Protected by the Warrior. Barbara Phinney

shape with his finger. His lessons as a youth, and even this past winter, were paying off. Holding open the page with his left forefinger, he took up Clara’s right hand, closing all but the forefinger into a fist as he carefully showed her how to trace the letter. She would feel nothing on the parchment, but ’twas important to figure out how the letter was formed.

      Clara stiffened, but he continued the task. “The next letter is an E. Eeee. Then the next two letters are T.” He sounded out that letter, then put the word together so far. “N-e-t-t.”

      Relaxing, Clara allowed him to trace her finger along the four letters. ’Twas the easy part, for the cursive script flowed easily along. But Kenneth didn’t know his herbs and Clara wasn’t volunteering the word in English. “What word is this?” he asked her. “Neet? Net?”

      Clara shrugged. “Neet? I’m not sure ’tis an herb at all.”

      “Nettle!” Brindi popped up between the pair, squeezing them apart as she cried out the word.

      Glaring at her sister, Clara snapped, “Nettle has a different sound!” With a sharp glare, she shoved her sister’s head back down, pushing the girl to the floor.

      Kenneth snickered. “I think Brindi may be right. In English, the letter E has two sounds. And I know the last two letters have the ‘le’ sound.”

      On the floor, Brindi called out, “I told you so!”

      “You were right, Brindi,” Kenneth said, leaning over to speak to her. “The description says something about causing a rash, but the stingers dissolve when boiled.” He looked at Clara. “Is that true?”

      Clara opened her mouth, but her sister cut in before she could speak. “’Tis true!”

      The tiniest of frowns creased between Clara’s fine reddish eyebrows, and she swallowed. She looked slightly annoyed and almost hurt.

      “Do you want to stop?” he asked her quietly.

      “No!” she announced. “Brindi is young and smart, too smart sometimes, so she will learn quickly. But I need to learn this, and my sister is not going to better me.”

      “I don’t want to stop, either!” Brindi called out, her back leaning against the bench as she sat on the floor below them.

      Clara twisted about and shot her sister another fast glare. Kenneth felt the smile that hovered on his face melt away. Was Clara jealous of Brindi?

      “I want you to show me the next letters,” Clara announced.

      Clearing his throat, Kenneth began on the next word, slowly pronouncing each letter. As they reached the last letter, having tried various forms of pronunciation, both he and Clara turned to peer down at Brindi, who looked up with curiosity.

      “Are you going to guess this word, too?” he asked her.

      Brindi looked over at her sister. Slowly, a soft, indulgent smile spread over Clara’s face and she nodded. “Go on. Say the word.”

      “Tisane?” The little girl’s eyes were wide with caution.

      Clara nodded. “Aye, that’s it.”

      Kenneth asked, “’Tis a tea, ’tisn’t it?”

      “Aye, but this word indicates you are to pound the herbs first. We also use this preparation for barley water. ’Tis good for babes, to prepare them for food.”

      She smiled at him, any insecurity she had from Brindi shouting out the words now gone. Brindi popped back up between them. “Please let me read, too, Clara. I won’t be rude again, I promise.”

      Clara shifted away from Kenneth. “I doubt that promise, but you may listen in.”

      Brindi scrambled up between him and Clara, her attention focused on the worn book before them. She immediately asked which words they had pronounced.

      Kenneth pointed to the two, and as the girl traced each scripted letter with great exaggeration, he looked across the top of her head to Clara.

      She met his gaze, her smile hesitant.

      “You will learn all of this, Clara. I promise.”

      She laughed. “Aah, another empty promise?” Abruptly, she sighed. “I know, but I was only thinking of how this must be what a real family is like in the evenings.”

      Kenneth felt his heart chill. How different her childhood must have been. Her father missing at sea, her mother unable to feed her children, shipping them off to other relatives, not being a mother at all. No wonder both sisters seemed to vie for his attention. His upbringing was far different. A strong family unit, separated only when his oldest sister decided she wanted to play that stringed instrument and drove her siblings from the house. He’d thought for many years that all childhoods were like his.

      “Are we going to continue the lesson?” Clara cut into his thoughts.

      The lesson had been meant to earn her trust so she would reveal Rowena’s location. That single purpose suddenly soured in his stomach as guilt flooded him.

      But ’twasn’t the only reason, he told himself. He’d hoped to find a mention of the poison used on Lord Adrien and Lady Ediva. Still, what kind of honorable Christian man was he, that he would use this lesson time for his own purposes? He should just take this book and burn it, now, and never mention it to anyone in the keep.

      Then what would he use to teach Clara? He didn’t want to stop this lesson. Seeing Clara move from jealousy to love for her sister and wistfully describe her thoughts was as potent as any dose of medicine she could mix up. It warmed him and settled something restless deep within him.

      But ’twas all a ruse, and suddenly, he hated it. He stood. “Nay, it’s far too late, and I am hungry, as I am sure Brindi is, also.”

      “Aye!” Brindi agreed. “Time for our sup!”

      Kenneth scooped up the book and set it on the mantel. When he turned back, Clara set a bowl of pottage down in front of him. Then she did the same for Brindi. After serving herself, they all bowed their heads and gave thanks. The grace was barely finished when Brindi dived into her meal with the gusto of youth.

      “Is there something wrong?”

      Kenneth looked blankly at Clara, realizing he’d been mulling over the past again. “Last year was a dark and dismal time for the keep. This book is a reminder of that. I’d rather we move on and forget it.”

      Then he lifted up his spoon to eat. As he swallowed his first delicious mouthful, a short scraping noise echoed in the quiet hut.

      Kenneth’s head snapped to his left, at the wall a few feet away, waiting for the odd sound to repeat.

      The scratching began again.

      From the corner of his eye, he noted Brindi, her small, carved horn spoon hovering below her mouth and her eyes as big as her bowl. Beside him, Clara ate as if the noise didn’t exist. But her knuckles were white as she gripped her spoon.

      He steadied his gaze on Brindi, whose look of horror grew with each passing heartbeat. Again, he looked to Clara. Her jaw was tight.

      All three knew exactly who was outside.