He grabbed her. 'Burn, she-devil. Succubus. Whore of Babylon. Burn.' He laughed, then threw her over towards the blaze and rushed out of the shed, closing the door behind him.
Lucie screamed and rolled away from the burning corner. Her hem had caught fire. She beat at it with her hand.
Once up in his room, Owen pulled off the patch and rubbed in some salve. He lay down on the pallet, but he knew he wouldn't sleep. Maybe a walk. He got up, looked out the window. The stars glimmered in a clear sky. It was the first clear night he'd seen in York. He stared at the stars, trying to remember Gaspare's names for them. Now there was someone he'd like to talk to right now. Gaspare always made sense out of things.
A movement down below caught Owen's attention. Down in the Wiltons' garden. Someone ran past the kitchen door, which stood open, a lamp flickering on the floor just inside. Who was out in the garden? Could it be Tildy? The figure ran towards the street. Too tall for Tildy. Then he noticed the glow. Dear God.
'Fire!' Owen yelled as he raced downstairs and through the tavern. Tom and several customers took off after him. Tom yelled for someone to get the extra buckets in the stable. Owen had the first bucket up out of the well by the time Tom arrived with another. They set to work on the back of the shed-
But where was Lucie? Surely the lamp and the open door were a sign that she'd come out to fight the fire. Owen went round to the door of the shed. A bucket was upended in front of it. He pushed on the door. It would not budge. He put a shoulder to it and broke it down. She lay just inside, coughing weakly. He gathered her in his arms and hurried for the house.
One hand was blistered, a corner of her skirt singed, and she had a cut on the side of her head where she must have fallen. Bess arrived with a flagon of brandywine. Owen lifted Lucie's head and Bess poured a little brandywine down her parched throat. Lucie coughed it up and pushed Bess away, but Bess forced more down her. This time it stayed down.
'Not bad. She'll be fine’ Bess said with relief. She helped Lucie sit up.
'Who was it, Lucie?' Owen asked. 'I saw someone running from the garden. Did you see who it was?'
'I thought he-' A coughing fit shook her. She took the cup of brandywine Bess handed her and drank without argument. 'I thought someone had seen the fire and had come to warn me. He threw stones against the house. I did not see the fire until I went outside. He was in the shed. He threw me down and cursed me.'
'Who?' Owen asked.
'The Archdeacon.'
Bess and Owen exchanged looks. Hers clearly accused him of not protecting Lucie.
A banging began on the floor above. Lucie put down the cup. That's Nicholas. I must go to him.'
'No. I'll go to him’ Bess said. Then I'll see that they take care of the shed. You've much to talk about, I think.'
Owen realised how badly Lucie had been shaken when she did not argue, just slumped back in the chair. Bess nodded and left. Lucie's hands trembled as she picked up the cup. 'He meant to kill me’ she whispered, as if trying out the words. Her head was lowered, her eyes staring at the floor.
Owen cursed himself. Magda had said Lucie might be in danger, and now she'd almost been killed. He should have watched the house. He'd been so caught up in suspecting her — and he'd been wrong. Almost fatally wrong. He had not really made an effort to protect. 'It's all right. Anselm's being sent away tomorrow.'
Lucie looked up at him. 'How do you know — ' Her eyes widened. 'Sweet Jesus.'
He put his hand up and discovered he'd forgotten his patch. Damnation. He turned away.
'No’ she said. 'Please. Forgive me. I'd never seen it uncovered.'
'I am sorry I frightened you’
'No. I have seen much worse.' He still did not face her. 'Please, Owen. Don't turn away from me. Nicholas turned from me tonight. Did he know what the Archdeacon planned?'
The despair in her voice touched Owen. He knelt before her and took her hands. 'I cannot believe that Master Nicholas could bear to have you hurt.'
She touched the puckered lid gently, the eyebrow, the scar beneath the eye. 'Bess says I can trust you. And now you've saved my life.' She studied his face. 'I need your help, Owen.'
Twenty
They both started at a sound out in the shop. Owen rose, motioned for Lucie to stay still, walked silently across the kitchen, peered into the shop. 'What are you doing in there?' he asked. Lucie was relieved to hear his puzzled but friendly tone. He would not speak that way to an intruder.
'Nicholas wanted me to give Lucie the eyewash cup and medicine.' Bess's voice, 'Here it is.' She came through, holding the items high, as if proud of her find. She set them down on a table by Lucie. 'See you use these now.'
'Did you tell Nicholas who lit the fire?' Lucie asked.
Bess straightened up, hands on hips. She gave Lucie an impatient look. 'I did not. If you want him to know, it's for you to tell him. All he knows is there was a fire in the potting shed, you got trapped inside, Owen rescued you.'
Lucie was relieved. Thank you, Bess’
' 'Course, he's no fool. He knows you were upstairs, and fires don't start themselves.' Bess shrugged. 'But he asked only after you. How you were. If you were injured.'
'How is he?'
'He had me give him a tisane to help him lie easy. The one he takes before he sleeps.'
'He's being sensible.' Lucie noticed that Bess had the lines around her mouth that she got when she was worried. 'I will be fine, Bess, just as I'm sure you told Nicholas. Would you like something to drink?'
'Nay. Must be going. Fires make the customers thirsty. Tom will have his hands full. You'll stay and watch out tonight, Owen?'
'I will.'
Lucie noted that Bess and Owen exchanged some sort of wordless message. 'You two seem cosy.'
Bess laughed. 'Comes of sharing a bottle of brandy-wine or a tankard of ale every night. You two should try it. Fare thee well, now.'
Owen stood in the doorway chuckling as Bess left. 'She has plans for us, I think.'
Lucie stiffened. She had almost confided in him. How could she have forgotten her first impression, a rogue. 'I did not mean I needed you that way.'
His smile faded quickly enough with that. 'I did not mean that I think that. It's Bess. She makes no secret of her fondness for pairing off the world.'
He found everything funny. Lucie had been about to tell him that her husband had murdered someone. He would have laughed at that, too, perhaps. 'You find this amusing.' She was so angry with him she wanted to cry. But she would not. He would surely find that amusing, too.
'What did I say to anger you?' He sat down beside her.
The eyelid, puckered and red, was lifted toward her, a vulnerable counterpoint to the good eye. She noticed that the eyelashes were as long, silky, and dark as those on the good eye. How beautiful he must have been. How it must pain him to see himself now. 'Perhaps I am too quick to take offence tonight’ she said, rubbing her eyes. She'd been exhausted even before the fire.
'Wash your eyes. Our talk can wait.'
I'm simply tired, Owen. I'm always tired these days. Let's talk while we're at peace.'
'Your eyes look red. You might have a cinder. Rinse your eyes first, then we'll talk.'
He exasperated her. 'Why do you always question my judgement?'
'I'm worried about you.'
She could see the concern in his face, hear it in his voice. 'I am fine, Owen. I do not need to be bullied to take care of myself.'
'Bullied? I worry about you, and you call it bullying? Is it because I'm a soldier? Did I forfeit all human feeling when I took up arms for my King?'