Falls the Shadow by Sharon Kay Penman

done, but the servants no longer balked at entering John’s chamber, obeyed all commands with alacrity. Now they hastened toward the bed, quickly stripped off the soiled sheets, as Elen wiped her husband’s wasted body with damp cloths, all the while murmuring wordless sounds of comfort, the way a mother might seek to calm a fearful child. Nell’s eyes filled with tears; whirling, she bolted from the chamber.
    Simon was coming from the stables as Nell emerged into the bailey. She heard him call her name, but she did not stop. Her steps quickened; by the time she reached the gatehouse, she was running.
    She ran until she had no breath left, until she was surrounded by the utter silence of a woodland clearing. The sky was dark with rain clouds, and the oaks, hazels, and aspen trees were glistening, spangled with moisture. The grass was wet, but Nell was beyond caring about mud stains; she sank down beside a dripping oak. For a time, she sat very still, breathing in the scent of grass and honeysuckle. The silence had been illusory; she could hear now the soft trilling of linnet and lark, the harsh, clear cry of a mistle thrush.
    “Nell?” Simon came through the trees, dropped down beside her in the grass.
    “How did you find me?” she asked, and he smiled.
    “You blazed quite a trail. You ought to ask those Welsh kinfolk of yours to teach you something of woodland lore.” He was carrying a hempen sack, and as she watched, he pulled out napkins, thick chunks of cheese, and a loaf of manchet bread. “After you ran out, I stopped by the kitchen,” he said, “grabbed whatever I could lay my hands upon. I’ve a flask of wine, too…here.”
    Nell took it gratefully, drank deeply. “My father died of the bloody flux, Simon. I always knew that, of course, but till now I never knew how he must have suffered. This afternoon I watched John’s agony, and for the first time, I found myself thinking about my father—truly thinking about the man, about those last dreadful days and how it must have been for him…” She drank again. “I also found myself wishing John would die.”
    “Do not reproach yourself for that, Nell. For John, death will be a mercy, a blessed release.” He reached over, handed her bread and cheese. “Eat,” he said, “ere you fall sick, too.”
    “We ought to go back. I feel like a fool, running off like that…”
    “You had cause. I’ve seen few women—or men—show the courage you’ve shown in these past days. In truth, Nell, I never suspected you’d make such an admirable nurse.”
    Nell smiled tiredly. “People are always surprised when I show I am competent or capable, not just—”
    She stopped, and Simon finished for her. “—fair to look upon.”
    She blushed, then grinned. “As vain as it sounds, I was going to say that,” she admitted. “But I’d be lying if I pretended I did not know I was pretty, and I’ve never seen the virtues in false modesty. I like the way I look. It is just that…” She hesitated. “I would never want people to think I’m like her, like my mother.”
    Nell’s mother had been one of the great beauties of her age, a sensual sophisticate who’d left England when King John died, returning to her native Angoulême, where she’d wed her own daughter’s betrothed. Nell had been just two when Isabelle departed; the only mothering she’d ever gotten had come from her older half-sister Joanna. For several months now, she and Simon had been conducting a cautious but intense flirtation; this was the first time she’d ever revealed anything so personal, giving him a sudden glimpse of the woman behind her flippant court mask. Twice she’d smothered a yawn, and he leaned over, put his arm around her shoulders. As she started to pull away in surprise, he said, “When was the last time you slept? Lie back, Nell, and put your head on my shoulder.”
    “I ought not to…” Nell’s dimple flashed. “But I will. I am bone-weary, in truth. A few moments,