Chapter Seventeen

 

Gabriella was five shades of embarrassment as Rosalynn crossed the room to her side. She sat mortified with the knowledge that this woman, a complete stranger to her, had caught her with Damon in an illicit position.

As if sensing her embarrassment, Rosalynn sat on the side of the bed and took Gabriella’s hands in her worn, age-wrinkled fingers. Patting them softly, she said “Now then, milady, no need for your worries. His lordship tends to have that effect on one’s senses at times.” Rosalynn smiled a small, affectionate smile of knowing. Her eyes glowed with good humor and her laugh lines emerged from the weathered skin of her face.

“He is a bit overwhelming,” Gabriella agreed. She couldn’t seem to get the sight of him out of her head. The feel of him consumed her thoughts. She had no idea what she was going to do about him. If, in fact, there was anything she could do. She was still too confused to try to sort through the events that had brought her to this place.

“Aye, that and more, milady,” Rosalynn chuckled. “Now then, let’s get through our introductions, past your uncertainties, and check that wound, shall we? I am Rosalynn LeFay, sometimes housekeeper, sometimes healer and the one-time guardian of an overzealous dragon. And you, milady, are?” Rosalynn’s brow arched in mock impatience as she waited for her response.

Gabriella couldn’t help but smile. She felt a kind of kindred spirit with this woman, an almost impish mischievousness, along with a dominating quality that she could completely relate to. “My name is Gabriella DeVoux,” she said. “I believe I have you to thank for my recovery?”

Rosalynn returned her smile. The girl was everything she had hoped for, everything her dragon needed, a princess to charm the grumpy beast. “Aye, milady,” she replied. “A simple task for one such as me. Now then, shall we set you to rights so that you can get some rest?” She quickly rose and gathered the clean bandages and the bowl she had brought with her. Lavender and other earthen scents perfumed the air as she mixed her herbs.

Gabriella sat while Rosalynn went about her business of removing the wrapping that was wound up over her shoulder, around her back and beneath her left breast. She winced as Rosalynn pressed the skin around the wound, searching for infection.

Rosalynn cleaned the wound and added a paste of herbs, which to Gabriella looked like nothing more than grass and weeds, before carefully rewrapping her handiwork. She checked her brow and cheeks for any lingering warmth and declared her well enough to eat some broth. Rising and heading towards the door, she quietly opened it and issued some orders to whoever stood beyond.

A servant soon brought a tray of broth and a small loaf of bread still warm from the oven. The broth tasted like chicken, and had bits of herbs floating on its surface. Gabriella couldn’t remember when the last meal she had was, but the broth was quite filling, and soon her appetite was replete.

Rosalynn had stayed to watch over her patient, taking up a position in the chair nearest the bed for a better view. Taking the tray and returning it to the table, she returned to tuck her up beneath the bedding. “Sleep now, child,” she ordered. “I will stay and keep watch over you.”

Gabriella’s eyes soon grew heavy. It had taken the remainder of her strength to finish her meal. Her visit from Damon had left her much to think about, but the sandman was calling and she knew that, for now, she had time to sort it out later. Closing her eyes, she quickly fell asleep.

* * * * * *

Two weeks had passed in a restful blur before Rosalynn finally deemed Gabriella strong enough to leave her bed. She had not seen much of Damon in that time. Rosalynn had told her when she’d questioned his whereabouts that he came by often, but that he didn’t wish to disturb her from her rest. She wondered when she would see him again, and if he would continue to question her on how she had come to be in that field. She could only hope that he would eventually accept her replies of vagueness as a lack of memory and trauma.

Rosalynn had hovered close by during that time and kept her protective eyes upon Gabriella. She was like a mother bird protecting her chick, always close and always responding to Gabriella’s needs. She had brought her food, brushed her hair and spent her time talking to Gabriella about the castle, the people that lived there and even little bits and pieces about the great Lord of Blackmoor. She had even been kind enough to find her more suitable clothing than the translucent shift or her man-like hose and boots, as Rosalynn had often scolded.

Rosalynn spent a great amount of time in the chair by the bed, taking in a few dresses more suited to Gabriella’s size so that when she was finally well enough she would have decent clothes to wear. A lady did not wander about in men’s breeches, she had kindly informed her. Gabriella wasn’t certain and she was afraid to ask Rosalynn, but she thought the dresses may have come from the wardrobe in her room. She didn’t know whose dresses they were, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

Rosalynn had told her of Damon’s previous wife, Therese. She had said that she had been very young when she and Damon wed, and at the time was quite beautiful. But the outer beauty she possessed did not carry itself to her heart. Rosalynn told her that she had died, killed herself as she threw herself from the cliffs. She also told her that Damon had blamed himself, as did most of the Saxon village, even though there was no proof to it.

Most of the townspeople whispered their fears behind his back and cowered in his presence. “But there is no reason for you to fear him, Gabriella,” she told her softly. “He is not a monster, and he would never hurt you.”

Gabriella saw the conviction in Rosalynn’s eyes, felt the truth of her words. She wondered if that were the reason his mood always seemed so black. Wives throwing themselves to their deaths, castle girls stuttering and stammering with fear whenever he passed them by. It’d make her quite grouchy, too. What is with these people? Did they not see his strength and courage? His beauty, his grace? She had known him only a short time, that was true, but his character did not portray him as foul or evil.

Yes, it was true he had killed many men. She’d seen the number of bodies that littered the ground in the few skirmishes that had taken place in the time she’d been with him. But did he not do that in self-defense? Did he not do that to protect others?

To protect me, she thought. Although, if fierce, marauding knights took over my lands, I’d be pissed, too. These people’s lives are hard here and survival comes at a great cost, but don’t these people have eyes? Can’t they tell true good from evil? Maybe my whimsical heart and weeks of overwrought emotions are just clouding my judgment. Maybe I should reserve any final conclusion until later. Like after I find the nerve to tell him the truth. That I somehow was transported here from another time. Yeah, and maybe he’ll actually believe me. Face it, Gab, you’re doomed. Stupid time warp!

That evening, Rosalynn helped her bathe and dress for dinner. It would be her first appearance in Damon’s hall, in front of his people. Her nerves were on edge, and she wasn’t sure she could stand a minute more of it.

Rosalynn dressed her in a gown of soft green silk, the color of pine trees at the end of summer. The gown suited her coloring and brought out the green of her eyes. Surprisingly, it fit her rather well. Apparently the hem was shortened in both the skirt and the sleeves and the seams were taken in at the waist, Gabriella being smaller and thinner than the dress’ previous owner.

She wasn’t sure going to dinner and seeing Damon was the best thing for her frame of mind, especially in what was apparently his dead wife’s gown. She had too many uncertainties to ponder, too many worries where he was concerned, and all of them were making her head hurt.

She wasn’t sure how he would react to seeing her up and out of bed, and she wasn’t sure how she would respond to seeing him again either. She’d had way too much time on her hands these past few weeks to sit and worry.

Damon brought out a weakness in her, a weakness she had never felt before. She had always been sure of herself, sure of her direction and path in her life. No one had ever caused such feelings of weariness and anticipation. It was both frightening and thrilling.

Shoving her frets away, she straightened her spine, gathered what little courage she could find, and followed Rosalynn from her room to descend the stairs to the great hall. I’ll either be welcomed at his table, or trussed up like a deer and carried off to the stake where my burning pitch awaits me. She wasn’t sure which thought scared her more. As the light grew on the stairs before her, she placed her future in the hands of fate and would see what life would bring her.

The hall was a loud, boisterous cacophony of deep male voices and hearty laughter. Light pooled on the tables and glinted on the eating knives of the table’s patrons. The tables were set up down the length of the hall where warriors and servants alike had joined together for the evening meal. There was a huge fireplace with a massive fire blazing within it at the end of the hall that was big enough to roast an entire family of pigs in.

Two large black dogs, a type she had not seen before, lay before the hearth, watching her with their steely black eyes as she slowly descended the stairs. Her gaze wandered as she took in the rich furnishings throughout the hall. The walls were covered with banners in a multitude of colors and huge shields with gleaming swords and battle-axes hung next to each banner. Rich tapestries in the deep, warm colors of the earth, warm blues and sparkling gold shades the color of a morning sun depicted great hunting scenes all along the walls. The floor was covered in fresh rushes scented with heather and sage and it permeated the air, mixing with the smells of rich meats and fresh-baked breads.

Seated at the table’s head, Damon sat in the high-backed chair, his dark locks glowing in the soft light of the sconces. His silver eyes glinted as he watched Gabriella cross the room. He sat regally, the large proud lord of his castle proper. Her heart began to thunder when his eyes met hers. If it were not for Rosalynn’s hand at her elbow guiding her, she was sure she would have been frozen in place by the heat that permeated in the depths of his silver eyes.

The hall had grown quiet at her entrance and all eyes turned to stare at her. Damon had paused in mid-drink and looked up over the rim of his cup.

Rosalynn led her to the end of the table and stopped directly next to Damon’s chair. Gabriella vaguely heard Rosalynn murmur “milord” as she inclined her head, turned, and left, seating herself further down the row.

Gabriella had not taken her gaze off Damon’s since they met across the hall. She was drawn to this man in ways that left her senses stunned, too befuddled to think of the ramifications or consequences. Damon stood, took her hand in his and slowly lowered his lips to her fingers. It was a gentle caress across her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Milady,” he stated in the thick rumble of his voice.

He directed her to his right, between Tanak and himself, a place of honor he bestowed upon her. Several of Damon’s warriors she had previously seen sat to the left of their lord, eyes downcast, focusing on their meal. However, one man remained staring at her, contempt clearly writ in his eyes. Sedrick’s dark gaze eyed her suspiciously before he foolishly spoke.

“You’d let this Saxon claim such a place of honor, milord?” His arrogance and disgust dripped from his tongue like venom.

Silence extended deeper into the hall.

Gabriella had no idea why he would speak of her with such loathing. She’d had very few words with him on her journey to Blackmoor. Other than his leading her to the forest before they were attacked, he had not been left with the task of watching over her and she’d caused him no trouble.

“Be careful, Sedrick,” Damon replied, his warning filling the silence. “You forget yourself. ‘Tis not your choice to make who I give leave to sit at my table. If you cannot comport yourself to be civil to my guest, then you may take yourself from my hall and return to your duties.”

There was much snickering around the table as others found mirth with the scolding. Sedrick stood abruptly, knocking his chair over. He glared at all of them until his gaze rested on Gabriella. He slammed his cup upon the table, its contents sloshing over the sides to pool around its edges, then he turned and strode briskly from the hall.

The servants righted his chair and cleaned his spot. No one mentioned the childishness of his antics or the mess he’d made. Gabriella stood dumbfounded, staring at his back as he left the hall. Pulling her closer to the table, Damon urged her to sit.

As he returned to his own seat, he said, “Do not worry, demoiselle, he is but young, still learning proper behavior, no doubt ‘tis nothing that cannot be remedied in the lists.”

Gabriella wasn’t fooled by Sedrick’s behavior. The man had a hatred towards her that she didn’t understand. She was still too confused by the turn of events that had brought her here. Too in awe of the fancifulness and the peril of her situation to try to obtain a reason for the man’s actions. Damon seemed unconcerned.

Damon motioned her to sit, the table filled with a hearty repast that she obviously needed.

The meal progressed uneventfully. She had shared Damon’s plate, as was custom, even sharing of the rich wine from his cup. He watched her intently as she sampled the fare he had placed before her. Rich succulent venison and pheasant, an array of greens and other vegetables displayed in rich sauces. Gabriella didn’t think she’d seen or eaten so much food in one sitting in her life.

Through the entire meal, Damon watched her. She responded softly to questions from Tanak and his other men who sat near. They regaled her with stories of their prowess. Stories that she seemed to like intently. She listened with rapt attention to the escapades as his men wove tales of his own prowess.