Free The Other Side of Heaven by Morgan O'Neill Page A

fright, the girl fell silent.
    Running, Gwen dodged some barrels, then darted past a broken down cart, heading deeper into the maze of back streets. “We must hide, Emma, then after the bad men are gone, we’ll get you back to your mother.”
    Gwen finally found an area far removed from the main square. The constricted pathways between hodgepodges of thatched-roof dwellings were too narrow for horses to pass, and too cluttered by fences for easy visual detection, even from a short distance. They would be safe here, for a time.
    She let Emma down and slumped to the ground beside her, still keeping a firm hold on one little arm. Breathing hard, she glanced down at her hand and saw her bandage was gone, the wound reopened . Deal with it later , she thought. Think of the kid. Take care of Emma.
    “Emma, Emma, listen,” Gwen said gently. She spoke slowly, hoping the girl would understand every word. “You – you were very brave back there, trying to help your mother.”
    The princess glared, then turned her back on Gwen, refusing to talk.
    “Emma, please. We have to stay here for a while. The bad men are probably running scared right now, but––”
    “I hope they get their guts cut open! I hate them!”
    Surprised by the brutality of the girl’s words, Gwen could think of no adequate response. “I’m sorry, Emma.”
    “I want Mama!”
    “I know you do, sweetheart.”
    The tiny girl plunged into Gwen’s arms, gripping her, needy beyond words. She did her best to console the child, holding her, rocking, and humming softly. With her gentle care, it didn’t take long before Emma stopped crying and fell asleep.
    Gwen took the opportunity to piece together the events of the day. She guessed it was mid-morning by the time she rushed out of her bedroom. Father Warinus had said he would allow her to sleep through the usual series of morning prayers, but insisted she wake in time for the church service of Sext and the midday meal.
    But he’d never shown up. Gwen’s chin rose sharply at the realization. Why hadn’t she seen him? Was he okay?
    Another memory, another face, surged into her thoughts. Stefano. He was here, too. Dirty, bloody, but alive. How had he gotten mixed up in all this?
    “Monk!” A man shouted behind her.
    Gwen’s initial instinct to flee was impeded by Emma’s soundly sleeping form. She braced herself for a confrontation and turned. A peasant with a bleeding forearm scowled at her. Despite his greasy hair and blackened teeth, he held himself tall with a presence that made her feel ashamed.
    “You cower…craven rat… have you no will…confront our enemies?”
    He had a heavy accent, but Gwen got the gist of his words and bristled. “I do not cower. I saved Princess Emma.”
    The peasant scrutinized Gwen, then the child, still asleep in her arms. “Emma? Lothaire’s whelp?”
    Gwen hesitated, afraid she’d already given too much information. The man was clearly not one of the soldiers, but could he be trusted?
    “My name is Brother Godwyn,” she hedged. “Do you know Father Warinus? Where is he?”
    He said something she didn’t understand and then pointed in the direction of the square. “The priest tends… many wounded and dead. Soldiers… gone.” He grumbled something about Count Berengar, then spat on the ground, and walked away.
    Carrying the sleeping child, Gwen crept back, hoping the man was right about the soldiers. When she reached the square, she hid with Emma and watched. She had to be certain no one there would harm the child – and she needed to find Warinus.
    To her relief, the main gate was closed. Berengar and his men had left, but the tragedy of what they’d done hit her hard. Bodies, dead or bleeding, sprawled everywhere. Survivors walked among them, weeping when they saw someone familiar. Others made attempts at cleaning lifeless faces or arranging clothing for dignity’s sake. Some slung buckets of water and scrubbed the cobblestones, washing away gore, blood,