D' Arc || The King

Chapter XX

"Are you sure you're alright?" Jeanne asked as she helped Isabel out of her bed. Cramps and stomach pains were an echo of the pain she had suffered through four days ago, coming back at random times. They made it almost impossible for Isabel to move, causing her hands to become unsteady, her legs to weaken, and her vision to swirl.

Jeanne handed Isabel a cup that reeked of herbs and honey. Raising it to her lips, Isabel hesitated before making a face and downing it in one go. Gingerroot and wormwood filled her thoughts and the honey in the strange liquid did nothing to rid it of the heavy sour taste.

Jeanne chuckled at Isabel's scrunched-up face and took the cup from her.

"It'll be over soon, no more disgusting tonics," she promised as Isabel coughed and pressed a hand against her stomach.

"Urg, I think I'm going to throw up again," she grumbled, digging her fingernails into her skin through her chemise. Isabel's stomach rolled and she shut her eyes before asking. "How is Harry?"

"He has taken well to the wetnurse's milk, Isabel," Jeanne replied before hesitating as she handed Isabel her dress.

She turned to face Jeanne as she pulled on the roughly sewn fabric. 

I will see him when I have finished cleaning. You may leave," Isabel said after slipping her head through the opening in the top. "Tell Cecily that Arthur needs a playmate until we are free to watch over him."

Isabel reached behind her, the faded and worn wool digging into her elbows and armpits as she laced the back up. Jeanne looked through Isabel's basket before replenishing a few empty wraps with herbs.

"Check in with me," the woman said after a moment. "I want to monitor you for the next week. No running around the battlefield until we can make sure you won't pass out."

Isabel's displeasure showed on her face, but she didn't argue. Instead, she snatched her basket from Jeanne's hands. That caused the other woman to chuckle as Isabel stomped out of the tent. She didn't like being cooped up in the campgrounds.

It smelled and it was noisy.

She itched to be free, to ride her family's horse, to race through the wheat field with her brother. Isabel shook her head, ridding herself of those thoughts before making a beeline towards the makeshift kitchen that had been set up. She could smell water boiling and hard flatbread being made.

"Good morning, Robert," Isabel said as she tore off two pieces of bread. Calling the lumpy white food bread didn't really make sense. It was a mix of flour, water, some egg, and a little bit of yeast to give it volume. Tasteless, hard – but edible – and surprisingly hard to spoil.

Robert handed her a bowl, his eyes averted from her as he mumbled, "Good morning, Miss."

Isabel took the bowl getting ready to leave before turning around and looking at the boy. "Oh, you can just call me Isabel and don't listen to the others. I don't send the king after everyone who meets my gaze," she said. "They like to joke about it sometimes."

"Yes, Miss- I mean, Isabel," Robert stuttered, his cheeks turning bright pink.

"How old are you, Robert?" She asked after looking him over. She guessed eighteen at the most, but his answer surprised her.

"Sixteen, I'm still a squire," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "Father was able to pull a favor and I've always been good with a sword."

"Blacksmith family then?"

"Yes," he exclaimed with surprise. "How did you know?"

Isabel's lips curled into a smile as she let out a chuckle as she balanced the warm bowl of soup in one hand, her palm burning. "I might be French, but I came from a village. I have eyes," she said before walking away. "Have a good day, Robert. I hope you're able to become a knight."