Read Online There Will Be Wolves by Karleen Bradford - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Karleen Bradford
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familiar wet nose thrust itself into the palm of her hand.
“Samson!”
The dog burst into a frenzy of tail-wagging.
“Is he well, Father?” For a moment Ursula’s senses rushed back to her. “How does he?” Her hands searched for the wounded leg.
“He does marvelously well, Daughter, but needs your ministering, I’m afraid. He wouldn’t let me touch the bindings you put on him, much less change the poultice.”
“I must—” Ursula began, trying to sit up.
“Not now. The leg is thriving; all swelling has gone. He has waited for you these past days; he can wait a little longer. And when you have slept and eaten, then I can tell you of the wondrous good thing that has befallen us, daughter. God has indeed been good to us. We have indeed been blessed.” His tired old face was creased into a smile and his eyes had a shine to them that Ursula had not seen for a long time.
Something wonderful must certainly have happened, Ursula thought. Then she caught sight of Bruno standing in the doorway. His face was set—worried and angry.
If what has happened is so wonderful, why looks he so troubled, Ursula thought, but she could reason no more. Her head dropped backonto the straw, and for the first time in days she slept soundly.
* * *
Ursula slept until it was dark. When she awoke the smell of food no longer revolted her—in fact she found she was almost starving. She ate all that her father gave her, and then slept again.
When she next awoke it was early morning and the cocks were crowing as usual. Her father brought her porridge, and again she ate eagerly. He had heated water, too, and she cleansed herself and washed her hair gratefully. She knew that her father and she were considered odd because of their obsession with cleanliness—many people thought them mad to expose themselves to the risks involved in wetting themselves so often. Nevertheless, once the filth and dirt had been removed, and her long, thick blond hair combed and tied neatly back, she felt as if she was coming back to life again. Her father had even managed to find her a clean shift from somewhere. Samson watched her curiously. He obviously shared the others’ opinion of baths and took care not to get too close. As soon as she was finished, Ursula tended to him.
That
he didn’t mind.
His leg was healing well. “Evil to cure a dog,” she muttered as she worked. “Witchcraft. Work of the devil! Are not the poor simple beasts also livingcreatures?” With the return of her spirits, her pride and her anger had come back tenfold. As she finished with the dog her father, who had gone out to buy food for their noon meal, returned. She turned to him eagerly, anxious now to have her questions answered. How had he saved her? What were they doing here under the auspices of Count Emil?
“Father—” she began, but he forestalled her.
“I know. I know. You have a thousand questions. Sit quietly now, and I shall tell you what has happened.”
Ursula tied the last of the bindings into place and curled herself up beside the dog on a mat in front of the hearth.
“When they took you away,” her father began, “I was so overcome with fear—with the shock of it all—that I swooned. I failed you there, Daughter.”
“No, Father,” Ursula interrupted quickly, “you didn’t fail me!”
“I did,” he repeated quietly. “When I came to my senses, I found myself in Mistress Ingrid’s house, and that kindly woman was tending to me.”
Ursula’s eyebrows shot up at the word “kindly.” Her father seemed to have forgotten Mistress Ingrid’s part in her trial, but she would not bring that up now. It was probably better that her father forget as much as possible of that horror.
“Bruno was there as well and eager to do all in his power to help. At first we couldn’t find out where they had taken you, but then Brunomanaged to learn that you were at St. Maria’s. We asked permission to see you but were denied. All we were
“Samson!”
The dog burst into a frenzy of tail-wagging.
“Is he well, Father?” For a moment Ursula’s senses rushed back to her. “How does he?” Her hands searched for the wounded leg.
“He does marvelously well, Daughter, but needs your ministering, I’m afraid. He wouldn’t let me touch the bindings you put on him, much less change the poultice.”
“I must—” Ursula began, trying to sit up.
“Not now. The leg is thriving; all swelling has gone. He has waited for you these past days; he can wait a little longer. And when you have slept and eaten, then I can tell you of the wondrous good thing that has befallen us, daughter. God has indeed been good to us. We have indeed been blessed.” His tired old face was creased into a smile and his eyes had a shine to them that Ursula had not seen for a long time.
Something wonderful must certainly have happened, Ursula thought. Then she caught sight of Bruno standing in the doorway. His face was set—worried and angry.
If what has happened is so wonderful, why looks he so troubled, Ursula thought, but she could reason no more. Her head dropped backonto the straw, and for the first time in days she slept soundly.
* * *
Ursula slept until it was dark. When she awoke the smell of food no longer revolted her—in fact she found she was almost starving. She ate all that her father gave her, and then slept again.
When she next awoke it was early morning and the cocks were crowing as usual. Her father brought her porridge, and again she ate eagerly. He had heated water, too, and she cleansed herself and washed her hair gratefully. She knew that her father and she were considered odd because of their obsession with cleanliness—many people thought them mad to expose themselves to the risks involved in wetting themselves so often. Nevertheless, once the filth and dirt had been removed, and her long, thick blond hair combed and tied neatly back, she felt as if she was coming back to life again. Her father had even managed to find her a clean shift from somewhere. Samson watched her curiously. He obviously shared the others’ opinion of baths and took care not to get too close. As soon as she was finished, Ursula tended to him.
That
he didn’t mind.
His leg was healing well. “Evil to cure a dog,” she muttered as she worked. “Witchcraft. Work of the devil! Are not the poor simple beasts also livingcreatures?” With the return of her spirits, her pride and her anger had come back tenfold. As she finished with the dog her father, who had gone out to buy food for their noon meal, returned. She turned to him eagerly, anxious now to have her questions answered. How had he saved her? What were they doing here under the auspices of Count Emil?
“Father—” she began, but he forestalled her.
“I know. I know. You have a thousand questions. Sit quietly now, and I shall tell you what has happened.”
Ursula tied the last of the bindings into place and curled herself up beside the dog on a mat in front of the hearth.
“When they took you away,” her father began, “I was so overcome with fear—with the shock of it all—that I swooned. I failed you there, Daughter.”
“No, Father,” Ursula interrupted quickly, “you didn’t fail me!”
“I did,” he repeated quietly. “When I came to my senses, I found myself in Mistress Ingrid’s house, and that kindly woman was tending to me.”
Ursula’s eyebrows shot up at the word “kindly.” Her father seemed to have forgotten Mistress Ingrid’s part in her trial, but she would not bring that up now. It was probably better that her father forget as much as possible of that horror.
“Bruno was there as well and eager to do all in his power to help. At first we couldn’t find out where they had taken you, but then Brunomanaged to learn that you were at St. Maria’s. We asked permission to see you but were denied. All we were
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