M'Lady Witch

by Christopher Stasheff

  Forrest turned to him in surprise. "And what of the Lady Cordelia, sir?"

  "Oh, Cordelia?" Geoffrey made a dismissive gesture. "She is my sister."

  "I see." Forrest's lips quirked with humor. "And a sister, of course, can never be beautiful to her brother." He turned back to Cordelia, his gaze boring into hers. "But I assure you, my lady, I am not your brother."

  "No; I should have recognized you if you were." Cordelia strove to sound cool and disinterested, but it was no use. He knew exactly how interested she was.

  "Come! Must we stand here all day chaffering?" Delilah shook her bridle till the rings jingled. "Or shall we not move onward toward my father's house?"

  "Aye, most assuredly!" Alain turned back to Forrest and said severely, "Thank you for your help, good fellow. Now be off."

  "Nay, I shall be on. As to calling me `fellow'..." Forrest's face hardened as he looked up at Alain. "I am as well born as you, I warrant, and was knighted. It is true that I have fallen on evil days, and I may have been less than honorable as a consequence, but that does not lessen my quality."

  Alain's mouth quirked in wry amusement. "As well born as I, sir? To be sure, any lapse in chivalry does show you to be of lesser quality than your birth."

  "If that is so," Forrest returned, his voice hardening, "there are many men in Gramarye who are of lower quality than that to which they were born, yet wear duke's coronets and sit in great houses."

  Alain lost his smile.

  Cordelia decided the tension was growing too thick. She clucked to Fess, and he moved between the two men, so that she broke their gaze. "Come, gentlemen! Let us not stand in idle chatter; the Lady Delilah hath the right of it in that." She stressed the word "that."

  "Let us go."

  "To her father's house?" the outlaw asked in surprise. "Indeed," Cordelia answered.

  "Aye," Alain said severely. "We have given our word that we will escort the lady to her home—though I doubt that you would understand the importance of honoring one's word, sir!"

  Now it was Forrest's gaze that darkened, and Cordelia said quickly, "Alain! That was unchivalrous of you, sir!" Then, to both of them, "Do what you will—I am going."

  She kicked her heels against Fess's sides, and the great black horse moved off with alacrity. The two men looked up, startled; then Alain kicked his horse and rode to come up beside her, and Forrest ran.

  Cordelia reined in Fess, and the two caught up, pacing along on either side of her. She made sure that Fess was going slowly enough so that Forrest wouldn't be pressed too hard.

  "Nay, you must not leave me behind, fair lady!" Forrest protested. "For this Forrest would be dark indeed without you."

  She turned to him, tilting up her chin, and said, in her coolest tone, "Black-haired, sir, and black-bearded; how dark can you not be?"

  The outlaw stared at her a moment, then grinned, showing white teeth. His lips, she noticed, were very red, and fuller than most men's. "Even as you say it, my lady—but darker tenfold for want of your smile."

  "Though any man would seem dark," said Alain, "near the light of your beauty, lovely Cordelia."

  She turned, gratified. "Why, thank you, Alain. Where have you learned such pretty manners of speech?"

  "Why, from my heart," he said, gazing into her eyes. For a moment, her heart fluttered, and she found herself wondering if he really did mean it.

  No. Surely. It was only the competition with Forrest that had caused him to say it—though she seemed to remember a few compliments of the night before ...

  Still ...

  Alain had always hated to lose, she remembered that well enough from their childhoods, though he had learned how to pretend a better grace as he grew older ...

  "The leaf that flutters from the tree cannot be lighter than your step!"

  "The summer's sky cannot be more clear than your eyes!"

  "The cherry's blossom must pale when set against your cheek!"

  "Nay, for those blossoms are your cheeks!"

  Cordelia looked from one to the other, soaking up the compliments as they settled about her. She knew better than to trust either of them, or to think that they really meant it—but she might as well enjoy it while it lasted. She decided that there was definitely something to be said for competition.

  Behind her, her brother was looking decidedly grumpy. "What do they see in her? Surely she cannot have grown into a beauty in the space of one day!"

  "Oh, it is only as Alain has said," Delilah answered, disgusted. "A brother can never see his sister's beauty." She turned toward him, a wicked notion coming into her mind.

  "Perhaps that means that only brothers can see truly." Geoffrey looked at her for a moment, trying to make up his mind whether or not to be offended. Then he decided to give Cordelia a little of her own medicine. "You have never had a brother?" he asked.

  "Nay—only my sister." A shadow crossed her face. Geoffrey spoke quickly to erase the thought. "Then I must fill his place, and see you as you truly are.",

  For a moment, she seemed discomfited, even alarmed; but it was only a flicker. Her eyelids drooped, and a slow, lazy smile curved her lips. "Come, sir! Did you not see me truly last night?"

  "What, by moonlight?" Geoffrey breathed. "Or by starlight? Nay! Surely only the light of the sun shows us as we truly are."

  "Indeed." She lost the smile and tilted her chin up, gazing at him in disdain. "And what has the light of the sun shown, sir?"

  "Why," said Geoffrey, "a dozen tiny features that I could not see by night—how red your lips are, how rosy your cheeks! Though your complexion, I note, is as flawless as ever it was—even the alabaster that it seemed by night! And surely the stars, that had fallen from the skies in despair of matching your eyes, knew truth, for you outshine them all!"

  Delilah gave a laugh of delight. "A very pretty speech, sir! Nay, I think I will listen to some more—if you have any in your repertoire."

  Cordelia glanced back, frowning just in time to see Geoffrey kissing Delilah's hand, and to hear her laugh again. "La, sir! Pretty speeches are not enough!"

  Then, more softly, so that Cordelia could not hear, "What actions can you show me?"

  "Why, what you will." Geoffrey looked up with a slow smile that turned into a grin. "Name the deed you fancy, lady, and I shall do it."

  Delilah cocked her head to the side, evaluating him. "I think that I shall wait to say it. Until I do, sir, you shall lie low."

  "As low as you wish," Geoffrey said, his voice husky. "But where shall we lie? Sooth, we must wait for night!" Delilah's eyes sparked with anger, but her mouth curved in amusement, then in derision. "You shall show me nothing, sir, if you must wait for night—for then there will be nothing that shows."

  "Ay de mi!" Geoffrey leaned closer. "Must I wait? For you tell me that if I do, I shall have nothing!"

  "Why, then," she breathed, "do not."

  He covered her mouth with his own, both leaning from their saddies to bridge the gap, only their lips touching. Cordelia glanced back again at the sudden silence, and stared in indignation, then whipped about, eyes front, face burning.

  "Why, how have I offended, beautiful lady?" Alain cried, wounded.

  Cordelia thawed a little, turning toward him, and bestowed a smile upon him. "Why, in no way, sir, and neither has Forrest. I am only indignant when I remember the verse."

  "Then blame me not, for I have made no promises." Alain's voice softened, and he leaned closer. "I have only asked them, and they have not been given."

  Cordelia stared at him a moment. Her own lips curved, and she said, "Then do not ask again until you are sure they will be granted."

  "And when shall that be?" he breathed. "When will the sun fall from the sky?"

  They looked up, startled; then Alain's face darkened at what he thought was Forrest's impertinence—and perhaps it was, but the outlaw was gazing up through the leafy canopy at the sky. "There cannot be so much of daylight left. Where shall we camp?"

  "There
is no need." Alain's voice was stern. "Lady Delilah has said we shall come to her father's house ere darkness falls." He turned back to Delilah. "Shall we not, milady?"

  Delilah broke off from the kiss, though not quite as quickly as she might have, considering how surprised she looked. Alain stiffened, and Cordelia's heart twisted.

  "Shall we not what, sir?" Delilah tucked at her hair, though it didn't need the attention.

  "Come to your father's house ere nightfall." Alain's tone was stiffly polite. "Shall we not?"

  "Nightfall?" Delilah looked up through the leaves at the sun rays. "By suppertime, or not long after, I should say. Indeed, there is no need to hurry."

  "That is well." Alain turned back to face front, seeming relieved. "Then let us tell tales as we go along—or shall we sing?"

  Geoffrey shrugged. "Sing, if you will—but let it be a tune that we all know."

  "Why, so I shall." Alain thought for a moment, then began to sing in a clear, rich tenor.

  "Alas, my love, you do me wrong,

  To cast me off discourteously..."

  " `By all the promises that e'er men broke, In number more than women spoke.' "

  Geoffrey joined in with the baritone line, and the two girls began to sing a descant. Forrest's voice underscored them all with a warm, resonant bass—resonating within Cordelia, giving her shivers. She glanced down at Forrest; he glanced back at her. Some electric current seemed to pass between them. Cordelia shivered, and turned her gaze resolutely back to the front. Perhaps Alain was the safest for her, after all. But did she truly wish to be safe?

  The tall stone pillars seemed to rear up very suddenly, for they were right in the middle of the woodland. Huge iron gates hung from them. Behind them sat a serf in tunic and hose. Cordelia stared for a moment, startled, then glanced to either side. The woods were so thick, the roadside trees so intertwined with bramble and thorn, that what she had mistaken for a thicket was really a very artfully constructed fence. It would not deter an armored knight, of course, but it would protect the people within from the casual trespasser or poacher, and from most wild animals. "Willem!" Delilah carolled. "How fare you?"

  The porter jerked awake out of a doze and stared as though at an apparition. "My lady Delilah!" He leaped from his seat. "Is it truly you?"

  "Yes, Willem. I am returned to you, thanks to the protection of these good folk. How fares my father?"

  "In anxiety and woe, my lady. He wrings his hands and cries out every hour, that his men can be of no worth if they have not found your trail. Ah, praise Heaven you are come! For it has been a grievous time for all of us!"

  "Why, then, I am filled with regret." Delilah bowed her head. "But I am filled with gladness to be come home again. Send word to my father."

  "Aye, milady, as you say!" Willem unlatched the gate and swung it wide. The party rode in, Forrest at its head. Willem latched the gate behind them. "I shall run with the news, milady!" He sped away.

  The party followed more slowly, riding up along a gently winding track that was overhung with graceful maples and oaks—not planted in neat rows, Cordelia saw; rather, the roadway had been picked out between them. Somehow, the idea struck a chord of rightness within her.

  "I have told a gardener, my lady, and he bears the word!" Willem paused by them to duck his head in a bow before he ran back to his post.

  Through the trees, Cordelia could see hedges, flowers, and a closely cropped lawn. The gardeners were busy indeed. Then the road took a final turn—and there, perhaps a quarter of a mile away, was a huge old house of stucco, half-timbered, its leaded panes glinting in the sun. Cordelia caught her breath; set in a border of flowers and ornamental shrubs, it was really quite lovely. She hated to admit it, but Delilah had a beautiful home.

  As they neared the house, a gray-haired, gray-bearded man came hurrying out to the steps, his servants streaming behind him. They stood waiting, and cheered as the company rode up, reining in their horses.

  "Delilah!" the old man cried in a deep and resonant basso. "Come to my arms, my child! Oh, thou hast worried me so horribly!" He ran down the steps, reaching up; she hopped down into his arms, and he crushed her to his breast, then held her back to look at her, beaming. "I was so filled with anxiety, so horribly afraid that some harm might have befallen thee, that thou wouldst never come home!"

  "Alas! I feared, too, Father!" She threw herself into his arms again, embracing him.

  Alain looked on, smiling fondly—but Cordelia glanced at Geoffrey, and found him glancing at her, too, one eyebrow raised in skepticism. Cordelia gave a tiny nod; it did seem rather artificial. She decided that she would have to marry Alain, if for no better reason than to protect him from people who would take advantage of his good nature.

  She scolded herself for the thought a moment later, of course.

  The old man held Delilah away again, looking down gravely. "It was very wrong of thee, my dear, to worry thy father so, and to put thyself in such peril."

  "I—I know, my father." Delilah lowered her gaze. "But Roland had sent word that I should meet him 'neath a certain willow, deep within the wood, at dawn ... or so I thought..."

  "Young Roland?" Her father frowned. "Why, he came to call upon thee the very day thou hadst left—but thou wert not here!"

  "No." Delilah looked up, very obviously nerving herself to speak. "The word that had been brought to me was false, my father. I learned that, but too late—for I sat me down beneath the willow where he bade me meet him, and he never came ... he never..." She gulped; tears began to flow again.

  "There, there!" The old man whisked a handkerchief from his cuff and dabbed at her cheeks. "Assuredly, he could not come, for he did not know thou hadst gone, nor where! When we told him thou wert fled, he was as distraught as I!" Her father frowned. "Who brought thee this false news of him, my dear?"

  Delilah lowered her gaze again, biting her lip.

  "Nay, thou must needs tell me!" her father said sternly. But she looked away, very reluctant indeed. "I cannot, my father. It would be ... wrong."

  "Wrong? To tell me the name of one who hath betrayed thee so? Come, child! Speak truly!"

  But she shook her head, eyes still downcast.

  Cordelia decided somebody was going to have to say something; she could see the storm clouds gathering in the old man's brow—and apparently, both her brother and her suitor were too concerned with honor to speak a word. Forrest, of course, did not know—he had not been there the night before to hear this tale. "It was her sister."

  The old man looked up, staring, appalled. Then he looked down again, scowling, anger gathering. "Is this true, Delilah?"

  Delilah said nothing, only bit her lip and gave a quick nod. "But it was her sister who waylaid you upon the road!" Forrest exclaimed. "Sir, I came in time to help them beat her off, she and her henchmen, so I know whereof I speak."

  The old man lifted his head. "How now, sir! What henchmen are these?"

  Forrest shrugged. "Big, hard-faced men in garb of murky gray, with targets on their arms and swords in their hands. Hardened men, by the look of them, but no match for two young knights and..." He grinned. ". . . a forest outlaw who came upon them unawares."

  " 'Tis even so," Geoffrey said at last.

  "I cannot believe it!" the old man said, the color draining from his face. He looked down at Delilah, at the misery in her eyes, and groaned. "But I see I must. Nay, we shall have thy sister out, and hear the truth from her own lips."

  Tears trembled on Delilah's lids.

  "I think, good sir," Geoffrey said softly, "you are not like to see your other daughter again. She shall know what has passed here, and shall stay far from home."

  "Nay, never say so!" The father looked up, distraught. "Am I to be bereft of one daughter, no matter what I do?" Geoffrey and Cordelia exchanged glances, and Cordelia said slowly, "There may be a way. I doubt it, sir, but there may be. Let us sleep upon the issue, and see what we may do."

  "Why, surely, then!" But he frow
ned at them, puzzled. "Be sure that I shall be grateful for whatever thought you may give it."

  He looked back at Delilah again. "Who are these good folk who have escorted thee here, my dear? May I not know their names?"

  "As much as they have let me know, Father," she said, "for these gentlemen have told me that they ride bound by a vow not to name themselves fully to any but each other, until some purpose of theirs is accomplished."

  "Which, of course, must also remain a secret." The old man nodded. "You are knights-errant, then?"

  "We are." Alain inclined his head, looking faintly puzzled. Cordelia could understand why. The old man was clearly of the gentry—a squire at least, more probably a knight himself, even of the petty aristocracy. It was very unlikely that the Crown Prince would not have met him, for he had been introduced to every nobleman in Gramarye at one time or another. Of course, there were always a few who never came to Court, but kept themselves buried in the country, managing their estates.... Still, the home was not a castle, nor even a moated grange or battle-tower; and although there was every sign of comfort, there was no appearance of such luxury as befitted a great lord.

  "Forgive my lack of manners." Delilah turned to them, one hand on her father's arm. "Gentlemen and lady, may I present my father, Sir Julian LeFevre. Father, Sir Alain ... Sir Geoffrey ... his sister, the Lady Cordelia ... and Sir Forrest Elmsford."

  Each of the young men inclined their heads. Cordelia couldn't drop a curtsy, being still mounted, but she smiled warmly.

  "You are welcome, welcome, and with all the thanks I can bestow!" Sir Julian cried, throwing his arms wide. "Step down, step down! My grooms shall see to thy horses. Come in, come into my house! You must bathe, you must dine! You must allow me to show my thanks! Nay, you must stay a day, two days, three, that I may lavish my hospitality upon you in gratitude."

  "The road has been long." Geoffrey and Alain exchanged glances. "A bath would be welcome, and some little rest." Alain turned to Cordelia, inclining his head. "If you wish it, my lady?"

  "Surely," Cordelia said quickly. She wasn't about to take a chance that the boys would stay at Delilah's house without her. "I, too, would be most grateful for some respite."