Once more instinct drove Ned. It’d been the only factor that kept him alive so far and now demanded that he head for the road. With a savagely grimacing Don Juan Sebastian limping closer he needed no further spur.
The journey back through the woods was even worse. At every step the wedged blade sent sparks of blinding agony lancing through his left shoulder. He dared not halt to pull the blade out or stop to check on his pursuers. Occasionally he heard someone blundering through the low brush behind him but whether it was the Spaniard or Skelton he cared not so long as he was in front.
Finally groaning with the effort and pain, he burst past the last restraining branches onto the muddy ground that bordered the slightly raised road. There was a group of figures standing by some horses and he automatically veered in their direction. His vision was hazy from the pain and he hoped rather than expected it to be his companions. Instinct reasoned anything was better than being hunted in the wood by Don Sebastian and Skelton.
Ned waded across the last shallow verdant pool and, one handed, clambered up the ditch, whimpering with the effort. At the last foot his arm gave out and he began to slip backwards clutching at the slippery bank. A large hand appeared and grabbed his doublet, jarring the blade and for a few delightful moments he lapsed into unconsciousness.
Chapter Twenty Four-A Ministering Angel? Grafton Regis
Ned quite happily drifting along in a boat on the river. The day was warm and the sun had that sparkling refined quality you only get on warm June days. The kind that made you savour the passing beauty as if you were in paradise. All he needed now was an attractive lass, with a pleasingly exposed cleavage, to pole them along under the dappled shade of the arching willows. After that well, Ned was quite prepared to let nature and his natural charm take its course. This was so much better than pounding his arse into raw meat on a saddle floundering over muddy roads. They should have thought to go by river sooner. It was always more pleasant to be rowed along the Thames. It was his favourite form of transport where a gentleman could take his ease supping on sweet dark plums, a goblet of cooled Rhenish wine and have his brow bathed by a sky eyed lass who looked just like that paragon of beauty, Mistress Meg Black. Oh his daemon chuckled. What a session that’d be to bed her, a steaming session of ardent rumpy-pumpy! She was just the right height and those swelling curves, generous smile and open nature. A lad could do much worse. A minor distraction from further up the river bank had him creasing his brow. He could have sworn it sounded like someone shouting.
“You clumsy oaf hold him down!”
“Why ask me? Of course he’s going to buck. Wouldn’t you?” Since they clearly didn’t concern him Ned dismissed it as a gadfly of annoyance and continued to drift on the waters of Father Thames being rocked in blissful rest, right up to…
“AAAAWWWHHHH!”
A dreadful scream punctured his boating and then came the overwhelming aroma of charred flesh and cloth. Ned’s eyes snapped open to see a pair of hefty arms holding him down and above the apparition of a wild ice blue eyed demon holding a hot bar of iron. His vision locked onto the dull red point still steaming from its painful plunge into his flesh. All the saints save him. He was being put to the question!
“NOOOO!”
“Damn it! Hold the tickle-brained idiot still. I have to seal the other side!”
The return of the burnt flesh smell and the avalanche of pain that rolled over him shredded the last remnants of his happy dream. That was a damnedably familiar voice! Oh no, he wasn’t on the Thames. He didn’t have any wine nor anything like a compliant lass poling him along. Damn him, but once more he was suffering the punishments of acquaintance with Mistress Black! With an enormous effort he shoved the restraining arms off him and pushed himself upright. Oh God and all the saints that hurt!
“By all that’s damned holy, Meg Black! Why are you torturing me?” He growled out at a slightly higher pitch than he had hoped, after a few reviving breaths to push the agony back.
Mistress Black returned the bar to the forge fire, dismissing his accusation with a shrug. Ned’s rancour was stoked, as he could see she was doing little to hide a satisfied smile. That sight pushed him into a realm of anger surpassing anything before. With a bellow of rage he pushed himself up to deliver the long promised thrashing she deserved, her status as a girl be damned! His heart wasn’t full of black treachery like some he could name.
However Ned soon discovered the difference between desire and reality as several large bodies piled on top of him.
“Careful there! I didn’t spend so much time stitching him up to have you cause more injury!”
Ned’s anger slowly drained away. Or more correctly was squashed out of him as now he had to strain to breathe without causing spasming pain in his chest from his ribs and his shoulder that now glowed with a special brand of agony all its own.
As he struggled for one more gasp of air, a familiar voice spoke into his ear. “Now Ned take it easy. Meg had to do a bit of barber surgeoning on you or you’d still be leaking blood. Now easy there. We’re going to let you up nice and slow. Don’t pull on the stitches. She’s still got to put a poultice an’ bandages on you.”
Ned struggled a little until he could tilt his head and looked into Rob Black’s concerned face. If appearance was any measure he spoke God’s own truth. Reluctantly Ned wheezed unwilling compliance and the weight on his chest eased as two of Gryne’s Men slowly removed their bulk. Eventually they propped him up against a post and Ned had a chance to look around. Meg Black had dropped the instrument of torture and was rummaging in her herbage satchel. That’s when the import of Rob’s words sunk in. Oh no, Mistress Black given free rein with knife and probe-it chilled him to the bone!
“By the blood of Christ, Rob! Why’d you let her play at surgeon? I’d be safer with a doctor!”
Mistress Black obviously heard the complaint against her skill and took it to heart. She spun around, hands on hips, eyebrows arched with ominous intent, and her eyes shooting out cold blue fire, then addressed him as you would an idiot or young child. “Master Bedwell, so much for your reputation as a man of parts, ‘Red Ned’. Ha, I’ve had children complain less, you whining worm! Think yourself lucky I bothered with yea or else you’d be dead in the ditch by now.”
Ned blinked a few times and tried to clear his head. A few distractions were getting in the way of his attempt, pain from a myriad of places and a strange fuzziness that reminded him of the later stages of a really good night on brandy wine. His slightly blurry vision slid across the open space to Rob. He could see that his friend had been weeping. It was the puffiness around the eyes that gave it away, but now his face was plastered with a huge grin. A sneaking suspicion pushed forward by his better angel waved for attention. Maybe he’d misjudged Mistress Black. Ned gave it a brief nod of recognition and groaned, then did what he had to do.
“Mistress Black, forgive my harsh words. It was the pain speaking. I thank you for tending to my wounds as I suspect you did for the rest of our company.” He tried a prone attempt at a half bow, but a meaningful glare and a shaken finger from the recipient of his grudging apology stopped the action. Oh well, good, he’d live with that limited acceptance. It hurt enough as it was. As it was, his mouth felt like a weasel had used it as a privy.
“God’s blood, can someone get me a firkin of double and where the hell are we?”
“Certainly Ned. I get one from the Inn!” Rob strode across the improvised surgery which usually served as a smithy, towards the door when his sister’s outstretched hand abruptly stopped him.
“No! No doubles just a small beer. Any potent drink after the laudanum will set him dreaming again.”
Ned would have cursed, but his common sense stopped him, though he was pleased to see Rob look towards him for approval afore he moved off. Perhaps his previous push for leadership had made some mileage. In the meantime he needed to find out how they came here, wherever here was. “So Mistress Black, you got to finally use your laudanum physick on the wounded. Did you find it efficacious?”