No Dark Place by Joan Wolf Page A

until you gave her leave.”
    Cristen nodded. “You did well, Martin. I will go to see her after the breaking of fast.”
    “Thank you, my lady.”
    Hugh looked with curiosity into the small oval face of the girl who was walking beside him flankedby her dogs. “Are you a doctor then, Lady Cristen?”
    She laughed. “No. I merely have some knowledge of herbs, and the castle folk find me helpful.”
    “Not just the castle folk,” her father interjected. They had reached the dais by now, and he gestured Hugh to the chair on his right. “Cristen’s skill as a healer is well known in all the surrounding countryside.”
    Hugh said, “So that is why you were able to take care of me so ably yesterday.”
    The two dogs established themselves with comfortable familiarity behind Cristen’s chair. She said, “If you would like, Hugh, I will show you my herb garden after we have broken fast.”
    Hugh looked at her. “I should like that very much.”
     
    Hugh stood before the high table, waiting for Cristen to return from her visit to the sick Berta. The cats were gone from in front of the fireplace and the hall was filled with servants busily scouring the trestle tables and moving them back against the walls so they would not be in the way of the morning activities.
    Sunlight slanted in through the open windows on the right wall, dappling the heads of the busy servants.
    Thomas, the young knight who had been part of Hugh’s escort, passed in front of him and offered a tentative smile. Grave-faced, Hugh nodded back.
    What am I doing here?
    It was the thought that had haunted Hugh ever since Ralf’s death. Night after night, he had stood infront of the fireplace at Keal, staring at his own hall, at his own dependents, and the thought had risen in his brain.
    What am I doing here?
    Accompanying that question was the terrifying sensation that he had been separated from the rest of the people in the room by a wall of ice. He could see them clearly enough, but he could not communicate with them. No matter what he did, he could not break through the frozen wall that isolated him in such desolate loneliness. The despair that welled up inside him at these moments was almost unbearable. One day it would be truly unbearable, and what would he do then?
    A warm hand touched his arm.
    A white-tipped tail slapped against his leg.
    He looked down into a pair of clear brown eyes.
    “I’m ready,” Cristen said. “Do you still want to see my garden?”
    Hugh inhaled deeply. “Aye,” he said. “I do.”

5
    T he morning was pleasantly warm, with only a few fleecy white clouds floating across a serene blue sky. As Hugh walked down the castle stairs with Cristen, he looked around and for the first time actually saw the outside of Somerford Castle. He had been in no condition to notice much of anything yesterday.
    Somerford had obviously been built as a traditional motte and bailey castle, although it had been added to as the years had gone by. The original wooden keep had been replaced by a three-story stone structure situated on a hill that overlooked a swiftly flowing stream, which Cristen informed him led into the River Avon a few miles away. Around the top of the hill, or motte, was a ten-foot-high wall that had also probably once been made of timber but was now built of local stone. Four guards stood duty on the four sides of the wall’s sentry walk, which afforded them an excellent view of the surrounding countryside.
    A sloping bridge that finished in a drawbridge led over a filled moat from the motte to the levellower ground of the bailey. Hugh walked across the bridge with Cristen, their feet, encased now in outdoor boots, making a hollow sound on the wooden planks. The dogs paced along at Cristen’s heels, as close as shadows.
    Looking around, Hugh estimated that the bailey of Somerford probably covered about four acres. It contained the usual necessities of castle life: cookhouse, bakehouse, brewhouse, armory, barns and pens