“We may not fully understand why, but washing helps prevent sickness from spreading.”
She paused, then added, “pray for those you love.”
Thomas nodded. “We will heed your words.”
Lucy offered him a grateful smile. “At the first sign of fever, rash, or any other odd symptom, fetch me immediately. We must isolate you from others to avoid the sickness spreading through the castle.”
“Listen to your lady.” William met each eye. “I am called away on the king’s business and trust you will obey your lady whilst I am gone.”
Murmurs of assent rippled through the group. They dispersed to share the news with those not present.
Lucy could only hope everyone here would remain untouched by the horrors she had witnessed in the village.
As they walked to the small graveyard, William spoke in a low voice. “Are you certain you will not catch the pox?”
She inhaled his scent, comforted by his presence.
“I’m sure. The vaccination I received in my own time protects me so I can’t catch the sickness.”
He looked relieved. “I am heartened, but Lucy?”
When she looked up at him, his face was grave. “Take care. Father Michael is most devout and will not take kindly to you gainsaying him.”
She knelt by Alan’s grave, the knight who saved her when she fell through time and paid for that act of kindness with his life. Albin had helped her plant flowers on his grave. When they were in bloom, there were primrose, bluebells, poppies, snowdrops, and cowslip that smelled like apricots.
William lifted her up, arms around her, and kissed her soundly. “I worry about you when I am away.” Then he tucked her hair behind her ear.
“Now, come and watch me best these whelps.” He grinned. “Swordplay is good for the soul.”
Lucy let William lead her to the bench, knowing he wanted to train with the men as much as possible before he left on the king’s business.
He bellowed for spiced wine for her before striding into the lists, sword at the ready. Her heart swelled with love as she watched him.
The servant brought her wine and departed, looking around nervously as if smallpox was hiding under the bench and would jump out and grab the poor man.
“Mama, watch me.” Jason toddled over to William, wooden sword in hand, as her husband spoke to him in Norman French, then showed her son once again how to hold the small wooden sword.
“I’m watching, my love.” Lucy called out to her son, proud of him.
William smiled as the boy swung the toy blade wildly, almost losing his balance with each swipe.
“Easy there, my boy,” William said with a chuckle. “You must learn control before you can learn to fight. Here, hold the sword with both hands - yes, just like that.”
William knelt in front of Jason, gently guiding his tiny hands into the proper position on the hilt.
“Keep your feet planted firmly and don’t lock your knees. Bend them slightly. Good. Now you won’t fall over if someone bumps into you.”
Jason grinned up at his father, gripping the toy sword tightly in anticipation of the coming lesson. William ruffled the boy’s mop of dark hair before standing up and retrieving a practice sword of his own.
“The first thing every warrior must learn is how to parry blows,” William explained. “Hold your sword out in front of you, flat side facing me.”
The boy did as he was told, struggling to keep the wooden blade aloft. William nodded in approval.
“I’m going to swing at you slowly. All I want you to do is raise your sword to block mine. We’ll go step by step until you get the hang of it.”
William swung his practice sword lazily at Jason, who managed to lift his own just in time with a loud clack as the blades collided.
“Excellent. Just like that. Again now...”
