Page 48 of Highland Slayer
The man’s coughing was growing worse. He had rolled over onto his side to try to stop the cycle, but to no avail. He was sputtering and choking and when Leonore was halfway across the sanctuary floor, she noticed an earthen pitcher next to his bedside. She didn’t know what was in it, but at this point, anything would help soothe that cough. As she reached his cot, she knelt down and picked up the pitcher, bringing it to her nose for a quick sniff. It smelled of onion. Reaching out, she put her hand on the man’s shoulder and tried to encourage him to sit up.
“Sede, sede,” she said softly.Sit up, sit up. “Oportet bibere.”
You must drink.
She was speaking Latin, the language of the church, because she assumed he would be able to understand her better. No one knew her native tongue, so she spoke Latin in the hopes of communicating adequately. Still coughing, the big man sat up and grabbed at the pitcher she was holding for him. Putting it to his lips, he sucked down the liquid, trying to quiet the cough.
It worked enough that he was able to catch his breath, but his eyes were red and his chest rattly. He took a few deep breaths before looking at her. She smiled at him and encouraged him to drink more.
“Bibere,” she said softly.
Drink.
He did, again. He nearly drained the pitcher, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The cough had abated forthe most part and it gave him a moment to rest, which he did gratefully.
The man was exhausted.
“Gratias,” he finally said, realizing that a sick woman had gone out of her way to help him. “You have been helpful. I am appreciative.”
He spoke Latin to her because, like all knights, he’d had to learn the language during his training. Since it was the official language of the Catholic Church, and knights were sworn to God by vocation, it was something they knew. He’d been fairly oblivious to what was going on around him over the past three days, mostly sleeping and trying to manage his illness, but he was more lucid now. He vaguely recalled the nuns attempts to speak with her, which was why he knew Latin was her language of choice.
“Mateo,” he said, putting his hand on his chest. “My name is Mateo.”
She smiled, a lovely gesture. “Leonore.”
Mateo smiled in return. “Are you feeling better, Leonore?”
She nodded. “I will be well soon.”
“Good,” he said. “My apologies, but I have been sleeping much of the past few days. I did not hear how you came here. Will you tell me? I am the one who carried you away from the river.”
He was speaking simply, using simple words, and using his hands to emphasize his meaning. But she understood him well enough and her smile faded.
“I was a hostage of the Ormsfolk,” she said. “I was given over to them by my father because there had been raids. People were killed. The Ormsfolk demanded satisfaction or they would kill my son, who had been captured during one of the raids.”
Mateo’s brow furrowed. “If he was captured, why were you a hostage?”
She shrugged. “Because my father valued my son more than me,” she said. “I was traded for his safe return.”
That was an unwelcome fate, but sadly, it was common. “I am sorry,” he said. “For you, for your son, for your father. What of your husband?”
“He is dead.”
“And your son is his heir?”
“He is.”
“Did the Ormsfolk know he was the new king, with your husband dead?”
“They did not.”
That made more sense now. “So your father gave you over to the Ormsfolk for the boy because he was more valuable,” he said. “But how did you come here? To these shores?”
Leonore sighed heavily and sat back on her heels, her smile completely gone. “Because I was held in a cold stone tower, with no heat and hardly any food,” she said. “Days and days of no hope, only desolation. I could no longer stand the torment, so I stole a boat and I left. The sea took me to these shores and my boat was broken on the rocks. And that is when you found me.”
His smile faded as well. “So I did,” he said. “I can only imagine that the Ormsfolk were terribly cruel to you. You have the right to survive.”
She nodded. “I am going home,” she said firmly. “My father is a man of his word, so he would not try to free me, but I was never told not to escape.”
