conversation.”
“Then you should not have begun such a conversation!”
“You are right.” He turned and strode toward the door that accessed the garden.
Though Helene knew she would do well to let him walk away, she hurried after him and caught his arm as he reached for the door handle. “We are not done, Sir Durand.”
He pivoted and glanced at her hand upon him. “Aye, we are, and now I wish you good eve that I might take a walk ere bedding down for the night.” He pulled free.
Something possessed Helene, the presence of which she had not felt in the many weeks since she had been delivered from Sir Robert’s cruelty. All the times she had refrained from striking her captor for fear of losing her life now seeking release, she struck that smooth jaw with such force she stumbled back.
It fell so silent in the kitchen that the only sound to be heard was remembrance of the slap she had dealt him. She stared at him where he had not moved, neither to retaliate nor test the flesh that bore the imprint of her hand.
“Helene?”
The voice at her back was known to her as it was surely known to Sir Durand whose eyes widened an instant before he threw open the door and slammed it behind him.
Trying to slow her breathing before braving the woman, Helene did not move.
“Return to your duties,” Lady Beatrix instructed the servants.
Slowly, Helene came around and saw that the lady stood just inside the kitchen, her slight figure strangely sure and comfortable in this place.
“My lady,” Helene began. “I am sorry. I…”
Lord D’Arci’s wife smiled, though with something like sorrow.
Helene started to grip her hands in her skirts, but the one that had dealt the offense burned. “I know ’twas wrong of me to strike a knight, and I regret I did not control myself, but…” She splayed her hands. “I fear I have no pardonable defense, my lady.” She was, after all, but a healer.
Amid the servants’ din, Lady Beatrix crossed the kitchen and halted before her. “I am sure he deserved it. Indeed, methinks ‘tis likely what he sought.”
Helene blinked. “I do not understand.”
The lady sighed. “His sufferings are d-different from Abel’s, but he suffers nonetheless, and all the more deeply while he remains at Castle Soaring.”
“He is in service to Lord D’Arci?”
The lady’s eyes widened. “Nay, though once he was in service to my brother, Baron Wulfrith.”
“Then why does he not leave? He is well enough healed, is he not?”
Lady Beatrix nodded. “He waits on word from King Henry. God willing, it will come soon and be what he deserves.”
Helene longed to know more, but she was fairly certain the lady had revealed as much as she would.
Lady Beatrix glanced at Helene’s right hand. “I am guessing you did not gain what you sought from him.”
She closed her fingers into her stinging palm. “He dangled his knowledge of the brigands’ camps but would not tell how he could be there and yet unseen.”
“If it is any consolation, methinks he did not seek to tease you, only that he was not ready to tell.”
“Then he should not have announced to all that he knew what had befallen me.”
“True, but I am sure the moment came too suddenly upon him to think it through. Sir Durand is like…the crack of thunder that follows lightning. You know ’tis coming, you just do not know when.”
Once more, Helene’s frustration welled. Here a hint, there a clue, and ever more unanswered questions. She closed her eyes, breathed deep, and looked again at the lady. “I believe I made a mistake in agreeing to come to Soaring.”
“You are most welcome here, Helene of Tippet.”
“Am I?”
Lady Beatrix sighed. “Abel is difficult now, but I am sure all will be well once he becomes accustomed to you. As for my mother, I hope you will forgive her if she seemed insensitive this eve. Though she is most l-loving, her faith has been dealt one terrible blow after another with all that our
“Then you should not have begun such a conversation!”
“You are right.” He turned and strode toward the door that accessed the garden.
Though Helene knew she would do well to let him walk away, she hurried after him and caught his arm as he reached for the door handle. “We are not done, Sir Durand.”
He pivoted and glanced at her hand upon him. “Aye, we are, and now I wish you good eve that I might take a walk ere bedding down for the night.” He pulled free.
Something possessed Helene, the presence of which she had not felt in the many weeks since she had been delivered from Sir Robert’s cruelty. All the times she had refrained from striking her captor for fear of losing her life now seeking release, she struck that smooth jaw with such force she stumbled back.
It fell so silent in the kitchen that the only sound to be heard was remembrance of the slap she had dealt him. She stared at him where he had not moved, neither to retaliate nor test the flesh that bore the imprint of her hand.
“Helene?”
The voice at her back was known to her as it was surely known to Sir Durand whose eyes widened an instant before he threw open the door and slammed it behind him.
Trying to slow her breathing before braving the woman, Helene did not move.
“Return to your duties,” Lady Beatrix instructed the servants.
Slowly, Helene came around and saw that the lady stood just inside the kitchen, her slight figure strangely sure and comfortable in this place.
“My lady,” Helene began. “I am sorry. I…”
Lord D’Arci’s wife smiled, though with something like sorrow.
Helene started to grip her hands in her skirts, but the one that had dealt the offense burned. “I know ’twas wrong of me to strike a knight, and I regret I did not control myself, but…” She splayed her hands. “I fear I have no pardonable defense, my lady.” She was, after all, but a healer.
Amid the servants’ din, Lady Beatrix crossed the kitchen and halted before her. “I am sure he deserved it. Indeed, methinks ‘tis likely what he sought.”
Helene blinked. “I do not understand.”
The lady sighed. “His sufferings are d-different from Abel’s, but he suffers nonetheless, and all the more deeply while he remains at Castle Soaring.”
“He is in service to Lord D’Arci?”
The lady’s eyes widened. “Nay, though once he was in service to my brother, Baron Wulfrith.”
“Then why does he not leave? He is well enough healed, is he not?”
Lady Beatrix nodded. “He waits on word from King Henry. God willing, it will come soon and be what he deserves.”
Helene longed to know more, but she was fairly certain the lady had revealed as much as she would.
Lady Beatrix glanced at Helene’s right hand. “I am guessing you did not gain what you sought from him.”
She closed her fingers into her stinging palm. “He dangled his knowledge of the brigands’ camps but would not tell how he could be there and yet unseen.”
“If it is any consolation, methinks he did not seek to tease you, only that he was not ready to tell.”
“Then he should not have announced to all that he knew what had befallen me.”
“True, but I am sure the moment came too suddenly upon him to think it through. Sir Durand is like…the crack of thunder that follows lightning. You know ’tis coming, you just do not know when.”
Once more, Helene’s frustration welled. Here a hint, there a clue, and ever more unanswered questions. She closed her eyes, breathed deep, and looked again at the lady. “I believe I made a mistake in agreeing to come to Soaring.”
“You are most welcome here, Helene of Tippet.”
“Am I?”
Lady Beatrix sighed. “Abel is difficult now, but I am sure all will be well once he becomes accustomed to you. As for my mother, I hope you will forgive her if she seemed insensitive this eve. Though she is most l-loving, her faith has been dealt one terrible blow after another with all that our
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