A Witch's Tale (40 page)

It
would be close, he allowed with a frown as he looked down at Madeline’s pale,
frightened features. They’d ridden without stopping for hours until he needed
to allow Goldwyn rest before he went lame. They walked nearly a mile when he
heard the sounds of the horses clattering behind them.

He
didn’t turn, but dug his heels into the horse’s sides. Goldwyn was exhausted
but they pressed on, skirting signs of people as they made their way through
town. He took alleyways and cut through, riding up on walks to go around
stalled conveyances, ignoring the curses of shopkeepers as his mount cut them
off on the cobbled walk.

“We
must slow down or he’ll not make it, Rohan,” she said in concern for his horse.

Rohan
slowed the Destrier and was watchful as they made their way through the
darkened city. Slatterns threw catcalls at them as they passed. Madeline
blushed as the lewd comments continued, signifying they entered a less than
savory area.

“Madeline,
we run out of time,” he told her as he dug his heels into Goldwyn’s sides. “I
don’t dare linger. We haven’t a moment to waste.”

Madeline
knew the horse hardly got enough rest before they were once more galloping through
the city. She heard the sounds of pursuit and fought back panic as she looked
back and saw a large group of riders.

“They
are here!” she cried and tensed in his arms.

Rohan
looked back only once and began to dig his heels into Goldwyn’s flanks. The horse
whinnied in protest but continued on, slathering now from exhaustion. When they
were in sight of the docks, they heard shouts behind them. She looked back and
saw the guards carried torches and they were seen.

“Hold
on, my love, this is going to be a bit more difficult than I thought,” he said
with a grin despite his tense features.

Madeline
felt nauseated from the constant motion of the horse. She looked and saw the
men on the deck of the ship waving to them and fought panic. The seamen were
untying the hemp ropes securing the ship in its berth. They were pushing off.
Rohan was galloping towards the narrow gangplank at full speed. She squeezed
her eyes shut, unable to watch if Goldwyn stumbled at the last and went down.

She
opened one eye to see the gang plank was tossed onto the dock. Her heart leapt
in her throat to see Rohan wasn’t stopping. She looked up at him and saw his
intent, a scream lodged in her throat. Goldwyn’s hooves left the dock and they
were sailing over the wooden railing, sending seamen scattering everywhere.

Rohan
managed to keep Goldwyn from going down as the horse skidded across the deck.
The horse hit the opposite railing, screaming and rearing in protest. He tossed
Madeline into Burroughs waiting arms as he got the frightened horse under
control. The fuming ship’s Captain shook his head and returned to the wheel as
the ship slid out of its berth.

The
large group of mounted men arrived at the end of the docks and watched the ship
slide into the harbor, moonlight showing the man on the horse in the middle of
the deck.

****

Gavin
and Alastair grinned at one another as they watched Rohan jump the ship’s
railing at full speed. Both breathed a sigh of relief to see they’d made it.

“Now
do you believe the man let you win?” Alastair asked with a chuckle and shook
his head. “Tis’ doubtful we will ever live this down, my lord.”

“Do
you want to, Alastair?” Gavin asked with a chuckle and felt relief to know
Madeline was safe.

“Not
for one bloody minute,” he said with relish. “I shall enjoy the retelling of
this for a long time.”

Strathmore
was gnashing his teeth as he watched the ship sailing away. He regarded both
men with ill-concealed hatred. “The king will here of how you slowed us down
all the way with your false sightings, Marlowe.”

“They
got away, my lord,” Gavin replied in annoyance. “It would appear horses really
do fly. Do you tell that to our king while you’re at it?”

Strathmore
wheeled his exhausted mount around and left them; getting down too upbraid his
men. The man got louder as the ship sailed into the moonlit harbor. The only
two men who appreciated Rohan’s daring escape slid from their mounts and
watched the sails unfurl, grinning ear to ear.

“A
damned pity the man fights for the other side now,” Alastair lamented with a
frown.

Gavin
chuckled and shook his head. “Just hope you don’t have to face the man in
battle one day, my friend. Something tells me he fights much like he rides his
horse.”

The
two laughed at that for a time, unmindful of the detachment of guards who
retired to the palace in Edinburgh to rest up before the journey back.

“How
long before we widow your sister?” Alastair asked harshly as he watched them
leave, his dark eyes fierce.

“I
let our outlaw friends know who burned down Rivenhahl and blamed them for it.
They were only too happy to lay in wait for him,” Gavin said in disgust and
spit upon the ground. “Have no fear, my sister returns to London a widow.”

Alastair
nodded and walked his horse away from the docks with Gavin at his side.

“This
is not how I saw my day unfolding, my lord,” Alastair fumed and shook his head
in disgust. “Let us partake of no more witch trials in the future. With no
disrespect to dear Madeline, but we’ve not had a moment’s peace since.”

“You
still think she’s a damned witch?” Gavin asked in annoyance and shook his head.
“There is no such thing, Alastair! For pity sake, you need to let this go!”

Alastair
grinned as he held his horse’s reins, amused his companion didn’t know the half
of it. Maybe he’d save that for another time, inform him all Madeline did to
help him win back his birthright. Maybe not. Some stories were best untold.

“What
of Lunley? He sickened and was left behind at the keep?” Gavin asked and
scowled to know his people tended the man.

Alastair
said nothing, knowing Lord Lunley would suffer three-fold for what he’d done to
Madeline. He knew enough of the peasant’s legends to know you didn’t anger a
witch and get off lightly. Madeline didn’t have a mean bone in her body, but he
was not so sure the Goddess she spoke enough of would forgive Lunley’s actions
this day.

 “He’ll
not last long,” Alastair predicted grimly. “Margery said the man was raving he
had bugs crawling on him and was out of his mind. Fergus had to tie the man
down or he would have injured himself.”

“I
suppose you would tell me a witch did that too?” Gavin asked in annoyance and
shook his head. “I for one; will be pleased to get my very normal wife at court
and go home now.”

“Your
very normal wife threatened to unman you upon your return, my lord,” Alastair
said with a chuckle. “What is this effect you have on the fairer sex? First one
threatens to turn you into a toad; than the other a gelding?”

“It
was a hawk,” Gavin recalled with a fond smile as he looked back to the harbor.
“She said I’d make a much better hawk than a toad.”

Toil and grow rich,
What's that but to lie
With a foul witch
And after, drained dry,
To be brought
To the chamber where
Lies one long sought
With despair?

Cologne,
France 1608

The
Chateau was bustling with activity as the Count de Warren and his wife made
ready to depart for Paris. Chests and trunks were milling out to the waiting
carriages as three redheaded children were carried downstairs to the foyer.

Rohan
smiled as he kissed each one of his daughters, ages four years to four
months-old. Alessandra was their firstborn, the image of her mother. Ursula
looked more like him; if not for her bright red hair. Their youngest daughter,
Minerva, was a toss-up of them both, but for the hair.

Rohan
waited for their mother to arrive down below with an impatient gleam in his
gaze. The holiday he promised his wife in Paris was realized at last, after
five years of earning unbelievable accolades from the French government for his
jousting career. The title of Count and a huge Chateau were the least of it. He
was a national hero, some would say, forgiven for the taint of the Irish and
English ancestry he shared with his French blood.

He
finally could stand it no more. He knew where she was. The last five years had
hardly deterred her to master Minerva’s book. It was not in time to spare Lady
Blythe an army of kittens that ran about the Chateau now, but in time to
harness and hone her gift. Gerwin never complained of it and the pair was
content.

He
built her a secret room behind a false panel in her sitting room. It was the
one room where she was free to practice her magic without fear of prosecution,
there and in their bedroom. He still needed his comforts, even if he was a
French Count.

She
was muttering under her breath when he pulled back the panel, his dark eyes
filled with amusement, seeing her racks of bottles and vials on the walls and
her huge worktable littered with glass beakers of smoking, colorful substances.

“Paris
awaits us, my love, cannot your grandmother’s book?” he teased as he joined
her.

Madeline
regarded her handsome husband with pride and removed her apron, smoothing her
emerald green silk skirts. Her blue eyes met his, brimming with excitement. Her
charming hat sat upon her head at a defiant tilt.

“I
have finished! The last spell in the book is now complete,” she said with smug
satisfaction. “I feel like a real witch now, my love. You must take care.”

Rohan
gave her a heated look and shut the panel quickly. “I wish we had time for you
to feel like a real witch once more today, my love, but our daughters are eager
to be off.”

“You
are eager to be off!” she accused with a laugh. “Do you never get tired of
jousting, Rohan? What is this new tournament all about? You’ve been so
secretive.”

“Rivenhahl
wishes for a rematch,” he said gloatingly and his dark eyes were smug. “Did I
not tell you the man would not be content with a bloody earldom? He’s probably
grown soft and fat all these last years with no real competition in England.”

Madeline
grinned to know Gavin and the foundling knights she adored were in Paris for
the annual tournament, representing King James I of England. Gavin and his wife
came, bringing both their sons. She was eager to see them all, unable to
believe it was five years since their dramatic flight from Edinburgh.

“What
does he wish to wager now to appease you; his damned soul?” she asked in
amusement as she shook her head, finding them both childish for their continued
rivalry on the field of honor.

Rohan
chortled and gave her a lusty kiss on her neck as he swung her into his arms.
“He wishes to lose Cyrian’s colt to me now, that’s what! The daft man’s already
lost you, now he would lose the best horseflesh he owns to boot!”

“I
can see you won’t be happy until you’ve turned the man’s confidence inside and
out once more.”

Rohan
smiled as he kissed her lingeringly, raising his head to gaze down at his
beautiful witch in mock innocence. “The man is far too easy to manipulate, you
of all know that. No wonder your spells made him into a blathering idiot back
then, my love.”

“You’ve
only been taunting him with letters for two years, Rohan,” she reminded him
with a giggle and shook her head. “Does the horse really mean so much to you?”

“I
had to lose to him once to win you, my fiery witch,” Rohan whispered and she
could see her husband would plead no mercy on Lord Rivenhahl this time. “Yes,
knocking de Mortaine on his ass in the dirt will give me nothing but pleasure
this time.”

Madeline
could see the excitement in his gaze and felt the contagiousness of it as he
set her back upon her feet. Rohan would not lose this time. Just in case, she
vowed to mix up a batch of the same favor she insisted helped Gavin long ago in
the tournament Rohan lost to claim her. He might not like the smell, but he
could appreciate its properties. Would she tell him what the foul dead thing he
carried at the end of his lance was? Probably not, she knew.

In
five years, their life had been one joyous adventure after another. Her husband
and his insatiable desire for comforts made her wonder if the Goddess chose to
indulge her husband just to keep him quiet.

Unlike
most men who wished for sons, he declared himself a content man with three incorrigible
daughters. Most husbands would be outraged to have a witch for a wife. Her
husband never failed to find a silver lining in it for himself. She could never
imagine being so happy, blessed in the magic found only in his love.

“How
much would you wager on me this time, Witch?” Rohan asked arrogantly. “Come
now, you take risks these days, do you not?”

“I
would never dream of betting on any but you, my love,” she said and meant it.
The man who followed her all these years found them in Paris shortly after they
arrived. He turned out to be an agent hired by her father before his death. As
it turned out, the man only meant to give her the inheritance her father left
her, not kill her as she assumed.