“Prove me wrong,” he said slyly, gazing down at Ransom. “Either way, we’ll know.”
He fell into an uneasy sleep, full of twisted dreams. He dreamed of his father, the big man with the eye patch and thundering voice, mocking him for lying down when there was work to be done. Even in the dream state, he knew his father was dead, but the barbs still landed. He tried to rise and couldn’t walk, only hobble, which earned scorn and derision from his father. They were at the Heath, and as soon as they went outside, a huge part of the castle sloughed away and crushed his father beneath the rubble right in front of Ransom’s eyes.
“You killed Father!” said his brother Marcus accusingly.
The nightmare shifted. He saw Queen Emiloh riding away from the carnage only to be shot down by an archer concealed in the woods. He screamed, trying to run to her, but his leg didn’t work, and he stumbled and crashed to the ground, weeping at the loss.
Then he saw Captain Baldwin in the training yard. “What’s wrong with you, boy? It’s just a little pain. Defend yourself. Again. Again!” The staff swung toward Ransom’s head. Too slow to stop it, he dropped to the ground, and everything in his field of vision shattered like a huge mirror.
He heard voices and realized they were real, not part of the fever dream.
“Moldy bread, my lady?” said a gruff voice.
“It’s all we have left,” answered the lady. He recognized her voice as the one he’d heard before. “And a cup of broth.”
“Let me see that,” another man said. Ransom heard the sound of sniffing. “I thought you’d brought him some spirits to dull his pain. DeVaux would have our hides if you helped him.”
“Only broth,” assured the lady. “Taste it yourself.”
“Turkey broth.”
“Indeed. No more or less.”
They were speaking in Occitanian. He wondered where they were, which castle. Then he felt pressure on the bedside and smelled the broth and the faint aroma of lilac. He tried to open his eyes, but the lids were too heavy.
He felt her hand reach behind his neck and lift him up. He twitched from the softness of her touch.
“Here, can you hold this?” she whispered, bringing the cup to his lips. The smell of it made him ravenous with hunger.
He tried to ask who she was, but he couldn’t speak. With the first splash of broth on his tongue, he was eager to gulp the rest of it down.
“Slowly. Shhh . . . slowly. You’ll choke on it.”
“He can feed himself,” said one of the knights in a resentful tone. “Be gone, my lady. He’s an enemy.”
He felt her hand on his forehead. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s all I can do.”
“Go on now,” complained the knight.
He felt her leave, taking the smell of lilac with her. Again he tried to open his eyes. Again he failed. Grunting, he propped himself up on his elbow, holding the cup of broth she’d given him. He took another deep swallow and then drained the cup.
“She’s a fair thing,” mumbled one of the knights.
“Stop your lusting,” said his companion. “DeVaux said not to touch any of them unless they disobey him. He’ll want her for himself. I’m hungry. Go get me some food.”
“What, you don’t want that hunk of moldy bread?”
“No, you sod! Get us something good. Let the cripple have the bread.”
The other man left, his steps echoing down the stone corridor.
Ransom didn’t care that it was moldy. They’d hardly wasted provisions on their wounded prisoner, expecting him to die. He rubbed his eyes and got them to open at last. A small loaf of bread speckled with mold lay at the edge of his pallet, left there by the lady of the castle.
He wished he’d saved some of the broth to make it go down more easily. Ransom lifted the bread to his mouth and took a large bite from it. The crust was stale, and it had an unpleasant odor, but he chewed a little bit before looking down.
The inside of the loaf had been hollowed out. He stared in surprise. Strips of linen had been rolled up and stuffed inside, concealed in the bread itself. He blinked, unable to understand the new feeling that began to seep into his chest.
The lady of the castle had shown him compassion despite knowing she risked herself and those she protected.
The knight leaning against the wall stared at him, arms folded. “Enjoying your bread?”
Ransom wanted to punch him, but he shrugged instead. “Anything tastes good when you’re starving.”