The Healer

By Joelle

Rochelle Garrison loves her brother Leroy and will do anything to try to save him from the certain death, which is to be his fate. Rochelle and Leroy, along with their family, are followers of Malian, a vocal activist who declares God does not exist and who enlists supporters to fund his campaign.
Leroy will not denounce his support of Malian and is sentenced to hang then burn at the stake. However a new master has been appointed to the Woodbridge Estate and Rochelle is offered a proposition which will see her brother die a quick death, rather than the torture that awaits him ...if... she marries Logan Darnell, a man chosen for her by the master. For Rochelle there is no decision, she will marry. Set in Medieval England at the time of Henry VI. This book is one you will not be able to put down!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joelle
• Release date: Mar 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310678646

Joelle

My name is Annie though I write under my middle name Joelle. I was born in England and immigrated to Australia before I turned two. My English blood has remained in that I have a love for English history and have read extensively about it. So it is no surprise that I also write putting my characters in a medieval setting.I have been a Christian most of my life and I am happily married to a Pastor so those passions all come together in my writing.I love a happy ending and see my books as light entertainment which I hope also inspires us to smile, especially with each other.

Book preview

The Healer

By Joelle

First published in print 2011 by

www.zacchaeus.com.au

The Healer

Copyright 2011 Joelle

Cover Image: dan/Free DigitalPhotos.net

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the Australian Copyright Act 1968 (for example, a fair dealing for the purposes of study, research, criticism or review), no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, communicated or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission. This book is also available in print. All inquires should be made to Zacchaeus Publishing www.zacchaeus.com.au.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

Dedicated to Patricia Buddee, who weathered so many drafts.

Scripture

Fools, because of their transgression,

And because of their iniquities, were afflicted.

Their soul abhorred all manner of food,

And they drew near to the gates of death.

Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble,

And He saved them out of their distresses.

He sent His word and healed them,

And delivered them from their destructions.

Oh, that men would give thanks

to the Lord for His goodness,

And for His wonderful works to the children of men!

Let them sacrifice the sacrifices of thanksgiving,

And declare His works with rejoicing.

Psalm 107: 17-22 NKJV

Contents

The Healer

Dedication

Scripture

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Epilogue

About the author

CHAPTER 1

WOODBRIDGE, ENGLAND, 1416

Following the guard up the crude corridor, the moans and clashing of chains greeted Rochelle Garrison as she clutched her satchel of bread, cheese and healing herbs to her chest.

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she questioned why her brother was locked in the castle cells. Unlike Rochelle, Leroy had accepted fate with a calm that stood her in awe and in screaming frustration. He was so much stronger than she.

Rochelle waited, instinctively shivering as the guard unlocked the cell and waved her forward. With each visit she hoped the shock would ease but it did not. Seeing her brother chained to a wall brought with it a fresh wave of anguish. Dropping to her knees beside him, she laid her palm against his bearded cheek.

Brother?

I am awake, Leroy’s voice rasped as he opened his eyes and moved to sit straighter. How is Louise?

It was always his first question. She is well.

He nodded. Have you heard anything further of Malian?

Rochelle shook her head. Nay, he remains in hiding still.

Leroy let out a breath of relief and relaxed back as his sister tended his stiff, sore muscles with a liniment.

I have brought you bread and cheese. ‘Tis the best I could do. Rochelle worked her fingers gently along her brother’s wasting calves. For months she administered the ritual, hoping to give him comfort as he awaited his fate and she would continue to do so for however long his stay held. His skin was cold and clammy to touch and coarsely irritated with the constant friction against the stone. As she worked along the tightened sinews she felt him begin to relax.

I have a companion, he said surprising her.

Rochelle lifted her head sharply and followed the direction of her brother’s gaze.

Who is he? she asked staring at the huge bulk of a man lying chained on the opposite wall. He lay still; his breathing was labored and shallow. She turned her head in deference.

I know not but I think he is ailing, Leroy responded, taking the cheese and bread Rochelle handed him. The chains clashed and echoed off the stone walls as his hands lifted the food to his mouth.

Rochelle picked up her skirts and walked over to the man. Bending slightly, she placed the back of her fingers against his forehead; he was warm. I shall rub some liniment on his chest. It should help to ward off fever. I see no wounds that need tending.

Leroy smiled. His sister was always attentive to the needs of others. He watched as she worked upon his new companion.

I have news to tell you Leroy, she said once she noted he had finished eating. Her hands continued to move deftly over the unconscious man.

News, what news? he asked wiping his mouth across his forearm.

The new master of Woodbridge has arrived. ‘Tis rumored he brought with him a contingency of men and his betrothed. He is known to be swift in metering justice, she said capping the liniment jar and moving back to her brother.

I don’t believe it. Chilton is bare cold in his grave and already he is replaced. He shook his head. An ardent believer nay doubt, at the haste in which he is here.

There is not much being said, Rochelle stated. I hear he does attend church services though, and now he is here I cannot help but fear.

My fate is assured Rochelle. I stood against the state on matters of God. ‘Tis nay ending but death.

Nay! Rochelle cried. There is always hope.

Leroy did not disagree with her words but held no such hope. He had known the risks of following Malian. He could not condone the beliefs of anyone that declared God existed, not when he knew the truth. He was only one man and he knew he made little impact with his views, though he was also part of a group who stood against belief in God and what the church taught and he hoped the group would prevail. He knew what was required of him for the cause and would stand despite the fear that woke him in a cold sweat night after night and the images of his fiery demise. The breath of death blew across his crawling skin in unexpected moments while he lay chained, vulnerable and alone. He was afraid, terrified of what lay ahead.

The cell door swung open, the guard impatiently waited; his stout callused hands bunched into fists resting upon his wide girth. The curt nod of his head indicated with a no-nonsense manner that Rochelle’s visit was concluded. She did not argue; she knew the daily visits granted to her were a rare privilege. Placing a hand on her brother’s chest she pressed a kiss upon his forehead. I will return tomorrow.

Aye and bring extra rations for our friend.

Of course, Rochelle returned, attempting to smile. It was like leaving part of her, when she left Leroy in such squalid conditions. It was a situation she could barely stand.

Tomorrow . . .

The door slammed on Leroy’s words. Rochelle closed her eyes waiting as the guard thrust the keys in the locks, twisting each one until it was secure before escorting her out. Once in the yard she breathed deeply. The setting sun filtered through the high foliage of trees that surrounded the outer walls of the bailey. The gentle breeze lifted and floated dying leaves in swirls to the ground. Looking back one last time, she then headed for Louise and home.

How is he? Louise’s anxious face met Rochelle as she placed her satchel on the wooden table, removing the jars and discarding them to the rough-hewn chest that held her ointments.

He is well, Rochelle answered. She reached for her apron from the hook beside the hearth and tied it nimbly around her waist. The aroma of boiled vegetables and mutton filled the air as the two women set about their chores. Neither spoke as they became lost in their own thoughts and dreams. Louise had been unable to bring herself to visit Leroy and there was an unspoken rule that neither discussed him; it brought about a change in conversation.

Durand brought the mutton earlier, Louise said breaking the long silence. She filled a bowl with steaming pottage and sliced two thick portions of rye bread. Come and eat.

Rochelle sat heavily and began to laden her bread. I am sorry I missed him. How is Garnet?

Her voice was laced with tenderness. Durand and Garnet were like parents to Rochelle, Leroy and Louise. Rochelle thought that it was a miracle that Garnet, who was unable to bear her own children, took the three of them under her wing. She had mothered them unconditionally and a special bond had grown between them.

Garnet is well; she has more herbs for you. Durand said he would bring them tomorrow. He also bought news of Malian; he is in Wales . . . safe.

Rochelle’s knife clattered on the table with the mention of Malian. I will enjoy taking that news to Leroy. She beamed then paused, knowing the subject was distressing for Louise. Safe, ‘tis good news indeed. There is nay doubt in my mind. We shall triumph. People will one day know that God is a tool in the king’s hand to control the people.

Maybe one day, Louise agreed with only slight enthusiasm.

Was there any more news?

Nay ‘tis all Durand said.

’Tis enough, the land is already filled with the falsehood of religion, if Malian can escape it will aid the cause.

The sound of snapping twigs halted the conversation as both held their breath and turned to the door as it flew open. A tall young man stood; his handsome features grinning as his shoulder length, mid-brown hair waved around his face in disarray. It matched his dirt stained breeches and loose shirt.

Evening. I hope I am in time for some of that pottage I could smell half a mile up the road.

Rochelle smiled warmly. Kingsley, come in.

Kingsley’s eyes fastened on Rochelle. ’Tis hard to believe but I fear you look more beautiful every day.

Louise laughed. Come and sit down Kingsley, before you make a fool of yourself further.

Ah never a fool for love Louise. Kingsley laughed with her, taking a seat along the bench.

Aye, mayhap you are right, Louise agreed slicing more bread.

Rochelle’s smile deepened. What brings you here this eve?

Kingsley thanked Louise for the food and turned his attention to Rochelle. You have heard there is a new master at Woodbridge?

Aye, ‘tis said he brought a rout of men with him, Rochelle replied. Such a grand arrival could hardly go unnoticed.

Kingsley chewed a mouthful and swallowed. ‘Tis the same as I have heard; the men are warriors back from France and high on victory. There is doubt they will stay here long.

France is lost then? Louise asked.

Kingsley nodded. If the king continues. Hesitating a moment he cast a worried glance at Rochelle, before continuing. I also heard the new master plans to rid Woodbridge cells of its occupants.

Louise snorted. ’Tis a well known fact Chilton collected prisoners as a blacksmith does iron. Does he plan to release them then?

Rochelle visually paled. Nay Louise.

Kingsley placed his knife down and moved to Rochelle’s side wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pressing her head against his chest. I am here for you Rochelle, he whispered.

He felt strong and safe as she nestled into his warmth. Her palm rested against his chest feeling the strong rhythmic beat of his heart through his cotton shirt. She knew that she and Kingsley would wed one day, as Louise and Leroy but the hand of Chilton had sliced through their plans like a hot knife through lard, ripping Leroy from their midst.

Enough, she stated, standing abruptly. I fear I will surely go mad with all this talk of the new master. Smiling she held out her hand to Kingsley. Come walk with me, ‘tis a night to enjoy.

Kingsley stood taking hold of her outstretched hand and bringing it to his lips, he smiled. It would be my pleasure.

You are awake at last, Leroy said as he rolled. He winced as his muscles objected to the slightest movements.

Logan grunted, blinking his eyes. His brain was slow to focus on the severe surroundings. He attempted to push himself away from the cold dank stones that pressed against his back, but found himself chained. He strained against them then turned to the man who had spoken.

How long have I been here?

Not long, they brought you in unconscious yesterday.

Leroy watched as the man continued to pull at the chains that bound him hand and foot, smiling sadly. He remembered his own initial reaction to the humiliation.

When Logan finally lay quiet, Leroy chanced a conversation. This has been my home for the last few months, the name is Leroy Garrison.

Logan was in no mind or mood to converse. His body ached, his eyes stung with the equivalent of a thousand tiny needles spearing them and his throat felt on fire but any man that had endured such squalor deserved something. Logan Darnell, he croaked then attempted to wet his dry lips with his tongue.

Logan ‘tis not an English name? Leroy asked, relieved to have the boredom of endless empty hours broken.

Nay, my mother was Scottish, my father English.

Leroy nodded. My mother was French; she was but an infant when her parents left France for England. My father was also English, a netter by trade. He was known to have been one of the best; nay fish could break one of his nets, or so was said. I remember little of him.

Do they feed us? Logan asked, the mention of fish heightening the awareness of his hunger.

Aye once a day and a heap of slop ‘tis. Though my sister comes daily and brings food. I asked her yesterday to bring extra for you.

Logan was grateful. Your sister is loyal then?

Aye none more so.

The clanging against the door was a sound from heaven to Leroy. The locks turned and the door was thrown open, casting a beam of light across the cell floor. Rochelle is here.

Rochelle?

My sister.

At his statement, the flaxen haired, young woman entered the cell and knelt beside her brother, depositing her satchel on the floor as she embraced him. You are well today?

I am. How is Louise?

Missing you but she is well.

Leroy smiled sadly then sought a less distressing subject. What have you brought, the smell is driving me near insane?

Rochelle smiled. Mutton pottage. Durand brought us the mutton yesterday. It has cooled considerably since I left home. Best you eat before I rub you. She handed him the food. You have not asked of Malian?

Leroy cleared his throat. Did you bring extra?

Rochelle instantly swung around and met the dark staring eyes of the stranger.

At the risk of sounding bold, the food smells good, Logan said, his eyebrows rising as she continued to stare. Leroy gave Rochelle a gentle shove.

Of course . . . I . . . I am sorry, she stammered rising to her feet. Keeping her eyes carefully averted, she handed him the second container.

Thank you. He smiled gratefully.

Rochelle immediately returned to her brother and took out the liniment. He is safe, she whispered rubbing his shoulders and back, wrinkling her nose as dirt and grit chafed between them.

Leroy nodded. He did not wish for Logan to overhear. He had no fear for himself but for Rochelle. It was a dangerous game spreading the word of Malian and those that did were hunted as criminals. He was not certain her gender was enough to provide her with safety.

Have you heard anything further of the new master?

I have, she said moving down to his legs. He returned from France with the king who was said to have been pleased with him. He gave him Woodbridge for reward after hearing of Chilton’s death and his lack of heirs.

Mayhap I should have fought in France, Leroy said wryly.

Nay, they would have slain you by mistake smelling the French blood in your veins. Rochelle laughed.

Leroy grinned at the musical sound. Against the opposite wall Logan smiled also. It was strange how the sound of laughter seemed contagious even when he himself felt hostile.

As expected, the door swung open, admitting the guard. He waited as Rochelle stood and collected her belongings.

Thank you for the pottage, Logan offered inadequately, unable with his stint chains to hand her back the empty container.

Rochelle nodded. I will bring you more tomorrow, though I cannot promise what it will be.

I am grateful.

Logan watched as she kissed her brother goodbye. The door slammed leaving them in darkness. Closing his eyes he could still smell the faint lingering of lavender. He inhaled deeply.

CHAPTER 2

Sir Elton Dexter, new master of Woodbridge, paced restlessly before the hearth in the main hall. The ache in his leg troubled him as he sought to work out the stiffness. He would not complain though, he was still amazed it had not been amputated on the French fields. The incessant throbbing and limp he suffered did not diminish his gratitude and appreciation to the physician who had chosen to save it.

Here are the ledgers you requested Sir Elton.

Elton nodded to the table. Put them there. I will sort through them shortly, though ‘tis a mere formality. I have seen the estate with my own eyes; the crops are rich, the livestock abundant and the castle and outbuildings in good repair. Chilton maintained it well.

Aye, though some of the outer lands are leased to serfs or tenant farmers as they prefer to be called. Milord collected rent and a percentage of the crops, it was quite profitable.

When Elton looked unconvinced William continued. To farm the land required a great many workers and most were drawn by the king’s call for men and the wages he offered. Chilton saw it as a way for the land to remain utilized and to gain profit. Men are more eager to farm their own land as to farm for another.

Elton lifted his leg against the window ledge and rubbed it absent-mindedly as he gazed over his demesne. Chilton had strange ideas to my way of thinking. He turned his head to look at his overseer. Take the Bastille; I hear the cells are full. Why did he keep so many prisoners?

William shrugged, he had his own ideas as to why his former lord acted so but did not feel to voice them.

Elton pushed away from the window and strode to the table holding the ledgers. Aye, well they will be cleared before I wed.

William’s eyebrow lifted in query. There is everything from murderers to thieves; you plan to deal with them all before you wed?

Aye, King Henry on coming to the throne pardoned all his prisoners, I can do nay less. I will see each one, give them warning and free them. He was silent for a few moments then added. All except those involved with the sect lead by Malian. The man declares that God does not exist and encourages others to believe the same lies. Once they have been brainwashed into his belief system he uses them to take from those most vulnerable such as widows and the likes. ‘Tis a dangerous group. Elton shook his head. ‘Tis my hope that there are none in the Bastille."

There was at least two in the cells, mayhap more, William said.

Elton frowned. They will have to give account before the sheriff. Are they from the castle?

Nay villagers. There is one prisoner whose family are ardent followers of Malian.

His family?

Aye his sister is rumored to be more passionate than he, though Chilton tried, he could gain no evidence to have her brought to justice.

What is the family’s name?

Garrison milord.

Her name?

Rochelle.

And what of her husband is he a follower as well?

She is unwed.

Can she be brought around? Elton asked.

Father Joseph has tried; I fear he has not given up on any of the villagers.

How many follow this Malian?

Mayhap a dozen or so, no more than twenty. Most follow the faith.

Elton looked thoughtful. Inform the guards of my intentions. I will make my way to the tower shortly.

William bowed and left.

Elton took another look at the ledgers then closed the book and headed to the Bastille. His eyes widened in surprise on his first venture down the corridor, the smell and filth shocked him. The rest of the castle had been scrupulously clean and this was in stark contrast.

He stood in confusion as the guard unlocked the first cell, the sight added to his disbelief as he saw the prisoners chained to the walls, one appearing to have recently felt the smart of a lash. Dried blood coated his back and shoulders, his face showed his pain. He damped down the urge to turn and strike out at the guards who had meted out such unauthorized and savage justice. Instead he fixed his attention on the men. State your name and crime, he ordered tersely.

After releasing the two men Elton breathed deeply; his desire that the murderers he had just freed fared a worse confinement because of their crime, was quickly quashed as he approached the second then third cells. Thieves’ conditions were no more charitable. He felt nauseated and weary by the time he had entered the rearmost of the Bastille.

Leroy and Logan looked at the man before them. Tall in stature and broad chested, he stood stiff and commanding as he ordered for their name and crime.

Leroy Garrison, a condemned follower of Malian, Leroy answered watching with interest as the man’s shoulders slumped slightly before he turned his attention to Logan, who, had just declared himself a murderer.

Elton’s eyes narrowed. He approached the man called Darnell drawing his torch closer. He lifted the flame to shine more light upon his face. I know you, he stated, waiting for the prisoner’s conformation.

Aye.

Where? Elton asked frowning.

France.

France? he queried incredulously.

He did not wait for Logan’s reply but ordered the guard to release him. Provide him with a bath and clothes; I will see him in the hall when he is done. He