Excerpt: Benen's Burden

BENEN’S BURDEN
CHAPTER 1

Flames blossomed from the stable roof as Benen Maguire, Duke of Beinn, raced down the stairs, leaving his position in the defense of the walls. The fighting continued behind him as he ran. He reached the stables as servants led the first of the horses out.

Smoke, flames, shouts from soldiers on both sides of the raid, whinnies, and human-like screams from the horses filled the air.

Men already passed buckets along the water lines from the lake and the well to throw on the fire. Benen charged into the stable.

The stallions. We must get them out!

“Your Grace!” someone shouted behind him. He ignored them and kept going.

By memory, he went to the stall at the far end that housed his favored stallion. The beast bucked and neighed in fear. Benen opened the stall door and started to lead the horse out. It reared and its left front hoof grazed the duke’s chin. Though not full strength, the kick sent Benen to the dirt floor. He lay dazed while the fire spread.

A flaming beam fell.

By reflex, he raised his arm up to shield his eyes and tried to roll out of the way.

In the distance, someone screamed. He dimly smelled burning flesh.

# # #
 
CHAPTER 2

Before he opened his eyes, Benen felt the fire burning his face, his arm, his side. His throat felt dry and when he tried to call for help, he managed only a hoarse croak.

Soft hands helped him rise up enough to swallow a little water. He heard a door close as he settled back on the cot. Despite the fire, he knew enough to know he lay on a cot and not in his own bed in his rooms in the castle. He tried to open his eyes but saw nothing. His eyelids brushed against linen, sending another spark of fire through the left side of his face.

“Where am I?” he demanded of the unknown person. His voice sounded hoarse.

“Please, Your Grace,” a woman answered. “Stay quiet until the physician can come.”

“Where?” he insisted and coughed. He tried to sit up.

“In the west tower, yet in Beinn,” she answered. Her hands pushed him back down and would not let him up.

He could not place her voice. Something about it eluded his memory. “Your accent…?”

“I am from Cymru, Your Grace. I came with my father to discuss trade with your king.” She paused a moment. “I am called Nerys. Nerys Morgen. My father is Trevalyn Morgen, laird of the sea.”

Her voice sounded pleasant to his ears so Benen let her speak until the physician arrived.

“Your Grace,” the man said in greeting. “How long has he been awake?” He directed the question to Nerys.

“Less than a quarter mark. Loughlin left only when he woke.”

The physician said nothing.

Benen wished he could see the man’s face. He heard the physician open his bag and place it on a stool near the cot.

“How do you feel, Your Grace?”

“Nigh aflame.” He coughed again.

“Hm. Do you think you can sit up long enough for me to remove the bandages from around your eyes?”

“I will.” Benen did not care that he might not be able to. He would do so if it meant he would soon see.

The door opened again and someone else came in the room.

“Help His Grace to sit up,” the physician instructed the newcomer.

The duke recognized the manservant’s grip, sure yet not rough. He clenched his teeth against the pain that flamed in his side as he sat up.

“This will be quick, Your Grace,” the physician said even as he began unwinding the linen.

Benen nearly panted with the effort of sitting up. Had Loughlin not supported him, he had no doubt he would not have lasted the short time it took the physician to remove the bandages.

“’Tis done, Your Grace,” the physician said, pulling the last of the bandages away.

Loughlin let him lay back.

Benen lay still a moment before blinking.

“Tell me what you see,” the physician instructed.

He did not answer at once. He turned his head toward where Nerys had stood when she talked to him. At first, he saw nothing clearly. He blinked again. “You are beautiful,” he said, taking in her black hair and blue eyes. Her straight nose evenly divided her face and came to a delicate point above full lips. He kept his gaze on her face, not looking anywhere else.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Nerys blushed, uncertain if she should say anything further. She stood out of the way in a corner. She realized now she had placed herself in a bad place, as she had no way to escape the duke’s scrutiny without being rude.

“Your Grace?” the physician interrupted.

God bless the man, she thought.

Benen slowly turned his head back to look at the physician.

“Do you see clearly?”

“Aye.”

“Have you any questions?”

“What happened to me?”

“Do you remember the raid?”

He nodded once and winced, closing his eyes briefly.

Nerys noticed their strange amber color. She had never seen their like. Her heart clenched for him when he winced. He seemed to try so hard to hide any pain he felt. Foolish man, she thought. It means he won’t ask for the help he needs.

“The fire in the stables?” the physician asked.

“The horses…,” Benen started.

“Aye,” the physician said, nodding. “A beam fell on you, burning your face and nigh your entire left side. I am well pleased you see. I had feared you wouldn’t.”

“When will the burning stop?”

“It has been two days, Your Grace. As the burns heal, they will stop burning. At least it means you can still feel.”

When he frowned, Nerys knew that was little comfort to him.

“I will walk?”

“Aye,” the physician said, nodding. “The fire did not get your legs. The stable master pulled you out himself and put out your flames.”

“The raid?” the duke pressed though his voice sounded strained to Nerys. He coughed.

“I will send Lord Molan in to you later and he will inform you of the raid.”

“By Morrigan, tell me now!” His eyes darkened. His chest heaved as he tried, and failed, not to cough.

“Your Grace, ’twould be better if Lord Molan could tell you himself,” Loughlin said. “’Twould be correct information and not a harried man’s guess.”

Nerys saw the muscle in the duke’s right jaw jump as he if ground his teeth.

“Very well.”

“Can you stay with him, my lady?” the physician asked, turning his attention to her.

“As long as I am able,” she agreed. “We can go nowhere for a few days, or so I am told.”

“Aye, ’tis truth,” the physician said. “I will leave some chamomile and wood betony if he has need of it.”

“I am familiar with chamomile. What is the wood betony for?”

“For if he hurts.”

“Should not you let him have some now?” Nerys asked, looking over at Benen who seemed to be following their conversation closely. “He asked already when the burning would stop and you must have seen how sitting up hurt him though he spoke naught of it.” She looked away quickly, aware it could seem as though she stared.

The physician nodded once and reached into his bag, drawing out two clay jars colored with local dyes. “The blue one is the chamomile. The green is the betony. Mix a little with water.”

“How often?”

“I….”

The duke coughed, drawing another sympathetic look from Nerys.

“As often as he needs it.” The physician grabbed his bag and left quickly. In that instant,

Nerys knew he did not expect the duke to live.

“We will have to show him differently,” she muttered, taking the pitcher of water Loughlin offered.

“What do you mean, my lady?” the manservant asked.

Nerys glanced over at him then poured water into the cup Benen had used earlier before the physician arrived. She mixed a pinch of the wood betony with it and turned toward the cot.

“Answer him,” Benen said.

“Drink first.”

Loughlin raised him enough to drink but not fully sitting as he had before.

“I think he expects you will die, Your Grace,” she said, sitting the cup aside.

“I cannot. I will not.”

“Then ’tis as I said. We will have to show him differently.”

# # #

Benen slept for a few marks. Nerys’ words echoed in his mind. The physician did not expect him to live?

Does he hope I will not? With no heir, anyone can challenge to be clan-chief.

He became aware of his surroundings. He opened his eyes and looked around, as he had not done since the physician removed the bandages from about his eyes.

He recognized the room as a storeroom at the base of the west tower. A few quivers of arrows still leaned against one wall. Nerys sat on a low stool between the cot and a small table holding two clay jars, a cup, and a pitcher. She worked on some needlework, using small, perfect stitches.

“What happened that I am in the west tower?” he asked. “Did the keep fall to O’Reilly?”

“Nay,” she said, looking up with surprise registering in her eyes. “At least, not yet. I did not realize you were awake, Your Grace. I am sorry.”

Benen frowned. “For what?”

“I am supposed to be more aware….”

“Have you the Sight?”

She shook her head as he coughed.

“Then you could not know.” His chest and throat felt raw. He looked up at the ceiling, examining the beams supporting the floor above them. He cleared the phlegm from his throat. “The betony helps.”

“That is good.”

“Answer the question.”

Nerys sighed.

He heard her put her needlework on the floor but did not look her way.

“The fire spread from the stables to the castle. Half of it burned, along with more buildings.”

“Who died?”

“The steward.” If Nerys were surprised with his question, she did not show it.

“Others?”

“I don’t know, Your Grace.”

“Has-” He coughed and raised his right arm to rub his chest. “-Molan come in yet?”

“Nay.”

“I would see him.” He turned to look at her. Even as bad as he felt, lying on his deathbed if he believed the physician, he could not get enough of looking at Nerys. He would swear the Tuatha de Danaan left one of their own behind when they retreated to Tara.

“Is that wise, Your Grace? You can barely speak with me without coughing and causing yourself more pain.”

“I would see him,” he repeated slowly.

Nerys nodded and stood. She crossed the few steps to the door and spoke to someone in the hall.

“Why am I in the storeroom?” he asked when she resumed her seat.

“The physician didn’t think it wise for you to be moved very far.”

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He noticed everything about her, even the way she nervously patted at something beneath the bodice of her gown when she thought he did not see her.

“Do you follow the New Religion of the Christ or the Old Ways of the gods?” he asked, speaking slow in an attempt not to make himself cough.

“I…Ah…That is….”

He tried to smile. Only the right side of his mouth lifted slightly. “Many here do as well. Do not hide your crucifix…for fear of them.” He coughed and tried to turn onto his right side. By Dagda!

A knock sounded at the door, which opened before Nerys could stand. Molan stepped into the room. “You wished to see me, Your Grace?” he asked after a pause.

“Aye.” He noticed his second-in-command looked everywhere in the room but at him, finally looking at a spot above the duke’s head.

“The O’Reilly’s left,” the second began without being asked. “We beat them back, though there are ambushers on the road between here and Connachta.”

“So even the King cannot get through?” Nerys whispered.

Molan ignored her. “We lost nigh half our men in the raid. Unless the King can help us, we will have no spring crop. Half the castle is burned. It amazes me the White Lady has not been to claim you as she has so many others.”

“You would prefer I die,” Benen observed.

“I did not say….”

“You do not have to ’Tis clear in your manner. I have no intention of joining the Underworld. I have no intention of leaving Beinn.” He coughed hard and choked on the sour phlegm.

“’Tis good to hear that, Your Grace.”

“Do not think to patronize me, Molan. Rebuilding will begin now.”

“As you wish it, Your Grace.” The second left the small room without another word.

“I do not like him,” Nerys said.

Benen looked at her.

“I think he plans something.” She picked up the pitcher of water and poured some into the cup.

“I need no betony.”

She nodded in agreement. “But you need water.”