The Night Dance

by Suzanne Weyn

“They don’t know about the opening,” Rowena spoke with a quavering voice. “I’m the only one who has gone out this way.”

  Sir Ethan let her drop out of his grasp. “Do not lie to me. I saw your slippers this morning. All of you have been out.”

  “No, truly,” she insisted, “it’s just me.” Intimidated as she felt, she would not tell him about their adventure underground. She couldn’t presume to make that decision for all of them.

  “I have returned from town with a locksmith who will fit every door with a sturdy bolt,” he said. “Tomorrow I will hire a mason to repair this wall. This will put an end to these adventures.”

  He began to storm toward the manor and Rowena trailed after him, finding her nerve once again. “Father, why do you keep us locked up like this? Would it hurt if we went into town occasionally? Might we have a party sometime? If we could see the world and meet others we might not feel so desperate to go out.”

  “You have books, you have instruments, beautiful clothes, fine foods,” he replied. “The world holds nothing that you lack.”

  She stayed with him as he strode in the front door and headed toward the bedchamber the sisters shared. “We are not little girls, Father,” she pointed out boldly. “I am almost of the age to be a wife—and I am your youngest daughter!”

  These last words stopped him. He regarded her as if seeing her for the first time. “Perhaps it is time that I begin to seek suitable matches for you girls,” he said with thoughtful deliberation.

  Suitable matches?

  Now what had she done?

  She panicked as alarming images of balding, bejeweled dukes and portly merchants in fur-trimmed robes formed in her head. “Wouldn’t it be better if we could meet young men we might grow to love,” she suggested.

  Her words seemed to awaken a disturbing memory within him. “To marry for love is foolishness. No good can come of it,” he snapped, resuming his walk toward the bedchamber.

  She wanted to point out that he had married for love and the twelve children he so wanted to protect had come from that union. But there was an ominous darkness in his expression, and he was so angry that it didn’t seem wise to press him any further on the subject.

  He reached the bedchamber where the locksmith was installing an iron bolt to the outside of the door. “What?” Rowena exclaimed when she realized he meant to lock them in their room from the outside.

  She followed him into the room where her sisters still appeared sleepy-eyed, though they were awake. Mary was there, too, distributing new slippers from a straw basket to each sister.

  “Here is how it will be from now on,” he announced to his daughters. “Every morning Mary will open the door and you will line these new slippers up outside the room for my inspection. She will then return the slippers to you and escort you girls to the sewing room. There, servants will bring you your meals except for supper, which you will take with me in the dining hall.”

  “It’s as if we are in a prison!” Eleanore objected.

  Sir Ethan shot her a severe, warning glance. “You are being kept safe.” Whirling back toward the door, Sir Ethan departed.

  “This is your fault!” Eleanore confronted Rowena. “I know you have been going out. You were just out now, weren’t you? He caught you, didn’t he?”

  Rowena dropped her head as tears brimmed in her eyes. This was so awful—trapped like a bird in a cage, held more tightly than ever, just when the world had seemed to be opening as never before, in the very same hour in which love had come to her.

  “Leave your sister alone,” Mary scolded Eleanore as she walked toward the door. “Your father caught me trying to burn your ruined slippers. That’s why he’s on this rampage.”

  “And he also caught me coming in from the forest,” Rowena murmured, her head still hung. The opening she’d worked on so hard and so long—that was gone now too, all those hours wasted.

  “Does father think we were all in the forest?” Brianna asked.

  “I told him it wasn’t so, but that’s what he thinks,” Rowena admitted.

  “Then he doesn’t know anything about the opening in the floor?” Helewise mentioned.

  Rowena shook her head.

  “Caverns sometimes lead to the surface,” Eleanore said. “I recall a romantic book from France I once read where the lovers escaped an evil sorcerer by running into a cavern. If there was a way in, there was a way out.”

  “So you’re saying that we might still be able to find a way to get out of here by traveling through the tunnels,” Chloe said excitedly.

  Eleanore glanced at the closed bedchamber door. As she turned, they could hear the new bolt clanking shut. Together, the sisters scowled at the locksmith they knew was on the other side.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Eleanore assured them. “I believe that the figure Rowena saw in the bowl was our mother.” This news was greeted by a wave of murmuring, some of it excited, some disbelieving. Eleanore shushed them and continued. “If she still lives, it’s up to us to find her. I’ve always been angry because I believed she abandoned us, but if she is in trouble we must go to her.”

  “Do you think it’s possible that she is alive?” Helewise questioned.

  “Anything is possible,” Eleanore replied. “But if she is in the next life and comes to us as a spirit, then we still owe it to her to uncover her intention in contacting us.”

  “But the tunnels are dark,” Cecily reminded them with a shiver in her voice. “If it hadn’t been for that mouse, we might be in there still.”

  Rowena reached in her pocket, remembering the earring Millicent had handed her. “The new servant found this and gave it to me,” she told Eleanore, handing it to her.

  Eleanore took it from her. “What did you think of her?”

  “Unpleasant.”

  Eleanore nodded and then turned back to Cecily. “We will carry lamps next time,” Eleanore told her. “As long as we bring enough oil, we will have light.”

  The sisters began to plan their next descent into the tunnels, but Rowena couldn’t keep her mind on the discussion. Instead she gazed out the window at the courtyard bathed in the soft light of an early spring evening. The goose boy had once again put on his now-clean boots and was stretched on a mat in front of the opening. No doubt Sir Ethan had stationed him there to guard it.

  Where was her Bedivere now? She saw again his beautiful face in her memory, once again felt his kiss. Her eyes closed as she recalled the sweetness and warmth of it. She relived the feel of his arm enfolding her, and saw anew his crippled hand with its twisting scar. Even in its ugliness, it made him dearer to her. She winced to think of the pain he had felt when it happened, and somehow she understood the humiliation it caused him now.

  He wanted to meet her in the forest tomorrow. He would be there, but she would not. Would he think she did not care to come to him? The thought of him misunderstanding formed a knot that tightened painfully in her stomach. This was an unbearable torment. How would she go on if she could never see him again? She simply could not endure life without the possibility of seeing him.

  “Rowena!”

  Her sisters were all looking at her. “Pay attention please! We’re going down through the trapdoor again tonight,” Eleanore told her. “Tonight after supper we’re going to try to sneak an extra lamp or two out of the dining hall. The small lamps at the tables by the doors might suit perfectly. Each of us will wear a shawl to supper so that we might hide a lamp under it.”

  Rowena nodded. The idea of going into the tunnels was no longer as thrilling as it had once been. All that mattered now was Bedivere, her beautiful love from the North Country.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Morgan Follows

  Morgan chortled in delight as she sliced bread for the night’s supper. She still was not exactly sure what was going on and, it was true, she had suffered a few setbacks, but, all in all, things seemed to be rolling her way.

  Imagine—Vivienne suddenly appearing like that in a scrying b
owl after all this time! Well, realistically, she’d probably been attempting it for years. There simply had been no one on the other end to receive her signal. But her patience had paid off at last. That Rowena had chipped her way out of the egg, eager little chick that she was, and come upon her mother’s precious bowl, which apparently had been sitting right where Vivienne had left it.

  Such clever girls, she thought as she placed the bread on a carved wooden platter. But not so clever that they didn’t manage to get lost in the darkness. If she hadn’t guided them out, they’d be there still.

  At the time, she’d wanted to keep them from perishing there in the bowels of the earth. She thought that perhaps they’d find their way to Vivienne, who might have gotten free and regained possession of Excalibur.

  If this was true, she needed to know about it.

  The poison she had given to Mordred—a concoction made from the toxin of a puffer fish and the venom of a rattlesnake, both attained from sorcerers from distant lands at a very high price—could never be reproduced. It was the only thing that could have bested the power of Excalibur.

  One of the two serving women picked up the platter to take into the dining hall, and Morgan followed her to the doorway but hung back on the kitchen side as the serving woman went into the dining hall.

  Standing just out of sight, she observed the sisters taking their seats at the long dining table. As she stood there, she noticed that they were wearing shawls. It wasn’t especially chilly—so what were they up to?

  “Why are you lurking about in the doorway, Millicent?” Helen scolded as she bustled by with the braised rabbit that would be the main course that night. “Go check that the mince pie isn’t burning.”

  Morgan shot her an annoyed glance and maintained her position at the side of the doorway. The one called Rowena, the only one of them that was more than pretty, that was actually beautiful, sat slumped at the table. Lovesick, no doubt. Fool!

  Morgan grinned. What a stroke of luck it had been to have the very thing she sought come walking right into the forest.

  Excalibur!

  If she possessed Excalibur, she would not have to care what Vivienne and her twelve offspring did. And now it was so close!

  She would have believed that the handsome fellow who bore it on his hip really was a beggar—that he had stolen the sword—if she had not recognized that crippled, useless hand. The moment she had spied that, she’d known him at once. In the Welsh dialect of his hometown his name had been Bedwyr Bedrydant. It meant “Bedivere of the Perfect Sinews,” and it suited him well. It was hard to say what part of him was more delicious, that gorgeous face, with its high cheekbones and piercing eyes, or the fabulous form.

  It was a shame about the hand, but obviously what they said about him was true—being one-handed had not impaired his fighting skill. She saw that for herself today when she’d assumed the shape of a fighting boulder, a rock soldier, in order to knock Excalibur out of his hands. With a wince, she gazed down at her bruised and sliced arms, which still bore the injuries he’d dealt her when he’d hacked at her with Excalibur. She hadn’t realized what a formidable opponent he would be. With Excalibur in his hand, he was nearly unbeatable.

  She’d changed back into mouse form once he’d won the battle and had run halfway to the manor when she looked back to see him with Rowena. And, oh, how they had gazed at one another. Morgan had seen the face of love before and these two had an extreme case. Bedivere might be an able knight, but now she knew his weakness, Sir Ethan’s lovely daughter.

  She continued observing the girls all through the meal. Occasionally she pretended to busy herself with a task, but mostly she watched their every move.

  Sir Ethan was out of sorts, grumbling surly replies to their comments. The sisters, though, seemed strangely unconcerned that they were to be bolted into their room. In fact, they appeared to be nearly giddy—with the exception of Rowena.

  After dessert, Sir Ethan left his daughters under Mary’s supervision. That’s when Morgan saw what was happening. Eleanore had hidden one of the small oil lamps under her shawl and the one they called Cecily had taken another one.

  Where would they need light but in the tunnels of darkness!

  If they were going into the tunnels again, she was too. In a moment, she was once again in her mouse form.

  “Millicent!” Helen shouted in an exasperated voice. “Where have you gone off to now?”

  Morgan heard Helen’s voice like a banging gong and snickered in satisfaction as she darted through the dining hall, keeping close to the baseboards. Fast as she was, they left her behind with their much longer strides. When she arrived at their bed chamber, the door was shut. Mouse instinct kicked in and she realized she could squeeze through the tightest of spaces. In a second she was inside the bedchamber.

  The room was a whirl of activity as they threw off their shawls and pulled off their dresses, tossing them to the floor. The sisters donned the nightgowns, and the delicate slippers were tucked under each bed.

  The stolen lamps were shoved together and covered with a blanket in the corner before the sisters hopped into their beds, pulling the covers high.

  Morgan, her whiskers twitching with anticipation, hid behind a chest and watched. Mary entered and behind her were maids carrying chamber pots. “Do you young ladies have everything you require?” she asked as the maids left.

  Brianna yawned and stretched. “Everything, thank you, Mary.”

  “Good night, Mary,” the other sisters sang out, almost in one voice.

  “Good night, girls. Sleep well,” Mary bade them. She left and the sound of the heavy bolt being slid shut echoed in the quiet room.

  First one of the small oil lamps was lit, then the other. Then Morgan heard the scratching of the heavy bed against the floor as they pushed it away from the trapdoor.

  They spoke eagerly, but their voices were too loud, their tones too distorted by the intense volume for her to decipher what they were saying even though they whispered.

  They put on their slippers and then pulled up the trapdoors. Drum beats and whistles floated up out of the opening. The young women began beating their feet to the lively tune, swaying and twirling to the vibrant music.

  One at a time, they descended into the hole in the floor. Morgan seized her moment and scampered down into the dark space along with them.

  In her mouse form, Morgan was blasted by the music in the passageways, just as she had been the night before. That was why, when the sisters found her, she had been in such a hurry to get out of the tunnel. Now her ears ached again and, letting the sisters get ahead of her, she transformed into her own form—neither Millicent, the hag of a servant, nor a mouse, but Morgan le Fey, the sorceress.

  That was better. Pressing her palms to her aching ears to soothe them, she hung back behind the sisters. Since they now carried lamps, it wasn’t difficult to keep them in sight as they wound their way through the passages.

  She followed them until they came out to the high cavern of softly glowing stalactites and stalagmites. There, the sisters went to the edge of the large underground lake. Morgan hung back in the shadows of a tunnel as the one named Ione took off her slippers and stuck her foot in the shimmering water. “It’s not cold at all,” she told her sisters. She impulsively pulled her nightgown over her head and plunged, naked, into the water.

  Tossing off their slippers and nightgowns the other sisters followed her example and were soon all swimming in the glittering lake. Only Rowena stayed behind, draped on a rock, deep in thought.

  Morgan drew in a sharp breath of realization. She knew where they were, what this place was! Why hadn’t she recognized it immediately?

  This was the place where Vivienne’s lake had settled to, deep in the earth’s depths, when she, Morgan, had cursed it to be hidden below ground forever. These foolish girls were swimming right over their mother’s head as she languished below them, trapped in a magical bubble!

  “It’s not as deep as I w
ould have thought,” said the sister called Mathilde. “I can touch the bottom.”

  Ione and Chloe both dove under. Morgan wondered if Vivienne was able to see them from below. Was it possible for them to see her?

  Morgan didn’t really know, for certain, and she shifted uneasily from foot to foot, suddenly worried that these young women were so close to their mother.

  At least Rowena had stayed out, probably mooning over her Bedivere. Of them all, she seemed to be the one who had inherited her mother’s talent for second sight. She’d be the one most sensitive to Vivienne’s presence.

  Thinking of their mother reminded Morgan of how resourceful and gifted Vivienne had been in the days before her entrapment. If she knew her daughters were right above her—and she might—who knew what trick she’d employ to attract their attention and enlist their aid?

  Morgan decided it would be in her best interest to throw these sisters off the trail. And she’d watched them long enough to know just what they longed for—adventure, parties, romance.

  She had just the spell that would make it happen.

  From her shadowed hiding place, Morgan began murmuring the incantations that would conjure the magic she desired. She mumbled on as she watched the sisters climbing out of the dark lake, their bodies dazzling with glimmers of phosphorescence that clung to their glistening, wet skin.

  Sparks leapt between Morgan’s fingernails as she worked the first of her charms.

  “My nightgown!” Ashlynn cried in surprise, lifting the garment. “It’s a gorgeous gown!”

  “Mine is also,” Helewise told them as she picked up a turquoise satin dress festooned with pearls at the bosom.

  All of the nightgowns were now transformed into incredible gowns made of brocades, silks, and satins. They were decorated with pearls, jewels, ribbons, bows, and lace; each gown exactly suited the coloring, body, and personality of each young woman.

  Amazed, they quickly put them on. As they dressed, their hair began to move on its own, twisting into elaborate, elegant coiffures of ringlets, braids, buns, and loose curls, some strung with diamonds or pearls, others adorned with shining golden pins and gem-studded barrettes.