When the young man looked again at Elizabeth, his face had paled, and he wore an angry frown. "I would do you no harm, for you are under the protection of the Hawk," he whispered. "You need have no fear from me."

"Then have no fear of me," Elizabeth whispered for his ears only. She smiled then, and the squire's anger evaporated. He knew that though the soldiers watched, they were unable to hear the exchange. She had saved his pride, and he was thankful. He smiled again. Elizabeth signaled the dogs and both relaxed against her sides, tails thumping against the rushes.

"Where is your leader?" she asked.

"If you will follow me, I will take you to him," the squire suggested, his voice eager.

Elizabeth nodded her agreement and followed the boy. Joseph waited at the bottom of the steps and she gave him another smile as she accepted the bundle of herbs. She then hurried up the winding flight of steps. It was a difficult task but Elizabeth forced herself to remove all memories of times past when she had raced up the steps with her sisters and her little brother. The time for weeping would be later. Thomas's future depended upon her now.

At the top of the first landing, another, older knight appeared. A scowl marred his sharp features and Elizabeth braced herself for another confrontation. "You are a woman! If this be some trick…"

"'Tis no trick," Elizabeth responded. "I am versed in remedies that could help your leader and I will do all that. I can to save him."

"Why would you give your help?" he demanded.

"I offer no explanation," Elizabeth answered. Irritation and weariness flowed through her but she was careful to hide these emotions. "Do you wish my help or not?"

The knight continued to glare at her for a moment longer. It was obvious to Elizabeth that he was suspicious of her motives, but she refused to calm his fears, remaining stubbornly silent while she matched him stare for stare.

"Leave the dogs here and follow me." The order was clipped and fairly shouted.

"Nay," Elizabeth promptly replied. "They go with me. They will cause no mischief unless someone tries to harm me."

To her surprise he did not argue over this, though she noticed that he ran long fingers through his brown-and-gray-speckled hair in a gesture she was sure was pure exasperation.

He did not lead her to the triangle of doors housing the larger bedrooms to the left, but turned to the right and, lifting the burning torch from its lodging against the stone wall, hurried down the narrow corridor to stand before her very own bedroom. Two sentries guarded the door and both looked up in surprise when they glimpsed Elizabeth.

With marked trepidation Elizabeth followed the knight through the entrance. Quickly she scanned the room and was frankly amazed, for it was exactly as she had left it. Her chamber was smaller than the others, but it had been her favorite of all the bedrooms, both for its isolation from the others and for the breathtaking view it allowed from the small window that overlooked the forest beyond.

The hearth took up most of the far wall, and was flanked by two wooden chairs with royal-blue cushions her sister Margaret had sewn for her.

Her gaze moved to the banner hanging above the hearth, its blue color matching the cushions with pale yellow threads interwoven in the design of her two wolfhounds. The banner's only other coloring was that of a deep burgundy, near the top of the tapestry, outlining the design of her pet hawk. Her heart ached as memories of the many times she and her mother had worked on the banner assaulted her.

No! her mind cried. 'Tis not the time. Elizabeth shook her head and this action was not missed by the watching knight. He, too, studied the banner and then turned back to Elizabeth. He recognized the fleeting torment she tried to hide. Speculation and curiosity appeared in his eyes but Elizabeth gave him little attention. She had turned to look upon the bed, and with the blue and yellow draping tied back on each side, she had a clear view of the leader. She was immediately struck by the largeness of the man, thinking he was even taller than her grandfather.

His hair was the color of the raven, and almost touched the drape at the head of the bed while his feet nearly hung over the other end. For some unexplainable reason, even in his weakened condition, he frightened her, and she stood transfixed while she studied the harshness of his features. He was a handsome knight, she admitted, handsome and… hard. The warrior began to thrash about from side to side, moaning in a weakened yet deep voice, and his movement prompted her into action. She quickly placed her hand upon his damp, bronzed forehead, gently brushing the wet hair out of her way as she felt his skin. Her milky white hand was in stark contrast to his deeply tanned and weathered skin, and her touch stilled his motion.

"He burns with fever," Elizabeth remarked. "How long has he been like this?" Even as she spoke, she noticed the swelling above his right temple and gently probed around it. The warrior's companion watched her from his position at the foot of the bed, a frown upon his face.

"I saw him take the blow. He fell to the ground and has been like this ever since."

Elizabeth frowned in concentration. She wasn't sure what she should do next. "This makes little sense," she countered, "for a blow does not bring the fever." She straightened then and with determination in her voice commanded, "Help me strip him."

Elizabeth did not give the companion time to question her motives, for she immediately began to unfasten the lacings at the warrior's back. The knight hesitated for a brief minute and then helped by pulling the chausses from the lower half of the now-sleeping form.

Though she tried mightily, Elizabeth was unable to pull the quilted hauberk, made of thick cotton, and soaked with the fever's sweat, over the massive shoulders, and she finally admitted defeat. She instinctively reached for the dagger she carried at her waist, thinking she would have to cut the material in order to sponge the heat from the warrior's chest.

The companion saw the glint of metal and, not understanding her reasoning, knocked the knife to the floor with the back of his hand.

The dogs began to growl but Elizabeth quickly silenced them and turned to face the knight. Her voice was gentle and devoid of all anger. "Though you have no reason to trust me, you need have no fear. I was merely going to cut his shirt."

"What is the need?" the knight demanded with frustration.

Elizabeth ignored the question and bent to retrieve her dagger. She split the shirt at the neck and tore the garment wide with her hands. Without looking at the angry companion, she commanded that he bring her cool water so that she could bathe the sweat and heat from his lord.

While the knight relayed her orders to the sentries outside the door, Elizabeth scanned her patient's arms and neck, looking for possible injuries. She willed her eyes to travel lower and felt her cheeks grow warm. Knowing that she blushed at the sight of his nakedness made her angry with herself, though in truth she had never seen a naked man before. Although it was the custom for the daughters to assist in the bathing of the visiting gentry, her father held too much distrust with the appetites of his friends and decreed that the servants would do the assisting, not his daughters.

Curiosity overcame embarrassment and Elizabeth quickly looked at the lower half of his body. She was mildly surprised that he did not display the fiercesome weapon she had heard that all men possess, and wondered if the female servants she had overheard had exaggerated, or if all men were built like this one. Perhaps he was defective.

Elizabeth concentrated on the task at hand and crossed to her chest. She removed clean linen and tore the material into long strips. When the water arrived, she began to sponge the warrior's face.

He is as still as death, she thought, and his ragged breathing is much too shallow. He carried an angry red scar that began at the edge of his left eye and curved, as a half-moon, ending somewhere behind his ear, well hidden by the black, slightly curling hair. With the wet cloth she gently traced its jagged outline, thinking that the scar did little to detract from the leader's appearance.

She washed his neck and chest, noting still more scars. "He has too many marks to suit me," she voiced aloud.

Elizabeth stopped sponging when she reached his waist. "Help me turn him," she said to the companion.

The companion's patience was at an end, his frustration evident with his bellow, "By all the saints, woman, he needs not a bath but a cure."

"I would know that the blow to his head is all he carries," Elizabeth replied just as loudly. "You have not even taken the time to remove his battle clothes."

The companion's response was to fold his arms against his chest, a fierce glare upon his face, and Elizabeth concluded that she would get no assistance. She gave him what she hoped was a scathing look, and then turned back to the warrior. She reached across the bed and grabbed the unresisting hand with both of hers. Though she pulled with all of her strength, the warrior did not budge. She continued to pull, unconsciously biting her lower lip in her effort, and thought she was making progress when the hand she held jerked back to its former position. Elizabeth went with it, and ended up draped across the lord's massive chest. She frantically tried to pry her hands free, but the knight now had a firm grip and seemed, even in sleep, disinclined to cooperate.

The vassal watched Elizabeth 's puny attempt to free herself, shaking his head all the while, and then yelled, "Out of the way, woman." He released the hold and roughly hauled her to her feet. With one sure movement, he flipped her unresisting patient over onto his stomach. Irritation turned to horror when the vassal saw the blood-covered undershirt stuck to the warrior's back, and he stepped back in shock.

Elizabeth was most relieved when she saw the injury, for this was something she could handle. She sat on the side of the bed and gently pried the material from its festering imprisonment. When the companion could clearly view the extent of the diagonal gash, he raised a hand to his brow. Unashamed that tears filled his eyes, he whispered in an anguished voice, "I never thought to check…"

"Do not berate yourself," Elizabeth replied. She gave him a sympathetic smile before continuing, "Now I understand what is causing the fever. We will need more water, but this time it must be hot, just to boiling, please."

The vassal nodded and hurried out of the room. Within minutes a steaming kettle was placed on the floor next to Elizabeth. In truth, Elizabeth dreaded what she must do, had seen her mother do countless times in the past for those with similar injuries. Repeating a prayer for guidance, she dipped a clean strip of cloth into the kettle and grimaced from the discomfort it caused her hands. She ignored the pain and rung the cloth of excess water. She was now ready, and yet she hesitated. "You will need to hold him down, I fear," she whispered, "for this will pain him considerably… but it needs be done." She lifted blue eyes to meet the vassal's anxious frown and waited.

The companion nodded his understanding and placed both of his hands on the broad shoulders of his leader.

Still she hesitated. "I must draw the poison out or he will surely die." Elizabeth wasn't sure if she was convincing the vassal or herself that the pain she was about to cause was necessary.

"Aye," was the companion's only response. If Elizabeth had listened closely, she would have heard the gentle understanding in his voice, but she was too distraught over the agony she would soon inflict.

Taking a deep breath, she placed the steaming cloth full upon the open wound. The leader's reaction was swift and furious. He tried to lift the branding cloth from his back with a fierce jerk, but the vassal's hold was great and he was unable to shed his torment. The agonized cry from the leader tore at Elizabeth 's heart and she closed her eyes in distress.

The door to the bedroom burst open and the two guards rushed inside, swords drawn. Fear and confusion showed in their expressions. The vassal shook his head and told them to put their weapons away.

"It must be done." The words from Elizabeth calmed the guards and they retreated to their posts outside the door.

"He would never cry out if he was awake," the vassal said to Elizabeth. "He does not know what he is doing," he explained.