Reckless Angel Read Free

he’ll do as well as any, I daresay. Bring the lad within.” She indicated his burden.
    â€œâ€™Tis no lad, goodwife, but a maid,” Daniel said, dismounting awkwardly. He followed his hostess into the kitchen, holding the now freely raving girl-who-called-herself-Harry.
    â€œLord a’ mercy! I don’t know what the world’s coming to,” exclaimed the goodwife, bustling to the foot of a narrow wooden staircase at the rear of the room. “His sainted Majesty locked up, the prince fled, and neighbor against neighbor. Now there’s lasses on the battlefield! This-a-way, sir.”
    A small attic chamber was revealed at the head of the staircase. It contained a cot and a huge wooden chest of the kind used for storing household linens against the moth. The air was heavy with the scent of ripe apples laid carefully in rows on long wooden shelves on the far wall. Sacks of meal and flour were piled against one side of the loft, but it was swept clean and had a small, round window, unglazed to let in the fresh night breezes.
    â€œLay her down, sir, and I’ll send my boy for the leech.” She put a knowledgeable hand on the fevered brow and looked grave. “’Tis a powerful fever. Is the wound clean?”
    â€œRed and swollen,” Daniel said, bending to untie the makeshift bandage. “I know little of these matters and could do no more than wash away the blood.”
    The goodwife peered, sniffed the gash. “There’s no reek of mortification as yet,” she said doubtfully. “But ’tis early days. She’ll be best out of these clothes.” She began to unfasten the girl’s shirt, but the figure writhed violently, swinging an arm to catch the goodwife a hefty blow on the side of the head. “Ye’d best hold her down, sir,” the woman said a little grimly, rubbing her head.
    Daniel fixed his thoughts on little Lizzie as he assisted the kindly body in stripping the fevered girl. It was very clear, however, that this was no little girl but a grown woman, even if a very young one, and it was with considerable relief that he saw her at last respectably wrapped in a voluminous shift belonging to their hostess.
    â€œNow, sir, I’ll send the lad for the leech, and ye’ll be glad of a bite o’ supper, I’ll be bound.” She bustled to the stairs again.
    â€œI’ve coin aplenty, goodwife,” Daniel said, following her down to the kitchen. “Your kind hospitality will not go unrewarded.”
    â€œI’d ’elp a King’s man in any case,” the woman said gruffly, before giving brisk instructions to a boy of about fifteen who was honing a scythe in the inglenook. The lad grunted and set off, narrowly missing a headlong bump with Tom coming into the kitchen.
    â€œâ€™Orses are bedded down, Sir Daniel,” Tom announced, going to stand foursquare before the fire, warming his backside with a contented sigh. The August evening was not cold, but there was something about a fire, something ordinary and comforting, that chased battlefield horrors as kin cut down kin into the unreal world of nightmare where they belonged.
    The goodwife stirred a pot on the trivet in the fire, releasing a rich aroma that set the juices running as the two ravenous men sniffed eagerly. “’Tis jugged hare,” the woman declared with a complacent smile. “No one prepares it better, my man used to say.”
    â€œIs ’e here?” Tom inquired, moving to sit at the long plank table.
    The goodwife shook her head. “Dead for the king at Naseby. There’s nobbut myself and our Jake now.” She ladled the succulent dark meat and gravy onto wooden trenchers, sliced thick hunks of wheaten bread, and filled tankards with good October ale. “That’ll put the heart in ye.” Seeing Daniel glance anxiously to the foot of the stairs, she said, “I’ll go to the lass, sir, don’t ye