Knight and the Witch 02 - A Summer Bewitchment (18 page)

Magnus knelt and stirred the crackling fire. “Why are we doing this? ’Tis madness.”
Surely I should ride back to Norton and bring my men, Peter, and the Templars to storm the place.

“The simple plan works the best, my father always used to say,” said Rowena. She had stopped sweeping for the moment and now leaned on the broom, taking any sting from her words by granting him a sweet smile.

Magnus stared at her, while Elfrida asked delicately, “Your father is Lord William?”

“My father was Lord William,” Rowena replied. “My parents died last month.”

Elfrida’s hands dropped to her sides. “I am so sorry, Rowena.”

Rowena studied the broom she was gripping. “I overheard the news at my Lady Astrid’s manor. Or rather, Githa, who had been my maid, but who is now my Lady Astrid’s attendant, she told me.”

Elfrida was nodding. “I have sensed a certain division in Githa. I am sorry for that, too, Rowena.”

“Why? It is not your fault. It is the way of the world. People go toward power. That is why I sent Tancred the finch.”

“As a signal to come?” Elfrida asked softly. “So you could finally choose your own fate?”

Rowena nodded. “Lady Astrid and Father Jerome both told me that plans were in motion, that I should go with Silvester and he would deliver me to Tancred.”

“But you wanted to be sure,” said Elfrida.

Her words echoed Magnus’s own thought and he understood very well. Dealing with these Giffords and Percivals, who would not want to make sure?

“Yes,” said Rowena simply. “And I am glad Tancred heeded me enough to try.”

“He did that.” Magnus surprised himself by defending the lad but Rowena merely smiled again.

“He will know I am an heiress.”

“He still cares for you,” said Magnus and Elfrida, speaking together.

Glancing at his wife, Magnus could see that Rowena’s continuing calm had rattled Elfrida as much as it disconcerted him.
Strange, that the girl does not cry for her father or close-kin. Is she finished already with tears? Was William a brute, Rowena’s mother another like Lady Astrid, or did she simply not know them? Noble children are sent away from their parents so young.

“I seem cold to you,” said Rowena, “though in truth I am not. I never knew my father.” She shrugged. “I was his wage against his earthly sins, his payment to win him into heaven. Since infancy I have heard such things. If I am old for my age it is because my father wished me to be so.”

Listening, Magnus thought sadly that only briefly, in her delight of horses and in wishing to see her pony Apple, had Rowena shown her true age.
This little lass has been forced to grow up too soon.

“Did you ever tell him you wished to be married when you were grown up?” Elfrida asked, her face and eyes warm with sympathy as she leaned toward the younger girl.

“He did not listen,” said Rowena.

No, the Giffords and Percivals do not trouble to hear
. Magnus cleared his throat, uncertain what to say to that. Beside him, he heard Elfrida sigh.

“Truly, I will try to grieve as much as is fitting for my parents,” Rowena went on. “But my family have never listened to me, or at least only Tancred has tried. Silvester—he too knows I am an heiress now, but he still does not want to wait until I am of age and marry me at a church door, or for us be married to each other by a priest. He says he does not trust priests.”

Given priests like Father Jerome, who can wonder?
Yet, hearing the hurt in Rowena’s voice, Magnus felt ashamed of his own male sex.
Silvester is a liar. He offers nothing real.

“I cannot mourn much for my parents or brothers here, in Bittesby,” Rowena finished.

At that less-than-subtle reminder, Elfrida straightened and sighed a second time. “I do sense we have little time,” she remarked, smoothing the gown over her knees and making sure her amulets and necklace were still secure. “I do fear Silvester setting out in his wagon, taking one or more of the girls with him.”

Yes, there is that danger.
“But then I would catch him out on the road, without the townsfolk as his allies.”

“And if we miss his leaving? Or if one or more of the girls is harmed when you attack him?”

“I would harm none of them,” Magnus growled.

“No, but Silvester may, if he is desperate enough. We could try another way.” Elfrida belted the gown. “I could creep into Silvester’s and coax the girls out.”

“That would take too long,” said Rowena at once, swapping the broom from hand to hand. Unlike his wife, Rowena was not interested in his finer feelings, merely results. “I like Magnus’s plan better.”

Not my plan, or at least not a plan I feel easy with. These wretched females gang up on me
. But then he rather liked the attention, the way Elfrida blew him a kiss, the way Rowena looked to him.

“I could come with you,” Rowena said.

Elfrida glanced at her. “Can you run fast?”

The girl tugged at her ear and did not answer—clearly this was a sore point for her. Alfric rescued everyone by patting a stool and speaking for the first time in an age. “Stay here with me, child. You are right pretty. That Silvester, he does not need any more young women.”

Elfrida leapt upon his surprising final statement. “I thought Silvester was beloved in Bittesby.”

“Beloved, yes,” answered Alfric at once, head bowed as he worked on carving the bowl of the spoon. He spoke as if to convince himself. “Silvester is beloved.”

Though not it seems by you.
Magnus knew Alfric would admit to nothing more, that his confession had been a verbal slip. In the end what did it matter? The shelter that the old carpenter offered them all was enough.

Rowena meanwhile shrugged, muttered, “Very well,” and asked Elfrida, “Why fast? To avoid pursuit?”

“She thinks as you do, Magnus,” said Elfrida. “Tactics.” She nodded to Rowena but Magnus caught the worry in her eyes.

She compares herself to creatures like Lady Astrid and thinks herself lacking because she was never trained to defend a castle, rocks and mortar. Can she not understand that is nothing? With her magic and healing she constantly defends living things.
For all that she was, a witch and his wife, Elfrida undervalued herself, especially since the advent of Astrid and Tancred. It made him sorry. And he wanted to pitch the haughty pair into the nearest dung heap.
Let them look down their noses then.

“You will stay here?” his anxious lass was asking Rowena, who huffed a little.

“A gentlewoman keeps her word,” she said stiffly.

Elfrida blushed and Rowena relented at once.

“Will you be long?” she asked, resuming her sweeping.

Not if I can help it, Magnus vowed to himself.

Elfrida borrowed a ewer from Alfric and walked out into Bittesby. She knew Magnus was following her but such were the crowds now and his skill in tracking that she could not see him. She took a street running north of Silvester’s house and doubled back, so people would not know which direction she had truly come from. Magnus, she sensed, was still with her, trusting her.

There is the well outside Silvester’s.
Entering Broad Street
she moved toward it, noting that the purple and white shutters of her adversary’s house were open.
Now, Silvester, see me
.
See me as Rowena. See me going away from your house.

She remembered Rowena walking and copied the girl’s fluid, tiny steps when she longed to stride.
See me going away, Silvester. Come out to find me.

Behind her she heard the door being unlatched. She lengthened her steps, just a little, telling herself not to run.
Do not run yet, anyway…

Magnus watched her dart past him along Broad Street, deftly threading between stalls and street sellers.
Never mind scaring the lasses out of doors,
he reminded himself sternly
, get Silvester when he comes outside to pursue Elfrida!

But Silvester did not seem to be falling in with his change of plan. Elfrida had gone away, right along the street—Magnus spotted her in the jostling crowds, knowing her by the tilt of her head and her gracile, graceful figure. Meanwhile, the door to the fellow’s house was open, hanging wide, but no one had emerged.

Where is he?
There were no other doors. Magnus checked again for Elfrida, farther along the street.
Still safe
.
There she is,
my clever, witch-wife, still safe.

He hesitated a moment longer then charged, straight at the door, straight for the house.
If the lasses inside think me a beast, so be it. I do not care if Silvester thinks me a monster. For him, I want to be a monster.

Fast as his thoughts he raced, sprinting, gasping, yelling. He crashed through the open doorway, lurching into the house, and skidded to a stop on the floor tiles.

The place was empty. He roared through the rooms to make sure but found no one. The fire had been put out. The beds were made up. The crocks were washed.

In a tiny pantry he discovered a cellar. Racing down its steps he felt a strong through draft and saw a pale disc of light ahead, not from the way he had come in.

A passageway to the outside. Another way out. Silvester has taken his living trophies and escaped. He has been far cleverer than we realized.

Magnus ran down the passageway, emerging on another street altogether. Fresh cart tracks showed in a pile of horse dung, but Silvester was gone.
Did he see us with Rowena and decide to flee? Did the townsfolk warn him after all? And if they did, what else have they done for him?

Liking matters less and less, Magnus started back for the carpenter’s, running hard. As he ran, he stared at every face, watched every man, woman, and child he passed, listened intently below the commonplace clatter of carts and chorus of street cries for any unusual sounds, any false notes.
Elfrida and Rowena. I must make certain they are safe.

Herbert the tailor turned the new bright coins in his hand and glanced along Broad Street. Easy money, he thought smugly, as he shifted left toward his stall. He might be married to one of Lord Silvester’s cast-offs, but the lord always paid well and gave his Rametta new clothes each midsummer.

A massive fist clamped hard around his wrist. Off-balance he punched back wildly but was spun like a top then battered into the dirt. Even as he tried to scream, a foot planted deep into his back, knocking the breath from him.

He writhed but the same huge fist locked about his throat, half-throttling him. As his sight blackened he saw his attacker looming over him, a big ugly brute, the same stranger whom he and Rametta had seen earlier that day. Worse, he heard him.

“One thing about bad spies, they always count their money too openly and they always come back to stare. Now, Master Tailor, you are going to tell me what you know and what you have told Silvester, and if I don’t like it—”

Herbert choked, his mouth full of dust. Where was Rametta? Nowhere to be seen. “Talk!” he wheezed. None of his neighbors were coming to help him, not against this man. If Rametta saw this monster, all she would do was scream. “I’ll talk!”

The stranglehold on his throat slackened and Herbert began to speak.

Elfrida knew she had been drugged, but she did not understand how. She had eaten and drunk nothing out on the streets. She had felt no one jostle or even brush against her. She had sensed nothing, no threat at all.

Except an instant before she lost consciousness there had been a strange trill of music issuing behind her. High as bird-song and as brief, it was so swift she wondered if she had imagined it.

Was that snatch of flute music a signal, perhaps, to one of the townsfolk?

Her back was sore, prickling. From a tiny arrow, perhaps, some kind of elf-dart?

Did a townsman shoot me in the back from an upper widow as I passed?

“Hush, or he will hear you. Silvester does not know you are awake yet,” whispered a girl, as Elfrida opened her eyes.

The dialect was close enough to that spoken around Norton Mayfield for Elfrida to understand. Careful not to move her head or body, she looked at the girl. “I am Elfrida,” she said softly.

The girl looked unimpressed. “You will not be Elfrida for long. My name is Rosalind now. I was baptized as Mary. Only Rowena and Ruth have kept their names. He likes names beginning with R.”

Silvester must have changed her name
. “Where are we?”

“Inside his house.”

“Is Silvester close?”

“In the next room, counting money.”

“Bribes to his former wives,” said another voice. “One will be for capturing you. The instant Silvester learned about you from Herbert, he will have been keen you were caught. You are like us.”

Elfrida blinked and slowly sat up. She had been laid on a thin pallet on the floor, presumably by Silvester. Two pretty girls, small, thin, with red, chapped fingers and cool steady eyes watched her. As she had anticipated, they were dressed in gowns of purple and white. She swallowed and scowled.