A Witch's Tale (7 page)

Not only was Lady Anne promiscuous while she
served as a lady-in-waiting to Queen Elizabeth; she was also a hopeless gossip.
Details of other liaisons besides hers were written in detail within the diary.
The men poured over it during the journey to learn who sired them. Gavin felt
for them all, knowing despite their loyalty to his own father, they had to know
their own beginnings.

“Let us hope everyone finds what they seek
here, Alastair.”

“What does our fair witch seek; I wonder?” he
asked with a sidelong grin.

Gavin fumed at that. “She seeks to undermine
every bit of my patience, for one. Does the wench not have one bit of
gratitude? Did I not save her from the fires?”

“You did kidnap her, my lord,” he pointed out
in amusement.

“I am owed a reward for my championing her
cause, if I recall,” Gavin argued back.

“You don’t even believe her to be a witch.
How can you seek a reward if you don’t believe her capable of giving you said reward,
my lord?” Alastair asked smugly and shook his head. “I can see you have not
thought this through at all, once more. You let your cock lead in this.”

“She is just a pretty bedmate I would keep
for a time, Alastair,” he said angrily and shrugged. “Why do you concern
yourself with her?”

“I like the girl. Anymore thoughts of what
you will do with your fair witch when the tournament ends?”

“Not a one,” Gavin admitted and felt
defensive as he saw Alastair scowl. “Let me just win this blasted thing! I will
see the girl is adequately compensated. She will hardly be left at the gates
when we leave.”

Alastair said nothing more as the field
cleared. He grinned at him as he put on his helmet. “Come then, my lord, if I
knock you into the dirt enough this day perhaps a sound plan will come to
mind.”

****

Madeline stared at the lavender silk gown
with a longing she could hardly contain. It hung on a peg in the rear of the
shop. It beckoned to her the moment she perused the wares while the men loaded
the cart with their supplies.

Gaston found her there and grinned at her
look as she stared at the gown.

“It looks like it was made for you, Mistress
Madeline,” he offered shyly and saw her color slightly. “You must have it.”

“It is far too costly,” she protested and
turned away, determined to find something less expensive. The handsome young
knight frowned and gestured to the shopkeeper. The woman came forward, eager
for a sale.

“How much for this gown for my lady?” the
knight inquired and grinned at Madeline’s look of alarm. His warm brown eyes
narrowed at the shopkeeper’s disclosure of the price. “Surely if it hangs here
this long and in the back; you have been unable to sell it?”

“It is made of silk, Sir Knight,” the woman
protested and pointed out the intricate beading and silver embroidery. She went
on to impress them both with the gowns merits. “It is well worth such a sum.”

Gaston raised a fair brow. “Do you wish to
sell it or laud its virtues, woman? How much will you take for the gown? Tis’
not likely you will get another offer.”

Madeline listened to the knight dicker with
the best of them. The haggling went back and forth. Finally the woman gave an
exasperated sigh and tossed him the gown, snatching the two coins he offered
for it, glaring at him in disgust.

Madeline stared at him in surprise as he
pressed the gown into her hands. He smiled shyly and bowed to her. “The gown
was truly made for you, Mistress Madeline,” he complimented her. “My lord will
be pleased to see you in it.”

“My lord?” she asked in confusion. “Who do
you speak of, Sir Gaston?”

“Sir Gavin is the rightful heir to Rivenhahl.
He comes to the tourney to win back his title and estates,” the knight
explained, his handsome features filled with pride. “He will win all and bring
honor back to the de Mortaine name.”

“And how was all this taken from him?”
Madeline asked with curious round eyes. Gaston went on to regale her during the
drive back with the tale. She was saddened to learn Gavin’s father passed before
he could see his dream to fruition. She now realized how important this
tournament was to all of them.  Madeline sat quietly as the cart made its
way through the fairway where more and more tents were erected. She felt a
sense of purpose now. She could help Sir Gavin win back his rightful
inheritance.

Madeline had a fair bit of experience with
spells for luck. She knew the man expected far more than that from her. It was
a bit short sighted when he saved the life of a witch. Her company indeed! What
was the man thinking? He needed far more than her company if he was to win back
his family’s honor. Her smile grew slightly dreamy as she thought of how
handsome he looked in his gleaming armor and shook herself out of such fanciful
thoughts.

She was acting more and more not like a witch
the longer she was in the man’s company. She would have to consult Minerva’s
book of spells to find one to help Sir Gavin in his quest. She usually avoided
following her grandmother’s book. It had landed her in much trouble these last
few months since her death.

Her grandmother often left out certain key
ingredients or words in the spells. As old as she was; it was a wonder the
woman could even recall the spells she’d mastered over the years. Try Minerva
did, to recall it all, but being illiterate and unable to read, she’d had to
dictate most to Madeline to write down for her.

Minerva died of old age in the cottage she
left to her only living relative. Orphaned and left in service at a nearby
estate, Madeline was glad to be taken in by the old woman. The noble family her
mother worked for never treated her well. When Minerva arrived for her after
Alessandra’s death; she was terrified to leave.

She was eight years old when her mother took
her own life at the Viscount of Lunley’s estate. Her mother was his three
children’s nurse. She was to find her mother was far more to her employer than
she could have known. His youngest daughter Sybilla informed her she was the
product of the illicit liaison between the Viscount Lunley and her mother.

Educated alongside his children; it made
sense to her now. When the man died, his wife began to torment her mother. It
became too much for Alessandra to bear. She mixed a potion with poisonous
nightshade in it to induce sleep forever, wishing to be with the man she loved.

The only act of kindness she did beforehand
was insisting the estate’s steward contact Minerva in Valmont to take in her
daughter. Madeline could remember the day the woman arrived in the wagon to
collect her, shivering to think her most strange in her flowing dark robes and
long, unbound grey hair.

“She’s a real witch!” the other children
whispered at the windows when she arrived to collect her, aghast to see the
woman who arrived to take their half sister away.

Madeline enjoyed seeing Lunley’s three
offspring recoil in fear, taking all their abuse for far too long. She recalled
that feeling of pride and power in that moment to think her grandmother was
indeed the witch they thought her. Her own terror to know it was true later on
made the old woman cackle in delight, seeing her face fill with wonder.

“You are like me, Madeline,” Minerva claimed
proudly and grinned widely. “My Alessie was never good at magic. You are a
natural born witch.”

Madeline never knew what that meant. She despaired
these last ten years she’d lived with Minerva, patient and trying to learn the
craft at her knee. She was to find like any education; witchcraft was no
different from the subjects she learned in the schoolroom with the Lunley
children.

Memorization was the key in learning the
craft. She had to know flowers and plants, their special properties, as well as
minerals and other matter used to cast. Minerva also cautioned restraint to
know when to refrain from casting spells. That had been tested these last six
months since Minerva died.

She’d taken over her role as a healer to the
village and earned the attentions of Hugh de Valmont. Overnight everything her
grandmother taught her went out the window. Fearful of being violated, she’d
cast a terrible spell upon the baron’s son.

Madeline reasoned she owed Sir Gavin her
life. The code was clear. She had to repay him or her own magic would turn upon
her. There was no choice. He might only wish the use of her body, but he was
not grasping what potential he had for more. The man refused to believe she was
a witch. He thought her a charlatan who cheated unsuspecting villagers out of
their hard earned coin. It was obvious Sir Gavin never had a bit of magic in
his life. She thought it high time he did.

Wicked, warty crone, dressed

In black, a peaked hat

Teetering on her head as she

Careens through the air on her broom cackling

~Anonymous

The men were erecting a fourth enclosure for
their mounts while Madeline peeled vegetables for a stew. Sir Gavin and Sir
Alastair were still practicing within the field. There was much merriment
within the festival as the evening approached.

Mimes and dancers, clowns and puppeteers
flocked to the stages, entertaining all while merchants hawked their wares. It
was mayhem. Madeline felt a sense of excitement to be a part of it. Never in
her wildest dreams had she ever believed she would be rescued by a dashing
knight, carried away on a charger, and brought to a palace. She felt like she
was within a fairytale, even if she was the fabled witch.

While the stew boiled, she retired to make
short work within the tent, organizing Gavin’s gear, finding a place for
everything. She was about to question where she was to put his clothes when Sir
Gaston announced himself outside the tent.

He and a grinning Henry entered, bearing a
chest and solved the problem. She was nearly done unpacking his things when Sir
Jasper arrived, bearing a pallet and stuffed mattress, of all things. She
frowned as she heard the merriment around the fire.

When Miles arrived with expensive rugs and
lamps, she put her foot down, turning upon all four men, who looked half-drunk
and guilty. They were on their way to being intoxicated on a casket of
mysterious wine that just showed up as well.

“Where did you come by all these luxuries?”
she demanded and glared at the guilty knights. “You’ve stolen them, haven’t
you?”

Miles cleared his throat as he approached.
The handsomest and wiliest of the group, he sought to charm her. “We didn’t
think Lord Lyon would miss the items, dear lady. He is overly fond of the drink
and can hardly find his own tent as we speak. Surely you cannot fault us for
bettering your stay while here?”

“What if you were caught?” she demanded with
hands on her hips, shaking her head at them. “Did you think of how this could
impact Sir Gavin?”

“Oh he doesn’t care for the likes of Lord
Lyon,” Gaston assured her and looked away at her glare of anger.

“Be that as it may, try to remember you are
all knights of the realm and not common thieves,” she reminded them sternly.

“Ye might as well show her what we got for
her,” Jasper grumbled to Henry.

The youngest knight disappeared and returned
with a wooden chest. He opened it and she gasped at the women’s clothing within.
He shut the chest and hurriedly hid it within the tent with the other stolen
items.

Madeline shook her head at them. “There will
be no more stealing, do you hear? What were you thinking taking some poor
woman’s clothes?”

“They’re all Lyon’s too,” Jasper informed her
and colored in embarrassment and looked away. “He dresses like a woman while
alone. It isn’t likely he’ll put up a fuss even if he recognizes them on you,
Mistress Madeline. Gaston said you needed clothes.”

Madeline was blushing to the roots of her
hair. She retired with flaming cheeks inside the tent to peruse Lord Lyon’s
chest of treasures, eyes wide to see the beautiful garments within. The chest
was a treasure trove of lovely jewelry, ladies fripperies, and many gowns that
needed only a bit of altering to fit her.

Even if they stole the items; she was deeply
touched they’d thought of her. She’d never worn anything so fine. She touched a
crimson velvet gown trimmed in gold embroidery and shook her head and closed
the chest.

Lord Lyon would no doubt miss his secret
wardrobe. She would have to be clever with a needle, indeed. She gasped at the
train of her own deceptive thoughts. She was in their company not a full day
and already aiding and abetting their thievery.

Madeline returned to mind the stew, refusing
to indulge in the wine; another gracious bounty compliments of Lord Lyon. The
men stockpiled several barrels of his ale and wine. While she was ladling up
bowls and breaking small loaves of bread for the men, Gavin and Alastair
arrived back, looking tired and worn.

They saw to their mounts and washed up in a
trough for the horses. Gavin looked exhausted as he accepted the bowl of stew
from her, sniffing it appreciatively. His grateful smile melted her resolve to
tell on his men just then. They stood behind him, looking at her pleadingly
over his shoulder. She could not tell on them; finding them pitiful.