The Love Knot Read Online Free PDF Page A

distance into the forest and returned with the leaves and flower-heads of a wood betony plant. This too went into the pot. He covered the herbs with water from his leather flask and set the mixture to infuse over the fire that Gawin had made out of tinder and a swift collection of dry twigs.
    Catrin leaned against the trunk of a young beech, her complexion made greener than ever by the reflection of the leaf canopy.
    'How often is "sometimes"?' Oliver enquired, as the liquid began to steam and the water turned deep gold.
    Richard shrugged. 'I don't know. Whenever there was rouble, I suppose.' 'The priest used to say that I had devils in my head,' Catrin mumbled, her eyes tightly closed. 'He said that they should be eaten out of me, but Lady Amice refused to let him try.' 'When I was in Rome, a chirurgeon told me that the best
    cure for devils in the head was to shave off the victim's hair and make a hole in the skull to force the demons out,' Oliver mused. 'Loth as I am to doubt the word of a learned man, I prefer to use the betony and feverfew myself. They certainly work for me on the morning after a night with the wine.'
    Catrin shuddered delicately and half opened her eyes. They were cloudy, as if she had just woken from sleep, and although she tried to focus on him her gaze slipped away. 'If you so much as go near my head, I will kill you.'
    'My knife's blunt anyway,' he said cheerfully as he removed the pot from the fire with a folded wad of his cloak and poured the brew into his drinking horn. While he blew on the tisane and swirled it round to cool, Gawin stamped out the fire and went to the horses.
    'Here, drink.' Oliver knelt beside Catrin.
    Her nose wrinkled at the smell carried in the steam. 'You bastard,' she whimpered, but nevertheless took the cup from him and raised it shakily to her lips, almost missing them. The taste was as foul as she had expected and made her gag, but somehow she forced it down.
    'I know it tastes vile, but I promise it will ease the pain,' he said with such optimism that she loathed him. 'Can you remount, or shall I pick you up?'
    Catrin swallowed. Her sight was now obliterated by ripples of swimming light and whether or not the tisane would remain in her stomach hung in a very delicate balance.
    'I can manage,' she said through her teeth. Forcing her will to overcome the agony, she accepted his hand to rise and staggered over to the grey. The stallion's flank seemed like the wall of a huge cliff. She watched Oliver gain the saddle in one easy motion, his foot scarcely bearing down on the stirrup iron. To one side, Gawin and Richard were already mounted and waiting.
    Catrin closed her eyes, put her foot where she thought Oliver's should be, and felt the muscular tug of his arm as he hauled her up. She landed across the grey's rump like a sack of cabbages and grasped Oliver's pilgrim belt for dear life as the horse snorted in alarm and bunched his hind quarters.
    Oliver soothed his mount with a murmur, then let out the reins to ease him forward. 'It isn't as far as it seems,' he said, by way of reassurance. 'We'll cross the river at the Sharpness ferry then ride on down to Bristol.'
    Catrin moaned softly. Any distance was too far just now.
     
    After crossing the Severn, it took another five hours at a gentle plod to reach the city of Bristol. Oliver could have covered the ground in half the time, but he schooled himself to patience and let the warmth of the emerging sun soak into his bones. He talked to Richard of the kin to whom he was being taken: Robert de Caen, Earl of Gloucester, and his wife, the Countess Mabile. He described their great household and the magnificent new keep that dominated the fortifications of Bristol castle. The boy said little, but now and again Oliver would see the lift of an eyebrow or a brightening half glance that told him he was not talking entirely to himself. Catrin went to sleep, leaning against his back. Occasionally she gave a soft little snore but did