Chapter 14

He remembered Ingrid telling them not to hit him in the head. They hadn't knocked him senseless; it was the pain that made him black out. He remembered someone shoving a ball of rags into his mouth to keep him from screaming as he was dragged out of the house and thrown on the back of a cart. He remembered the wheels bumping beneath him, each jolt sending an explosion of agony through his left leg, arm and chest. The next time he was conscious, he was lying on his back. His ribs hurt when he tried to breathe. There was mud on his face and his clothes were wet. He could smell ale. Someone must have emptied half a barrel of it over him. If Robin was nearby, he couldn't see him. The clouds had hidden the moon, and he was lying in shadows. Tree branches rustled somewhere overhead. Other than that, all was silent.

"Robin," he tried to call, but his lungs only produced a whisper of breath before his chest flared with stabbing pain. His arm and leg were in agony. He didn't dare move them. He tried to crawl with his right arm, but the instant his body shifted position he was racked with such intense pain that he involuntarily sucked in a breath to cry out. The effort made his ribs scream at him, then the pain rose until it overflowed and he lost consciousness again.

It was drizzling when he woke up. Dawn had broken. It felt like a hundred nails had been driven into his bones along the left side of his body. When he tried to move, the nails twisted. A whimper left Wolfram's lips. He was lying in a muddy ditch. Beyond the rustling trees, he could hear the distant sounds of people at work. Cows were lowing, and someone was hitting a post with a hammer. Not trusting himself to move, Wolfram turned his head to look around. There, about three paces to his left, lay Robin. He was staring up at the sky, his face pale. The dried blood on his cheeks was slowly being washed away by the rain.

"Robin," Wolfram whispered. He stared at his friend in a daze of pain and realised that his chest wasn't moving. Panic shot through Wolfram. He hissed out a sob of agony through clenched teeth as he dragged himself forward with his right arm, his boot scraping at the mud as he pushed himself along the ditch inch by inch. He put a hand on Robin's chest. There was no heartbeat. He touched his neck and cheek. Both were cold. He put his hand over his lips, feeling for the rush of breath that would confirm he was still alive. There wasn't even a tickle.

Wolfram's body shook. He wanted to cry out, but his damaged ribs wouldn't let him. He heaved with silent tears. If he lay there, perhaps he would die, too, then he wouldn't have to be in pain any longer. He was thirsty, and he'd been bleeding all night. He didn't think he could get out of this ditch on his own.

Wolfram had never known the kind of despair that could rob a man of his will to live. It was crushing and terrible, like a prison cell so dark it stole away everything he was. He didn't feel like himself anymore. He was weak both in body and spirit. But as deep as his despair dragged him, he couldn't lie there and die. Thinking about last night stung him like the bite of a whip, drawing all the hurt and indignation back to the surface. It had to be put right. He couldn't leave Robin lying here for the crows. He had to get back to the castle and tell Lord Erik what had happened.

Bracing himself for the pain he knew was about to come, he breathed as deeply as he dared and called for help. His ribs screamed and his head swam from the effort. Once he no longer felt like he was about to black out, he called again, then again, and again, until someone called back. A young labourer appeared at the edge of the ditch, staring down at him in shock.

"Dear lord," he whispered. "I'll fetch the monks."

The village monks were responsible for tending most emergencies when a person fell ill or took injury. They were gentle as they lifted Wolfram out of the ditch on a stretcher, but he still lost consciousness on the way to the church. The delirium of pain made it difficult to gauge the passage of time. Over the course of the day, his clothes were removed, his body washed, and his left leg and arm bound in wooden splints. Bandages were wrapped around his chest to prevent him from breathing too deeply. At some point–perhaps that evening, perhaps the next day–he was taken out of the priory's sickroom and carried on another stretcher. He wanted to ask why the monks were moving him, but he didn't have the breath for it, and the pain of the jolting journey made him pass out again.

The next time he woke, he was in an unfamiliar house. It smelled old and musty, but there were fresh linens on the mattress beneath him and the hearth was warm. Cat sat beside him bathing his brow with a damp cloth. When she saw he was awake, her face creased with emotion. She lifted her hands in front of her and made her gestures for: "I'm sorry," and then, "I'll help you."

"Are you my nurse?" Wolfram managed to whisper. She nodded. "Where's Robin?"

Cat made some more gestures. Wolfram understood a lot of basic statements in her sign language, but nothing complicated, and whatever she was trying to say eluded him. He stared up at the ceiling, remembering what had happened in Firfallow. He still couldn't reconcile himself with it. All he knew was that it had been the worst night of his life. He felt like there was a hole in his chest when he remembered that Robin and Lady Julia were dead. His skin crawled with shame when he thought of Ingrid. His wounds burned like fire when he recalled Aldrich grinning at him as he swung his club.

He tried to get up. The flare of pain along the left side of his body wasn't as raw as it had been in the ditch, but it still knocked the breath out of him. Cat eased him back down with a hand on his shoulder and shook her head.

"I need to use the latrine," Wolfram said.

Cat shook her head once more and signed: "I'll help."

Wolfram averted his eyes in embarrassment. "I don't want you to do that for me."

There was nothing but compassion in Cat's expression as she signed: "I'll help, because, we're friends."

Later that day, Father Everwin visited. Ingrid came with him. The second she stepped into the house, a cold feeling swept over Wolfram. He couldn't look at her. He didn't want to see the pretty face he'd fallen in love with. He didn't want to remember the gut-wrenching shame of what she'd done to him. It already felt like a nightmare, twisted by the pain into something even worse than before. Love couldn't turn to hatred overnight, but what lay in between was a feeling too uncomfortable for Wolfram to put into words.

Father Everwin spoke briefly, as though he'd been told only to say specific things. He informed Wolfram that his arm, leg, and ribs were all broken, probably in multiple places, and that it would be many weeks before he was able to walk again. Whether he would be able to return to his normal duties after that, the monks couldn't say. It would all depend on how well he healed. Everwin went on to explain that Wolfram was currently in the old cottage near the castle, the same one he and Robin used to throw stones at in the summer. It had been Lady Ingrid's idea to put him here. With her father in mourning for Julia, it wouldn't be proper for Wolfram to stay in the solar. No other sick bed in the castle was appropriate for a long-term recovery, so she insisted he stay in the cottage with Cat to nurse him. Here he would have peace and quiet.

"I would like to speak with Wolfram alone," Ingrid said once Father Everwin finished.

"I don't want to talk to you," Wolfram replied, keeping his gaze fixed on the wall at the foot of the bed.

"I know it must be difficult." Ingrid gave Cat and Father Everwin a look, and the pair of them left the house. She shut the door behind them and came to sit beside the bed. "Please, look at me, dear Wolfram."

"Don't call me dear." Wolfram struggled to hold an even tone. He was breathing hard, and his ribs were starting to burn. "I can't stand to look at you."

"I know you didn't mean to force yourself upon me. Men can be ruled by their impulses sometimes. You'd been drinking, and so had I. But it was still a wicked thing for you to take advantage."

"You were the one who... forced me!"

"Don't be silly. A woman can't force herself upon a man. How could I? You're so much bigger and stronger. I was afraid to say no."

"No," Wolfram's breath caught in his throat, his cheeks hot with shame. "It wasn't like that at all!"

"Are you sure?"

The sincerity in her voice made Wolfram hesitate. He'd been deliberately trying not to think about it. The events of that night were foggy, tarnished with pain and confusion. Had he pushed her into it? No, he couldn't have. But it had still been wrong. He'd wanted it at first, he remembered that much, but then Ingrid made it feel horrible and he hadn't known how to make her stop.

"You see?" Ingrid said when he didn't reply. She rested a hand on his splinted arm. "But I forgive you. I know you care for me, deep down, and I care for you, too. Let's put all this behind us."

"Robin's dead."

"Yes. We buried him this morning. It was terrible, what Dominic Ward did to the pair of you. Aldrich and I told my father as soon as we heard you'd been found."

"What are you talking about?"

"Of course, it's hard for you to remember. He must have beaten you senseless. You came to the house to tell me the terrible news about poor Julia. Dominic was very rude to you about it. You had quite an argument with him. After you took me upstairs, you left to go drinking at Daniel Brewer's house. We all heard Dominic talking about how he wanted to put you in your place. He must have found you and Robin drunk and set upon you with that club of his."

Wolfram shook his head in confusion as he tried to make sense of what she was saying. Dominic Ward–that must be the man Aldrich and his friends called Dom. A sickly feeling crept into his stomach as he realised what must have happened. Aldrich and Ingrid hadn't expected Robin to die from his injuries. Bruises and broken bones were one thing, but a squire couldn't be murdered without someone being called to account. So, to save themselves, they were putting the blame on Dominic Ward. With the testimony of the baron's daughter against him, he was as good as dead.

"You're a devil," Wolfram said under his breath.

"I don't want to hear you saying such hurtful things to me again. You must be truthful when my father's men come to speak with you. They will bring your testimony before the court, and Dominic Ward will hang for his crime."

"I won't lie."

"No, you will tell the truth," Ingrid leaned forward, her hand tightening around Wolfram's splint just enough to make his arm twinge. "If you make things difficult for me and Aldrich, I will have to tell my father what you did to me. That you raped me. That was the real reason Dominic was angry enough to attack you. Then you'll have to stand trial alongside him. Please don't make me do that."

"I don't care if they hang me. Everyone knows what kind of man Aldrich is, and when your father hears what you did to Julia, he'll know what kind of woman you are, too."

Ingrid shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes as she stifled a sob. "Oh, Wolfram, you must not. You know what Aldrich's friends are like. If you speak out against them, they'll do something awful. The moment they hear of it, they'll be up here in the night to take their revenge."

"They've already done their worst."

"But outside the castle walls, anyone could slip into this cottage. And poor Cat, I know you're fond of her."

Wolfram's righteous indignation shrivelled up in his stomach.

"Don't you dare hurt her."

"I'm sure all will be well as long as you tell the truth. Will you do that for me?"

Wolfram felt defeated. He would've braved Ingrid's lies if he was only putting himself in danger, but he couldn't bear the thought of Aldrich's men breaking into the cottage and doing to Cat what they'd done to him and Robin. That must have been why Ingrid insisted he stay out here. She needed to hold this threat over him. His chin fell forward against his chest. Ingrid released her grip on his arm and stroked her cold fingers through his hair.

"You'll do the right thing, won't you, Wolfram?"

He didn't have any choice. "I'll tell them that what you said is true."

"I knew you would. My loyal pup."

The familiar words made Wolfram's skin crawl. Her touch disgusted him. "If you hurt anyone else over this..." He trailed off, knowing that any threat he made would be an empty one.

"I don't see why there has to be any more trouble once everything's back to normal. It'll be just like it used to. You won't go getting into any more fights with Aldrich, will you?"

Wolfram shook his head despondently. "No."

Without Julia, what could he even do? Ingrid would be her father's closest confidant from now on. Things would go back to the way they'd been before. Aldrich could extort Erik's knights with impunity, and Ingrid would cover for him. Were the two of them lovers? Was their plan to marry so that Aldrich could become the new baron once Erik died? Or was he just another pet she'd wrapped around her finger? Wolfram didn't want to think about it. He'd been beaten.

He understood now why his parents had never wanted him to become a knight. They'd warned him of the private dramas and betrayals that could undermine noble houses. If this was the price to pay for joining the nobility, he no longer wanted any part of it. He wasn't made for such mercenary duplicity. His dreams of knighthood had been full of horse riding and battles; serving good lords and noble kings. If he became a knight now, he'd most likely end up serving Ingrid. That thought made him want to go home and never think about Elkinshire again.

Ingrid squeezed his shoulder gently before getting up to leave. He lay there staring at the ceiling. His body throbbed and ached. He wished Robin was with him. Normally he would have gone for a run or trained with his longsword when he felt like this, but all he could do was lie still and stare at the old thatch dangling down like cobwebs between the roof beams. Cat came back in and heated up some broth over the hearth, but Wolfram didn't feel like eating. She left the bowl on the right side of his bed so he could reach it with his good arm.

Before dusk fell, Lord Erik and Dunstan came in to hear his account of events. Erik looked older than Wolfram had ever seen him. His hair was lank, and the shine in it seemed more like grease than oil. There were dark circles under his eyes. He even moved slowly.

"Poor lad," he said sympathetically. "You had a terrible night of it. So, it was Dominic Ward?"

Wolfram forced himself to nod.

Dunstan said: "One man on his own beat the two of you that badly?"

"We were drunk."

"Drunk enough to forget everything I taught you? Are you sure there weren't more of them?"

"That's enough, Dunstan," Erik said. "He's suffered enough for his mistake."

Dunstan held his tongue, but he didn't look happy about it.

"I spoke to Ingrid earlier," said Wolfram. "It's all as she says."

"You'd swear it?"

"Yes."

Erik nodded. "Then we'll take your testimony to court. Dominic Ward will hang." The baron turned to leave. Dunstan lingered a moment longer before following him out. Cat sat by the hearth looking at Wolfram with a pained expression.

"Why, lie?" she signed. Wolfram turned his head away. She came to stand in front of him. "Why, lie?" she repeated.

"I didn't."

Cat shook her head, tapped her chest, and made a sign Wolfram didn't recognise before pointing at him. He didn't need to understand the sign to get the message. She could see right through him.

"I can't say. Someone else might get hurt. Please don't ask me again. And don't tell anyone."

"You, upset," Cat signed.

Wolfram felt a lump in his throat. Robin and Julia were dead. Ingrid had betrayed him. Lord Erik believed the lie. He felt painfully alone, and he didn't know what to do next. Even his strength had been robbed of him. The future seemed bleak and hopeless.

Before today, he would never have dared cry in front of Cat, but the embarrassment paled into insignificance alongside his misery. He closed his eyes as the first warm tears spilt down his cheeks, hoping she would leave him be. If he couldn't see her signing, he wouldn't have to acknowledge anything she said. But instead of leaving, the bed creaked as she sat down beside him. Her arms slid around Wolfram's shoulders, and she held him until he had no more tears left.