The Winter Mantle by Elizabeth Chadwick Read Free Book Online

he would not speak aloud in the child's presence. 'I'll bring his father.' He ducked out into the daylight.
    Waltheof knew it was an excuse. De Gael could have sent one of the grooms to seek out Richard de Rules. Removing his fine cloak, the English earl crouched to drape it over the shivering boy. 'I know it hurts,' he said gently, 'but help is coming.'
    William's presence shadowed the doorway. 'You saved his life too, Lord Waltheof,' he said. 'I have sent for my chirugeon. Let us hope that he can mend the leg.' Entering the stall William crouched across from Waltheof and lightly touched Simon's arm.
    'Courage lad,' he said, the harshness of his voice softer now and holding a rumble of compassion. 'I know that you have a deep well of it to draw on.'
    'Yes, sire,' Simon answered through a throat that was corded with the effort of resisting pain. Tears brimmed in his eyes and he blinked them fiercely away.
    William nodded with brusque approval and stayed until the chirugeon arrived, with him an anxious Richard de Rules. 'Be a good soldier,' he said to Simon as the chirugeon began to cut away the boy's torn chausses in order to inspect the damaged leg.
    Waltheof grimaced to himself. The lad was but nine years old, and however brave and courageous he must still be terrified and in pain. Mercifully, William rose and departed. The moment he had gone, Simon let out the breath that he had been holding on a long, pain-filled groan.
    Richard de Rules leaned over his son. 'It will be all right, I promise you.' He smoothed the fair-brown hair. 'Once the bone is set, all will be well.'
    'Yes, Papa.' Simon's eyes were huge with pain and so filled with trust that Waltheof could not bear it.
    'Move aside from the light,' commanded the chirugeon. a grumpy young man, prematurely grey of hair. He scowled at Judith, who was standing in the doorway, her complexion little brighter than the boy's.
    'Will he be all right?' she asked.
    'My lady, I cannot tell until I have been able to see how much damage has been done - and for that I need the light,' the chirugeon said with laboured patience.
    Gnawing her lip, Judith backed out of the stable. Waltheof rose to his feet and, murmuring an apology, went after her.
    She was standing with her back against the wall, pleating her riding gown agitatedly between her fingers. 'It is my fault,' she whispered. 'If I had not been so determined to prove that I could handle that horse, it would never have happened.'
    'You take too much on yourself, my lady,' Waltheof said. 'The horse bolted because it was startled, not from your mishandling. The rest is misfortune - or perhaps good luck, since both you and the boy are still alive.'
    She looked at him, then down at her busy hands and shook her head. 'I should have listened to you and chosen the bay.'
    'It has happened; there is no sense in lamenting over what cannot be undone.' He had wanted to comfort Simon. By the same impulse he wanted to pull her into his arms, smooth her braids and comfort her, but he knew that such familiarity was impossible — as matters stood.
    'That is easy to say.' Challenge and bitterness clogged her voice.
    Waltheof took a step towards her but stopped himself, knowing that he dared not come close enough to touch. 'Is not blaming yourself for everything a great arrogance when you should be accepting that it is God's will?' he asked.
    A flash of anger sharpened her features. 'How dare you!'
    He shrugged. 'Because I have very little to lose, and everything to gain.'
    She stood her ground, and then, like the horse, the fight went out of her and she began to tremble. Uttering a gasp she gathered her skirts and ran from him. Waltheof watched her out of sight, a frown set between his copper brows. Eventually he returned to the fusty dark of the stable and sat with the injured boy and his father while the chirugeon did his best to mend the broken leg.
    Damn him, damn him! Judith could not remember the last time she had wept. Her father had died