Page 16 of Knight of Chaos
By Saint Michael’s Wings! ’Twas so bad that she required a surgeon, he thought. He began running in the direction of the tent he shared with Ingrid. Upon his approach, her screams rang out leaving a gut-wrenching hole in his heart.
Flinging open the flap at the entrance to his dwelling, his steps faltered at what he was witnessing. A surgeon was kneeling on one side of her pallet, busy in his task of apparently stitching up her flesh. On her other side was another familiar friend. She had a death grip upon Oswin’s hand, if her white knuckles were any indication of the tightness of her grip and the pain she was going through.
“Please do not leave me, Oswin,” she murmured between clenched teeth. Theobald’s heart lurched to hear another man’s name pass her lips, but ’twas even more unsettling to witness Oswin stroke her hair.
“Be at ease, Ingrid. I shall not leave you,” Oswin vowed.
Kingsley elbowed Theobald. “Bad luck, that,” he muttered. “I thought mayhap I might have a chance with the fair lady, but it looks like Oswin beat both of us to earn her favor.”
Theobald gave Kingsley a glare that would silence most men. “Do not be so sure,” he advised, although he was uncertain where he stood with the lady given their conversation of last eve. Oswin may very well win over the lady’s heart. Did this matter to him? The sour mood suddenly enveloping Theobald proved to him that such a happening most certainly did.
His friend had no claim as yet on Ingrid, as far as Theobald knew, leaving him the opportunity to pursue the matter if he was so inclined. Apparently given this situation, Theobald realized he best make up his mind, and quickly.
He placed Ingrid’s sword on the table where they took their meals before he marched forward, determined to see for himself how bad the lady was injured. When he approached, her eyes were squeezed shut, a grimace etched upon her face whilst the surgeon continued his work to sew up her injured flesh.
“How bad is she?” Theobald inquired. Three sets of eyes met his. Oswin appeared to be on the defensive. Ingrid’s look relief held, or so he hoped—but ’twas visible only briefly before she masked her face with disinterest toward his presence.
The surgeon went back to his work. “’Tis not as bad as it appears. She’s a bleeder this one is,” he remarked, inspected his work, and then began wiping his hands on a rag.
Theobald nodded whilst continuing his inspection of Ingrid. “And what of the bump on her forehead? Should we be concerned?”
The surgeon packed up his belongings and stood. “Nay. She should be fine with a couple days’ rest. I do not, however, recommend her picking up her sword any time soon. Thrusting herself back into battle will only open the wound, not that she belongs anywhere near a battlefield in the first place,” he muttered.
Theobald watched the man depart and Oswin at last stood. His fists clenched at his sides. He moved quickly, grabbing Theobald’s tabard giving him a shake.
“Where the devil were you that you could not protect her?” Oswin bellowed.
Theobald gave his friend a push. “You saw what was going on out there. ’Twas every man for himself as is the case with any fight we are thrust into. Ingrid can take care of herself.”
“Nay, she could not.God’s Blood,” Oswin cursed. “You have no idea what was happening to her when I found her, do you?”
Accusing eyes momentarily caused Theobald to pause in his response before anger got the better of him. “Well? Spit it out. ’Tis clear you came to her rescue.”
Oswin stepped forward “The alternative was not an option! She was about to be raped!”
With that last word, the tent began to fill with Reynard, Richard, and Blake. Theobald’s breath left him whilst his gaze flew to the woman who cheeks flamed red in embarrassment. Everyone started talking at once as each man’s voice grew louder to talk over the other.
“Enough!” Ingrid ordered, causing the knights to halt their conversation. “All of you get out so I can rest. You can bicker over my situation come the morn.”
Theobald stepped forward but not before Oswin went and knelt back down by her side. He took her hand and held it to his chest. “I am not leaving you,” he swore.
Turning her head in his direction, she gave him a weak smile. “Aye, you are. I appreciate your help this day but there is nothing more you can do for me this night. Go take your ease so you may meet the next battle fully rested. Thank you again for your aid.”
Ingrid let go of Oswin’s hand and he reluctantly stood before taking his leave. The rest of the knights followed in his wake leaving Theobald and Ingrid alone.
“Ingrid…” He came to stand over her and she turned her head away from him.
“Not now, Theobald. Please… just let me rest.”
He gave a brief nod and turned away from her, noticing her sword still laying on the table. He went and took up the blade and returned to Ingrid’s side placing the weapon on the floor within easy reach. “I found this upon the battlefield,” he stated whilst watching her carefully.
Hazel eyes filled with tears as she reached over to touch the sword her father had given her. “How did you manage to find this with all the chaos that was happening today?” she asked, searching his face for answers.
Theobald gave a brief shrug. “Luckily for me the hilt was visible in the mud. ’Twas only right I return the weapon to its owner.”
She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, there was gratitude shining within their depths. “I will be eternally gratefully to you, Theobald, for its return. Thank you,” she managed to whisper.
“You are most welcome, Ingrid. Now, I will let you rest so you might heal,” he replied before once more turning from the lady.
