Earning the Love of a Princess-Chapter 151: Trying to Hold On

11 May, 1360. Eberelle County, Northern Islia

William growled low in pain as the needle and thread punched into his flesh again and again.

The young cleric stitching him was sweating with nerves. "My humblest apologies for causing you pain, Your Grace."

"Don’t apologise, just finish what needs to be done as quickly as possible." William gritted out through clenched teeth. He took another gulp from the bottle of rough, strong liquor in his hand. The drink tasted awful and burned as it slid down his throat, but was an effective enough way to dull pain.

The anxious cleric quickly nodded and continued stitching the gaping wound in William’s left shoulder.

There had been a short but vicious clash with a group of Moraigthian soldiers that morning. The enemy men had snuck towards the outskirts of the Islian camp in the hours before dawn, with the aim of setting fire to the Islian food and fodder supplies. The Moraigthians had managed to kill the soldiers on night patrol with long ranging arrows before they could properly raise the alarm in the camp.

The only way William and others had discovered what had happened in time was that by some miracle, a young squire belonging to a patrol knight had managed to run towards the main tents, despite having had his throat slashed open. The poor lad hadn’t been able to utter a single word, but had simply clawed at Leo’s tent in anguish before collapsing. Leo had burst out of his tent and raised the alarm.

When William heard Leo and rushed out of his own tent, it had been too late to do anything for the squire. The lad had tried desperately to point in the invaders’ direction as he writhed and gurgled on the dusty ground, eventually drowning in his own blood.

Seeing the squire - who couldn’t have been more than fourteen summers old - choke and die in the dirt so miserably, had filled William with a suffocating black rage. Between his men and Leo’s, they’d chased down every single one of the Moraigthian beasts and challenged them with their swords.

William had derived at least some grim satisfaction from cutting down several men. However, in the scramble to attack quickly, the Islian men were only in partial armour at best. Some of the Moraigthian soldiers must have known about William having injured his shoulder in battle a few weeks ago, because the last man he faced, deliberately targeted that part of his body.

William had roared in agony when he’d felt his opponent’s sword pierce the shoulder wound that had almost healed, before managing to draw his blade across the enemy’s throat. Clutching his streaming wound, William had then stumbled back to the centre of the Islian camp, feeling himself growing weak from blood loss.

Luckily, two of his men had rushed him to the infirmary tent before he’d passed out. The clerics had been able to pack the wound with linen soaked in a herb poultice to stop the profuse bleeding. Sitting still for the stitching of the wound was extremely unpleasant but he still had all the feeling in his left arm, which William took as a good sign.

Leo and a few of his knights stepped into the infirmary tent at that moment to survey the wounded. As soon as he saw William, Leo strode over.

"Will you keep your arm?" the ever direct Leo asked bluntly.

"It would appear so." William gave his eldest cousin a tight smile and wriggled the fingers of his left hand. "Did you learn anything from the soldier I saw you dragging behind your tent?"

"Oh yes, the little son of a bitch sang like a songbird when I let him enjoy the kiss of my blade." Leo grinned like a predator.

He always did enjoy torturing the enemy, William thought idly. Out loud, he asked Leo, "What did he tell you, then?"

"That Kenneth is planning to move his forces north by approximately three miles before week’s end."

William furrowed his brow. "Is that so? What is the significance of the three miles?"

Leo smiled coldly again. The long, jagged cut on his cheek was healing but it lent him a dangerous air. "Let’s find out. I’m heading to Father’s tent now to inform him and review his maps. If you’re well enough, why don’t you join me?"

William looked at the cleric at his side, who nodded to confirm he’d finished with the stitches. Standing up, he followed Leo out of the tent and into the early morning sunlight.

William knew he was a sight to behold as he walked through the camp, the entire left side of his tunic drenched in drying blood. He ignored the stares and stepped into King Edward’s tent, where the king was already dressed in his armour, apart from his helmet.

"For fuck’s sake, lad. What happened to you?" Edward raised his eyebrows at his nephew’s appearance.

William gave him the most graceful bow he could manage with an injured shoulder. "And a very good morning to you, Sire. I assume you’ve been briefed on the dawn raid?"

"Aye." Edward pressed his lips into a thin line for a moment. "Are the bastards all dead?"

"Every single one of them." Leo confirmed. "One of them confessed the Moraigthian dogs will shortly be moving three miles due north." He strode to a rough hewn wooden table in the middle of the tent and started unrolling a large map.

The three men studied the map to gain a better understanding of King Kenneth’s next move.

King Edward stroked his scraggly beard, which was noticeably more grey than even at the start of the year. "I wonder how long until Kenneth discovers his little raid this morning was a failure."

"Not long at all, I should think." Leo replied with brisk cheer. "After I killed the man who spilled the information on his army’s movements, I tied his naked body onto the saddle of one of the Moraigthian horses and sent the beast back. It should know how to find its way back to their camp." Leo winked.

King Edward gave a bark of laughter. William managed to crack a smile.

- - -

Camilla was sitting quietly in Queen Celia’s presence chamber that afternoon, trying not to wriggle with boredom and discomfort. Her lower back had been aching a little since she’d woken up at dawn, and it didn’t seem to be getting any better.

A servant offered her a goblet of sweet wine but Camilla shook her head, reluctantly nibbling on fruit instead. Despite Tession’s gentle urging for her to try and eat more, she was still struggling terribly with nausea. All she wanted to do was crawl back into her bed.

Camilla had woken up feeling particularly low that morning. She missed feeling like herself instead of always being ill and exhausted, she missed her old vigour and cheerfulness. Most of all, she missed William so much, she feared she’d never stop crying if she gave in to her own thoughts.

The room was suddenly quiet. Camilla looked up from her hands folded in her lap and saw that everyone was staring at her expectantly. She’d obviously missed part of the conversation.

Princess Eleanor stared at her and clicked her tongue in annoyance. "We’re seeking your views on what you think should be done regarding the priory of St Andrew’s. Surely you’re aware of the situation?"

Camilla had no idea what she was talking about and didn’t care either. The pain in her back had changed from a dull, steady ache to a sharp pinching sensation. She stood up to excuse herself from the group when suddenly, she felt warm liquid starting to spill gently down her legs.

Puzzled, Camilla looked down and to her utter shock, saw streaks of bright red blood running down the inside of her ankles and starting to stain the hem of her gown. Fear almost stopped her heart.

Camilla looked up in a haze of panic, looking for someone to help her, but it was as if every drop of blood in her body had suddenly rushed to her feet. Lightheaded, she tried to take a step forward but ended up crumpling to the floor.

A voice screamed out. Camilla wondered if it had been her or someone else. She felt hands on her, pressing on her forehead. Queen Celia’s voice rang out and issued what sounded like orders, though Camilla struggled to make out the exact words.

Princess Blanche’s white, concerned face suddenly swam into her field of vision. Camilla tried to open her mouth to tell her friend that she was scared, that she was having a baby and she was so scared.

But no sound came out from her lips. Everyone else’s voices were also becoming faint, as if she was hearing them from very far away.

Then, a wave of black began to drag her under. Camilla closed her eyes and let it consume her.