M'Lady Witch

by Christopher Stasheff

  She flew in through her chamber window as the sky was lightening, feeling bone-weary, but with some measure of peace within her. She was emotionally wrung out and ready to sleep until noon, at the very least—but, as she was about to take off her travelling dress, she paused, a vagrant image of Alain drifting into her mind. It was not the Alain she had always known, pompous and selfimportant, but the Alain she had met the night before, the masked face with the gentle but ardent kisses ...

  Then she remembered his face, staring at her aghast when he had been unmasked. She smiled, feeling very tender. She decided to seek him out, for she felt a sudden need to talk with him, heart to heart, mind to mind ... perhaps even breasts to chest ...

  And if he was asleep? Well, so much the better. It would not hurt to catch him at a bit of a disadvantage. She laughed softly to herself and slipped out of her room.

  Alain's chamber was all the way at the other end of the hall. She wondered idly who was his neighbor, and glanced at the panel next to Alain's.

  Somehow, she was sure it was Delilah's.

  Suddenly suspicious, she stepped up to Alain's door, hoping that she would not find the chamber empty. She turned the knob very quietly, pushed the door open, and slipped in.

  The empty bed was almost a slap in her face.

  For a moment, she raged inside—until she saw the overturned chair, the slashes in the tapestry, and realized that those stains on the floor were blood.

  Jealously was instantly replaced by horror. What had happened to Alain? She whirled out of the room. If anyone knew, it would be Delilah.

  Without the slightest attempt at discretion, she slammed through the door and strode in, ready to beard her rival in her den—or in her bed, which, with Delilah, was probably much the same thing ...

  But she was not there.

  Cordelia stared, completely taken aback. She stepped farther in, then halted, amazed at the splendor of the sitting room, at its spaciousness, its silken hangings, the depth and softness of the carpet on the floor, the grace and delicacy of the occasional tables and upholstered chairs.

  Then she looked more closely, for signs of the night's events. There was only the one glass, with wine dregs, sitting on a table by a chair, and another that seemed to have scarcely been touched, by the door. Cordelia was tempted, for she was thirsty, then remembered that Delilah might have sipped from it, and turned her back on it.

  She glanced at the hearth; there were still coals glowing there. Then she surveyed the walls, all hung with rosecolored silk; there might be a platoon of guards hidden behind them. She listened with her mind, but found no one nearby, and ignored anyone outside the room, her attention focussed only on its mistress. The furniture was white and gold, and the carpet was Oriental, with patterns of a dusky rose on a cream background.

  But there was no one there.

  Her heart began to hammer within her breast. She wasn't sure whether she was more afraid of not finding Alain at all, or of finding him in Delilah's bed. Silent as a morning zephyr, she slipped across the carpet to the door in the far wall, turned the handle as quietly as she could, pushed it open, slipped in ...

  And saw no one.

  The bed had not even been slept in. Now, suddenly, the rage of jealousy boiled up within her, but with terror right behind it. What had the witch done with Alain! Cordelia suddenly became tremendously afraid that when she found Delilah, she would find Alain, too. Why else would they both be gone from their beds?

  She fled out into the hallway, then halted, in a quandary—where could she go? Where could she search? Forrest! He would know! The saturnine, hot-eyed, bearded face of the bandit chieftain rose up before her mind's eye. She could depend on him to help her, surely, as he had in the woods, when Delilah's "sister" had attacked, with her henchmen. Certainly, if he were really in love with Cordelia, he would leap at the chance to help her—even if it meant helping his rival, too.

  Which door was his? She did not know, but she suspected. She went to the other side of Delilah's door and turned the knob, softly, ever so softly ...

  She recognized Forrest's boots and the costume he had worn as Dionysus, the night before. His doublet lay upon a stool—but that was all there was. His bed was empty; like Delilah's it had not been slept in.

  Like Delilah's ...

  Suspicion reared up in her mind again, anger roiling behind it. Who else? What had been happening while she had been talking with her mother?

  She turned away to the door, seething. If Geoffrey was gone, too ...

  Then she told herself she strumpet could not seduce night—or a half-night, for the midnight. She strode out the Geoffrey's room.

  She was about to burst in, but halted at the last second, though she was not sure why. She reached out with her mind instead ...

  And almost collapsed with relief. To find only a dream of him riding, riding with the wind in his hair, wild and free, was a vastly pleasant surprise. She sighed, then was being silly. Surely the more than one man in a ball had ended an hour after door and down the hall to turned the handle and opened the door as quietly as she could. She would wake him gently, tell him that she needed his help ...

  But what of the woman who lay beside him?

  And the two armed men who lay sleeping on the floor, just inside the door?

  What sort of twisted pleasures had her brother been pursuing, anyway?

  Cordelia stared, outraged. Then all the morning's anger boiled up within her, and she strode across the floor, stepping over the two sleeping men and hissing, "Hussy!" She reached down, grasping a smooth, bare shoulder and snarling, "Strumpet!"

  The girl opened her eyes halfway, a lazy smile on her lips, stretching with a sinuous undulation, turning her head up to look ...

  Then she saw Cordelia, and her eyes flew wide in shock.

  "Get out from here!" Cordelia snapped. "Now! Instantly! Ere I claw your eyes blind and pull your hair out by the roots!"

  The woman sat bolt upright, but her eyes narrowed as she clutched the bedclothes to her. She was in her early twenties, Cordelia guessed, and was quite well put together—lushly, in fact. "I am not your servant..."

  Cordelia's hand came around with a ringing slap. The girl cried out and fell back, and it was Geoffrey's hands who held her up. "Peace, sister. 'Tis not your affair, after all."

  "Nor was Alain yours!" Cordelia spat. "Out, tearsheet, or I shall do you more mischief than a whole tribe of elves!"

  The girl darted a glance at the two men. "Bardolph! Morley! Aid me!"

  The men lay still, not even snoring.

  The woman stared in horror—and, for a moment, so did Cordelia.

  "They are men who prefer to watch, not do, I suspect," Geoffrey said, very nonchalantly. "They crept in whiles we did disport ourselves, and I had some wish for privacy, so I put them to sleep."

  The girl's glance swung up to him in fright, and she squirmed away from him toward the edge of the bed. "But ... your embrace was so ardent, your kisses so fevered..."

  "That I might overlook an intruder?" Geoffrey smiled, showing his teeth. "I am never so besotted that I cannot hear someone who fairly shouts his gloating glee, as their minds did."

  "And you cast them into sleep without even ... even..."

  "Batting an eye?" Geoffrey shrugged. "'Twas only a moment's distraction."

  "Now will you get hence!" Cordelia raged. "Nay, do not pause to dress—take your tawdry garments with you, and get out!"

  The girl didn't stay to argue any further—she leaped out of bed, catching up her clothing, and darted out the door with only one backward look of fright.

  Cordelia gazed after her with more than a little contempt, seasoned by jealousy. "Your taste surely runs to the baroque, brother."

  "A good guest takes what is offered." Geoffrey sounded amused.

  Seething, Cordelia spun about, to see him propped up on one elbow, the sheet still draped across his hips, watching with an expression of great interest.

  "You curmudgeon
!" Cordelia said, with every ounce of contempt she could muster. "You lewd man, you libertine, you rake! How many women must you debauch before you realize the harm you do?"

  Geoffrey started to answer.

  "Nay, tell me not!" Cordelia snapped. "Great affairs of state cannot wait while you slake your desires!" Geoffrey stared up at her, thinking that his sister was really very impressive—and had probably saved him a deal of trouble in disentangling him from one more set of lingering clutches. But he said only, "You may be sure that I dally only when there is time."

  "Oh, do you indeed!" Cordelia snapped. "Nay, you are like a dog who forgets all else when he scents one trace of a bitch in heat, and forsakes all duties to go padding after her, drooling!"

  Geoffrey frowned. "Would you have me be a celibate? Nay, a monk, perhaps, never to enjoy the company of any woman who was not a nun!"

  " 'Twas scarcely a nun who left here but now, and 'twas far more than her company that you did enjoy! Nay, while you did 'dally,' your friend Alain was beset by armed men and, for all I know, nearly slain!"

  Geoffrey was out of bed, somehow contriving to slip his breeches on without completely giving up the cover of the sheet. "Armed men? Why, could you not fend them off, sister? Nay, do not answer—'twas not your place! A curse upon me, that I was not there!" He froze, staring up at her, frowning. "Nay, surely any number of armed men who came against him while you were watchful would have died in the attempt!"

  Cordelia felt a stab of guilt, but told herself sternly that she was not Alain's keeper—not yet.

  Geoffrey pulled on his doublet and buttoned it. "Therefore, if he was taken, you were not there."

  "No," Cordelia said, biting down on shame. "I was not." Geoffrey stilled, watching her. "Do not blame yourself, sister. You are not Alain's watchdog; you were not set to that task. Nay, it is the man who is supposed to guard the woman, not the woman the man. Yet if you did not witness it, how do you know he was set upon?"

  "Why," she said, "because his room is in disarray, with tapestries slashed and furniture overturned—and there was blood on the floor!"

  Geoffrey was moving toward the door before she finished the sentence, buckling his sword belt. "Proof enough. Let us go."

  "How shall we find him?" Cordelia wailed. "And we must find him right quickly, for he may be in mortal danger!"

  "His soul, mayhap," Geoffrey agreed, "but I doubt that his body is in any peril at all, blood or no blood. The man is a most excellent swordsman, Cordelia—he held me off for a good five minutes! Nay, we have only to find the Lady Delilah..." He was about to add, and we shall find Alain, but caught himself and said instead, ". . . for she will know where the bodies are, dead and living."

  "Her chamber is empty," Cordelia said.

  Geoffrey shrugged impatiently, opening the door and ushering her through. "That means only that she is not in her chamber. We shall find her, and she will know where Alain lies." He didn't like the sound of that, so he added, "Or stands and fights—where we may join him."

  Alain stood deep within the manor house's bowels and had finally found a door, larger than the others, that would let him into the Great Hall. He opened it only a fraction of an inch, and was assailed with the sounds of men's voices barking commands to one another, while they scurried to put away the tables and take down all the decorations. It seemed odd that they would be so prompt about tidying up after the ball, but Alain didn't really give the matter much thought, only edged the door closed again and stood on the other side, sword in hand, waiting, listening to Sir Julian's voice bawling orders to search and to guard. Alain's face hardened at the words; the old man was commanding his men to seek out the Lady Cordelia and hale her before him, and to bring her brother with her, dead or alive.

  Well. There was an outside chance that, if enough of them leaped upon Geoffrey in his sleep, they might be able to take him prisoner—but Alain doubted it mightily, especially since he had no doubt the elves were guarding Geoffrey as well as they had guarded him.

  Cordelia, however, was another matter. She was so small, so fragile! Even with all her witch-powers, she could not fly if they kept her from her broomstick. Geoffrey, if worse came to worse, could simply disappear—but Cordelia could not, just as warlocks could not make brooms fly.

  Alain stood in the darkness and the dank chill, shivering, lighted only by one elf-light. He hefted his sword in his hand, waiting for the moment when he would hear Sir Julian's voice address the Lady Cordelia, when he would have the chance to leap to her aid.

  Until then ... ?

  Well, if the commotion died down enough, if the voices faded away, he would risk stepping out to see the lay of the land. Perhaps he could hide behind an arras—what else were they for? Till then, he could only stand and wait and shiver.

  He did.

  An elf-wife slipped out from behind the arras. "Lady Cordelia!"

  Cordelia spun about, staring down at the diminutive person. "Hail, Wee One!" She dropped to her knee. "Have you news of the Crown Prince?"

  "One of our folk did wake him ere the murderers did fall upon him," the elf told her. "He fought his way free. We brought him to the tunnels within this house's walls, and he doth prowl through them, seeking for sign of thee. We have bade him flee to save his own life, but he will not, till he is sure thou art safe. Canst thou move him, lady?"

  "It appears I do." Cordelia blinked away mistiness. "Brave man! Praise Heaven he is well!" Then the remark about "tunnels" penetrated. Secret passages, obviously. "Is there no passage from those tunnels, into the free air outside?"

  "Oh, aye! We bade him come with us, to leave this strange place—but he will not, so long as he fears for thy safety. In truth, he is certain that they wish to slay thee, so even though thy chamber was empty, he still doth prowl the passages, seeking sign of thee. He will not go out from this place until he can take thee with him, alive and well."

  Cordelia nearly melted, right then and there. Her limbs felt weak again, and the strange warmness moved up inside her—most strange, considering she was not even with Alain, much less touching him. Her heart had dissolved in that warmth, she was sure—but she felt her brother's hand on her shoulder and pulled herself together.

  "We must seek him," Geoffrey said softly.

  "Aye." Cordelia smiled through a mist of tears and had to blink it away. She turned to the elf. "Tell him I am wellalive and well, and that I wish him to flee to safety."

  "Assuredly, I shall." The elf-woman whisked back behind the arras, and was gone.

  Cordelia rose and spoke to Geoffrey without looking at him. "Come. We must find him, protect him."

  "Aye, we must indeed," said Geoffrey, loosening his sword in its scabbard, "for if I know Alain, he will be pigheaded enough to stay until he sees you with his own eyes."

  "Oh, do you truly think he would?" she cried.

  "I do not doubt it for an instant," Geoffrey said drily. "Let us seek him out, then. Since we know where he is, let us call back the elf-wife, find these tunnels, and seek him out directly."

  Cordelia froze at a thought. "Nay! Let us finish the course we first set! Find the Lady Delilah."

  "I am ever ready for that," he said with a grin. Cordelia flashed him a glance of annoyance. "You are disgusting, brother. I confess I am glad of your aid, but not of your animal nature. Be assured that I do not wish to find the lady for the same reason that you do."

  "I would scarcely think it! But say, sweet sister, what purpose there is in seeking her at all?"

  "For that she is a shrew and destroyer beneath her beauty, brother, and if you have not seen it, be assured that I have."

  Geoffrey frowned. "But we have learned that Alain is alive and well, and could therefore be in no danger from her. Should we not rather be seeking to find who set these assassins upon the Prince?" He stared, facts suddenly connecting in his head. "Surely you do not suspect the lady of the deed!"

  "I would suspect her of anything," Cordelia returned, her eyes glittering. "Who do yo
u think sent those men to fall upon him?"

  Geoffrey frowned. "Say."

  "The Lady Delilah! Do you not remember the dream we shared? It was she who gave the orders! If anyone commanded Alain's death, it was she!"

  "That was but a dream..."

  "A dream that came from a telepath who did not shield her thoughts, thinking we slept! She did not realize her words would sift through our slumbers to form pictures in our minds!"

  Geoffrey pursed his lips, not wanting to believe such malice of so beautiful a lady—but by the logic of war, it was what an enemy would do.

  Cordelia's eyes narrowed as she watched the emotions pass across Geoffrey's face. "Believe it, brother, till we have proof otherwise—the more so since 'tis likely she gave other commands also. Did she not whip up your lust this night, then send a woman to satisfy it, thus holding your attention so that you would not be aware that Alain needed your aid?"

  Geoffrey's face darkened with the blow to his pride, but he had to admit it made sense. "Aye." Then the logical conclusion hit him. "If so, 'twas she who sent the blackguards to slay me while I sought ecstasy!"

  "I doubt it not," Cordelia agreed. Her face turned stony at the idea of the woman actually trying to kill her little brother. "We shall pay her back in her own coin."

  There was something in the way she said it that gave even Geoffrey chills.

  "But what of Alain?"

  "The elves shall bring him my word, and he shall heed it, I hope, going out from this house. But we must make sure of that safety in other ways."

  "By choking it at its source." Geoffrey smiled like a wolf. Cordelia gave him a curt nod. "Do you still wish to believe the woman innocent? Then prove me wrong, brother. Find her."

  CHAPTER 16

  They searched. Delilah had not come back to her room, nor Forrest to his.

  Geoffrey stood immobile in the center of Delilah's sitting room, eyes losing focus as he probed throughout the manor house with his mind. Finally, he nodded. "The room that was shielded."

  "Of course!" Cordelia cried. "What malice does she brew in there?"