan took a gulp, placed down the bottle, and curled her shaking fingers into Bramble’s fur. The shaking woman dipped her head in agreement.

“But you cannot remain here. It is not safe,” Avice continued. “I think it would be wise for you to stay with your sister, for the time being.”

“But Robert, he is on the Moot council,” Joan replied. “Surely he can get them to order me back.”

Avice chewed the inside of her cheek. “Perhaps, but Goodwife Catherine is bold, and we both know she has her husband’s will in the palm of her hand.”

Joan gave her a sad smile. “Mister Lionel is very sweet on her. It must be nice.”

Until very recently, the midwife knew exactly how lonely Joan felt. “And he is a member of the Moot. He could vouch for you, with a little prodding from your sister.” At least, that was what Avice hoped. “That is the plan, then. A quick check on your health, pack some clothing, and go to your sister’s?”

Joan smiled up at her and gave Bramble another pat, much to his delight. “Thank you, for giving me hope.”

The small bud of friendship between the women – the one Avice first felt when she went to check on Joan the day after the birth – tentatively bloomed.

Avice returned to the pallet-side, ready to begin her examination. “Speaking of Hope, I have some news for you.”

47

Chapter 47

Avice

Avice knocked on Catherine’s door, her knuckles rapping loudly on the rough wood. Joan stood just behind her – a clothing sack slung over one shoulder – munching on one of the apples from the basket full she carried in the crook of her elbow. It had been Joan’s idea to gather the fruits as a peace offering to her sister in return for staying with her family.

Avice noticed that the good news of her daughter’s wellbeing seemed to have put a spring in her step. That Joan – despite all that had happened to her – seemed to have a weight lifted from her, and shadows no longer darkened her countenance.