M'Lady Witch

by Christopher Stasheff

  "I have not," Delilah said, all wide-eyed innocence. "Does that make a lass less hungry to be wed?" And, before Cordelia could answer, "You must forgive my asking. I am too young to know. I am but eighteen."

  Eighteen what? But Cordelia did not say it out loud. "You shall know all that a woman needs within a year or so," Cordelia assured her, thinking all the while that Delilah already knew far more than a genuine lady should.

  "I trust I shall," Delilah sighed. "What is this `kindling' that you spoke of?"

  Geoffrey hailed them from the edge of the wood. "Small sticks and twigs." Cordelia displayed her skirtful of bits of wood. "We shall let the gentlemen fetch logsbut do you quickly catch up some tinder, for they are come with dinner."

  "What is `tinder'?"

  "Dried grass and leaves!" Cordelia stooped impatiently to catch up several handfuls as she walked toward the riverbank. Geoffrey rode down toward the river. Cordelia went to him, with Delilah trailing behind—which was fortunate, for she could not see how Cordelia's cheeks flamed with anger and humiliation. For some obscure reason, Cordelia felt she had come off the loser in that battle of wits—and was sure it had been a battle, though most of Delilah's comments had seemed entirely innocent.

  It was doubly strange that she should feel the loser, since she had certainly given as good as she received, when the comments had been barbed.

  Hadn't she?

  "Well!" Geoffrey surveyed the heap of kindling that Cordelia dumped onto the bare clay by the water—then the cascade of dead leaves and dried cattails that suddenly fell on top of them. Cordelia looked up, startled, and met Delilah's sweetest smile. The cat had snatched them up by the handful as they had come back to meet the boys! "'Tis a good beginning," Geoffrey pronounced.

  "'Twill do to kindle a blaze." Cordelia knelt, brushing grasses from her skirt.

  Alain came up with a six-inch rock in each hand, set them by the tinder, and, glancing furtively at Cordelia, mumbled something about needing to fetch more, got up, and went away. She gazed after him for a moment, frowning. Admittedly he should be remorseful, repentant—but how was she ever going to win him back, if he would not talk to her?

  "Here is your flame." Geoffrey had dismounted and knelt by the tinder now, drawing his dagger and taking a piece of flint from his pouch. He struck them against one another with an expert touch, several times, until a fat spark fell into the tinder. He struck another, and another. Cordelia breathed on them gently, and they began to flame. Out of the corner of her eye, she realized that Delilah was still standing, looking down in contempt at the hoyden who could get down on her knees in the grass and kindle a fire as well as any boy. Cordelia turned and smiled sweetly up at her. "It is given to women to be the keepers of the hearth."

  "Indeed." Delilah's eyes sparked. "But for a lady, the hearth is watched, while servants build it up." Fortunately, Alain arrived before the two of them could go any further, with two more rocks to set by the flames. Cordelia looked up, about to say something about their not being overlarge, but saw how closed his face was, the furtive glances that he flicked at her, and decided it was not the time to say anything that was at all critical.

  There was a rustle of cloth beside her. Cordelia glanced out of the corner of her eye to see Delilah folding herself gracefully to sit by the fire, adjusting her skirts to cover her legs in complete modesty—that is, if you disregarded the cut of her bodice. Apparently, she had realized that everybody else was sitting or kneeling. Cordelia smiled to herself as she took kindling from her little pile and fed it to the flames, building them up little by little, letting it grow. "What have you found for us to eat, gentlemen?"

  "A hare." Alain proudly held out a spitted blob of pink meat that bore about as much resemblance to a rabbit as a toad to a toadstool. He was obviously very proud of having shot, skinned, and cleaned it himself, but Delilah shrank back with an exclamation of frightened disgust, as a delicate maiden would when coming face-to-face with the world's realities for the first time.

  Alain was instantly all contrition. "I pray you, look away, milady. I had forgot that you would never have seen raw meat as it came from the hide."

  "Nay, I never have." Delilah turned away, trembling. "I doubt if I shall be able to eat of it now."

  Alain stepped over to her side. "Come, come! When 'tis done, you shall not recognize it at all!" He reached out to her, then drew his hand back. "I would not offer a murderer's hands to you..."

  She blinked up at him, and forced a smile. "Nay, surely not. You mean only my welfare, I know, to see that I am fed. Forgive me that my stomach is too delicate for such a sight." She relaxed into his arms, laying her head on his shoulder. Alain wiped clean hands on his hose before he put his arms around her.

  "Sister," Geoffrey murmured in Cordelia's ear, "what is that grinding noise?"

  "Only my teeth," she grated back. "Can he not see through her, Geoffrey?"

  "Why, no," whispered Geoffrey, surprised, "and neither can I, though her skin is perfectly clear."

  "So is her behavior! She is positively transparent!" Cordelia made the comment a lash. "I would have thought that my much-experienced brother would not be so easily deceived."

  "Better, or worse?" Geoffrey smiled, amused. "Few of us are born with defenses against a pretty face or form. Be patient, sister. If she truly is as you imagine her to be, no doubt we shall discover it."

  " `Beauty is as beauty does,' do you mean?" Cordelia's tone was scathing. "Many a man has discovered nothing of the sort, 'til the priest has pronounced the words."

  Then, with sudden despair: "What am I to do, Geoffrey? I have no tricks, no skill in dissembling! How shall I save him from her?"

  "Do you care about him?" Geoffrey seemed quite surprised. Then he frowned. "Or is it only that you fear that something belonging to you will be taken?"

  The echo of their mother's words irritated Cordelia. "Nay, 'tis more than that." But the image of Forrest came up unbidden before her inner eye.

  Geoffrey was not intent on reading her mind at the moment, so he missed the picture, but he caught the hesitation, the uncertainty. "When you are sure, Cordelia, you shall prosper. But I pray you, do nothing extreme until we know whether or not she is the monster you think her to be, or is truly as sweet and kind as she seems."

  "Read her mind, brother," Cordelia said, exasperated. "I have tried." Geoffrey's brow knit, puzzled. "There is only a sort of swirling there."

  "What—say you that she has no mind?"

  "Oh, nay! She is there, surely enough. We do not deal with a witch-moss construct." Geoffrey deliberately mistook her meaning. "Still, her thoughts cannot be read, though she seems to make no effort to block them."

  "Truly?" Cordelia glanced up in time to see Delilah push herself a little away from Alain, blushing, eyes downcast, then looking up and smiling, as though thanking him for his concern.

  It was like a stab to Cordelia's own heart, that he did not even think of her enough to realize that she might be hurt by seeing him be solicitous to her rival. Either he was so smitten that he did not even remember that Cordelia had reason to object—or he was truly only being chivalrous.

  Kindness to a stray kitten? And, in his own mind, nothing that she should object to?

  She didn't believe that for a minute.

  They chatted as the roast turned on its spit, Cordelia wondering at the back of her mind what Delilah was going to do when it came time to eat. She toyed with the notion of conjuring up knife, fork, and plate, but remembered that this was the boys' affair, not hers. She sat back, hiding a wicked smile, to see what her brother and her besotted beau would do.

  She found herself wishing that he was besotted with her.

  Then she remembered that he had been, but she had turned him down.

  Well, no—the arrogance with which he had approached her had not been besotted, by any means. But she remembered a younger Alain, of only a year before, whose gaze had followed her everywhere she went, and the Alain of five years bef
ore that, who had followed her about so persistently that she had scolded him for being a pest.

  She regretted that bitterly now. Had that scolding broken her spell over him? Or was it still there, but he, in obedience to her sharp tongue, was no longer allowing it to show?

  Watching him closely now, she would have to say that he wasn't besotted with Delilah, really—only very attentive. Too attentive. Far too attentive. And not at all so to Cordelia—though he seemed to be avoiding her out of guilt rather than indifference.

  Still, what was Cordelia to do? Feign a swoon? Certainly he would not believe that she needed comforting or protecting! For a moment, a tide of self-pity swept her. For the first time in her life, she found herself wishing that she were not so confounded capable.

  Geoffrey solved the tableware problem with slabs of journey bread—flat, round cakes eight inches across. Lady Delilah, however, did not even have a dagger—of course. Alain solved the problem by cutting her meat for her, presenting it on the improvised trencher as though on a silver platter.

  "Oh, sirs, you should not trouble yourselves!" Delilah protested.

  " 'Tis no trouble at all, my lady, I assure you." Then, as an afterthought, it seemed to Cordelia, Alain turned and, for the first time, addressed her. "Cordelia, may I serve you in like fashion?"

  She would have cheerfully served him instead—on toast. But she kept the lid on the seething and smiled sweetly. "Why, surely, Alain. I thank you." She bit back a scathing comment about being second, and probably always being second in his affections. Hot tears stung at her eyes, but she blinked them away. It was silly indeed to think that; Delilah was surely a passing fancy, no more. Surely ...

  "I thank you." She held out her makeshift trencher with strings of steaming rabbit meat on it. Alain took it, cut the meat, then handed it back to her, inclining his head gravely, and offered his knife, hilt first. "Take it, I pray you, so you need not soil your fingers."

  Delilah froze, a bit of meat halfway to her mouth, her eyes turning cold.

  Cordelia was surprised to find herself blushing with gratitude—or was it relief? "Gramercy." She was on the point of refusing the knife—after all, she had a smaller one of her own—but realized she had better not; he might take it as a refusal of himself, too. "I shall endeavor to finish with it quickly, so that you may once again have the use of it."

  "An excellent notion!" Geoffrey proffered his own knife, hilt first. "Will you take my point, my lady?"

  "Why, thank you, sir." Delilah bestowed a very sweet smile on Geoffrey and took his knife.

  Cordelia reflected on other potential uses for the blade as she stabbed the bits of meat and popped them into her mouth. "It is well done, in truth. You are an excellent chef, Alain."

  "I learned something in the kitchens, from time to time." Alain smiled, relieved at having found a neutral topic—and wondering why Geoffrey was suddenly coughing so violently.

  "I am sure you have," Cordelia said, with a touch of sarcasm.

  Alain blushed and looked away.

  Oh, no! Cordelia thought. I have set him off now! And she set herself to being pleasant, with renewed determination. What ailed the man, anyhow? If he felt so guilty at paying attentions to Delilah, why didn't he simply stop?

  She chatted about the weather and about events in the palace, while Delilah found occasion after occasion for a subtle compliment, drawing Alain into telling her more and more about himself.

  Cordelia did her best to change the topic, but not too much. "And how have you fared, knights-errant? I see you have saved a damsel in distress. What of the monster that did guard her?"

  She was surprised, and chagrined, when Delilah broke into peals of laughter, and the gentlemen grinned in answer. "We seem to have saved her only from abandonment," Geoffrey explained, "though it may be she would have had more fell creatures than that preying upon her, if we had not come when we did. Still, in your name and for your glory, Alain slew an ogre."

  "An ogre?" Cordelia turned, eyes huge. She remembered hearing the villagers thinking of the event, but recognized a chance when she saw one. "How is this, Alain? Does he mock me?"

  "He does not, I assure you," Alain said, with grave courtesy. "It was indeed an ogre, though your brother will not admit to his part in its defeat."

  "An ogre! Oh! How brave of you, sir!" Delilah exclaimed, clasping her hands at her breast. "But how dangerous! Thank heavens you are returned alive!"

  Definitely overdoing it, Cordelia thought—but apparently, Alain couldn't see that. He swelled visibly at her praise. "It was a poor thing, in its way," he said modestly.

  "A poor thing! Oh, aye, nine feet tall, with four arms!" Geoffrey scoffed.

  "Well, true," Alain allowed. "But it had very little brain."

  "Though a great deal of brawn," Geoffrey reminded him, "and it does not require so very much brain to swing a club half the size of a man."

  Cordelia stared at Alain. "And you rode against it with naught but your sword?"

  "I did indeed." Alain looked rather happy about it. "I will own, though, that I did take a wound of him." Delilah gasped again.

  "Though 'tis naught that a little time will not heal," Alain said quickly.

  "How gallant of you, sir!" Delilah caroled—but Cordelia was suddenly all business.

  "Let me see." Cordelia stepped around the fire and began to unbutton Alain's doublet.

  "Why, Cordelia!" he said, eyes wide. "Really, damsel!" Delilah huffed.

  "Oh, be still!" Cordelia snapped. "If he is hurt, I must know it. Where, Alain?"

  "Why, you are a forward wench indeed!" Delilah gasped. "A wench when it pleases me, but for now, I am a nurse!" She folded the doublet open—and stared a moment.

  My heavens, the man had a massive chest! When had he grown all those muscles? She felt the strange feelings beginning to churn within her again, and turned her attention to the rough dressing held to his side by a bandage that was wrapped around and around his abdomen. "That was only a scratch, you say?"

  "In truth, it was." Geoffrey frowned. "Do you fault my doctoring, sister?"

  "Was it you who did this?" Cordelia looked up. "How deep was the cut? Was any organ harmed?"

  Delilah turned pale.

  "Nay, only muscle tissue, and not much of that; it scarce passed beyond the layer of fat. No large blood vessels cut, either, but only a seepage from many capillaries."

  Delilab turned away, a hand to her mouth.

  "Peace, peace!" Alain tried to recover his doublet with a glance at Delilah. "'Tis naught, Cordelia, truly!" Cordelia probed the wound gently, and when Alain only gasped lightly, she grudgingly said, "It seems well enough." She frowned up into his eyes. "My touch does not pain you?"

  For a moment, his face turned fatuous. "Not in the slightest," he breathed. "'Tis as the petals of a flower that brush against me."

  Cordelia stared at him in complete amazement.

  A slight smile touched Alain's face. "If such touch as that be pain, may I live in torment all my days!"

  Now, finally, Cordelia blushed, and turned away.

  CHAPTER 9

  "Why, Alain," Cordelia said, "you have never spoken so before."

  "Aye. I have been a chowderheaded fool," Alain said, with self-disgust verging on anger.

  Delilah looked up indignantly, and Geoffrey decided it was time he took a hand—a hand he had been wanting to take for quite some time now. He stood up and stepped over to Delilah, reaching down. "My lady, will you walk? While we hunted for dinner, I found a small garden by the riverside. It must have been planted by Nature herself, but it is so sweet a sight that it must needs be the perfect setting for such beauty as yours." He smiled, looking deeply into her eyes. "Will you not come see it?"

  Delilah looked startled, then cast an apprehensive glance at Alain—a glance that gained an edge.

  "I am sure they will be safe by themselves," Geoffrey said, then leaned to murmur, "as you will be quite safe with me—if you wish to be."

&nb
sp; Delilah turned back to him, startled—and for a moment, he saw the naked desire in her eyes, so hot that it led him suddenly to doubt that she was quite the virtuous maiden she seemed. But he could also see the calculation behind her eyes, as she glanced at Alain with a scornful smile. That smile turned to one of amusement, not altogether pleasant, as she turned back to Geoffrey. "Do you promise, sir?"

  "Aye, surely—that you shall be safe as you please." Passion flashed in her eyes again, but was quickly hidden. "Then I shall come." She rose in one lithe, sinuous motion, taking his hand. "I thank you, sir. Surely this garden will be at its most beautiful by moonlight."

  "Alas!" Geoffrey tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and turned her away toward the trees. "The moon does not rise for some minutes yet."

  "Then we shall await it." She turned back with a vindictive smile for Alain—but he wasn't looking, and the smile disappeared. "We shall return anon," she informed the couple. "Fare well in our absence."

  "Farewell indeed." Cordelia tried to hide her elationand silently thought a beam of thanks at her brother. He smiled and winked, since Delilah still had her back to him. Cordelia tried to remind herself how thoroughly she disapproved of Geoffrey's womanizing—but at the moment, it didn't seem at all bad.

  Alain looked up, startled at Delilah's words, then glanced quickly at Geoffrey, who only gave him a sly wink. Not altogether reassured, he glanced at Delilah—but she was already turning away to go with Geoffrey, and when she looked up at him, her smile was dazzling. Alain stared after her, wondering whether he should feel wounded or relieved. He decided on relieved, and turned back to Cordelia, dismissing Delilah from his mind—and was rather surprised at the ease with which he did it.

  He caught Cordelia watching him with a look that clearly said he was being weighed in the balance. "She is quite attractive—in fact, a beauty."

  "She is," Alain said judiciously, "but will she remain in my mind when she is gone from my sight?"

  "A most excellent question." Cordelia's answer was somewhat tart. "Will she, indeed?"