Page 54 of My Hero
She bit her lip. Fearful tears shimmered in her eyes. “It’s G-God’s work I d-do.”
“God’s work?” He scowled at the uprooted plants, lying like once noble knights felled in battle. “How can this destruction be God’s—”
“The plants are evil!” she hissed, gathering her knees to her chest as if they’d shield her from harm. “They’re the devil’s herbs! The Abbot says so! He says my mistress—” She must have realized she’d said too much. She clapped a hand over her mouth.
“What does he say about your mistress?”
“I—I…can’t say.” Her chin quivered. “But I know my l-lady means no harm. It’s the p-plants that are wicked.”
He sighed. Nightshade. Hellebore. Wormwood. Monkshood. Theywerethe devil’s herbs. A proper, God-fearing lady never grew such plants in her garden. They were the harvest of pagans and peasants who knew no better. Still, he didn’t think Cynthia would be pleased when she discovered that her maidservant had tried to save her soul by gouging up half her herb garden.
He ran a weary hand over his face. If, as Mary intimated, the Abbot spoke ill of Lady Cynthia, the presence of devil’s herbs in her garden would only bode ill for her. Maybe Mary was right.
“Give them to me,” he said. “I’ll dispose of them.”
“Ah, bless you, Father! Bless you!” Mary gushed. She scrambled to her knees before him and actually lowered her lips to the hem of his robe. The gesture embarrassed him. He was hardly a saint. No mortal man deserved such adulation.
He just hoped to God she didn’t notice his bare feet.
“Go back to your bed, Mary,” he told her, nudging her under the elbow. “And speak no more of devil’s herbs.”
After she scurried off, he stuffed the plants into the cloth bag and evened what soil remained as best he could. But the indentations in the earth and the gaps between the remaining bushes were as obvious as gaping holes in brown hose. And he was sure that as he trudged back to his quarters, he left a trail of damning silt along the way.
Morning brought his crime to light.
“You did what?” Cynthia demanded.
“I…” Garth cleared his throat and met her eyes squarely. “Removed them.”
At first, Cynthia was too dumbfounded to speak.
“Perhaps,” he gently suggested, “you weren’t aware they were devil’s herbs.”
“Devil’s herbs?” she echoed numbly.
Slowly the shock wore off as she perused the destruction before her. A tuft of mint was pressed flat into the soil. Empty sockets sank where the plants had been torn out, and mounds of earth undulated between what plants remained. It looked as if someone had let the hounds of hell loose in the garden.
Yesterday, she would have been furious. Yesterday, she would have given Garth a scathing sermon about the sanctity of a woman’s herb garden. And she would have demanded that he replace every plant.
But yesterday, she could afford the luxury of anger.
Today, she was desperate. She’d had the nightmare again—sallow, skeletal victims stretching as far as the eye could see, reaching their grasping hands toward her, begging for her healing, and her satchel hopelessly empty.
She needed those herbs, badly. She didn’t care if they were sown by Lucifer himself. She needed them.
And Garth, who had stood by her yesterday, who had given his blessings to the villagers with the patience of a saint, who had cradled her in sheltering arms on the long ride home, now brazenly informed her he’d confiscated the only weapons she had against the killer disease.
Now she might never save the village.
To her mortification, her face crumpled as readily as a lost little child’s. Her eyes grew liquid. Her chin quivered, and she dissolved into disconsolate tears. Unable to stop the sobs that escaped her, and humiliated at her lack of control, she buried her face in her hands and turned to flee.
“Wait!” He caught her by the arm. “Don’t… Don’t cry. I didn’t mean…” His thumb massaged her forearm. “I’ll get them back. I promise. Somehow I’ll get them back.”
His earnestness only made her weep all the harder. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and sobs welled up from a deep, aching place in her chest. She felt as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. And she was too weak to bear it.
Then his arms folded about her, dragging her against him, wrapping her in a protective embrace, holding her with quiet strength and reassurance. And she returned again to that refuge she’d found last night, the welcome sanctuary of his arms.
With her ear against his chest, she could hear the strong beat of his heart and the soothing rumble of his voice as he promised to make things right. She closed her eyes as he rested his chin lightly atop her head. Nothing had ever felt more natural to her.
