Page 86 of Peregrine's Call
Tav would never picture Robin pining, and he wasn’t sure why Pierce was looking at him with such hostility. Then he realized that the man was actually glaring at Rafe.
“I knew there was something familiar about you,” Pierce said to Rafe. “But I only saw you for an instant before. I know you.”
Rafe nodded, having been told about what happened as he and Tav rode back. “Indeed, my lord. Five years ago. We met at Malvern when you were still Lord Pierce of Malvern. I hear your fortunes have declined since then.”
“And yours have improved. Landless, bastard knight to trusted castellan!” Pierce glanced at Tav with anger flashing in his eyes. “Why did you send me here?”
“I sent you here because it’s the closest place of shelter I trust,” Tav said. “And don’t forget, my lord, youinsistedthat I was the one who come to meet you. You wanted a specific man so you knew you weren’t getting an imposter. Well, that means that you get all the specific connections that come with me. Such as Sir Rafe, your gracious host.”
“I am not sure this is the best place for me, after all,” Pierce said, looking as if he expected to be escorted directly out.
“The gates are closed, my lord,” Rafe said. “Apart from the group that chased you, the Welsh are a constant threat, not to mention ordinary raiders and cutthroats who use the marches to hide from the law. You may not like it here, but at least within my walls you’ll keep breathing.”
Pierce recoiled at the knight’s blunt words, but nodded. Then he noticed something else, and he smiled. “Ah, it’s none other than Lady Robin.”
Tav turned, eager to see her up close. She looked back at him, her deep blue eyes clouded with some sadness, though he couldn’t think why.
“Octavian,” she said, her voice barely loud enough to be heard.
“Robin.” This was not how a reunion between them was supposed to happen. He remembered the awkwardness of seeing her at Cleobury when she shocked him into idiocy by being a full-grown, lovely woman. This was worse, because now all he wanted to do was reach for her and kiss her and tell her how very happy he was that they were both alive. But he couldn’t do that in the middle of a crowd that would ask questions, and certainly not when she wasn’t even smiling to see him.
Her gaze dropped to his arm, and she frowned. “You were hurt.”
Tav’s arm was held stiffly against his side, and the bandage he wore had soaked through enough to reveal a few bright red spots of blood. “Yes, but it will heal.”
“We must tend to it immediately,” Angelet declared. “Your wound and any others the men suffered. Come with me, Octavian.”
Tav allowed Angelet to lead him toward the steps of the keep. He saw Robin following, much more slowly. She was still accompanied by the boy Pierce called one of her puppies—though he was big for a puppy, almost as tall as Tav himself, despite being probably a decade younger and still growing.
“Who’s the boy?” he asked Angelet in a low voice.
“Torin? One of our fosterlings. He’ll be a fine fighter one day. And he seems quite struck by Robin.” Angelet gave a little laugh. “Fear not for her safety while he’s defending her.”
“I’m glad she’s protected,” Tav said. In truth, the fact that Robin was on the other side was all that allowed him to fight for as long as he did. The bridge was the only thing between the attacking force and the woman he loved, so he would hold it until he faced capture or death.
He expected death.
Coming out alive was a miracle. Tav had no other explanation.
Because of Angelet’s unusual ailment, Martenkeep actually had a doctor within the walls. The man was small in stature, less than five feet tall. His hair and beard were both iron grey, and he spoke French incessantly, peppered with Latin phrases, while he worked.
Octavian had seen his share of doctors and surgeons during his life. Some were lifesavers and others were quacks. Brother Andre at the monastery of Saint Thomas had been the former. He knew all the phases of the moon and which stars were ascending, and how to balance the humors of the body, as well as how to stop a wound from bleeding and stitch the flesh back up without killing a patient. Tav had seen women set bones at the sides of a battlefield without blinking an eye at the carnage around them. And he’d seen learned doctors in the cities across Europe who couldn’t save a fish from drowning.
This doctor acted pompous but wasn’t afraid of blood. He muttered in French about the need to wait for the moon to start waning before the wound would truly knit, but he also cleaned the cuts well and bound them all tightly with the bandages Angelet and her maids supplied.
“There now,” the doctor proclaimed at last, his mumbled words coming out quickly. “The cuts are bound, the bruises treated. You must drink a tisane which I’ve ordered prepared. And you must rest, praying every time you wake up and every time you are about to fall asleep.”
“Octavian does that anyway,” Rafe said from the chair by the bed where he’d been sitting.
“Many people were praying for you,” Angelet added, smiling softly.
“Many people pray for kings,” Rafe noted, “and kings still die.”
“Kings are rarely good Christians,” the doctor grunted. He looked back at Tav. “I will tell my assistant to change the dressing every day. If the wounds fester or if you take a fever, death may come for you anyway, despite all I’ve done. But you are lucky. Very lucky. God may have plans for you yet upon this earth.”
Tav had plans himself, but he nodded in thanks.
The doctor left, and Rafe said, “The man’s a bit odd, but he’s saved lives here. He doesn’t fuss, whether it’s tending to Angelet after a seizure or tending to soldiers after a battle. The other doctors in Paris didn’t like him. He was happy enough to come here.”
