Faerie (31 page)

“Aye, you are, Norman lord. Her destruction is your salvation.”

“Then I do not want to be saved. I do not want to love her and lose her because of it.”

“Do you mean to say you love her, then?”

“I do not. I must not. But I know it will come. Had I known it, I would never have allowed the king to force the marriage.”

“Did you perhaps forget to tell him something?”

The keen eyes stared at him with an intensity that sliced through him. He swallowed hard, wondering if she knew. How could she know what even Rufus did not know?

“I did not tell him,” he replied. “For my own reasons. I thought myself adequate to the task he gave me.”

“Perhaps that is your error.”

“I cannot tell him.”

“Then you will fail.”

“All men make mistakes, old woman, you must know that. It is not something the king can be told. There are some things kings never forgive.”

“A pity. You will not find your answer. You will not be what you were meant to be.”

The old woman’s head lowered, and her straw-like hair slid to cover her face. She turned away from him, pulling up the hood.

“Wait!” he called.

In two steps the hag began to fade. For a moment, he thought he saw long, pale hair that glowed as if struck by moonbeams. But he was wrong. He blinked once and saw only the wattle of the cottage wall.

H
ER HUSBAND HAD
not spoken to her before riding out with his knights. He had not even looked at her from the time he ordered her off the wall. Instead, he had given all his instructions to Hugh, then mounted and ridden away as if she were not even there. Leonie supposed she should not be surprised, nor even disappointed. He was angry, and as she recalled from many observations over her fairly short life, this was the way an angry man dealt with a woman.

It could have been much worse. For all his anger, Philippe le Peregrine had not so much as lifted a hand against her. But still in her mind was the evil image from Brodin Forest. Why? What had really happened? She had to know. Why did she remember—

The pain slammed like a hammer against her head. She gasped, grabbing her head as light flared and pain swarmed her head, violently pounding—

Holy Mary, but she was tired of this!
Nay! I will not let—
She fell to her knees, trying to hold her bursting head together.

Don’t think. Don’t think. Make it go away. Don’t think.

“Lady! Are you all right? Are you ill?”

It was Hugh, his voice as distant as the clouds, yet his hands touched her shoulders. She forced herself to breathe deep, breathe again.

“Aye, Hugh.” She took another deep breath. “I fear I have not yet completely banished the pain.”

“Rest a moment,” he said, kneeling beside her. Aye, she had fallen to the ground.

“Nay, I shall be fine.” She looked up into his kind eyes and tried to smile. But this had happened too many times, and it was too strange. She needed to think. She tried harder with the smile, but knew it was unconvincing. She needed to be where she was alone and try to think. “I think I should rest in the solar for a while, if you will give me your hand.”

“Wait a moment until you are steady.”

Leonie rubbed her face, her painful temples, opened her eyes and quickly closed them again, for the bright blue autumn day enhanced the jabs of pain. There was something very wrong that every time she tried to remember, her head felt shot through with arrows. But what? Why? Was she going to die?

Or was it something else entirely? Was she demon possessed? What if she was? What would she do? She had to find out. Now.

“Hugh, help me up. Escort me if you would, please. None of us have had much sleep these days. It must be that.”

“You are not well, my lady. You should lie down.”

That was a good idea. Lie down where she could not fall. She could try to think out what was blocking her mind. Nay, she would not think of it until she reached her bed.

Do not think!
Leonie chopped off the thoughts. “Aye, Hugh, escort me to the solar. I’ll just lie down for a while. But tell no one, please.”

“Save Philippe when he returns.”

“No one, Hugh.”

She managed to look into his eyes, and she knew he would not obey. But she accepted his arm to support her, and they walked through the hall and to the solar behind it. A bed had never looked so inviting. She sat on its edge.

“I wish to be undisturbed, Hugh. Give me a few hours to rest and all will be fine. I am sure.”

“Perhaps a woman to stay with you?”

“No one. Let me rest.”

Her hands gripping the edge of the feather bed, she listened to the voices beyond the tapestry draping the doorway until Hugh had calmed the last of them and silence reigned again.

She climbed onto the low bed and seated herself cross-legged in the middle. If she fell, and she suspected that was a strong possibility, she could not hurt herself. With closed eyes and hands folded in her lap, she led her mind back to the day in the forest.

She started with something easy. Sigge. They said she had been with him. But she didn’t remember him. She was sure she had been alone. Tentatively, she probed the question, letting herself roam about in the corners of her memory, not thinking of words, but seeking to see the day.

It had been one of those rare but almost unbearably scorching hot days. She could feel the sweat forming on her face, then between her breasts and trickling down inside her kirtle. Even inside the forest, where the leaves were still green and the shade heavy, the air was still and sultry. But it was one reason she loved going into the woods. They had been searching for sumac and other red things, for she had been hoping to improve her red colors for dying wool.

They.

Sigge, where are you?

Nay, she could not find him. Had he been there? Something told her he had, but nothing came to her.

She wandered along the path, ambling off when she spotted the brilliant patches of crimson, the sumac she had come to find. She had been right; the leaves had just turned, quite suddenly, for they had not been red at all the day before.

But what about Philippe? What had happened?

Hammer blows of pain pounded her head. She gasped. It was worse than before, blow after blow landing on her head, sending her brain pounding against the walls of her skull.

She gripped her fists and squeezed her eyes tight.
Nay! I’ll not quit! I will know! What happened? I will know!

Like a whirlwind, pain spun her, tightening like a dizzying band of iron about her head, and she thought her head would explode.

“Give up! Give up! The pain will kill you!”

I will not give up! Give me back my mind. What happened? I will know. I will not give up.

“Give up. You will die.”

You cannot kill me. What are you?
Fiercely, she gritted her teeth.
I command you. I will have the truth of you.

Like a swarm of bees homing in on a hapless creature, something attacked, clawing, scraping gritty, bloody trails. Blood poured from open wounds and swirled, drowning her in their rising floodwaters. She couldn’t breathe.

Oh, no it isn’t! This is not real!

Leonie focused against the violence in her, picturing herself pushing back at the dark and bright force, back, back, teeth clenched, fists clenched, back, she forced it, back away from her brain.

The thing burst free, spinning around and around, a creature, a skeleton, a fleshed being—nay, a skeleton again. It swam in the air before her, evil talons glistening like shining steel as they lashed out, flaying her skin.

“
Yield!
” It screamed. “
Yield!
”

A demon! Chills ran through her. Her blood pounded like drums in her head.

Nay! Fight!
She envisioned a sword in her hand and swung, slicing through the demon.
Get out!

“Yield to me! You cannot win! I have you!”

Never! Get out!
Leonie called up a warrior’s strength and swung with all her being. The demon split in half. It grew back.

“
You cannot defeat me!
” The demon took shape, empty bones clothed in hanging rags, a bare skull, yet eyes luminous and glowing red. In its hand of bones, a long, broad sword raised to parry her blows.

She swallowed hard, her hands trembling. The creature in the forest. She’d dug it up. What evil had she let loose on the world? Her fear doubling, the creature formed flesh and smiled. It had her, and it knew it could win.

Nay! It fed on her fear! She would not cower before this thing. Win or lose, she would not give up. She’d forced it to reveal itself. She’d fight with everything she had.

Renewed, she lunged, sword viciously swinging, slicing, swinging, slicing.
I am Leonie of Bosewood! You shall not have me! Get out! This is my mind! Get out!
Her fury strengthened, it propelled her swings and thrusts, carving the demon faster than it could reunite. Its flesh fell away and vanished. She’d destroy it or die trying.
Out! Out! I demand it!

The demon backed away, edging into the dark corridors, too dark for her to see. If only her Faerie sight had not deserted her! But she hastened after it, into the darkness.

The demon’s eyes glowed like a swamp plume, and the skull became a face, grey and stretched. It shifted again, becoming amorphous, then re-formed. A mouth, smiling. Honey-brown eyes.

Philippe!

Terror knocked away her breath. It was Philippe! The creature was Philippe! She was doomed.

Sensing her fear, the creature that was her husband advanced on her, and she backed away, her heart thundering.

It couldn’t be. Her heart knew it.

“You lie! You’re not Philippe! Get out!”

“But I am. I am your own true love. Come to me, my darling.”

Again and again she swung the sword at the creature, chopping it. “Get out!” Her mighty blows rained down. “Get out! Get out!”

The whirlwind began again, spinning inside her head so fast she was getting dizzy as it forced its way into her head again. But she knew now. She clenched her teeth, let loose her own screaming voices and rigidly fought off the sickening spinning.

“Out! Out! Out!” Brandishing the sword of her thoughts, she chased the demon as it shed its fake skin and became once more bones, “Out, out, out.”

Hideously screaming, it flung itself out of her head, rolled in a cloud of dust and smoke. It fell to the floor, motionless. Leonie stared, her jaw hanging open. It really was a demon. And she had forced it out of her. Killed it.

The cloud of smoke rose up, spinning. It was not dead! At its core, something else formed, tightened, rising and rising, taking on a dusky purple color, then darkened to black, long and thin, dropped and coiled on the floor, then rising again. At its top, the coil grew denser, bending forward.

The snake!

But even bigger, dull black, with its pale yellow underbelly. Its huge head, eyes like glowing red coals, aimed itself at her. The massive jaw gaped like a chasm, showing giant fangs.

Leonie’s hand shot up above her head. Her arrows flew from her quiver into her hand. She flung them; all six slammed the snake with deadly force, severing the huge, ugly head. She stared in shock as she watched the serpent collapse to the floor, to writhe and turn belly up.

How had she done that? The arrows had simply appeared in her hand. She hadn’t even thought of it. She’d raised her hand, and they had come to her.

She peered around the primitive solar, into its dark corners. The soft glow of her lost Faerie vision had returned.

“Face of Jesu! What is going on in here?”

Leonie whirled around at the voice.

Philippe! The real Philippe! And she’d never seen a man so enraged.

“T
HE SNAKE—I
killed it,” she stammered, pointing toward the dead creature while keeping her eyes focused on the angry man descending on her.

“What snake? You turned it to powder!” He clenched both fists. “What are you doing?”