by Donna Grant
“If Braith says it is important, then you should go.”
Carac blew out a harsh breath. “That was my intention until you returned with this news.”
“We cannot leave, Carac. These people are defenseless against Sybbyl.”
“So are we, old friend. I daresay, none of our shields will stand a chance against her.”
Simon’s lips twisted ruefully. “She killed children today. Innocents, who just happened to be in her line of fire.”
“You did not mention the children before.”
Simon shrugged and turned away, but Carac knew that Simon had made his decision to fight Sybbyl and John the moment he saw a child murdered. It brought up memories Simon struggled with every day.
“The past still has a hold of you,” Carac said as he came to stand beside his friend.
Simon swallowed, nodding. “I thought it was buried until....”
“I know.” Carac put a hand on his friend’s shoulder for comfort. Even though it had been ten years since mercenaries riding through his village had trampled Simon’s son, his heart had never fully healed from it. Or his wife taking her own life.
Simon sniffed and lifted his head. “There has to be some way to fight Sybbyl. Everything can be killed.”
“That it can, but before we attempt to lop off her head, we need to learn more. Sybbyl might not be the only witch here.”
“What do you mean?”
“A woman arrived today. She is hiding something, I’m sure of it.”
Simon raised a brow. “All women hide things.”
Carac strode to the stall were Ravyn’s horse was munching on hay. He pointed at the crossbow next to the saddle hanging on the stable wall. “She also carries a dagger with her.”
“Sybbyl has no weapons,” Simon pointed out.
“Perhaps Ravyn is not as skilled with magic.”
Simon inspected the crossbow closely, lifting it to peer at it from all angles. “It was made with a skilled hand. It is much smaller than those our men use, which means that this one was made specifically for a woman. There are also additions to it I have never seen before. The markings etched on the handle look Celtic.”
Carac had missed those. He took the weapon from Simon to see for himself. The symbols were small and meticulously carved with a steady hand. There was something about them that brought about a sense of calm, though he couldn’t begin to understand why.
“What do you know of the new arrival?” Simon asked.
Carac replaced the weapon. “Her name is Lady Ravyn. She claims to be with her maid on the way to her uncle.”
“You do not believe her?”
“I know she is hiding something, but what, I cannot be sure as yet.”
Simon ran a hand along the crossbow. “I am interested in meeting anyone with such a weapon. Can she use it?”
“She claims she can.”
“To travel alone with just her maid is dangerous.”
Carac nodded slowly. “Aye. However, she gives the impression that she can take care of herself.”
“So we need to determine if Lady Ravyn is here to help Sybbyl or not. It could merely be a coincidence that she arrived today.”
Carac lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It could be something as simple. She said she would have gone to Lord Bryce’s, but she heard in the village what had happened with the battle.”
“She is cautious,” Simon said. “Good.”
“Or a skilled liar.”
Simon met his gaze, staring for a long moment. “Now who is letting the past hold them?”
“It was a hard lesson I had to learn twice, but learn it I did.”
“That is all well and good, but what about Lady Sybbyl?”
Carac stopped short of rolling his eyes. “We need to keep our distance. I do not want her discovering that we know what happened at Bryce Castle. I am dining with them this evening. Hopefully, I can discover something then.”
“What about Braith?”
Damn. Carac had forgotten about his friend’s request. “I will send him a message letting him know that I will come as soon as I am able.”
“Carac, you need to be careful with Sybbyl.”
“I need to be on guard around Sybbyl, John, John’s men, and Lady Ravyn. At this point, I trust no one but you.”
Simon ran a hand over his jaw. “At least your men are stationed outside the castle walls.”
“They spar and mingle with John’s men as they did this afternoon.”
“That was after the battle. I can put them on drills tomorrow.”
Carac gave a nod of agreement. “Post extra guards, as well. I will return to camp tonight.”
“If you do not, I will be back looking for you.”
Carac laughed, but it was forced. He had never been in such a situation before, and in truth, he had no idea what he was doing.
But, somehow, he knew he might find some answers with Ravyn.
Or did he just want to be around her?
Chapter 7
Impatience burned with a blaze as consuming as the sun. When Ravyn spotted the woman riding ahead of six men into the bailey, she knew it was the witch. If only Ravyn could see her face, but the hood of the cloak was pulled up, preventing even a glimpse of the witch’s hair.
“Is it the witch?” Margery asked from her spot beside her.
Ravyn shrugged, trying not to let her frustration get the best of her. “I cannot tell.”
“You will at supper once you get near her.”
“Aye.” That’s usually how it happened unless a Hunter saw the witch in action. There was just something about a witch that Ravyn could detect if she were close enough.
Margery swung her head toward Ravyn. “It would have been better to know before you sit at the same table with her.”
“I will not launch myself at her, if that is what you’re worried about.” Ravyn remained at the window in an attempt to see more of the woman.
“It is not too late for us to leave. You can beg off this evening by saying you are exhausted from travel. I can bring food to you. Then, we can leave at first light.”
Ravyn knew Margery was trying to give her an out, and she loved her friend all the more for it. “I have come this far. I will not leave now.”
“Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?”
She put her back to the window. “Nothing.”
“After what we learned in the village about the battle, we can deduce that a witch is definitely helping Lord John. And I suspect it is for something other than kindness. Whether the woman who just came through the gates is the witch, I do not know yet. But I will find her. No witch in the Coven does anything without a reason. She most likely wants something, and I will ferret out what that is.”
“Carefully,” Margery urged.
Ravyn gave her a flat look. “I am the best Hunter for a reason. You do not have to keep telling me to be careful.”
“Of course, I do. Never have you gotten so close to a witch who could be the one that killed your family.”
“I have always hunted her. The Fates finally decided to let me find her.”
Margery raised both brows as she held out her hands. “Exactly. After all these years, you might have the one responsible. Without a doubt, you are the best Hunter we have, but when it comes to your family, you are blinded by your vendetta.”
“I have no interest in dying.” She smiled at Margery. “I do not want to just take down this witch. I want the entire Coven. I know that fight will be long and difficult. I will not do anything stupid.”
Margery rolled her eyes. “Being here without more Hunters is not exactly what I would call smart.”
Ravyn laughed and glanced out the window. Her gaze caught the tall figure of Carac. His eyes were shrewd as he scanned the bailey, his blond head moving slowly from one side to the other before he made his way toward the castle doors.
“He is handsome,” Margery said.
“Without a doubt.”
“He does not trust me.”
“And that upsets you?” she asked with a chuckle.
Ravyn pressed her lips together. “I hate to admit it, but it does.”
“Then tell him the truth. Tell him all of it.”
She shot Margery a sardonic look. “Have you gone daft?”
“He could help us.”
“Or he could be working with the witch and Lord John.”
Margery shrugged, her lips twisting. “Even if we know for a fact that Sir Carac is not part of the witch’s plan, you will still tell him nothing.”
“I could,” she retorted, angry that Margery knew her so well.
“The only reason I know what I do is because I’m a Hunter. You consider anyone not associated with the abbey an outsider. You shut yourself off from them, pretending to be whatever character you make up for that particular scenario. And you never let anyone get to know the real you.”
Ravyn gawked at her. “I do what I must to keep my identity a secret. The Coven knows about us Hunters now, though it was no fault of Leoma’s. They would have discovered it eventually, but now that they know, I will do what I must to continue taking them out.”
“Killing them.” Margery blew out a breath. “Just say it.”
“Aye. I kill them.”
Margery looked to the side for a long moment before returning her gaze to Ravyn. “All I am suggesting is that you trust someone other than those from the abbey. You never know when you might need someone else.”
Her words sounded too much like a prediction of what was to come, and Ravyn didn’t like it. She decided to change the subject. “What did you learn with the other servants?”
“Very little,” Margery replied in exasperation. “They are tight-lipped for sure, but I will end up discovering more from observing them. I can tell you that each of them grew nervous as soon as I asked about the other lady.”
“I do not suppose you got her name, did you?”
Margery grinned. “Give me some credit. She is Lady Sybbyl.”
“Sybbyl,” Ravyn repeated, hoping it might jar some memory from the murder of her family, but all she remembered was the screams of her family, her father begging for them to be spared, the witch’s blond hair, and her laughter.
“Have you thought about what will happen if this witch is not the one who murdered your family?”
Ravyn swallowed and walked to the chair before the hearth. A chill ran through her, seeping into her bones so that not even the heat of the blaze could warm her. “The witch I hunt has blond hair that shines like spun gold. From the descriptions we were given of Sybbyl, she has such hair. Yet, if it turns out that Sybbyl is not the one, I will still kill her. It is what we do to those of the Coven.”
“Aye, it is what we do,” Margery said as she came to stand near the hearth.
Ravyn pulled her gaze from the flames and looked at her friend. “Now that Braith is the Warden of the Blood Skull, we have an advantage over the Coven, but I do not believe it will last long.”
“Meaning?” Margery asked with a frown.
“The skull is from the First Witch. From everything Leoma learned from the Varroki warlock, Jarin, and what Braith imparted from what the skull told him, there is a very good chance the Coven is looking for her bones.”
Margery rubbed her hands together as she shook her head. “The tales of the First Witch state that upon her death, she commanded her bones to be scattered across various countries. Surely, no one would be daft enough to have another of her bones in England.”
“What if it was not meant to be here?” Ravyn asked. “But what if it ended up here over the centuries?”
“I suppose anything is possible. Why do you ask?”
Ravyn leaned her elbow on the arm of the chair and propped her chin in her hand. “I have been thinking about it since Leoma and Braith returned with the Blood Skull.”
“I did overhear Edra telling Radnar that she felt the skull was the start of something.”
Ravyn slid her gaze to Margery. “From what Braith told us, the Coven was actively looking for the Blood Skull for many years. It might behoove us to think that they are looking for all the bones.”
“In that case, any witch we hunt, we need to determine what they are doing.”
She nodded, smiling. “Exactly.”
Margery pulled her out of the chair. “It is time for supper.”
Ravyn straightened her gown and removed the dagger at her waist. She laid it on the table before smoothing her hands over her hair. After a reassuring smile from Margery, she walked from her chamber down the corridor to the stairs.
She paused on the landing to look below. Her gaze landed on Carac first before moving to the woman he spoke with. Her long, golden blond hair was pulled back in a loose braid that fell to her hips.
“There you are,” John said as he walked to the base of the stairs.
Ravyn smiled and ascended the steps, all too aware of Carac’s and Sybbyl’s gaze on her. But she kept her eyes locked on John.
Flirtation came naturally to Ravyn, and for whatever reason, men of all ages responded to her. Since John obviously had a connection to the witch, Ravyn wanted to drive a wedge in it where she could. It might not last long, but something was better than nothing.
John held out his hand for her when she reached the last step, and she accepted with a smile that held just a hint of interest.
He led her to Carac and Sybbyl, both of which had yet to stop staring at her. Ravyn smiled at Carac, amazed to find it was genuine and not forced in any way. Now was not the time for her to be interested in a man.
“Lady Ravyn, let me introduce you to Lady Sybbyl,” John said.
Ravyn lowered herself into a small curtsey and bowed her head before meeting Sybbyl’s blue eyes. She had to keep the smugness from her face when anger and jealousy flashed in Sybbyl’s gaze.
With one introduction, the two were immediate adversaries. But it went deeper than that, because now that Ravyn was close enough, she could tell that the woman was a witch. It was the way she held herself, and the look in her eyes.
“I hope you two beautiful ladies are hungry,” John said, unaware of the tension. “We have a feast to dine on.”
John escorted Ravyn to the table while Carac attended to Sybbyl. To Ravyn’s surprise, they did not go to the dais at the back of the great hall. Instead, they sat at one of the many other tables.
John released her once Ravyn was in her seat then said, “It is not often that I have two such stunning women as guests. I decided it would only be us four dining this evening.”
Sybbyl’s lips thinned into a forced smile as she glared.
Ravyn shot him a wide grin and said, “What a lovely idea. Thank you.”
Carac sat across from Ravyn, a crooked smile on his lips as he watched her, letting her know he knew exactly what she had done.
With John beside her and Sybbyl across from him, it was a cozy, if awkward, meal. John was either an imbecile or uncaring that Sybbyl was livid with him, and Ravyn kept him talking about his lands and family so that he rarely looked away from her as they ate.
Every once in a while, Ravyn would look up and see Carac staring at her. He did attempt to keep Sybbyl occupied, but the witch was having none of it. Sybbyl repeatedly turned the conversation in whatever direction she desired.
Ravyn was somehow always able to figure out what a man wanted or needed to hear, as well as what to ask him about to make her appear interested. In fact, she could keep a man occupied for hours with simple conversation, a seductive smile, and direct eye contact.
But she grew tired of the game with John and decided to take a more direct approach. Maybe it was because Sybbyl could be her family’s killer. Or perhaps it was because Carac was covertly studying her, and she couldn’t keep her mind focused on John because of it.
Ravyn took a drink of wine before she bit into
a piece of cheese. She grinned when John’s gaze dropped to her lips. Men were so predictable.
“How long have you known Lord Randall?” she asked.
John shrugged, all the while grinning like a besotted fool. “All my life. Our families have had a strained relationship for generations.”
“It is sad what happened today.” Ravyn looked down at her trencher, but her attention was on Sybbyl.
“These things happen.”
She wanted to roll her eyes at John’s retort. “What will become of Lord Bryce? I mean, you have his lands now, but he is still nobility.”
“He has no heir,” Sybbyl stated icily. Then her blue eyes shifted to John. “Is that not right?”
John cleared his throat and stared at the table, his fingers nervously brushing against his goblet. “Aye. His son and wife died.”
“Surely, there is other family?” Ravyn decided to play dumb to see how much information she could get.
Sybbyl stared at John for what felt like hours before he glanced at Ravyn, his lips trembling in a smile. “Randall is the last. Which means that I will get his title.”
Ravyn was not happy with this news. “From what I hear, Lord Randall could sire an heir with a new wife.”
“He will not,” Sybbyl announced in a tone that brooked no argument.
Ravyn looked into the witch’s blue eyes and wished she had her crossbow or even her dagger so she could kill her right then and there.
Chapter 8
Carac didn’t think he had ever sat through a more interesting meal. Granted, he wouldn’t have called it enjoyable, but it was fascinating watching Ravyn.
As soon as she arrived, Sybbyl had taken immediate offense. It didn’t help that John seemed entranced by Ravyn’s beauty and engaging smile. By the way Sybbyl stared daggers at him, Carac imagined that what awaited John later that night would be anything but pleasant.
But Ravyn was utterly captivating. She easily maneuvered the conversation into whatever territory she wanted without John even realizing it. Carac attempted to talk to Sybbyl, but it didn’t last since she couldn’t stop glaring at John, and Carac was more interested in listening to Ravyn anyway.