A Witch's Tale (4 page)

 “Sir Gavin, you must listen to me,” she
began again, trying to pull herself up onto the saddle at his eye level, her eyes
filled with anger. “I do appreciate your timely arrival, but I must go home
now. I will be fine on my own, I assure you.”

Gavin fingered the rough, brown wool of her
gown. “Aye, you will need your things,” he agreed as he saw her dilemma. “I
will see you to your cottage. You will get what you can carry, and then we
leave for London,” he said and his tone brooked no argument. “That should
please you enough to show me some warmth.”

 Madeline glared up at him. “On second
thought; you would make a far better toad than a hawk!”

Gavin chuckled, dropping a kiss atop her dark
red hair. “I believe we decided that your coming with us was the safest course
for you now, my sweet.”

“We decided nothing of the sort!” Madeline
howled in frustration. “I am demanding you release me at once! You have saved
me. I give you my thanks.  I don’t expect anything more of you.”

“You needn’t deny your passion for me,
Sweetness,” he whispered down at her knowingly, his eyes darkening as his hand
stroked her hip seductively. “I shall look upon keeping you safe as a priority.
There is also the matter of my reward to consider. I did save you from the
fires of purgatory. Do I not deserve some token? I ask you to accompany me to
Westminster as my reward. A poor witch you are, if you don’t give me some prize
for my efforts.”

“You will regret this,” she warned in an icy
tone.

He merely smiled and patted her back. “Taking
you with me is one thing I would never regret, Sweetness.”

Gavin saw her face tighten adorably. He
longed to kiss each small freckle upon her delightful upturned nose; kiss away
the fierce scowl he saw there now. Thoughts of her warming his bed for the
duration of the coronation festivities warmed his blood. With her at his side
for luck; he would win the king’s tournament and reclaim his stolen birthright
for certain.

****

Madeline gnashed her teeth. There was no
point in trying to talk him out of this. He had a reward coming to him. The
sacred code of witches was clear in that regard. It clearly stated that for
saving the life of a witch, said savior was entitled a reward. It was whatever
they chose; whatever was within her power to give. Clearly de Mortaine desired
her.

This amorous knight had mucked up enough of
her plans in their short association. She groaned in dismay to realize she had
no choice. Tears of frustration filled her eyes, disgusting her to no end.
She’d been in this man’s company under an hour and did everything a witch was
not supposed to do.

Witches did not cry, whine, or entertain such
wanton thoughts of handsome knights. The moisture gathering at the corner of
her eyes mocked and enraged her. The Goddess abandoned her as well. She
muttered incantation after curse, spell after spell, and nothing worked. She
fell into some unforeseen trap, one that no self-respecting sorceress would
dare to ever find herself in.

They arrived at her cottage. Gavin helped her
down. She disappeared inside and stuffed what little clothing she had into a
bundle, muttering angrily under her breath as the knights tramped into her home
uninvited. She was fuming while the six knights walked about her humble home,
looking around in interest.

One of them was picking up and looking at a
jar of questionable contents. She smirked at his unease as he saw the hundreds
of jars there, all containing her potions and ingredients. He dropped the jar
and backed away when he saw dead animal corpses hanging to dry on a rack.

A large, fat orange cat meowed plaintively.
The knight’s all eyed it worriedly as it jumped down from its perch upon the
mantle over the hearth. Seeing their reaction to her cat was priceless. She
raised an eyebrow at their odd behavior. She nearly giggled to see them jump
back away from him. Certainly six brawny men were not scared of Gerwin, her
cat? She smiled even wider to see the youngest of the six knights back away and
leave the cottage to wait outside.

“What is all this nonsense here?” Gavin asked
curiously, picking up and sniffing at a jar of some white, powdery substance,
scowling at the foul odor within.

“Had you a case of the pox; you might
appreciate that, Sir de Mortaine,” she said pertly.

The other men chuckled as Gavin put the jar
down hurriedly, and moved away from her work table.

“We haven’t all day, Mistress Farrand,” Gavin
replied testily and gestured to her bundle, “is that all you need?”

“No, I have my books. I must insist on taking
all these as well,” she said and began dumping the jars into another bag.

“My guess is the villagers are not very far
behind us, Sweetness. Please hurry,” Gavin informed her tightly.

“Aye, I know it. It is doubtful they will
leave my cottage standing in their desire to burn something this day,” she
mused as she grabbed jars and vials off the work table. “I will not leave my
things. It will be just a moment.”

“Very well, but do have some pity on my
mount. Cyrian might protest half your household on his back.”

Madeline was glad the remaining five knights
left then. She looked around at her home, and decided she had all she needed.
She gazed at her comfortable cottage with its homespun coziness, fighting the
urge to weep. Seeing the things she was forced to leave behind made her balk.
There was no choice.

She paused as she saw the book sitting upon
her mantle. She grabbed the leather bound book and stuffed it into her bag.
Madeline took one last look and left, scooping up Gerwin, shutting the door
behind her. The men all smirked at Gavin to see her toting her cat as she
approached them in the small yard.

“I must ask if it’s truly necessary you bring
that creature with you?” Gavin asked in dismay.

She handed him up her bag and bundle. “He
goes with me,” she informed him stubbornly, her blue eyes flaring. “I will not
leave him behind to fend alone. It is not his fault we leave in such haste, but
yours!”

Gavin held out his hand to help her up,
glaring at the cat she held in her arms. Gerwin’s large amber eyes narrowed and
he hissed softly. He curled protectively in her arms as she arranged herself in
front of Gavin in the saddle. Alastair chuckled at the sight. Gavin sent him a warning
look, daring him to say one word.

****

 Madeline was exhausted by the time they
stopped to rest the horses. She learned from one of the knights named Miles
they were an hour outside of London. The knights were headed to the coronation
festivities of the new king, James I.

Madeline eyed the woods longingly under her
lashes. She knew it was pointless to try to flee. She might be a witch, but the
six men accompanying her reminded her of her limitations. She would not get far
with Gerwin and her bags weighing her down.

Gavin eyed her with a knowing half-smile. He
seemed to read her mind at that moment. He never took his eyes from her as he
allowed his mount to take water along the stream.

The sun was growing higher in the sky. They
would arrive in London soon. The men laughed and joked amongst themselves, and
paid her little heed as she moved behind a bush to relieve herself. She
listened to them talk of the tournament held in James Stuart’s honor with
disinterest.

“I cannot wait to send some fat Lord flying
upon his arse into the dust,” the youngest one of them, named Henry, boasted.

“Be lucky if you make it that far, lad,” the
handsome blonde knight named Miles teased him. “Every noble and knight in this
land and ours will be there.”

“He is right,” Gaston interjected with a grim
look. “The odds of making it to the final rounds are not favorable with so many
competing. It is enough we take down as many for our lord as we can.”

“You all whine like girls,” Sir Jasper
grumbled. “Speak for yourselves.”

Madeline returned and eyed Gavin knowingly.
“You go to compete in the King’s Day tournament as well?”

“Aye, we all do.”

“The odds sound unfavorable, Sir Gavin.”

“Only for them; I mean to win,” he informed
her without arrogance.

“You seem very sure of yourself, Sir de
Mortaine. With so many skilled opponents, how do you propose to do that?” she
asked dryly and raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps a good luck spell for you and I
will be on my way?”

Gavin eyed her with a slow, lazy grin that
made her pulses dance. “I have it on a good authority that witches bring luck.
You go with me.”

“I would ask you to release me when we pass
the next village,” she replied.

He held up a hand, his green eyes meeting
hers stubbornly. “Release you to go where? You will likely wear out your welcome
anywhere I leave you,” he replied and shook his head. “You will remain with us.
I will hear no more of it.”

“You cannot just snatch me up and hold me
against my will, Sir de Mortaine,” she said and seethed at his thoughtful
expression.

Gavin pondered her words and smiled smugly,
“I asked for your company as my reward. That is what I would have. The
tournaments last but a fortnight. You will be compensated for your time when I
win the day.”

Madeline gasped and eyed him incredulously.
“You presume much when you’ve not won yet, Sir de Mortaine. You would ask such
an unseemly thing of me? You expect me to stay with you? You are beyond mad, I
think.”

“I expect you to be my companion while there.
You will see to my gear and to my other needs.” He smiled in anticipation and
reached down to smooth a burnished lock lying across her shoulder. His hand
lingered there too long for her composure. “And those needs be many, sweet
one.”

“You wish a companion? You really mean a
whore, am I not right?” she raged and looked up at him in fury.

 “I think ‘companion’ be a more gentle
term, and far more complimentary to you,” he teased. “This bothers you? Aren’t
you witches supposed to be bad women? Surely my offer does not distress you?”

"Round about the
cauldron go:
In the poisoned entrails throw.
Toad that under cold stone
Days and nights, thirty-one
Vicious venom its sleeping got,
Boil it first in this charmed pot!"

~
Anonymous

She backed away from him. “I might be a
witch, but I am no whore! What you ask of me for your reward is unseemly, Sir
de Mortaine!”

“You owe me something for saving you. You
said so yourself. That is the reward I would have of you. I will have your
delightful company, for one fortnight in my bed. Do not act as if you do not
want me as well,” Gavin declared with a mocking look.

Madeline eyed him with a condemning
stare.  “Are you any better than Hugh now? He would have employed such
tactics to have his way in things.”

“Do not even compare me to de Valmont’s
whelp!” Gavin snapped as he regarded her in annoyance. “I have never had to
force any woman. You will likely enjoy it. Come, we must be off. We waste
enough time arguing over my reward. Do not think I am unaware of your growing
admiration for me, Mistress.”

Madeline was too stunned to react to Gavin’s
arrogant words. She soothed her growling cat and followed him back to his
horse, staring daggers into his back. He mounted and pulled her up to lay
across his chest. She was aghast when he suddenly molded her against him,
unmindful of Gerwin’s warning rumbles. His hands held her fast, smiling down
into her flushed features.

“I do believe I’ve rendered the witch
speechless,” he acknowledged quite proudly to the other men with a roguish
smile, and his men all laughed heartily.

“You will have no pleasure of me,” she
whispered tightly as her face grew reddened from their merriment and lewd
comments. “I will make you regret this!”

 “Nay, I think I will have much pleasure
of you, Madeline,” he breathed as his gauntlet covered hand brushed back her
hair from her cheek, “regret would have been to leave you behind to your fate.
And that is something I could not do.”

Madeline had little time to reflect upon
Gavin’s words. The horse was kicked back into a gallop back up the hill and
onto the road to London once more. She simmered and stewed over his
determination to hold her with him now. The tournament would last a fortnight.
Only then would she be free of him. She had to admit she was much better off in
London than anywhere else with an uneasy look up at her savior. 

The countryside flew by and she wondered
again why she felt so drawn to him. He was handsome to be sure. It was likely
he knew it.  She had never met a man like him before, and cursed her
limited experience. Had she paid more attention to the few men who had shown an
interest in her over the years, she might have been able to anticipate his next
move.

Gavin’s face was perfect and unscarred,
sun-darkened and chiseled. His hair was as dark as a raven’s wing, long and
waving to his wide, broad shoulders. His strong, powerful build made her feel
safe and secure as he held her protectively during the journey. The eyes that
looked down deeply within hers were startling. They were long-lashed and so
deep a color of green, she was disconcerted when they fell upon her. He dressed
like all the other knights, wearing gleaming bronzed armor, abstaining from the
foppery worn by both Hugh and his father.