Chapter Twelve

Lilias

A knock at the door made Lilias jump. She sat on the bed stitching an embroidery piece on a wooden frame, having asked Dame Brigit to bring her some needlework to occupy her during the long hours. She had been here several days, she thought. Dame Brigit came each day at morning and again late afternoon.

No one knocked at midday. She heard the bar lift, the latch creak, and Brigit poked her head inside.

"Lady Elisabeth, the sheriff wants to see you in the hall. Come with me."

Lilias stood, puzzled. In all this time, Sir John Menteith had not asked to see her. Perhaps her father had come to fetch her! She followed the woman down stone steps to a corridor, then up to a door opened by a guard dressed in the red and gold of Edward of England. Seeing that, Lilias frowned.

Finally the housekeeper led her into a large hall with a high ceiling and a bright fire in a central iron basket. A trestle table and benches were arranged in the middle of the room. At the other end, a man sat in a chair near a glowing brazier. Pillows were crammed around him, and his foot was propped on a stool with another cushion. He beckoned her forward but did not rise.

"Lady Elisabeth," he said as she approached. "I am Sir John. Take a seat."

She did. He gestured for Brigit to leave, and the woman crossed the room to sit under a window with a basket of sewing work. Beyond the tall windows, Lilias saw green hills and a small loch. She wished she was out there, running from this place toward her father and her friends.

Lilias regarded him. Sir John was perhaps her father's age, brown-haired with a plain, round face and a close-trimmed beard. He wore a fur-trimmed robe over a tunic, and his foot on the stool was wrapped in cloth bandages.

"You are Sheriff of Dunbartonshire?" she asked.

"And Earl of Lennox, aye."

She tilted her head. "I know the Earl of Lennox. He is a tall man with black hair and a big beard. You are not he."

"That man is no longer earl of these lands."

"Oh now! Is he dead?"

"Outlawed. A traitor. Dispossessed of his lands."

"Are you one of King Edward's men? I thought you were Scottish."

"I am. I was appointed by King Edward to command this region."

"Am I a prisoner of the English?"

"You are safe here. Not a prisoner."

"Then you can let me go."

"Hah! Where would you go?"

"I would send word to my kin to fetch me."

"Your father is too busy to fetch you. That is why I must keep you safe, until he can send someone for you." He moved, winced. She looked again at his bandaged foot.

"What is wrong with your foot?"

"I took an arrow. A young lad shot me."

"In battle?"

"I wish it were so noble! An archery contest. Then the coward ran. He is in the custody of a justiciar now. If he were in my custody, he would be hanged by now."

"When did it happen?"

"Well over a week ago."

"And your foot is not much better?"

"I can hardly put weight on it. The physician applied a poultice and maggots and said he would return to cauterize it if it did not heal." He waved a hand. "Not your concern, child. It still pains me, so I will send for the doctor."

"He should have cauterized it the first time he saw it. May I look at it?"

He gave her an odd glance. "Why would you want to do that?"

"I want to be a physician. I am learning the healing arts."

He laughed. "A physician! That is no work for a female, or a girl of your rank."

"I am not a princess, if that is what you mean. There is only one princess of Scotland and she is a prisoner of the English king."

"Huh. So you want to be an herb-woman? I suppose your mother was a servant on Carrick lands when your father was the young earl."

"My mother was the daughter of a great lord. She died when I was born."

"Then she would not want her girl to be an herb-wife."

"I will be a physician. I will go to university and learn medical arts."

"Impossible!" He laughed.

"Women can be physicians too. In Italy, women can attend university and earn a doctorate. That is what they call it. And that is what I will do."

"And how would you get to Italy?"

"I will find a way. My father says I am the most determined of his children."

"Dreams of a child! Your father will marry you off to someone important. Who does he want for you, has he said?"

"I do not talk about my father with strangers." She had begun to fear that Menteith meant danger for her father, so she must protect whatever she knew. "Let me see your foot, sir."

"What are you, twelve? I am not showing my foot to a child."

"I will be fourteen in October."

"Marriageable age."

She ignored that. "Your physician is not helpful. That poultice should have been changed and a new one applied days ago. I know some things. Let me see your foot. I have been studying with a healing woman, you see," she explained.

"A crofter's wife, I suppose. Superstition and kitchen herbs."

"She is a noble lady, and very knowledgeable and experienced. She is tutoring me." Something told her not to name Lady Rowena Keith.

"And that makes you an expert? Females think they know everything."

"Let me see your foot, sir."

"Insistent little wench." He beckoned. "I will not have you coming up sick over the sight of a wound."

Lilias knelt by the stool and began to unwrap the bandages. "I will not be sick. I have seen worse than this," she said as she pulled the bandages off gently. She had not, but she was not squeamish, either. "They say air is good for wounds and a dry wound may not fester."

"You cannot possibly know what a physician knows."

She said nothing as she examined his foot. He winced constantly as she unraveled the fabric strips carefully. "I must ask Dame Brigit to bring warm water and cloths, and some herbs that could help."

"Woman!" he called. "The lass wants hot water and herbs."

Lilias looked up. "Please bring willow, comfrey and yarrow, if you have them. Garlic and honey as well, and some strong drink, like aqua vitae or uisge beatha . And clean cloths." She had seen Lady Rowena Keith tend wounds this way, and they cleared up nicely. She could do the same for the sheriff, who was clearly suffering.

Most of his foot looked normal enough, but the heel was swollen and warm to the touch. The wound, a puncture, was deep and dark and curling at the edges. It had not yet begun to smell, but she feared that would develop soon. Dame Brigit came quickly enough with a pot of hot water, a bowl and cloths, and a basket of herbs.

"It needs to be cleaned and treated," Lilias told the sheriff, and set to work, trying to look calm and knowledgeable in imitation of Lady Rowena. She asked Dame Brigit to stand by to lend a hand.

Sir John winced, jumping now and then as Lilias gently bathed his foot. Setting Dame Brigit to that task, she turned to make a poultice of herbs, honey, and crushed garlic in cloth. Then she wiped the wound with strong spirits, which made him near leap out of his chair and swear under his breath. She soothed it with honey.

Applying the fresh poultice to his heel, she secured it with clean bandage strips. Then she stood, wiping her hands on a clean cloth. "It will heal better now. But you must rest it so that the wound will close itself into a scar. If you want, I can cauterize it for you."

"I am not letting a wee lass touch a hot poker to my foot!"

"Then wait for it to heal, which will take longer." She rubbed a little honey on her hands, dipped them in clean water, then dried them. Lady Rowena insisted on cleanliness, a harmless habit.

"It feels a bit more comfortable. I suppose I should thank you," he grunted. "But I will not pay you a physician's fee, though I fear you will ask for it. If you do get to Italy and earn a degree, you can ask me for payment then."

"I will ask for a different payment. Tell me what happened to the others in my escort. Where are my friends and the men of my party?"

"They are being taken care of, I promise you."

"What of Lady Margaret Keith and Andrew Murray?"

"Who?" He looked startled. "Keith and Murray? I do not know them."

She did not like the sound of any of this. Something was very wrong, and it was clear she was not a guest here. Fear began to trickle down her spine.

"My fee is that you send me back to my kin and my friends."

He smiled. "I am your only friend now. You are a remarkable lass, perhaps more valuable than I thought."

A bad feeling plunged through her. He obviously had a scheme. He was a threat to her father, not an ally as she had first hoped.

"Have some strong spirits," she said, "and rest your foot. Go nowhere for at least a fortnight."

"A scrap of a lass ordering a sheriff?" He laughed. "I would send word to your father if I knew where he was. Do you?"

"I do not." She had an idea where, but she knew by now that her father would not trust Sir John. Suddenly she wished desperately that Sir Henry Keith or Sir William Seton, the good knights who had bid her escort farewell at Kincraig, would learn of the attack and come looking for her and the others.

Menteith drained the liquid in his cup and motioned for Dame Brigit to fill it again. "Lady Elisabeth, you can leave now. I am done with children for the day."

She spun and walked away, Dame Brigit hurrying after her. Just as they reached the door, it was pushed open. She stepped back.

A man entered the room—Sir William de Soulis again. He looked brawny and huge in a red surcoat over chain mail. He had long dark hair and very dark eyes. He stopped, arching one brow.

"Lady Elisabeth," he purred, and walked past. "Sir John! You spoke with Bruce's whelp? What does she know?"

"Not much. A troublesome chit. But she bandaged my foot, if you can believe it."

Dame Brigit held the door open, and Lilias glided through, head high. She might be a whelp and a bastard, but she was a king's daughter.

And she would find a way to leave this place soon, by any means.