The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [141]
“I will not recall Rhodry.”
His mouth settled into the tight line she knew so well.
“As His Grace decides, of course, but how can you adopt the child without her father’s permission?”
“Rhodry’s an outlaw. Under the laws she has no father.”
“Very well, then. I’ll think the matter over, since His Grace persists in being as stubborn as a wild boar.”
He merely shrugged the insult away and went back to watching the road in front of him. Lovyan wondered why she even bothered to hint, scheme, and badger to get her youngest son home. Rhys simply couldn’t bear to let Rhodry inherit, she thought. Now, if Rhodry would only get a son on that Jill of his, but there she is, poor lamb, riding all over with him and sleeping out in the rain on the ground, and the Goddess only knows what else. Doubtless her womanly humors are utterly disrupted and—
Suddenly Rhys’s horse went mad. Lovyan could think of it no other way as the black neighed and bucked, then reared, striking out with its forehooves as if at an enemy. Rhys flew forward, caught himself on its neck, then slipped sideways as it bucked again. Although he was a splendid rider, the horse was rearing and pitching in utter panic, and he’d been taken off-guard. She heard his men shouting, heard other hoof beats, but Rhys’s black twisted, bucked, then slipped and went down, throwing Rhys hard and falling on top of him. She heard a woman screaming, then realized that the voice was hers.
Suddenly the escort was all around her. One man grabbed the bridle of her frightened palfrey and led her away; the others dismounted and rushed to their lord’s side. Back under control, Lovyan gestured at the man holding her horse.
“Ride back to the dun! Bring Nevyn and a cart!”
“My lady.” He made her a half-bow from the saddle, then galloped off.
Lovyan dismounted and hurried over just as the horse struggled to its feet, its off-fore dangling and broken. One of the riders blocked her way.
“My lady, you’d best not look.”
“Don’t speak nonsense! I’ve tended my share of wounds in my day.”
She shoved him aside and knelt down beside Rhys. He lay so still that at first she thought him dead, but when she touched his cheek, his eyes fluttered open. His face twisted in agony as he tried to speak.
“Whist, whist, little one. We’ll have Nevyn here soon.”
He nodded, then stared up at the sky, his mouth working in pain. Blood ran down his face from a slash over his eye; she could see that his left leg was broken, probably in several places. Yet she knew that the worst damage might have been done internally, where no chirurgeon could heal, not even Nevyn. She could only pray to the Goddess until at last the old man rode up at the gallop, with a wagon rumbling after. Nevyn swung himself down from his horse and ran over.
“Does he live?”
“Barely.”
Lovyan got out of the way and stood with the escort by the side of the road as Nevyn went to work, straightening the leg and roughly splinting it. As he ran his long graceful hands over Rhys’s body, she saw him shaking his head and swearing under his breath, and her heart turned cold. At last Nevyn called the carter to help him lift the injured gwerbret into the wagon. By then, Rhys had mercifully fainted. Lovyan got in with him and cradled his bloody head in her lap. Nevyn watched, his ice-blue eyes unreadable.
“I want the cold truth,” Lovyan said. “Will he die?”
“Well, my lady, I simply don’t know. His Grace is a truly strong man, and he’ll fight for his life, but it’s very grave. A weaker man would be dead already.”
To jostle the injured man as little as possible, they rode slowly back to Aberwyn. Over and over, Lovyan saw the accident in her mind. Why did the horse panic? There wasn’t so much as a mouse running across the road. It had happened like dweomer. Suddenly she went cold all over and called out to Nevyn, who was riding a little behind. He urged his horse up to ride beside the cart.
“Nevyn, this accident was a most peculiar one.”
“The man you sent to fetch me said as much, my lady. May I suggest that we discuss it privately?