A Witch's Tale (12 page)

“She
has no future if she doesn’t cease to play this game she is a witch! Even I
cannot control what happens to her should the wrong person hear such nonsense.”

“Have
you considered taking her with us?” Alastair asked.

Gavin
thought of it and dismissed it. He considered her fate would be no different at
Rivenhahl. The people there would likely see her the same as those had in
Valmont. If she failed to conform, there was no place for her to go.

“She
is beautiful and merely a distraction I need right now. You read too much in
this.”

“You
don’t carry off many women. Forgive me for questioning you, my lord.”

Gavin
glared at him. “Quit needling me, Alastair. The girl is here to warm my bed,
nothing more.”

“If
that was all you wanted, you would have waited for the fair Blythe to seek you
out.”

“When
the tournament ends, my little witch and I part ways, Alastair,” Gavin replied
grimly. “Leave it alone.”

“I
will enjoy seeing you eat such words, my lord,” Alastair said with a smirk.

Gavin
finished his meal, his eyes following Madeline about the campsite, his eyes
clinging to her pretty face, wishing she would smile and relieve his guilt for
causing her distress.

“She
must give up this pretense of being a witch,” he said moodily finally. “She
must see the folly in it by now.”

“How
many have we seen die for their beliefs, my lord?” Alastair demanded with
indignation darkening his gaze.

“That
was different and you know it,” Gavin argued. “We talk of religion now. It
isn’t the same at all.”

“What
she does is very much a religion to her, my lord,” Alastair explained, eyes
grave. “And like those we saw die for it, she is no different.”

Gavin
thought of his words long after they headed to the tiltyards. He pushed all his
distracting thoughts aside. Qualification rounds played the utmost in his
thoughts. The day was to be a rigorous one. He was relieved his strange
condition passed. Today eliminated half the competitors in the tournament. He
could not dwell upon his fair witch and her fate. His own loomed over him and
that of the people who depended upon his success.

****

Madeline
was moody as she sewed in the tent, feeling hurt by Gavin’s lack of belief in
her. She could hardly blame him. Hugh didn’t believe what she was until she rendered
his manhood useless. Recalling his look of horror made her realize how unlikely
anyone would really believe in such things.

This
unexpected attraction to her savior made her determined that he believe in her.
For some reason she sought his approval. It dismayed her all he did was mock
her words. The man wanted to bed her, she realized as she stabbed viciously at
the hemline of the gown. What more did he need to know of her beyond his own
lust?

The
disturbing kiss came to mind. She sighed, closing her eyes to recall the way it
made her feel. Gavin made her feel things she would have rather not known
existed. Desire had no place in her world. Did she not see firsthand what
desire did to others? Is that not why they sought her out?

Those
desperate souls saw their goals backfire upon them when the object of their
interest failed to return their feelings. Even magic couldn’t make someone love
another, but still they sought her. They demanded a spell, only to find the
binding of that person to them didn’t last.

Minerva
cautioned casting spells in such cases. It removed free will for one to choose.
The Goddess frowned upon it. Simple bindings were used in such cases. These
were temporary conditions, like Gavin’s the night before. For one day, the
person attained their heart’s desire, only to see the person reject them when
the spell wore off.

Then
her customer would resent her for giving them a taste of what they could have,
only to lose it later. For that reason, she kept from dabbling in matchmaking.
She smiled, wondering if she dared put such a spell upon Gavin. The desire to
know what it would feel like to have Gavin love her took her breath, brightened
her gaze, and made her bite her lip to realize how wrong it would be.

She
giggled and her eyes filled with mischief. It certainly couldn’t hurt. She
should leave the man alone after causing his condition the night before. The
thought of him catering to her, declaring his love for her, doing all he could
to please her for one day made her ache and grow breathless.

Madeline
put her sewing aside. She went to her work table. A love spell was one of the
simplest spells to perform, needing only a strand of hair or fingernail
clippings to bind the other party. She took bits of his hair and hers, tying
them together with thread, sprinkling a powder that burned bluish amidst the
steel tray.

Madeline
whispered the words three times as she bound Gavin to her. She cleaned up the
mess and returned to her sewing, anxious for his return. She giggled as she
imagined his making a fool of himself for her. It was some means of getting
back at him for his unintended insult to her. The man implied she was a liar.
Her blue eyes narrowed. After tonight, he would recant those words.

****

Alastair
watched as Gavin met the charge from Sir Rohan. The pair was evenly matched.
They locked lances once more. The draw that was declared was no surprise. Gavin
advanced with the fifty others who would compete the following days, leading to
the final match between only two in the end.

Given
the three hundred entries; the fact his lord arrived in the top fifty was no
surprise. The five of them entered only to eliminate as many as they could to
propel Gavin farther in the ranks. Henry was the first to go out, followed by
Gaston, then Miles, and finally Jasper. Alastair conceded defeat to Sir Rohan
only that morning and knew him to be a fierce competitor.

Rohan’s
lance was vicious and true and unseated him with flawless precision. Strathmore
chose his man well. Rohan was daunting in his strategy, changing constantly to
show no consistent pattern any could follow. When you thought he would veer to
the left, he went to the right. He meant to win, that much was clear.

Lord
Gregor had seen to his son’s training when he was a lad of twelve. His training
would see him through until the end. They could only pray Gavin could outwit
Sir Rohan. The man was reputed to be unbeatable and Strathmore’s chosen man to
represent his house.

Gavin
was not the only one he watched today. His dark eyes went to the king’s private
box. The dark-haired man sat with the king. The man looked to be in his late
forties. He was dressed regally. Even from this great of a distance; Alastair
could see the man was undeniably his father. The Duke of Monteith was an older
version of himself.

He
felt relief to see the man firsthand, despairing his whore of a mother would
saddle him with a father like Strathmore. The Lady Anne was free enough with
her favors then to assure him the duke couldn’t have known he was responsible
for her disgrace.

The
duke was married at the time. The liaison was brief. The diary claimed it a
love affair. Alastair found it hard to believe any man could love such a petty,
vapid creature as Lady Anne seemed in her writings. She was without a doubt a
vain, grasping creature. She could have married a great man. The lady settled
to go to the beds of married great men, pensioned off in disgrace by the queen
to die in obscurity.

Alastair
was bitter to know she was sent to her family’s estate when he was five. She
could have sent for him then and didn’t, leaving him to be raised at Rivenhahl.
His resentment to know she didn’t want him was realized when he finished her
diary the night before.

Now
he faced his sire, expecting the man to embrace him. He tore his eyes away from
the nobleman, feeling disquieting thoughts of unworthiness. His anger to know
he could never hope to be accepted by the man made him sigh and give up his
plans.

Jasper
informed him he found his own father the night before. The Baron de Walt denied
ever touching his mother, calling her a whore and a liar. Jasper dropped the
man with a single punch. He didn’t even know who his mother was, but he’d be
damned if the man would disparage her.

Gaston’s
father, the Earl of Penhurst, handled the news much the same. Gaston bore such
a wounded expression upon his return, all worried over him. He acted like it
was no matter to him now, but all saw the pain in his eyes.

Henry’s
father was now deceased, the title held by his cousin. The cousin sneered at
him and refused to even acknowledge him. The boy wasn’t as able to hide his
emotions. His eyes were notably red when he returned from the audience.

 Miles
and his father, the Earl of Westerleigh, seemed to have gotten on well. The man
didn’t question his identity. Out of the five of them; Alastair didn’t think
Miles would be the one to have such success. When they left the tournament;
Miles was going with the Earl of Westerleigh to his home to take his place
there.

The
man had no sons. Miles was accepted with open arms. The pair looked like book
ends, falling into an immediate report with one another. He was happy for his
friend and foster brother. Miles glowed to know his father regarded him well.
The man was pleased his son was a knight in King James’ service.

The
rest would leave with Gavin and serve Rivenhahl. Alastair faced what he would
tell Vivienne upon their return to Scotland with a grimace. Gavin’s sister
believed all he had to do was find his father and all would fall into place.
She couldn’t know he lost his nerve to approach the man. He allowed the others
to assume his overtures were met with the same scorn as the other three.

Only
Gavin knew the truth. His friend told him he wouldn’t find peace unless he
faced Monteith with his claim to be his son. Alastair looked back to the king’s
box and the man who was his father, regret filling his dark eyes. He couldn’t
bear the rejection he expected. He knew he was a coward in that.

Alastair
faced another reality. He had nothing to offer Vivienne now. Gavin claimed she
would have him if he was a pauper. That was unacceptable given who her father
was. Gregor was the only father he’d ever known. He’d not dishonor his daughter
in such a way. He dismissed his desire to offer for her now. When Gavin
reclaimed Rivenhahl, she would be the sister of an Earl. She could do far
better than a fatherless, unwanted, penniless knight for a husband and would.

Vivienne’s
great beauty assured that. With her raven hair and green eyes, she was
breathtaking. He’d fallen in love with her the day she was born. She might
argue his decision, but it wasn’t hers to make. He was depressed with the
knowledge he was no better off knowing the truth. He cursed the day he was
given his mother’s personal things by Lady Eleanor.

 Lady
Anne Marlowe stayed at Rivenhahl during her pregnancy, unlike the other
mothers. The Lady Anne returned to court after his birth, leaving the items for
her son when he was old enough to understand. At twenty and five, he understood
very well. He was denied even a father now, by no fault of his own. He cursed
them both under his breath and stormed away from the fence.

Baby-witch,
my daughter,
my worship of the Goddess
alone
condemns you to the fire. . .

Madeline
turned the side of beef on the spit over the fire as it roasted; eyes watchful
for Gavin and the others. It was nearing the end of the day, the sun falling
down lower in the sky each quarter hour. She was anxious to see if the binding
worked.

An
excitement filled her, even if she knew the spell would last only one day.
Madeline knew what she did was wrong. She never used her gift so shamelessly
for her own purposes. The desire to know what it felt like to be loved by such
a man piqued her curiosity. The fact she did it at all told her she was indeed
infatuated with her savior. Admitting it made color ride high on her cheeks,
even while alone.

Alastair
was the first to arrive. He was quiet, declined a meal, and got into the ale
immediately. He would not speak of what troubled him. She sensed it had much to
do with the man who was his father. Unlike the others, who handled the
rejection by their own fathers with jokes; Alastair was sensitive and took the
matter to heart. Her sympathy went out to him as he plopped down before the
fire, his dark eyes moody and withdrawn.

“I
know what it’s like to be unwanted,” she ventured softly and saw him
immediately stiffen. “I grew up in my father’s home. He never once acknowledged
me. He allowed me to believe he was my mother’s employer until he died.”

Alastair
met her gaze. She could see he was troubled. “I couldn’t approach him. Say
nothing of it. I couldn’t bear to go through what the others have. I would
rather walk away. I have seen the man. That is enough for me.”

“You
don’t know the man or how he will react,” she argued and shook her head. “How
can you just walk away without even trying? Are you so intimidated?”

Alastair
looked furious, dark eyes flashing. “I made much of this in my own mind! To
have the man reject me now is just too much! I’ll not do it!”