“Who is this lady, and what is this place?” Ranulf asked, eyeing the paste. “You would have me meet my host in ignorance, but I pray you bless me with knowledge. You seem ever pleased to educate me, old man, so tell me less about your herbs and more of my fate.”

“In good time, my lord. She will tell you, not I.” With that, the healer approached with foul-smelling bowl and examined the scratches once more. “Free rein you’ll have in the yard and this tower, do you prove yourself of good faith. You are our honored guest.”

Ranulf snorted. Under lock and key, closely watched and kept in ignorance. Truly, an honored guest. Through the window he had seen the outer ward, enough space to fit his own keep and all the outbuildings inside the curtain wall. It was no minor lord who ruled this place. Every stone smelled of power and wealth, yet it was an unnamed woman who would deal with this honored guest.

He reached for the tunic the old man had brought, preparing to pull it over the borrowed hose. They’d not brought him his armor, and the clothes he had worn in his travels were torn and soaked with blood. He took comfort from the look of the clothing: it was simple and unadorned, but the fabric was fine woolen, suited to meeting a great lady.

“My lord, if you will but allow me to anoint the wound–”

“Enough of your salves,” Ranulf interrupted, finding a linen under-tunic in the pile of cloth. “Is healed as well as your medicines can make it.”

The old man nodded, squinting at the line of angry flesh that snaked down from the elbow. “She was an excellent student, else you would even now be food for the worms, my lord.”

The tunic hung limply from his hands, suspended there as he spoke into the silence. “She? You know the woman?”

“Aye, and it’s a great debt you owe her. There are not many who could bring you through the fever so well.” The wrinkled face radiated satisfaction. “I was her teacher.”

The bony old fingers traced the beginnings of the scar as Ranulf unfolded the linen in silence, guarded against showing the depth of his curiosity. “She dwells here?”

She had not been in the party that brought him to the castle. She had vanished and left him alone among suspicious and armed men.

Just as Ranulf began to pull the fabric over his head, the old man stopped him. “First the ointment, my lord, if it please you.” He held the bowl up as though it were an offering of sweet cream, ignoring the query. “It soothes all manner of itch and burn on the skin.”