Everything is a Choice

Chapter 26

Previously...

"God's hairy bollocks, woman. Touch me there again and you're dead." Matilda emerges from behind the curtain, face and hair wet.

"How is Guy?" I ask, attempting to keep a straight face. "Do you know what's wrong with him?"

"Nothing a disembowelling won't fix," Matilda grumbles, wiping her face with her hand.

"I'm sure you deserved it," I say.

Matilda nods, conceding the point, says, "As far as I can tell, he's caught a chill that has gone to his chest. As to the stomach cramps: he's eaten some sort of berry, no idea what; his plant identification is no better than his dress sense. I've given him a mix of wormwood, mint and balm. The symptoms should ease in a day or two. Meanwhile, be careful not to drink or eat from the same vessels as him. Oh, and I'd burn those leathers if I were you. I've chucked them over the back, on the deer track that leads to your privy."

"How do you know that's where it leads?"

"I've got a nose, Robin, though I wished to God I didn't when I was in with Mr Shitty Breeches."

"Thank you," I say. "For coming, for helping him. And for the love of God please don't go calling him that when next you see him or wet under-wrappings will be the least of your worries."

"You're the one who should worry, love. No man changes overnight. Are you certain you want to risk having him around? I could easily slip something into the remedy I made up for him."

"Matilda, are you suggesting..."

She nods, eyes gleaming, a wicked grin on her face. "Just a drop or two; that's all it would take. Quick and painless. I promise he won't feel a thing. Be just like going to sleep."

"No."

"But-"

"No!"

Matilda shrugs. "Suit yourself. If you change your mind, you know where I am. Now," she says, sniffing appreciatively, "I believe Much said something about supper."

Chapter 26

Matilda flicks tangled strands of dripping hair over her shoulders, picks up her heavy skirts and strides towards our supper table; hewn tree stumps and a couple of fallen trunks in this case.

I remain where I am, dithering about whether to risk speaking to Guy with the gang close by, wondering if I, too, might get water, or worse, dashed in my face once I've spoken what's on my mind.

Heart thumping wildly, mouth chalk-dry, I flap the curtain aside.

"Robin," Matilda calls.

I pause, one booted foot across the threshold of our sleeping area.

"Come and eat, lad." She waves a grease-dripping piece of meat at me. "This leg's got more meat on it than you have and that's after I've stripped it to the bone."

"I was going to see if Guy wants anything to eat," I say.

"I wouldn't be feeding him just yet," Matilda says. "Not if you're wanting to get a decent night's sleep." She pats the space next to her. "Come on over here before Much scoffs the lot."

I doubt I'll be able to eat with my stomach tied in knots as it is, but Matilda has that determined look on her face that I know very well. Even if I do manage to gain a quiet word with Guy, I'll probably find her hunkering down beside me trying to shove a spoon into my mouth.