Read Online Knights of de Ware 03 - My Hero by Glynnis Campbell - Free Book Online Page A

Then again, she doubted she’d like his answers. No priestly humility resided in his eyes now. He scowled harshly, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of his lip with the back of his hand, and she thought she’d never seen a man of God look so unlikely to turn the other cheek.
    Roger loped across the yard, bearing linen, several pieces of wood, and her satchel of herbs. She’d had no time to summon a vision to guide her in Will’s treatment, but she knew she could rely on myrtle, bruisewort, and feverfew to expedite the knitting of the boy’s bones. And, she thought peevishly, Will could probably use a rosemary infusion for the nasty bruise the chaplain had given him.
    As for Garth, she supposed she ought to swab his cut as well. Perhaps she would, later, when she wasn’t so vexed with him.
    But Garth didn’t give her that choice. As soon as Roger arrived, he came to his feet, beat the dust out of his cassock, turned on his heel and left.
    Only much later, after she’d sent Will off with his arm successfully splinted, dabbed extract of mint upon her own bee sting, and begun to gather up her medicines, did Cynthia wonder again at Garth’s cruelty.
    What had become of the chivalrous hero with the gentle touch in that long-ago garden? Had the years changed him so much? If this was what the church had taught him, if this was his version of holy works, then she intended to have a long talk with him. Indeed, the fact that he couldn’t argue with her might prove a good thing.
    She hefted up her satchel and strode across the grass, still in her bare feet.
    What had possessed Garth to make him clout a defenseless lad? What earthly purpose could striking a boy who was already in agony serve?
    Halfway across the yard, she halted so abruptly that her satchel of bottles clattered against her thigh.
    Of course.
    She’d believed it was sheer luck that Garth had managed to set the bone properly. But was it?
    Maybe he’d known precisely what he was doing. Maybe he’d simply taken matters into his own hands. From what she’d glimpsed in the moment before she struck him, Garth had known to brace Will’s upper arm and to pull true. As far as punching the boy…
    A flush of shame washed over her like warm rain, and suddenly she knew the truth. Garth had meant well. He’d done exactly the right thing. And—curse her misguided assumptions—she’d struck him for it. Guilt made her knuckles throb all the worse.
    Swallowing her self-righteousness, she straightened her shoulders and glanced toward the chapel. She had to apologize. She’d acted without thought. And she’d completely misunderstood him.
    Knowing it would be no easier later, she trudged toward the chapel and sheepishly opened the door.
    He was there, kneeling before the altar, his head bent in prayer, the glass-filtered sunlight staining his dull cassock in blocks of cobalt and scarlet and gold.
    She hesitated. Though the castle belonged to her, she felt as if the chapel was his sanctuary, and she didn’t wish to intrude on his prayers. Perhaps she should come back later.
    But she lingered a moment too long, and when he rose and turned, he saw her. He apparently hadn’t heard her come in, for his eyes widened and his mouth parted in surprise. Then a shadow fell across his face as if a cloud had gone across the sun.
    “I…I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” she said, feeling suddenly clumsy. “I came to, well…”
    Wariness crept into his dark gaze.
    She took a deep breath and faced him squarely. “I came to apologize.”
    His expression didn’t change, but then, what did she expect? She had clouted him with all the force of her healing power, flattened him with her fist. He no doubt thought her a bully.
    Biting the corner of her lip, she moved down the nave toward him. He straightened like a wary wolf, ready to bolt.
    “You were distracting him, weren’t you? You struck him so he wouldn’t notice the greater pain of his arm.”
    She could tell by the