Royce smiled. “See, you can always count on people doing what is best for themselves.”
“Like I did?” Hadrian said.
The smile left Royce’s lips. “You’re a freak of nature or the world’s greatest fool. I’m still trying to figure that out.”
Albert watched them. “I’m sorry I lied. It will never happen again. Please don’t kill me.” He said it just above a whisper, but Royce heard everything.
The thief almost laughed. “You were only going to steal your share of our first profit-all that means is that you’re officially one of us now.”
“And what is that exactly?”
Royce and Hadrian exchanged glances and raised eyebrows. “I suppose we should figure that out at some point.”
Albert happily turned to the food on the table. “I just discovered I’m starved. Are there any pickles?”
“Pickles?” Hadrian paused, surprised by the word and the memory it conjured.
“Yes-little things, sort of tart.”
“No … I don’t know. Go check for yourself.”
Albert looked puzzled.
Before anything else could be said, Royce ran past both of them, punching open the front door to the tavern.
Hadrian and Albert followed the thief out into the rain, which appeared to finally be letting up. Hadrian saw the troop of ladies coming down the road. They were all there, save Rose, all clustered around Gwen, helping her walk. Then like a flock of ducks they scattered as Royce raced in. His arms wrapped around Gwen, lifting her in a hug and a gentle twirl. Scooping her up, he carried Gwen back to Medford House as the sound of rain gave way to the sound of girlish laughter.
CHAPTER 23
Reuben woke to dazzling sunlight streaming through a window, and his first thought was that he was dead. Something about the brilliant light, how it splintered into visible shafts as it angled across the bed, held a mystical quality. Everything was bright, so that he had to squint to focus. From the ceiling above him hung all manner of plants. Dry and brittle. Most looked like flowers, common ones that grew in the fields and even around the walls of the castle courtyard. Reuben didn’t know half of them but recognized thyme, honeysuckle, and cowslip, which he found near the stables a lot, as well as ragwort and toadflax, which grew in the cracks of the castle walls. He could hear voices, lots of voices, and distant sounds like wheels and hooves. The second thing he thought was that he was not dead, because he didn’t believe there would be so much pain in death, and Reuben was in agony. His throat burned as if he had swallowed molten lead, and his chest felt congested and ached as if it had a block of granite resting on it.
He tried to take a breath and instantly doubled up in a series of hacking coughs. The jerking movement brushed his skin against the linen sheet. It looked as soft as rabbit’s fur, but it scratched like a million needles. His head ached, he felt nauseous, and all he could do was smell smoke. He lay back, realizing he was on a bed of some sort. He had never lain on a mattress before. He always thought they looked nice, only at that moment he could just as easily have been on a torture table, but then just breathing was torture. Even blinking hurt.
He was indeed alive; he just wasn’t certain if he wanted to be.
A woman approached and peered at him. “You’re awake. That’s good.” He’d never seen her before. With gray, almost white hair and spider lines around her eyes, she was old but friendly. “I imagine you’d prefer to keep sleeping. But I can tell you those who keep sleeping … well, they never wake up. But look at you! And I wasn’t so sure. Nope, not certain at all. When they brought you in pink as a roast pig, I thought the best could be done was size you for a box. They said ‘he’s young and strong,’ but I wasn’t so sure. I’ve seen a lot of the young and strong nailed in boxes, and a lot looked better than you. Still, you got your hair and that’s something.”
She ruffled the mop on his head, but when he cringed, she stopped. “I suppose everything is sensitive. That’s the way with burns, but sensitive is better than not. All that pain you feel is good. Means your flesh is still alive. If you didn’t feel nothing, why, you might never feel anything again. So I know you don’t think it now, but later you’ll be happy for the suffering.”
“Water?” he croaked, his voice broken, cracked, and thin.
She raised her eyebrows. “Water, eh? Think you’re up for that? Maybe you should just stick with a weak wine.”
“Water, please.”
She shrugged and stepped aside to a basin to pour him a little cup. Reuben felt he could drink a lake’s worth, but after two mouthfuls he began to vomit over the side of the bed.
“Now what’d I tell you?”
He was shaking. Maybe he always had been and just noticed it then. He had never felt so horrible. He wanted to scream but was scared to, afraid it would hurt. Death would have been better. The pain was overwhelming and a panic set in as if he were drowning, submerged in suffering. Needing to endure even an hour like this was a nightmare, but the horror he knew was that the anguish would last. Reuben recalled the time he burned himself on the kettle and how long it took to heal.
What had become of him? They had a sheet draped lightly over his body. He guessed he was naked. Perhaps his clothes burned away. What was left of his flesh? He feared to look, terrified what he might see. His hands and arms were red and lacked hair, but otherwise they looked fine-just a bad sunburn, a few blisters. He gritted his teeth. It did not seem fair that even crying hurt.
Then a thought outside of himself knocked on his shuttered mind. “The princess…” he said, the words coming out as a coarse whisper. “Is she okay?”
The nurse gave him a quizzical look and then a smile broadened her face. “The princess is fine, I’m told.”
He lay back down. Maybe it was his imagination, but the pain seemed to lessen somehow.
He was in a small room. The rustic wood and stone revealed he was not in the castle or any of the outbuildings. This was some place new. A small cottage perhaps, or a shop. Through the window came the sounds of traffic. He must be in the city.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t there, but the rumor is that you ran into a burning castle yesterday.”
“I carried the princess out and then went back for the queen. I couldn’t reach her.”
“Was that all?”
He nodded almost imperceptibly. No added pain. He was surprised.
“Most people say you had a death wish, that you wanted to die because-” She turned back to the basin and took a towel from a rack.
“Because, why?”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “I don’t think it’s true. I can’t imagine it is, especially with you asking about the princess like that. Do you know what I think?” The nurse soaked the towel in a basin and then wrung it out and turned back to him. “I’m Dorothy, by the way. I’m a midwife. They brought you to me instead of a real doctor because I know burns. All those doctors do is leeching, and you don’t need that.” She paused, pursing her lips in thought, working something out. “Yes … I think you are a very brave man, Reuben Hilfred.” She folded the damp towel. “I think everyone is wrong. What you just said makes so much more sense, at least to me. I think … well, it is just noble of you that lying here as you are and you ask about the princess.”
“I’m not noble.”
“Maybe not in name, but certainly in your heart, and if you ask me, that’s where it matters most.”
“If you ask everyone else, they would tell you the opposite. People kill for titles.”
“Maybe, but how many would die for them? How many would throw themselves into a fire? I don’t think it takes much bravery to be greedy.” She laid the towel on his forehead. It stung for a moment, then felt cool, soothing. “You’ll be all right. I know you have your doubts, but I have seen this before. I know it hurts, but you were lucky.”