A Healing Touch

Two young people follow their hearts in this captivating short story by Rosemary Gemmell.

Elena knew that she had to do all she could to help this mysterious stranger . . .

ELENA hummed as she swept the old lavender from the floor of her father’s house, before strewing it with freshly cut sprigs from the garden.

She breathed in the sweet scent, happy that summer had arrived in this year of 1389, her seventeenth year.

However, it brought with it new decisions.

She was content here in the small East Sussex village with Father, spinning and weaving, contributing to their comfortable life.

Now that the long wars with France had ended, there was hope that their young King, Richard II, would also maintain peace within the country.

After all, the dreadful Peasants’ Revolt of eight years before had involved so many of her countrymen, all rising up against the high poll tax which had been levied in part due to the Hundred Years’ War.

But Elena could not remain a maid for ever.

Since the death of her dear mother, she had kept house for her father.

He was proud that a local nobleman, Geoffrey Hutton, now showed interest in her, although Elena never felt quite at ease in Geoffrey’s presence.

A sudden noise gave her pause.

Elena looked up, seeking its source. Surely that was Father’s raised voice? And Hero’s excited barking?

Stopping only to tidy her gown and secure her hair, Elena hurried outdoors.

“Father? Is something amiss?”

She could not see the cause of the disturbance for her father’s back.

“Elena, come quickly, child. Someone is hurt,” her father called, struggling to help a man from his horse.

“Quiet, Hero,” Elena told the large black dog, curiosity and concern fighting for equal measure.

As Elena neared the horse and caught sight of the injured man, she noticed a dark patch on his tunic. Her stomach heaved.

She had time only to note the short, dark curling hair and a face streaked with sweat and dirt before her father was supporting the figure in his burly arms.

Elena softly quietened the horse, tethering him to the nearby tree.

“Bring him in here, Father.” She opened the door of the small room beside her own.

Gently, her father laid the man on the narrow strawcovered bed, and they surveyed him in silence.

“I’ll fetch water and cloths,” Elena said, as her father stooped down to untie the worn, dirty tunic that covered a bloodsoaked shirt.

Elena hurried about, preparing a bowl of warm water, tearing pieces of linen from an old cover.

She quietly re-entered the room and approached the bed, hesitating as she saw the light skin of the man’s bared chest.

As her father moved aside, all thoughts fled except that the man was in need of help.

Kneeling beside his still form, Elena gently began to bathe the area around the long gash, relieved her father had managed to stem the bleeding.

“Looks like a knife wound to me, girl.” Her father’s face was grim.

“I’m sorry you have to see this, but you’re so clever with the healing . . . and there’s the horse to tend to.”

“Never fear, Father. I will make him comfortable,” Elena reassured him, hiding a slight unease.

She had never attended such a wound before. Yet it was more than the sight of blood and risk of him dying.

She had never been this

close to a man, apart from her father.

Elena started as the injured man’s head stirred. She bent nearer his face to smooth the matted hair back from his brow.

Two dark brown eyes tried to focus on her as his mouth uttered a sound.

“Do not try to speak, sir. You have been badly hurt and should rest calmly.”

Elena gasped as a large hand caught her wrist and held it in a surprisingly firm grip.

“Must tell you.” The voice was weak as he began to sweat with the effort. “My tunic . . . important . . . must hide it.”

He closed his eyes as exhaustion held him still. Elena wondered if his injury had confused him as she resumed bathing him.

Then his eyes fluttered open once more.

“Must hide . . . they look for me. Sorry to endanger . . .” His voice faded and he suddenly became silent, as though the breath had seeped from his body.

Fear gripped Elena at his last words and his complete stillness. Her heart thudded against her gown. What did he mean? Who looked for him?

Praying he had not died, Elena laid her head against his chest, almost weeping in relief at the faint beat of life. He had passed out.

There would be time to worry at his words later. Right now, she had to keep him alive as best she could.

As she continued to bathe his wound, wiping the sweat and dirt from his face, she was surprised to find him younger than she had thought.

She had already observed his brown eyes and noticed his face was strong, well-shaped and lightly browned beneath the pallor of sickness.

She admonished herself for dwelling too much on the stranger’s looks, wondering if she could safely leave him to fetch her medicine, when her father returned.

“That’s the horse settled, Elena. How is the man?”

“He is sleeping, but he’s very weak. I’ll fetch some of my salve for his wound.”

She slipped out of the doorway and was hurrying away when she remembered the man’s urgent words.

She ran back and lifted his tunic from the floor.

“I shall try to mend the tear,” she told her father, before leaving again.

In the kitchen, Elena searched for the comfrey mixture that seemed best for healing wounds.

When she had it ready, she paused.

The man slept for now, and she succumbed to her natural curiosity.

What could be in the tunic? She searched on the inside and felt along the bottom seam. Yes, something rustled inside.

Finding a sharp needle, she unpicked the stitches to reveal a piece of parchment with a picture on it.

There appeared to be the figure of a king kneeling with three saint-like figures behind him.

The king was reaching out his hands. It meant nothing to her, but obviously had some importance to the man.

Glancing around, her gaze rested on an almost empty brown medicine jar.

After wiping it out, she rolled the parchment as narrow as possible, smiling when it fitted into the jar.

Collecting a few sprigs of lavender, she arranged them lightly on top, making sure the parchment was completely hidden. It should be safe there, until the stranger was well enough to leave.

Gathering up her medicine and a clean piece of linen, Elena hurried back to the injured man.

“He still sleeps, child,” her father whispered. “I’ll sit with him for a while, then you can take a turn.”

Elena nodded, laying aside the salve. She must get on with her spinning. Father would be ready to weave the next lot of cloth in a few days.

She had no sooner started the wheel when she heard the sound of horses and Hero’s barking.

Hurrying to the door, after making sure the entrance to the little room was closed, Elena went outside.

“Good day, Mistress,” the younger of two men hailed her as he rode up.

“We are seeking a man who may have come this way. Have you seen an injured foreigner in these parts?”

Elena swallowed her fear, trying to remain composed.

She instinctively guessed these men were enemies of the injured man.

Hoping God would forgive her lie, she smiled.

“Why, no, sir. The only man here is my father and he is working.”

She took a step back as they both dismounted.

The younger man seemed pleasant and still smiled, but the sullen-looking older man paid too much attention to the house for Elena’s peace of mind.

She was grateful Hero had positioned himself at her feet and stood watching the men.

Finally, the younger man nodded.

“Thank you, Mistress. We’re sorry to have taken you away from your work. Give our good wishes to your father.”

Elena briefly smiled at the young man and glanced at the other.

She had a strong suspicion neither of them believed her, and stood watching until they had mounted their horses and ridden off.

Leaving Hero outside, Elena ran to the room with the injured man and took a deep breath to steady herself before entering.

“I’ll take a turn now, Father. You must do your own work and I still have to apply my salve.”

“I heard horses. Elena, who came here?” he asked.

“Two men were looking for our friend. I told them we had not seen him.”

As her father passed her at the doorway, he pressed her shoulder.

“You did well, daughter. I trust he’ll be well enough to be on his way soon.”

The man was asleep still and Elena was reluctant to disturb him. She approached the bed and stared down at him.

Then she flinched as he suddenly opened his eyes and smiled.

Elena tentatively smiled back, before turning for the medicine.

“May I?” she asked, as she sat on the stool beside the bed and showed him the ointment.

Elena instinctively guessed these men were enemies

He nodded, his eyes never leaving her face as she gently smoothed the salve around his wound.

When Elena had finished his hand reached out and gently touched her arm.

“May I know your name, kind maid?” His voice had a deep, rich tone with the faintest accent.

“Elena,” she answered, unable to withdraw her eyes from his.

“A pretty name for a pretty maid. Forgive this trouble. I’ll soon be gone, for I must reach the abbey.

“My name is Stephen Beaumont. I come from the Cluny monastery in

France.”

He made to sit up then fell back, his eyes already closing again.

“You’ll not be going anywhere for a day or two, sir, else you’ll die in the trying.” Elena spoke firmly and was rewarded with a sleepy smile.

Over the following days and nights, Elena took turns to keep watch over Stephen, and in his periods of wakening they spoke a little.

She was beginning to feel a strong attachment to the young man and an awareness of his admiring glances as he grew stronger.

But he was merely a passing stranger in need of help and she

must not let her heart be stirred.

A few days later, Stephen caught her hand as she made to leave his side.

“Sweet Elena, I must go this night. I can delay no longer. Please pass me my tunic.”

Reluctantly, Elena did as he asked and was startled when he suddenly jumped up with a cry as he searched through his mended tunic.

“Where is it?” he asked urgently.

“Please, do not worry. You spoke of your fear for the item while ill. I hid it for you. I’ll fetch it now.”

“Elena . . .”

She stood while he approached and she held his gaze as he put his hands on her shoulders.

“Elena.” His voice had become a whisper, and then he gently pressed his lips against hers.

“No – I’m sorry, I can’t!” The cry was wrenched from him.

“Forgive me, Elena. I must see to my task.

“The parchment is part of a sketch for a Diptych I’m commissioned to complete for King Richard, to commemorate his victory in defeating the peasants’ uprising some years ago.

“His enemies amongst the Lords Appellant are determined it shall never be finished.

“Some of his allies were executed only last year, but the King is now taking full command of his country.”

He paused.

“During the long war, I was injured in France and offered my gift for illustration to the monks.

“My mother was English, and I go now to join the Cluny brothers of the abbey to complete the painting. As one of them.”

As the meaning of his words penetrated, Elena turned away.

Now he would be lost to her, as if he were already married. How could her heart be sore over someone she barely knew?

Retrieving the parchment, she returned it to him, determined to hide how deeply she cared.

The sky was a dark velvet with a sprinkling of stars when Stephen led his horse away from the house.

Elena walked with him until the beginning of the woods, speaking little, her heart saddened and heavy.

Stephen took her silently in his arms before releasing her with a brotherly kiss on her cheek.

“I never thought to find love on my journey to a new life in England. I shall never forget you, Elena.”

As he was about to mount his horse, they heard a twig snap and sensed danger was near.

Hurrying behind a tree, they waited, scarcely able to breathe.

Next minute, they caught sight of the long blade of a sword glinting in the moonlight.

Stephen acted so swiftly that the man was lying unconscious on the ground before Elena realised what had happened.

She recognised him as the older of the two men who had come looking.

Reaching into the bags tied to his horse, Stephen found some twine and soon had the man’s hands and feet bound, and slung across his horse.

Elena watched in amazement at his strength.

“Now I must make haste, and deliver this rogue to the sheriff before I bring any more danger to you. God watch over you.”

Elena watched as he rode away from her, and from her life.

Fear and sadness mingled with her tears.

He might never even reach his destination.

As the days passed into weeks, Elena went about her daily tasks with a heavy heart.

Gone was her bright singing, and she caught her father frowning at her as she spent all her energy in spinning, keeping house and tending the garden.

When she heard a horse, then a voice speaking to her father one day, she hurried out, foolishly hoping Stephen had returned.

But it was Geoffrey Hutton, whom she’d almost forgotten these past weeks.

“Good day, Mistress Elena.

“My apologies for neglecting your delightful company, but I was called to the King’s service.”

Geoffrey never missed an opportunity to tell Elena and her father how important he was, but such things held no meaning for her.

“All is well?” she asked, hoping he would not stay.

She knew her heart had never reacted to this nobleman in the way it had to the brown-eyed stranger.

“It is, now that the King’s enemies have been apprehended.

“It would seem they sought an important parchment, but were unsuccessful.”

His words made Elena’s heart jolt.

Surely he must mean the one she had hidden for Stephen Beaumont? Had he reached safety after all?

She scarcely heard what else he said, as she imagined Stephen now robed as one of the monks, for ever out of her reach.

“My daughter will be honoured to attend.”

Her father’s voice recalled Elena to her present company, although she had no notion of what she was to attend.

Geoffrey bowed over her hand in farewell.

“Until the mid-summer festival, then, Mistress Elena.”

Once he had ridden away, Elena turned to her father.

“I confess I was not listening.”

“I have little doubt where your thoughts had gone.

“But Geoffrey is a fine nobleman, and will provide security for your future.”

Had he truly asked for her hand?

“And if I do not love him, Father, the way you loved Mama?”

“You are young and will have time for love to grow.

“It is senseless to keep your heart for someone you can never have.”

Her father spoke kindly, but Elena knew Geoffrey could never claim all of her love.

Would that suffice, for both of them?

The days wore on, each one closer to the midsummer festival; each one marked by Elena with a heavy heart.

One morning, as she was again sweeping the floors of the cottage in the hope that physical activity would distract her troubled thoughts, Hero’s excited barking made her pause.

It was strange. They weren’t expecting guests.

Elena tidied her deep blue gown and ran her fingers through her hair, before stepping outside.

Her eyes widened in disbelief.

“Elena!”

The voice convinced her. Stephen took a hesitant step towards her, unsure of his welcome.

Elena stared. Her heart began to thud.

Casting any thoughts of Geoffrey and security aside, she ran and fell into Stephen’s arms.

She might have been content to stay there for ever, but her father’s cough broke them apart.

“I have been so worried for you, and thought never to see you again,” Elena said as Stephen gently released her.

“Elena, my sweet. Try as I might, I could not forget you even as I completed my task.

“I have told the brothers that I cannot join them. My heart has already been claimed.”

Elena gazed at him as she took in his words.

There would be time enough for questions.

For now, she laid her head against Stephen’s shoulder.

With his arm around her, holding her close, Elena was content.

She did not need riches, nor connections.

Stephen had returned to her, and Elena knew that together, they would face whatever the future held.

The End.