by Anne Bishop
She studied them, then studied the carefully wrapped instruments tied on the packhorse. “Minstrels?”
“Minstrel and storyteller,” Lyrra said.
“The Bard and the Muse,” Aiden said.
“Aiden!” Lyrra looked shocked.
Aiden smiled at the witch. Let her draw her own conclusions about a couple of entertainers who had enough gall to use titles that belonged to the Fae and yet couldn’t coax an audience to part with a few coppers. Not that they’d tried to earn any coins in the past couple of days, despite having an empty purse.
“I’m Breanna,” the witch said.
“That’s a lovely name.”
She ignored the flattery while her sharp eyes continued to study them. “You look like you’ve had hard traveling the past few days.”
Aiden’s smile faded. He heard the catch in Lyrra’s breathing and wondered what he could say in explanation if she suddenly burst into tears.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s been hard traveling.”
Breanna said nothing for a long moment. Then, “Come this way. Clay will see to your horses.”
She led them through the archway and called for Clay.
After they handed over the horses, they followed Breanna to the house. Aiden slipped an arm around Lyrra’s waist, as much to offer comfort as to provide support.
Breanna stopped at the threshold, drew a gold chain from beneath her shirt, and held up the pendant. “Do you know what this is?”
Yes, he knew what it was. “It’s a pentagram.” The witches’ symbol for their connection with the Mother, the symbol for earth, air, fire, water, and spirit.
“Do you understand who we are?”
“You’re the Mother’s Daughters.”
The way her eyes widened and then narrowed told him he’d made a mistake of some kind, but his mind and body recognized this as a safe place to rest, and it was getting harder to think clearly, getting harder to move.
“Come in and be welcome,” Breanna said, stepping across the threshold.
Aiden felt tears sting his eyes as he helped Lyrra enter the house. He blinked quickly to banish them. How could he explain why a simple phrase could effect him so much? How could he tell these women that he’d feared he’d never hear that phrase again, that he’d always arrive too late? How could he say nothing when he knew what might happen the next time a stranger rode across that stone bridge?
“Breanna?” An older woman with gray-streaked dark hair entered the kitchen, followed by a middle-aged woman wearing a fashionable gentry riding outfit. “We have guests?”
“Entertainers,” Breanna said. “They need a place to stay tonight.” Turning toward Aiden, she added, “This is Nuala, my grandmother. And this is Elinore ... a neighbor.”
“And mother of the Baron of Willowsbrook,” the middle-aged woman added.
She wants us to know these women have connections, Aiden thought. Said to the wrong person, that could put her family in as much danger as the witches. “Ladies.”
“They need some food,” Breanna said.
“They might also appreciate a bath,” Nuala said. Then she smiled, her expression sympathetic and slightly amused, as if she understood exactly how hard a choice she’d just presented to them.
“Bath, is it?” another voice said as shoes clomped to the inner kitchen door. “I’ll say they need a bath. Mother’s tits! You can smell them two rooms away!”
“Glynis!” Nuala said sharply.
The woman stepped into the kitchen far enough to see Aiden and Lyrra. Her face reddened.
“I—” Lyrra stammered. “If we could have a bit of water ...” Her breath caught on a sob. Crying, she turned toward Aiden, who wrapped his arms around her as he glared at Glynis.
“Oh,” Glynis said. “I never meant—”
Nuala cut her off. “You’ve said quite enough for the moment.” She and Elinore went to Lyrra, gently drew her out of Aiden’s arms, and led her away. “Come along, now. Come. You’re worn to the bone. We’ll prepare a nice bath and a bite to eat. You’ll feel easier in no time. You’ll see.”
“Aiden!” Lyrra half turned back.
“He’ll be fine,” Nuala said, continuing to lead Lyrra out of the kitchen. “Breanna will look after him.”
Not knowing what else to do, Aiden stepped back across the threshold, taking himself out of the house. Beside the door was a simple wooden bench, much like the one that had been at Ari’s cottage. Was that common to a witch’s house, or simply a practical way to give whoever worked in the kitchen a place to rest outdoors for a moment?
He sat on the bench, resting his back against stones that were still cool despite the growing heat of the day.
A few moments later, Breanna sat down on the other end of the bench.
“You don’t have to keep me company,” Aiden said wearily. “I smell.”
“Yes, you do,” Breanna replied calmly. “But that’s something soap and water can fix easily enough.”
“Breanna,” Glynis said, hovering in the kitchen doorway.
Aiden kept his eyes fixed on the neat yard, so different from the other witches’ homes he’d seen in Old Places. He didn’t want to look directly at this woman, didn’t want to have to say anything to her. As tired as he was, he didn’t think anything he said right now would be courteous.
“Thank you, Glynis,” Breanna said, taking a pewter mug and a plate from the woman.
“I’ll— I’ll just go prepare the water for the gentleman’s bath.”
“That would be good.” Breanna waited until Glynis left before she held out the plate and mug to Aiden. “Here. Have a bit to eat while you’re waiting.”
“Thank you.” He took a sip of ale, fought the urge to drain the mug. They’d found enough fresh streams on the journey to keep supplied with water, but the ale created a different kind of thirst, and it wasn’t one he could afford to indulge when it was already so hard to keep his wits sharp. After taking another sip of ale, he put a thick slice of cheese on a piece of fresh bread, folded it one-handed, then bit into it.
“If the ale isn’t to your liking, I could get you something else,” Breanna said as he finished the first piece of bread and cheese.
He smiled as he put more cheese and bread together. “It’s better ale than I’ve tasted in a good many days. But if I drink it as heartily as I’d like, I’ll likely be asleep before the last swallow.”
She didn’t smile back. Just studied him. “Tell me something, Bard.”
He stiffened, then gave her a rueful look. After all, he was the one who had told her he was the Bard.
“Are you wandering without two coins to rub together because you don’t entertain well enough to earn a purse when you play, or has it really been a hard road?”
He set the bread and cheese back on the plate, his appetite gone. “We’re very good entertainers. We just haven’t had the heart to play in the past few days.”
“Then I’m sorry that your heart holds your hands and voice captive.”
It always does, Aiden thought. But it usually speaks its truth through the songs. “Mistress Breanna, there are things I should tell you about what is happening in the eastern villages, things your family especially needs to be on guard against.”
“Then you’ll tell us,” Breanna replied. “But they’ll keep for a little while.” She turned her head toward the kitchen. “First you’ll have your bath and a bit of a rest. After the evening meal will be soon enough for us to listen to what you need to say.”
Would a few hours make so much difference? They could. If the Black Coats came riding up to this house, they could.
Please, let me die. Please.
A shudder went through him. He reached out, not quite touching Breanna. “As grateful as I am for your hospitality, I beg you, Mistress Breanna, be careful who you welcome into your house. Be wary of strangers, especially men—especially if there’s more than one of them. Keep your warding spells strong. Please. Evil is riding the roads th
ese days, wearing the faces of men.”
He watched her face pale a little. Then he wondered if he’d been too abrupt. She seemed to go away from him, her thoughts focused elsewhere.
A moment later, she focused on him again. “Come along,” she said briskly. “I’ll find you some clothes to wear so that yours can get washed.”
He followed obediently through the house until she showed him into a guest room that had a corner screened off as a bathing area.
“Your lady is in the adjoining room,” Breanna said. “I suggest you knock. I also suggest you wear something more than a towel before you enter.”
He pushed his dirty hair away from his face. Mother’s tits, he was looking forward to being able to soak himself clean. “I understand. I wouldn’t want to distress the ladies.”
Breanna just looked at him, wide-eyed. Then she grinned. “Oh, you wouldn’t be distressing them. I’m sure Gran and Elinore would enjoy the opportunity to admire a handsome man, but being the object of their attention while wearing something that could become unknotted at any moment might be distressing to you.”
He could picture it. And he could almost hear the tune that would go with the song about a man caught in just such a position. Have to have plenty of instrumental bridges for the laughter to die down before the next verse, and—
He was suddenly aware that Breanna was watching him.
“Makes a fine picture, doesn’t it?” she said.
He winced at the purely female amusement in Breanna’s voice. He could barely hear the tune and didn’t have one line of the lyrics yet, but he knew exactly what tone of voice Lyrra would use when she sang her part of that song-to-be.
Laughing, Breanna left the room, closing the door gently behind her.
He quickly stripped out of his clothes, leaving them where they fell, and hurried behind the screen. More than just a hip bath. A good-size tub filled with water.
He’d just settled into the tub, sighing with pleasure, when a brisk knock was immediately followed by the bedroom door opening.
“Aiden?”
“Breanna?” He looked around for some way to cover himself, even though he couldn’t see her through the screen—which meant, he sincerely hoped, that she couldn’t see him.
“I found some clothes for you. Can’t do anything about the boots, but the rest will do for the evening.”
“Ah ... thank you.” Go away!
“I’ll take your clothes. Anything in the pockets that can’t get introduced to soap and water?”
“Ah...”
“For a silver-tongued minstrel, you’re a bit stingy with words, aren’t you?”
“I’m—” He knew he should meet that teasing with something sharp and witty, but his brain and his tongue failed him. After a moment’s silence, he heard her chuckling as she gathered up his clothes and left him alone again.
He finished his bath and put on the clothes Breanna had left for him, then knocked on the adjoining room’s door. He found Lyrra there, alone, slowly combing out her hair. She wore a soft white shift that left her arms bare and fell just past her knees. The way she looked aroused him, and he wondered if she’d be interested in using the bed for something other than rest.
Then she stood up to greet him and swayed to keep her balance.
He crossed the room, put his arms around her, and led her to the bed.
“You need to rest now,” he said quietly.
“Don’t leave,” she murmured.
“I won’t leave.” He settled them both on the bed, her head resting on his shoulder.
“Do we have to go tonight?” she asked. “Nuala said we were welcome to stay.”
Her voice, so carefully stripped of emotion, made a more eloquent plea than anything she could have said. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally. They both were. This was a good place, a strong place, a safe place. They needed all those things right now.
“We can stay tonight,” he said, brushing his lips against her forehead.
She relaxed against him and fell asleep.
A good place, a strong place, a safe place. He’d do whatever he could to help the witches who lived here keep it that way.
It was his last thought before sleep claimed him.
Breanna hesitated a moment, then opened Aiden’s and Lyrra’s saddlebags and removed all the clothing. They didn’t have a clean garment between them. What was the point of washing the clothes they’d been wearing and leaving the rest? Who knew when they’d have another chance to wash everything?
With the clothing removed, there wasn’t much left in the saddlebags, which is why she noticed the sheets of paper tucked in special pouches in each of their saddlebags. Her fingers itched to pull out a few sheets to see what stories or songs might be written on them. Perhaps they had some new songs, something she hadn’t heard every other minstrel who came through the village sing. It wasn’t quite courteous to ask guests to sing for their supper, but, maybe, if they weren’t too tired, Aiden and Lyrra would be willing to oblige with just a song or two. And maybe they wouldn’t be too upset about someone looking through their papers to see if there was a new son or two.
She firmly closed the saddlebags to avoid temptation, and said, “That’s all the clothing.”
Glynis just nodded and dropped the clothes in the wash tubs. She stood motionless, her arms deep in the soapy water. “I didn’t mean to make the lady cry,” she muttered. “I thought it was Clay and Edgar coming in for a bite.”
“Whether you meant to be hurtful or not, the words cut just as deep,” Breanna replied. “And even if it had been Clay and Edgar, it wasn’t a kind thing to say.”
“Don’t know why I do things like that.” Glynis sniffed, then got on with the work of washing the clothes.
You do it because you’ve also traveled a hard road, Breanna thought, walking across the small yard to the stables to check on the horses. You’re like a dog that’s been hit so many times it snaps at any hand held out to it, even when it wants to be petted.
Glynis had come to them three years ago, hungry and bruised in body and soul, looking for any kind of work that would provide her with food and a place to sleep. So they hired her as cook and housekeeper—and didn’t ask about a past they could sense held far more memories of pain than pleasure. Her way of dealing with other people, even people she liked and cared for, was to make cutting remarks. She usually felt regret as soon as the words were out, but that didn’t stop her from voicing the next opinion.
Understanding that didn’t mean it could be overlooked, not when it hurt other people. But that was something Nuala would deal with.
And she guessed that if the Bard hadn’t been so obviously exhausted, there would have been more than one woman reduced to tears in the kitchen.
Breanna glanced at the house. Their guests were in rooms at the front of the house where the noises of everyday activity would be less likely to disturb their rest.
The Bard. He’d stiffened when she’d called him that. He must have forgotten he’d said it. Why would he react that way, as if she’d found out something about him he hadn’t wanted known?
She could think of one reason—and she didn’t like where that thought led.
“Clay?” she called.
“Breanna.” He stepped out of an empty stall and nodded to her. “I put all the gear and the packs in the stall here.”
“That’s good. I don’t think their instruments will come to harm there.”
“Wanted to talk to you about their horses.”
Oh, dear. “They’re sound, aren’t they?”
Clay laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Oh, they’re fine horses. Fine horses. With silent hooves.”
She puzzled over that for a minute before she realized what he was saying. Where would two entertainers get horses like that unless ...
“Oblige me, if you will. Go down to the brook. See if there are any water sprites near the bridge who might have seen our guests. Perhaps they could tell us somet
hing.”
“Thought that’s what you’d say.” Clay went over to another stall and opened the door for the gelding that was already bridled.
“Oh. Mention that he’d said they were the Bard and the Muse.”
Nodding to indicate he’d heard her, he was mounted and gone before Breanna could get her thoughts to settle.
She was still standing in the same spot when he returned.
“Found one,” he said. “She seemed to be waiting for someone to come from the house before she went off to tend to her own business.”
Breanna found it hard to swallow. “What did she say?”
“ ‘He gave her true words if not his true face.’” Clay looked at her grimly. “What are you going to do about them?”
“I’ll talk to Gran. It... it may be best not to mention this to anyone else. At least, not right now.”
“You be careful, Breanna.”
“I will.”
When she found Nuala and Elinore, she babbled something, she wasn’t even sure what. But it was enough for Elinore to leave the room on the pretense of needing to use the water closet.
Not sure how much time she’d have, Breanna blurted out her conversation with Aiden and then the message from the water sprite. Nuala just listened in silence.
“What do we do?” Breanna asked.
“Nothing,” Nuala said. She raised a hand to stifle Breanna’s protest. “We do nothing. We offered them hospitality, and hospitality is what we will give. We’ll make no mention that we know—or at least suspect—who they are.”
“They didn’t come honestly.”
“The Fae seldom do,” Nuala replied dryly. “But it’s evident to anyone who looks that those two have had a hard time lately—and anything they can tell us about what is happening in the eastern villages is more than we know now. So we will say nothing. Perhaps the reason they hide what they are is not so deceitful as it seems.”
“Perhaps,” Breanna agreed reluctantly. Then she smiled, but there was no humor in it. “The Bard did warn us to be wary of strangers.” And wary we will be.
Lyrra woke first, not sure what had pulled her from sleep.
Somewhere outside, a dog barked again. A happy sound. Just conversation, nothing more.