A/N: Whew. A return to writing after long, tumultuous months… Enjoy! I hope.
Chapter 4: The Other Side
"I'm fine, it's just a scratch," protested the young Lady Cousland as the serf removed bottles of liquid and swaths of bandages from the satchel at his side.
The red-headed boy looked her over, noting her displeasure in her slightly pink face (it was a lovely one too) and nodded, before handing her a small piece of cloth dampened with the ointment that stopped profuse bleeding and prevented infection— knowing that her temper could exhibit itself exactly like Teryna Cousland's in an instant.
Roderick watched the young Lady Cousland, and there was a pause as she considered, her delicate nose wrinkling slightly. The smell of the ointment certainly was most strong-smelling, but it was a preventive that all the other Knights swore by, and they used such copious amounts that it sometimes was a badge of honour to not smell of it after a practice duel.
She assented with a dignified nod, raising her hand quickly and a little nervously. All of the Couslands were brave fighters, and so was she, despite her delicately feminine exterior. Roderick found her very…no. It was not proper to think of this, for she was beyond his station. He was a serf, nothing more.
For now. A voice at the back of his head spoke, very much out of turn.
Roderick found his face heating up, and tried to focus as he treated his lady's wound.
The young lady gritted her teeth as the salve touched her raw wound, suppressing a wince—before letting out a sharp hiss.
"Ow!"
This made the young Howe pounce on Roderick, his concern manifesting in a fierce display. The young nobleman shoved him hard, eager to see the damage he had supposedly wrought.
What did you give her? He rounded on Roderick, before getting a whiff of the ointment's distinctive smell. " Myrrh and mugwort?" the man pondered aloud, before grinning widely. It was apparent that the nobleman knew the formula too.
Though he had yet come to his conclusions about the Howe, Rod-dy felt a bit depressed when he realised that this Nathaniel was not just a fop. Perhaps it was a stupid wish on his part, to hope that the young lady would have no suitable suitors.
Both of them glanced back at the young lady Cousland, who was still staring ruefully at her smarting palm, blissfully unaware of their almost-violent exchange. Her nose was still wrinkled, and she eyed the cloth with keen suspicion that was quite endearing to Rod-dy, for she seemed a lot less… daunting. But there was no time to dream idly, and he produced yet another salve, and dabbed some of it onto the wound, before covering it with a tight bandage of linen.
"This one smells better, at least," muttered Elissa Cousland, venturing a sniff of her stinging hand.
"It's a mixture of yarrow and mint, milady," replied Rod-dy's rival cheerfully before the red-head could speak the same. The serf found himself silenced, almost petulantly, annoyed by the young Howe's presence.
"Interesting…" her voice trailed off into an awed silence, and she began picking unconsciously at the little bow that Rod-dy had tied to fasten the linen strips. Now Roderick had heard that the young lady Cousland had a curious nature, but he was quite certain that she would not want to see the state that her hand was in, and would be for the next few hours. It would be quite swollen and yellow, having been irritated by the mugwort-vinegar concoction.
He grasped her hands as gently as he could, shaking his head in the negative sense, but before he could get the words out, they all heard a throat clearing behind them—a most ominous sound.
xOxOx
While certain that the Couslands were a reasonable people, Nathaniel had not expected the dark shadow that had loomed over them to belong to one Fergus Cousland. He looked a little pale in the sunlight, but the squint he had in his brows struck quite the look of brooding fury, very much different from his usual easy-going nature.
"You're finally awake," piped the hulking figure's sister. This was a statement that appeared to chastise her elder brother, who grew more sheepish by the moment— reminded of his eagerness to go to bed the previous evening.
She struggled unsteadily to her feet, half-dragging the serf too, who still had a hold on her injured hand. Nathaniel was not pleased by this, but was gratified to see that the red-headed boy looked quite disturbed by the sudden intrusion. He bent back down to gather his things, and moved to slip away, before being stopped by the elder Cousland child.
"Hold a moment," he called, clapping a hand down on the fleeing figure. The ginger-haired young man turned, his eyes meeting the Cousland's without a flinch. Nathaniel saw this and made a mental note—there was a hidden strength in the serf's demeanour, one that would make him a tough rival to beat. Even Fergus had recognised the spirit that lay behind those brown eyes.
Elissa though, still seemed preoccupied with her bandaged hand.
"Thank you, for helping my sister. She can be quite… the handful." Fergus said at length, before releasing the other young man.
The serf's reply, though somewhat brusque, was not without respect. He uttered them with a slight nod—Nathaniel saw all of this from where he was—it was certainly a stiff exchange of words. "It is only my duty."
The two turned from the retreating figure, hearing a low chuckle from the girl behind them.
"A 'handful'? Really? I'm appalled, Fergus." Nathaniel muttered, and it took all of them only seconds before bursting into collective laughter.
"Puns are the highest form of literature," protested Fergus weakly.
"If you say so. I think Roderick was put off by your poor attempts at conversation," called his sister as she looked in the direction of where the serf had gone. Nathaniel watched her with some alarm.
"I knew I should have said something about your butterfingers instead," came the huffy reply.
P.S.: I… hope that I get back into writing regularly soon. *nods fervently*