Rogue Knight (Medieval Warriors Book 2) by Regan Walker

“Ottar is hurt. Prepare his
bedchamber, Artur, and hurry.”
    The servant hastened to do her bidding.
    With the lad in his arms, Geoff turned to Mathieu and Alain.
“Take care of the horses, Mathieu, then come inside. ’Tis too cold to remain
out here.”
    “There is a stable in the back,” the woman said.
    The squire nodded and headed for the rear of the house, the
horses in tow.
    To Alain, who stood silently waiting, Geoff said in a low
voice, “’Twould be best if you, too, wait within.”
    Geoff followed the woman into the house and trudged up the
stairs behind her and the hound to the upper floor where she led him to a
chamber with two narrow beds. A small table was set between them, a chest at
the end of each bed. It was simple in decoration but clean and the rushes,
smelling of lavender, were fresh. Hanging on the wall were two tapestries
picturing children in a field of flowers.
    “You can lay him here,” she directed, pointing to the bed
with the cover turned back.
    The servant he had seen earlier added a piece of wood to the
fire that burned in the brazier and stirred the glowing coals. “’Twill be
warmer soon, Mistress.”
    The hound settled himself next to the source of warmth,
resting his head on his paws.
    Once Geoff had laid the boy on the bed, he sat on its edge
and began inspecting the boy for wounds.
    “What are you doing?” the woman asked, her beautiful eyes
shouting her concern as she removed her cloak and set it aside. Beneath it, she
wore a deep blue gown that fit snuggly to her breasts and hips. Despite the
anger in her eyes, she was an alluring sight.
    He forced his attention back to the unconscious boy. “I am
looking for wounds.” He had seen the blood splattered on the lad’s clothes, but
no tear in the cloth. “The blood on his tunic is not his.” He began to examine
the rest of the boy, beginning at the top of his head. An egg-sized lump
protruded from the side and Geoff’s searching fingers found blood underneath
the boy’s hair. “I believe he was hit by the broad side of a sword. See the
dried blood there and the large bump?”
    She leaned closer and tenderly touched the spot. Turning to
the servant, she said, “Artur, get me ice. It will be clean in the back of the
house. And tell Sigga I will need water, salve and bandages.”
    “Aye, Mistress.” He dipped his head and departed.
    The woman began to undress the lad. When he was freed of the
bloodstained garments, she threw them to the floor and walked to the chest at
the end of the bed, drawing out a clean nightshirt. Seeing her intent, Geoff
carefully lifted the boy’s shoulders so she could pull the shirt over his head.
    Her eyes flashed a protest but she did not stop him. He knew
instinctively she would tolerate his presence, and his help, if only for the
sake of the boy.
    “Why do you help a boy your fellow knights left for dead?”
    Why indeed? Had it been the woman? He might have
noticed the lad was alive and taken him back to the castle, yet it was the
woman who he had rushed to help. “I would not see children die with men. He
should not have been in the fighting.”
    “On that, at least, we agree.”
    A small girl peeked her head around the open doorway, a
worried expression on her young face. “What is wrong with Ottar, Emma?”
    Ah, the young widow’s name is Emma.
    “Ottar has been hurt, Finna, and I am caring for him.” Her
voice was much different when she addressed the child. It was the tender voice
of a mother taking time to explain to her young daughter. But why did the child
call her Emma and not Mama?
    The servant, Artur, returned with the items Emma had
requested. The little girl followed him into the room, stopping to pat the head
of the giant hound, unafraid. The hound licked at her hand.
    Bent to her work, Emma cleaned the boy’s wound of dried
blood, applied salve from a clay jar and wrapped a bandage around his head. The
little girl walked to the bed and took the boy’s hand in hers,