Ruth A. Casie

by The Guardian's Witch

  “Good, go get whatever you can carry and come with me.”

  “Now? This minute?” Even she could hear the shock in her voice.

  Already headed for the door, he turned and, with a raised eyebrow, gave her a beaming smile. “Yes, now. Take what you must. One of my men will gather the rest and bring everything to you later. It’s a good day for a stroll to the castle.”

  She swept through the lodge and gathered up her belongings. She took everything out of the chest except for the charm. The violet amber had always been there protecting the lodge. There was no other like it. She rubbed the stone in her fingers. It had been there longer than she could remember. She closed the lid. She would return soon.

  She left the bedroom and walked toward the door. Her hand stilled when she reached for her cloak. Forever. Ridiculous. She must stop these girlish daydreams. She put on her cloak, picked up her satchel, and stepped to the door.

  He stood aside and waved her through. “My lady?”

  Biting her lip she gave the room one final look. She squared her shoulders, spun on her heel, and left the lodge. She hoped she was doing the right thing—for both of them.

  Chapter Four

  “Are circumstances really this dire? I hadn’t realized,” Lisbeth said softly. Alex led her past the long line of people on the main road to the castle. “They strike me as travel weary. No, more than weary. They’re spent.” The tree branches swayed in the wind shaking what leaves were left on them to the ground. Women drew their shawls closer. Dry leaves, caught up in the blustery weather, scurried along the trail and were trampled under wheels, hooves and feet.

  “They’ve had a difficult time. While they harvested their crops they had to keep watch over their shoulder. I’ve sent soldiers to every farm.” He picked up a fallen doll and handed it to a frowning girl in the wagon. “No one gets left behind,” he said and winked at the child, who giggled in return.

  The wagons spanned almost the width of the trail. Alex took the lead and cleared the way for Lisbeth. His powerful well-muscled body moved with an easy grace. No one could deny he was a leader. Even in a crowd, he commanded attention. She had yet to determine whether that was out of fear or respect.

  Their pace slowed when they reached the village square. It was alive with the day’s marketing. Villagers rushed from stall to stall with their parcels. The market wasn’t safe from the gusts of autumn wind that assaulted it. The wind chimes at one stall tinkled and the women’s skirts fluttered as they negotiated their bargains. It caught Lisbeth’s long hair and sent it flying wild around her.

  “Lady Lisbeth, how good to see you.” The leather tradesman turned and called over the table to his wife. “Nora, come quick. Lady Lisbeth is here.” He searched through his wares until he found what he was looking for. “M’lady, this will hold back your hair. You seem to have lost the last one I gave you.” He thrust a strip of purple leather at her.

  “That’s no way to speak to Lady Lisbeth,” his wife admonished him. Nora gave Lisbeth a warm smile. “M’lady, how good to see you. We would be honored if you would wear the leather.”

  Lisbeth rummaged in her pouch for coin. The gentle touch of Alex’s hand on hers made her look at him bewildered. Alex handed Nora payment.

  “M’lord, this is too much.” The woman looked at the coins she held in disbelief.

  “Not if the leather pleases Lady Lisbeth.” He took the strip from the tradesman and carefully tied back Lisbeth’s hair as if he did it every day. “There,” he whispered in her ear. He took Lisbeth’s elbow and led her away. The stall teemed with people.

  Her free hand touched the purple leather. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. Now we have matching leathers.” He released her elbow and touched the strip that held the charm around his neck. “We have a common bond. We’re tied together of sorts.” He looked straight ahead.

  She tilted her head in his direction and tried to read his meaning. His expression was closed.

  “What else would you like?” He took a deep breath. “Ah, the meat pies smell good. All we have to do is follow our noses.” They walked on, sniffing the air. They turned the corner and stood in front of a table of hot spicy tarts set out to cool. Alex paid the baker and handed Lisbeth one.

  “Thank you, m’lord.” The man pulled off his cap and quickly bowed in excitement. His eyes gleamed as he counted the coins.

  They walked for several minutes in silence. Safe. She let out a heavy sigh.

  “Did you say something?” asked Alex.

  “No, I was thinking how comfortable it feels…” She kept her eyes forward and continued walking. Dare she say more?

  “To be home.” He finished for her.

  “Yes, you could say that.” Her voice was just above a whisper.

  By the time they entered the bailey both she and Alex were weighed down with purchases.

  “You must get tired of this commotion,” she said.

  He helped her up the steps. The broad smile on his face sent her pulse racing. “No, I’ve never seen the villagers this enthusiastic. You’ve been missed, Lisbeth.”

  “Missed?”

  “Why else did they gather and come out to see you? You have forsaken them for too long.”

  His arrow hit its mark. But she hadn’t abandoned her people. She’d separated from them to protect them. He had no idea. Why, if he knew her secret he might very well tell the king himself. No, she had made the right decision.

  Inside the castle Lisbeth turned to Alex. “By your leave.” She advanced toward the stairs.

  “Do you need any help?”

  She stopped, a thoughtful smile on her lips. “No, I know the way.” The soft whisper of her skirt followed her up the stairs. Apprehension gathered round her like a close fitting cloak the nearer she got to her room. She stood in front of the door, her hand poised on the latch. She shrugged off her misgivings, summoned her courage, and went inside.

  Warm light filtered through the window and her eyes eagerly drank in the familiar surroundings. Thoughts of happier times flooded her mind and dulled her anxiety. Her fears were replaced by a single thought—safe. Two years ago she’d left this room. Although she’d come back to Glen Kirk from time to time, she’d restricted her visits to the Hall and kitchen. That was the only way she could keep her memories safely locked away.

  She ran her hand over the counterpane on her bed and touched her mother’s even precise stitches. A flash of grief ran through her. The room looked the same, but she quickly admitted the truth—it wasn’t the same. Her heart ached. Yes, she had to face the fact that it would never be the same.

  She took the few clothes she had brought from the lodge out of her satchel and hung them in the wardrobe. A houseboy arrived, laid the fire, and quietly left.

  The pain dulled as she freshened up from her trek. Since it was too early to go down to the hall, she sat by the hearth lulled by the crackling fire and soothed by the smell of pine. She was mesmerized by the dancing flames and indulged in thoughts of better times.

  “Do you think he’ll notice me?”

  Lisbeth stood in Laura’s room, helping her dress. “Laura, don’t be a ninny. Of course he will notice you. You’re his bride.”

  Laura broke into a radiant smile. “Yes, I know. I wanted to hear you say it. Bride.” Laura, exuberant, twirled around and caught her sister’s hands. “Oh, I love him so.”

  Lisbeth smiled. Her sister’s joy was contagious. “And he loves you too—we all see it,” she said, holding Laura’s fingers tightly. Her heart squeezed. She’d miss her sister so much.

  “I can’t wait until you find your true love.” Laura danced over to the window and looked out at the arriving guests.

  The smile dimmed on Lisbeth’s lips. She wasn’t like her carefree very-much-in-love sister. She had visions, and they came with burdens that were hers alone. Marry? No, she would never marry.

  She tossed her head to rid herself of the melancholy. She wouldn’t let anything interfere w
ith Laura’s day. Everything would be perfect. “Get away from the window before they see you. It’s time you finished dressing or you’ll be taking your vows in your chemise.”

  Lisbeth peeled back the dark velvet cloth on the nearby table to uncover Laura’s bride gift, a jeweled comb. The heirloom had been in Jamie’s family for generations.

  But instead of the comb she began to reveal the jeweled handle of a dagger.

  The whispers of a hundred voices filled her ears. Her fingers itched to pull off the cloth. She knew she would find the weapon’s tip missing.

  The whispers grew louder and turned into incessant buzzing. She reached for the cloth but it remained beyond her grasp. She stretched and strained to no avail.

  A loud crack made her jump. A log fell in the hearth and sent a spray of sparks flying up the chimney along with her vision. Flames licked at her fingers. She blinked, shocked to see her outstretched hand almost in the fire, and quickly pulled it away.

  She scrambled back in the chair away from the flames and gulped ragged breaths. The outline of the dagger was imprinted behind her eyes. Slow deep breaths, one after another, helped steady her. Now that her breathing was under control, the crackle of the fire was the only sound in the deafening quiet. Her eyes darted around from one thing to another. Panic laced through her. An overpowering compulsion drove her to escape from the room.

  She jumped up from her seat, ran to the door and threw it open. The everyday noise rushed at her. She looked down the corridor. The place where she and Laura ran and played was a mere memory. Panic started to bubble to the surface. Once again she forced it down.

  Calm on the outside, butterflies on the inside, she climbed the well-worn steps to her old hiding place in the storage room. She walked among the chests and boxes that lay scattered about. There was some comfort in surrounding herself with her family’s things. She found a small space on the wide windowsill and sat, her head in her hands. She should have stayed at the lodge.

  What was she thinking? Glen Kirk was his now. At least the burden of worrying about her people was lifted. They were safe. Why had she agreed? She stopped abruptly. Did she come here because of him? No, he had requested that she return. Well, in truth, he had ordered her to come back.

  She leaned against the window frame and let the terror fade, but she couldn’t rid her mind of the vision of the cloth and the jeweled dagger it hid. She was certain its blade was broken. She removed the steel fragment from her pouch and turned it over. The writing on it must be significant. The handle of the dagger in her vision had been ceremonial, not utilitarian. She ran her finger over the flat of the blade and felt the inscription. The answer was here. She just had to unlock its secret. She dropped the fragment back into her pouch.

  She walked around the rafters and looked at her family history packed away. Her eye snagged the chest with her mother’s personal items. The last time she had seen them was when Ann had packed them away. She ran her hand over the top. Safe. Tears gathered. One look. That was all. She opened the lid and breathed in the lavender fragrance. Mother. Her hand ran over lace and silk. Underneath were her mother’s silver comb and brush. She remembered sitting with Laura at her mother’s dressing table waiting her turn for Mother to brush her hair and dress it with lavender ribbons. Laura preferred pink.

  Lisbeth was about to close the lid when the binding of a book caught her attention. She pulled it out. It was made of fine soft leather. The cover was tooled with her mother’s initials. She opened it. Her breath hitched. The pages were filled with her mother’s handwriting. She reverently closed the book and clutched it to her chest.

  She shut the box, the small book still in her hand. She didn’t have the courage to read it, not yet. Perhaps with Laura. The lump in her throat that had been building began to ease.

  She let loose a heavy sigh. She was back at Glen Kirk. She could do this. It would only be for a short time. Soon she would return to the lodge.

  Her stomach rumbled. She wasn’t certain if it knotted from hunger or anxiety. Either way eating would be a welcome distraction. Dinner wasn’t formal at Glen Kirk but protocol demanded she attend. She went down to the Great Hall leaving the ghosts of another time behind.

  A loud commotion assaulted her ears when she reached the bottom of the steps. She entered the Great Hall unnoticed and was surprised to see men already seated at the lower tables. A quick glance confirmed Alex was neither at the dais nor anywhere in sight. Her brows wrinkled with surprise.

  She stationed herself by the hearth to get a better view of the room. There were soldiers—two armies actually—gathered at the far end. Her father’s men stood out in their black and gold livery. They came to attention when they saw her.

  She nodded her acknowledgement and they stood at ease, waiting patiently. They spoke softly among themselves and shot darting glances at the other men in the room. She prickled at the tension that rolled off them. Alex’s soldiers were oblivious.

  The seated men were loud and awash with ale. Perhaps field and castle soldiers behaved differently. No, her father traveled on many campaigns, and she didn’t remember such strain. More likely the Stelton men lacked breeding or perhaps instruction.

  She looked around at the familiar surroundings. Her heart ached at the sight of the lifeless gray stone. The once vibrant and lively castle looked as tired and worn as the family crest that hung forgotten above the hearth. The room held none of her mother’s colorful tapestries. The tables were heavily scored and lacked linen. The sideboard lay stripped of her mother’s magnificent plate. It was bare, as she had left it.

  Duke, her father’s retired hunting dog, picked up his head from a nearby table when she entered. His tail wagged, the only indication he recognized her. He was too busy acquiring a meal. His blatant thievery surprised her. She was appalled to see him remove food from a man’s trencher. The soldier was too busy arguing to notice.

  “Lady Lisbeth.”

  She turned at the sound of her name. “Gareth, how wonderful to see you.” Her shoulders relaxed. She welcomed him with a warm smile. Gareth, her father’s contemporary and trusted captain, was a seasoned soldier, politician and good friend.

  “It’s good to see you at Glen Kirk. I understand you are back in residence. I’m much relieved. I was concerned with your being outside the castle grounds.” He stood close to her, his enthusiasm at seeing her apparent.

  “You needn’t worry.” She gently placed her hand on his arm.

  “Ah Gareth, Lisbeth.”

  She spun to see Alex striding toward them. A soldier entered the hall and approached them.

  “Excuse me, m’lord, Gareth.”

  “Yes?”

  While the soldier addressed the two men, she noticed how at ease Gareth appeared with the new lord. The old soldier was a good judge of character. It was a good sign that he had accepted Alex.

  “What do you mean they won’t come to the castle? I ordered them here.” Alex raked his hand through his hair.

  “Some farmers are not finished with their harvest. Our men help but there is still much to do,” the soldier reported.

  “They’ll be lucky if they finish their harvest and still have their lives.” His tone was riddled with impatience. “Get more men to the farms. Reassign the troops when they return. I know we’re spread thin.”

  “Yes, m’lord.” The soldier saluted and turned to leave.

  “Wait. Take some of the farmers who arrived today and have them help. Their skill may prove the difference in getting the harvest in quickly. With all the people here, every grain will be precious.”

  “We’ll see to it, m’lord. If there’s nothing else?”

  Gareth leveled a warm smile at Lisbeth. “It’s good to have you home Lady Lisbeth.” He nodded to Alex and withdrew with the other soldier in tow.

  Alex led her to the dais and sat her next to him. Her chest swelled with pride when the Glen Kirk men quietly took their seats.

  Alex picked up his tankard. “Boy,” he c
alled. “I’m forever calling for someone to fill my tankard. Bring me ale,” he said to a nearby page.

  The lad ran out and bumped into a stout man who was entering the Hall.

  “Here now, take heed where you’re going or there’ll be no dinner for anyone.” The stew sloshed in the large pot, sending a large dollop onto the musty rushes on the floor. The cook, pot and ladle in hand, approached the dais and spooned salt pork and beans into the coarse barley bread trenchers.

  Lisbeth looked at the food that swam in a pool of greasy soup. The aroma of onions promised a hearty meal but the dish lacked any of the fine herbs from the kitchen garden. The sound of the men eating, not grumbling about the meal, told her they had accepted this fare. She tentatively tasted a piece of meat. Her mouth puckered from the overabundance of salt. The beans, when she built up the courage to taste them, were gritty.

  Ale flowed generously. Something had to quench the thirst created by the salty food. The loud voices and commotion made her think she dined in a barracks rather than the Great Hall of a fine lord. She felt adrift in the familiar surroundings. She forced herself to remember—Glen Kirk was his now.

  “Bryce, Ramon, welcome.” Alex shouted across the room. “Come. Join us.” Alex indicated seats to his left.

  “I didn’t know you entertained a guest, Alex, or is it a celebration?” Bryce’s father, Ramon Mitchell, nodded to Lisbeth.

  “Lady Lisbeth’s come back to Glen Kirk.” Alex’s jaw tensed visibly. Bryce shrugged his shoulders in reply.

  The page, Peter, returned and filled Alex’s empty tankard.

  Lisbeth stopped, her spoon in midair. “Yes, I’ve returned. It is good to see you, Lord Mitchell.” She slipped the morsel into her mouth. This second mouthful didn’t taste any better than the first.