Simone broke through the ring of onlookers surrounding the ladies and their patient, and her shock left her as if landing on the hard earth from a fall of great distance, the sounds of chaos erupting in her ears.
The unconscious man sprawled on the thin, woven mat was not whole. His head and features lay indiscernible beneath the wash of blood that painted his skull; his wide, sunken chest bore evidence of the mighty battle waged upon him—a blow to the shoulder hidden by a tightly knotted length of cloth, perhaps once white, now a terrible ochre color.
The only clothing covering Lord Handaar was the ragged remains of his chausses, and ’twas this article that caused the bile to rise high in Simone’s throat. The left leg lay bowed and serpentine within the woolen confines, sick splashes of blood soaked through the material from the twisted flesh within, staining the garment black. The right leg—
Oh God.
The right leg ended in a wide stump a handsbreadth below the hip, the tar slathered over it catching the torn placard of chausses in its cool mire and leaving Simone feeling as though her breath had been severed from her own body just as cleanly. Her stomach convulsed, and she gagged as the stench from the wounds billowed up.
Haith’s hands flew over the man with a small dagger, cutting away soiled bandages and the remaining scraps of clothing with urgent efficiency. Lady Genevieve followed Haith actions, gathering up the remnants of the useless material and weeping silently. Haith’s voice bore no tremble has she called out her desires calmly, firmly.
“Two braziers and a pail of water—from the brewer’s well, not the stream,” she ordered, cutting the cloth carefully along the tarred limb. “Also a large, smooth stone. Rose?”
“Aye, mum.”
Genevieve gasped and averted her head as Haith peeled the sticky cloth away. Haith did not flinch. “A fresh cake of strong soap and a clean farrier’s brush. Go, child, hurry. Where is Tilly?”
“At your side, milady.”
“All the clean linen you can quickly lay hand to and the black fur from my chamber. See Isabella to her nurse.” She paused as one of the requested braziers and the stone were placed near her hip. She dropped the stone into the flashing coals. “And find Lady Simone.”
“Aye, milady.” Tilly popped to her feet and moved into the throng, mere steps from Simone, already calling out, “Baroness! Where is the baroness?”
Simone tried to open her mouth, willed herself to step forward, but ’twas as if her body were made of rotten wood. One movement and she feared she would crumble.
“Baroness!” A small, hard hand gripped her upper arm. Simone was spun about to encounter the maid Tilly, obviously adept at seeking out prey. The small woman’s face was flushed, and her expression clearly betrayed her annoyance as she juggled a wailing Isabella.
“Yea, I am here,” Simone said dumbly.
Tilly frowned and pushed her none too gently toward Lord Handaar. “Go on with you!” the maid scolded before disappearing once more into the crush.
Simone could feel every pair of eyes upon her as she stepped to the ladies’ sides, and she wished with all of her being that she could simply dissolve into the stones beneath her feet. She cleared her throat.
“What can I do?”
Haith glanced up at her for but an instant. “Simone, good. I need you across from me.
Simone skirted Lord Handaar on shaking legs and dropped to her knees on the far side of him. Genevieve had retreated to the man’s head and was cradling his face, stroking his bloodied pate and whispering fervent prayers.
Haith turned her head and called loudly over her shoulder. “Clear the hall! Unless I have given you a task, seek your duties elsewhere,” she commanded, and the crowd immediately backed away and began to disperse amidst the cacophony of speculating comments.
“He’ll not live. He’s likely dead beneath their very hands.”
“What’s the baron to do now? Poor Lady Evelyn—”
“She’s coming. The lord’s fetched her from the priory and—”
“The new mistress’d better watch—”
“She’s mad any matter—what would she care?”
Across from Simone, Haith snarled and turned on one knee. “Go or I shall banish the lot of you!”
Simone offered neither comment nor apology to the disparaging remarks, but kept her gaze pinned to the thin, scored skin of Handaar’s chest. It barely moved with his slight, irregular breaths.
Simone heard a plop and a sizzle, and a large object crossed her line of vision. Haith was holding forth the pail of water into which she’d dropped the hot stone. Simone instinctively took hold of the handle and hoisted it over the body to her side. Several soft rags landed on her lap as Haith directed her.
“Begin at his head and work your way down,” she said, slipping her blade beneath the stained bandage binding Handaar’s shoulder. “When we have the soap and brush we will cleanse the wounds themselves.”
