I was on my second round of hugs to my brothers when I suddenly remembered Old Maude. “James, Maude!” I nearly shouted.
“I haven’t forgotten her,” my brother said. “I’ll see her home as soon as you all have gotten on your way.”
I sagged a little with relief. I couldn’t bear to think of that poor old woman lying alone and forgotten at the pub. But she would be in good hands with James. I turned to my youngest brother. “Matthias, you go with James and help him get Old Maude home. I’m sure he’ll need you.”
Matthias just gave me a suffering look. “I know. I was already planning on doing so.”
I gave him a smile and a hug, having to get on to my tiptoes to do so, he’d grown so tall. I nearly commented on it, but stopped myself, knowing that he’d only take offense at being treated like a baby. I’d not said a word the previous day, and I wouldn’t succumb today.
“Goodbye!” Dylan said, grabbing my arm and propelling me toward my horse where Scai was already mounted. Because my sister had gotten there first, she was in front. Rats. I hated riding pillion. It was my own fault for taking so long to say goodbye to my family, but I just couldn’t help it. I felt like I was being ripped from them, the tear growing more and more painful in my chest as we rode away.
“It’s okay, Bridget,” Scai said without even turning around. “You’ll see them again soon enough.”
“I hope so,” I said, holding back my emotions as well as I could.
“You will. I feel it.”
That was some solace, and right now I would take all that I could get.
<><><>
Everything was back to the way it had always been once we were finally on the road south. Sir Dagonet still rode too slowly and Dylan still itched to ride faster. I felt as if we’d never had our break either at Holme or in Gloucester. In a way it was comforting, each of us falling into our own rhythms, but on the other hand it was frustrating, too.
Trees. Fields. The constant beat of the horse’s gait. The sweet smell and quiet of farms and forest was actually nice after the onslaught to my senses in the city. Slowly, slowly, we moved forward, onward towards Nimuë.
My traitorous mind slid back to the evening before. My anger and hurt at seeing Scai and Aron embracing came back in full force. How could they? I just didn’t understand. Scai had Dylan and Aron said that she was no more than a sister to him. And yet I knew what I had seen.
Then, just to confirm it all, Aron rode up beside us. “Are you doing all right, Scai?”
“Yes,” Scai answered, giving him a smile that reignited the simmer inside of my stomach.
“Are you sure you’re not feeling too tired? It’s not too late for me to ride back and get a wagon. It’ll be easier for you…”
“No, Aron. Thank you. It’s sweet of you to offer, but I’m fine, really.”
Flames popped to life within me. He was so concerned about Scai. Well, what about me? I was the one who’d used more magic than I’d ever controlled in my entire life to bring Scai back from the dead. And then did I get a break after that? No, I’d had to take care of Old Maud the very next night. Shouldn’t somebody be concerned for me and my health?
Immediately, I turned my head away, ashamed of my thoughts. Scai had nearly died. Yes, I’d brought her back, but my sister was the one who’d been severely injured. He should be concerned about her. The fact that he obviously thought of Scai and not me was just the way it was. He cared for Scai. He’d known her his entire life. They clearly shared something special.
I swallowed the lump that threatened to turn into a sob in my throat. And then I swallowed again, just for good measure. There was nothing that could be done about Aron’s feelings for Scai. I only hoped Dylan wouldn’t be too hurt when the relationship came to light.
“Oh, yeah. I agree, much too short,” Aron said. I had missed most of the conversation. I tried to pay attention, if only to forget about my own stupidity.
There was a moment’s pause then Aron added. “I’m sorry, Bridget. It must have been the most difficult for you to leave so soon.”
I just nodded, unable to speak for all the emotions boiling through me. He thought that I was upset because we’d had to leave so quickly. Well, he was partially right. And he’d noticed that I was upset; that was good, I told myself. Not that it made any sort of difference whatsoever, but still.
“Wot, wot?” Sir Dagonet asked, riding up to join us. The road was wide and empty enough for the three horses to walk abreast.
“We were just saying what a shame it was that we had to leave Gloucester so soon,” Scai explained to Sir Dagonet.
“Oh! Absolutely, couldn’t agree more,” the old knight said, smiling over at me. “Too short of a visit, wot, wot?”
“What!” I agreed emphatically.
Aron, Scai and Sir Dagonet all laughed. I managed a smile. Talking, laughing, and passing the time would help block the hurt and allow me to behave normally with Scai and Aron—I hoped.
“It’ll end soon enough, and then you all will be wishing to be back out on the road, chasing after Nimuë or someone else,” Sir Dagonet said.
“Oh, goodness, I couldn’t possibly imagine wanting to be out traveling after this,” I said.
“Take it from me, stay in one place too long after something like this and you’ll feel it, wot?”
“I’m looking forward to going home and staying there for a good long while,” I said, allowing my mind to wander back for just a moment.
“I guess the rest of us don’t feel it nearly as much you do since we don’t have a home to return to. Not really,” Aron said. He sounded like he was trying to keep the sadness from his voice, but failed miserably.
I swallowed a mouthful of guilt, but just couldn’t bring myself to say anything.
“I’m sorry, Aron,” Scai said. “It’s my fault you had to leave Talent.”
He reached out and put his hand on Scai’s arm. I had to turn and look away.
“It’s all right. I didn’t want to live in that tiny little village my entire life, anyway.”
“The people there weren’t particularly nice,” Scai agreed.
“No.”
Curiosity got the better of me. I turned back to Aron. “So what will you do after this is over, assuming Nimuë doesn’t kill us?”
Aron shrugged.
“I’ll go back to Gloucester to live with our family,” Scai offered.
“Of course, your home is there now,” I agreed.
“I suppose I’ll try to find work there as well,” Aron said, thinking about it. “Blacksmiths are always needed.”
That annoying lump kept coming back. Of course he’d want to be close to Scai.
“Now we just have to get rid of Nimuë.” Scai laughed, totally oblivious to my emotions. Well, there was one advantage of riding behind my sister—Scai couldn’t look into my eyes and see what was on my mind.
“Not a problem, wot, wot?” Sir Dagonet said, and it occurred to me that he’d been completely silent while we’d been talking about the future.
“Sir Dagonet, what will you do once this is over?” I asked.
He gave me a little smile. “Don’t worry about me. You just do what you have to do.”
It wasn’t really an answer, but the old knight gave his horse a little kick and moved up to ride next to Dylan. “Not going to scout ahead for us, then, Dylan?” he asked, as he moved forward.
I couldn’t hear Dylan’s answer but saw the result of it when he gave a laugh, then a wave, before spurring his horse into a gallop.
The day passed in farms and villages and the clop of our horses’ hooves.
Chapter Nine
Nimuë knew it would be a good day from the very beginning. She knew that, no matter what, she would not be leaving Gloucester empty handed. In her guise as Father du Lac, she was a study in patience and calm throughout the morning as she went from pub to pub with her small band of knights, searching for the children and those carpenters, Scai and Bridget’s
brothers. It was odd that no one had heard about Scai’s death, but she had not yet tapped into the Vallen community. Surely, they would be aware of it.
It was just after lunch when the knights and Father du Lac walked into a pub to find one man holding the attention of a group of very unhappy patrons. He was not poorly dressed, but one of his eyes was blackened, nearly swollen shut. Clearly, someone had disagreed with him and let him know it. And, judging from the expressions on the faces turned toward this fellow, the people listening to him now would probably have defended the one who had hit him.
“I tell you, those witch-hunters are doing what someone, some Vallen, should have done years ago,” the man said loud enough to be heard by everyone in the room.
Father du Lac paused just inside the door, the knights behind him bumping together at his sudden stop.
“And those idiots, Thomas, James and the rest of them, are so blinded by the fact that they work for ordinary folk that they don’t even see what harm the witches are doing to us. Tell me that our healers haven’t had patients stolen away by these witches and their potions,” he asked the people at one table. “Tell me that Vallen who can bring the rain haven’t lost business because of some witch burying teeth or some such nonsense in the fields,” he asked another. “And priests! Those ordinary priests…”
A loud coughing, followed by some very pointed throat clearing interrupted the man’s rant. He looked over at the fellow who had made the noise, who was now staring directly at Father du Lac, still standing just inside the door.
The ranting man shut his mouth with a snap, his one good eye going wide. The innkeeper rushed out from behind the bar. “Father, what may we do for you on this fine day?” The man gave Father du Lac a slight bow, his trembling hands clasped together at his chest.
“I believe I would like to speak with that man,” the priest said, giving the innkeeper a gentle smile. He turned his gaze to the man still standing in the middle of the room. “Would you mind?” Father du Lac indicated a table in the back of the room.
The man swallowed visibly, his Adams apple bobbing up and down in his skinny throat. But he gave a slight nod and went to the table Father du Lac had pointed to.
They settled down with the innkeeper hovering over them and the knights arranging themselves behind their priest.
“Something to drink, Father?” the innkeeper asked, giving the knights a curious look.
“Not for me, but my friend’s throat must be quite parched after that enthusiastic speech,” Father du Lac said.
The man just nodded once, a small jerk of his head, but his eyes never left the priest. The innkeeper went off to fetch him something to drink.
“What is your name, my son?” Father du Lac asked, keeping his voice quiet and gentle.
“Richard, Father,” the man answered, his voice on the other hand, was nearly shaking.
“Do I understand that you were defending the witch hunt, Richard?” Father du Lac asked.
The man nodded again, still looking much too nervous.
“That is good to hear. It makes me very happy that we have supporters like you. Men, like yourself, are the key to our success. Without you, our task would be so much more difficult,” Father du Lac said, infusing calm into his voice.
Richard relaxed a touch, but was still on edge. “I do. I support the witch hunt.”
The innkeeper returned with a tankard for the man, placing it on the table while giving the fellow a pleading look. Nimuë supposed he was hoping the fellow would stay mum, but if she was in luck, and she believed she was, he would not only be a strong supporter, but provide her with a great deal of useful information.
She took a moment to look around the pub while Richard took a long draw from his tankard. She wondered how many of these people were Vallen and of those, how many were powerful. She would need powerful Vallen to fight for her cause. It would help to have sympathetic Vallen as well. If this man could ferret out supporters, he could be very useful.
“Excellent. We need men who are not afraid to stand up for what they believe,” Father du Lac said, as Richard wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve.
“I’m not afraid. These people are.” He jerked his head back to indicate the others in the room who were trying to watch them without being too obvious about it. Many of them looked nervous, and they had every right to be so, Nimuë thought with pleasure.
“Why do you think that is?” she asked. “Why do these people defend the witches?”
He swallowed again. “I… I couldn’t say.”
Father du Lac leaned forward and said so quietly only Richard could hear, “Is it because they are Vallen?”
The man’s one good eye grew round.
“Are you Vallen?” she asked.
The fellow swallowed.
“You will tell me,” she said, infusing her voice with a heavy dose of magic.
“Yes, I am. So are they. All of them.” The man stopped speaking and shut his mouth. His eye grew big again and then narrowed as he leaned in and whispered, “And so are you.”
Nimuë just smiled. Not a complete idiot after all, she was relieved to see.
“I am looking for people,” she said, leaning back again. “People who will support our cause.”
“Then I’m your man,” he said, now full of confidence.
“Very good. But I want more, and I want them to be powerful.”
“Powerful? You do want a lot, don’t you?” Richard gave a chuckle.
“For what I have in mind, I will need a lot,” Father du Lac admitted. She was going to have to “convince” the people to follow her.
It was well and good to rule out of fear, but she wanted more. She wanted the loyalty of her people, England. She wanted their love. It would take a good number of strong Vallen to implant her message into the minds of the masses.
“What’s that?” the man asked, leaning forward again.
Nimuë laughed at his eagerness. And at the thought that she would tell him all of her plans. “Who gave you the black eye?” she asked, changing the topic.
He sat back again, frowning. “Some high and mighty fellow Thomas brought in here last night.”
Father du Lac raised his grisly eyebrows.
“Thomas and his brothers. They’re a family of carpenters. Vallen. Do-gooders.”
Father du Lac nodded, and looked away deliberately uninterested.
“They came in here last night with their sister and some friends she brought back from her travels. Two other people and an old knight.” The man paused and then added, “But now that I come to think about it, that other girl looked an awful lot like James. Same white-blond hair, some pale blue eyes. Even had the same skinny build. I guess she was related somehow.”
There was no feigning her interest now. “Go on,” Father du Lac prodded.
“One of the men they brought with them, he’s the one who hit me when I started talking about helping the witch-hunters. Nearly pulled his sword on me, but I’m strong enough that I trapped him against the bar,” the man bragged. “But then they all joined in the fight,” he continued. “Even Bridget and that other girl, although they were mostly busy helping Old Maud.” He stopped and shifted his eyes away.
There was something there he was not telling her, but if it had to do with Old Maud, Nimuë was not interested.
“The other girl, you say she was the one who had white blond hair and blue eyes, or is that Bridget?” Father du Lac asked just to be sure.
“No, Bridget’s a redhead. It was the other one who looked like James.”
The burn of fury descended hard and fast. A lightning bolt shot through the window, making the glass explode inward, and the roll of thunder that followed shook the entire building, sending tankards falling off shelves and tables.
Everyone in the pub shot up out of their seats, the ones closest to the window diving for cover.
Scai was still alive.
“What was that?”
“What happened?�
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The questions flew around the room, everyone looking around for the one who caused the chaos.
Richard just stared at Father du Lac, his mouth gaping open. Nimuë did not wait. She stood up and headed for the door. “Come!” she commanded. She would get that girl. She would get all of them. Now. All three would be dead within the hour. No more games.
When she reached the door, the man was behind her, stammering, “Did you mean me?”
“Who else?”
“The, the knights?” the man said in a feeble voice.
“They will come whether I tell them to or not.” She gave a nod to her knights, each of whom looked to be in shock, their eyes shooting around the room, watching everything that was going on around them.
“We’re not leaving, Father, are we?” One of the braver knights asked. “Clearly there are witches here. Or do you think that was an attack on us and it would be better to retreat for the moment?” he added softly, leaning in toward the priest so that he could not be heard by the others.
Father du Lac pinched his lips together to keep from cursing the man’s stupidity—as if she would ever run from a battle. “We will return here later after things have calmed down. Right now, this gentleman is going to lead us to the home of a family of witches.”
“But won’t the place be empty by then?” the knight asked.
“It does not matter. There are many more witches here in the city than we could ever hope to capture.” And with that, she indicated to Richard to lead the way out.
Chapter 10
Fury pounded within Nimuë as they went with Richard on foot a mere quarter of a mile from the pub. One of her knights followed with the wagon. Nimuë would never have admitted it to anyone, but the walk helped her calm down and think properly about this.
It was Morgan who had told her that Scai had died. Morgan. She had been working against Nimuë from the start. She was determined that those kids remain safe while doing nothing to stop them from trying to kill her own sister. Why had Nimuë ever listened to her? Why had she believed her?
Nimuë thought about that for a second and decided it was the intense look of shock and sadness on her sister’s face when she had told her that Scai had died. Well, it seemed as if Morgan had become a better actress than Nimuë had realized.
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