Page 12 of May Queen: May Day

Before she had a chance to reply, he left the room with his squire and closed the door.

Flora let out a frustrated breath, picking up a metal goblet on the table next to the bed and flinging it at the door. “You swine!” she spat.

The door slowly opened and Ricard’s head popped back into the room. He looked in one direction and then another, his eyes finally settling on the goblet on the floor. He stepped into the room and retrieved it. “Did you say something, my lady?” he asked in a low growl, inspecting the cup.

“I – I said please don’t forget the wine. I’d like lots of wine.” Her hand went to her head and she purposely moaned aloud.

Ricard walked over to the bedside table and gently put down the cup. “This is my favorite goblet and I would hate to see it dented.”

Flora looked the other way but didn’t say a word. The healer stayed silent, as well, while she cleaned Flora’s wound.

Ricard turned and leaned over, his face coming down in front of hers. “I don’t know what kind of game you are playing, Lady Flora, but I don’t like it.”

“I have no idea what you mean, my lord.” She smiled sweetly. His face was so close to hers now that she could see little specks of orange in his oaken eyes as well as his dark lashes and craggy brows. Plus, there was no missing the little dimple in his chin.

“Perhaps you should try really hard to remember what happened in the woods today, and why you strayed from the hunting party.”

“I already told you, my lord.”

“Aye, you did, but don’t think for a moment I am buying your lame excuses. Now, when I return, we will talk. And I warn you, I will know if you are not telling me the truth.” He stood up abruptly and stormed across the room, slamming the door as he left.

Flora waiteda moment until she was sure Ricard had left before she talked to the healer. “So, your name is Rosemunda?”

“Aye,” said the woman with dark hair graying at her temples. Her head was covered with a wimple but Flora could see she was in her forties and had weathered creases in the corners of her eyes.

“I saw you in the forest. Are you a descendant of the Druids?” she asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The woman finished her ministrations and washed her hands in the bowl of water. “Your wound is not deep, my lady. However, you’ll need to put this comfrey ointment on it for a few days in order for it to heal. You’ll be back to normal before you know it.” She left the jar of ointment on the table and proceeded to pack up her bag.

“Please.” Flora reached out and touched the woman’s wrist. When she did, Rosemunda’s sleeve pushed up and Flora’s eyes fell to a symbol of a crescent moon that seemed to be drawn onto her skin. “What’s this?” Flora pulled up the woman’s sleeve to peruse it.

“Never you mind!” snapped the woman, pulling her sleeve back into place. “I knew you’d be trouble the moment I saw you.”

“Ah, so you are the woman from the woods.”

“You need to stop putting your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Are you one of them?” she asked anxiously.

“One of who?”

“The Druids. The pagans, or witches or whatever you’re called.”

“You sound just like Lord Ricard who wants to kill us.”

“Nay, I’m nothing like him. I swear it.”

“Prove it,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “I will not tell you a thing otherwise.”

“Will this prove that I say what I mean?” She pulled her gown up past her knee, getting a scowl from the woman. Then she yanked down her stocking, showing her the crescent moon drawn on her upper thigh. “See? I’m one of you. I carry the mark of feminine fertility as well.”

“Let me see that.” Rosemunda threw her things down and bent over to study the mark. “Where did you get this?”

“I’ve had it ever since I was a baby. My mother had one, too. While growing up, she told me it was a mark to prove that I was her child. However, on her deathbed when she told me my father was descended from Druids, she also said this is one of their marks.”

“Your father?” She peered at her curiously. “Who is your father?”

“His name is Sir Oren Debenham,” said Flora.