Why should he trust this woman, or anyone for that matter? The spaewife had served his father faithfully while he was growing up. Loyalty for his sire did not guarantee her devotion to him. Perhaps she sympathized with Lauga, or at least feared his mother enough to withhold her skills. He gripped her by the arm. Perhaps a bit too hard, he felt her bones creak.
“I ask you as a subject of my household—overlook her birthright. Remember what is required by me alone.”
She nodded. “I’m a healer, not a murderess. It makes no difference to me where she was born.” She walked around the bed and began examining Noelle more closely.
Randvior was the last to leave and paced restlessly just outside the closed door. When the physicians arrived, the spaewife refused to let them in. Hours passed before she emerged, looking haggard, but confident.
Randvior studied her face, savage heat rising in his cheeks.
“’Tis better we speak in private,” she said. “Your kinsmen might not agree with my findings.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her, didn’t like the idea of leaving Noelle’s chamber unprotected. He left Aud to stand guard and invited the healer into his own bedchamber.
“Speak.”
“Your woman was poisoned.”
“Poisoned?” he repeated. Something he would have never suspected.
“Only a few plants native to these lands are toxic enough to cause these symptoms. After purging her body and examining her fluids, I can assure you the main ingredient in the draught mixed to bring about your lady’s demise isAmanita muscaria. It’s a very poisonous mushroom. The culprit underestimated the amount necessary to bring about death. In weaker concentrations it acts as a powerful hallucinogenic. Praise Odin, she lives.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Let me stay the night with her.”
He agreed. “Take me to her.”
Noelle slept fitfully. Randvior noticed the chamber pot on the mattress near her head. The healer immediately walked to the bedside and restrained her hands. Suddenly, Noelle flailed and kicked, called out for her brother, Brian.
The name sliced through him like a knife. Why would she call that sluggard’s name instead of his? Dark thoughts plagued him. He remembered Margaret’s allegations against her brother—what heinous acts had he committed? Beatings or rape? He possessed the bloodstained sheet from his first night with her to disprove rape.
“Be comforted,” the spaewife urged. “She shouldn’t remember any of this.”
He swallowed his rage. “Stay with her.” He needed to get away for a bit. “Tell me, would a man resort to such tactics?”
“No.”
Her weathered face reminded Randvior of his favorite wine bag, proof of her years and reason to trust her opinion.
“Undoubtedly the deed of a woman, a very dangerous one,” she observed.
“How can you be certain?”
“Men kill without hesitation.” She cleared her throat. “Poison is the weapon of choice for women.”
Noelle woke with a pounding headache. Every time she opened her eyes, bursts of light swirled dizzyingly around her. Her throat was as parched as a desert. The room was dark, but she crawled out of bed and went to the table near the windows to get a drink of water. It went down like liquid heat.
Oh, God…The last thing she remembered hearing were Randvior’s threats directed at that defenseless boy. Why? If he had performed in an English court, singling out a beautiful woman, no one would harm him—they’d celebrate having been chosen for such an honor. Noelle realized she wasn’t in England any longer, and her heart plummeted. She tried to reason, but her mind fogged if she thought too hard.
For weeks, she’d attempted to overlook Randvior’s violence. But he seemed intent on never letting her forget who he really was. She refused to accept it any longer. Regrettably, he sharedthe same tainted blood as her brother, blood that bred tyranny. She swooned—what’s wrong with me?Memories rallied inside her head. As a child, she’d sworn an oath before God. Had promised to escape the cruelty of her home and seek refuge in a place where she could serve the poor and live peacefully. How could she find any peace in enemy lands? Noelle reached for the pitcher of water and threw up in it.
God has placed my future in my own hands. I must leave and find someone willing to take me home. If England is too far, I’ll seek refuge in the first Christian lands I come to—where the Church grants sanctuary to displaced daughters of Christ. Maybe in Scotland or Ireland.
Head still swimming, she limped away from the table and went to the wardrobe. She dressed in the heaviest overdress she owned and wrapped her fur cloak tightly around her shoulders, securing it with two silver brooches. Her legs wobbled. Next, she flung herself in a chair, put on a pair of stockings, and laced on her warmest boots. She had no money to pay passage on a ship, but Randvior let her keep many of her jewels. She pocketed the most expensive pieces.
She opened the door and peered into the hallway. Empty—it must be very late. Noelle stepped outside of her room and listened. Not a sound.
Confident that she had chosen a perfect time to escape, she cautiously made her way downstairs. She stiffened as she came closer to the landing, but didn’t see anyone below.
Stopping to catch her breath, Noelle rested her head against the wall, dizzied by blurred vision. Bile left a bitter taste in her mouth. She tried to shake it off, then proceeded to the landing, and managed to slip through the hall unnoticed. The back doors loomed as imposing as Saint Peter’s gates. Her passage to freedom lay ahead, and this time Lauga couldn’t keep her from using them.
Once outside, she staggered to the bathhouse, feeling weaker by the second. Had she gotten drunk last night? She sought refuge behind the back wall, and once she was absolutely sure she was alone, she hobbled across the clearing. Light streamed outside from the occasional window of a tenant’s cabin, but she kept moving.
