In the Wars of the Roses: A Story for the YoungEverett-Green, Evelyn
History
In the Wars of the Roses: A Story for the Young
Everett-Green, Evelyn
Great Britain -- History -- Wars of the Roses, 1455-1485 -- Juvenile fiction
"Oh no, I am no angel, but only the daughter of the Chief; and I
want to help you, because I have heard of you before, and I cannot
bear that they should kill you by inches, as I know they will do if
you stay here. See, they are all fast asleep now, and there is no
chance of my father's return tonight. I have brought you your
clothes, and Madge has given me some rag steeped in a concoction of
herbs of her own making, which will wonderfully ease your wounds if
you will let me lay it on them. Old Madge is a wonderful leech, and
she cannot bear their cruel doings any more than I can, and she
said you were a brave lad, and she made you some soup, which I will
fetch for you to hearten you up for your journey. For you must get
away from here before morning, or nothing can save you from a
terrible fate.
"See now, do not your poor shoulders feel better for this dressing?
If you can put your clothes on whilst I am gone, I will bring you
something that will go far to help you over your ride tonight."
It was a great effort to Paul to collect his wandering faculties,
and get his lacerated and trembling limbs to obey his will; but he
was nerved to his utmost efforts by the dread of what might befall
him if he could not avail himself of this strange chance of escape.
By the time the fair-faced girl had returned with a steaming basin
in her hands, he had contrived to struggle into his garments, and
though quivering in every fibre of his being, was more himself
again, and able to understand better the rapid stream of words
poured out by the eager maiden.
"Drink this," she said, giving him the basin. "It is very good. It
has all kinds of ingredients in it that will ease your pain and
give you strength and courage; but that you have without. Oh, I
think you are the bravest lad I ever knew. But listen, for I am
going to tell you a strange story. I told you that I was the,
daughter of the robber chief, did I not? Well, so I am; and my
father loves me the more, I think, that he never loved any other
being save my mother, and she died in this very cave when I was
born. He has always loved me and given me my own way; but these
last weeks a change seems to have come over him, and he talks of
giving me in wedlock to that terrible man T hate worse than them
all--the one they call Devil's Own. He has never spoken a soft word
to me all these years; but the past three weeks he has tried to woo
me in a fashion that curdles the very blood in my veins. I would
not wed him were I heart whole as a babe; and I am not that, for my
hand and heart are pledged to another, whose wife I will surely
be."
The girl's eyes flashed, and it was plain that the spirit of the
sire had descended to her. Paul was slowly swallowing the contents
of the basin, and feeling wonderfully invigorated thereby; indeed,
he was sufficiently restored to feel a qualm of surprise at being
thus intrusted with the history of this young girl, and she seemed
to divine the reason of his inquiring look.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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