Darkwitch Rising (28 page)

“No,” said Marguerite. “Surely you can—”

She stopped appalled, as Noah screamed again. Even Catling flinched as her mother twisted frenziedly about the bed.

“You will leave in the morning,” Marguerite ground out, understanding what was required.

And, as suddenly as she had started, Noah fell still, although she continued to moan.

Marguerite met Kate’s eyes above Noah’s now prone figure. “Noah shall leave in the morning,” she said, “but for now we can help.”

Weyland sat in the kitchen, still staring sightlessly, Jane crumpled unconscious at his feet.

He’d had to do it. He’d needed to impress his authority upon Noah, most particularly after their conversation in the iciness of Woburn village.

But, oh, her screams.

He’d had to do it. Charles would be here soon, and Weyland did not want to wait until he’d set foot in England to snatch at Noah. That might have been way too late.

Weyland wanted to be sure.

But, oh, her screams.

Abruptly he stood, stepping over Jane’s prone form as he strode for the door and the stairs to his Idyll. Once Noah was with him, he would make sure she understood that every time she crossed him she would endure similar agony. Goddess or not, it didn’t matter. Once the imps received their commands, then they…nibbled.

“She will learn soon enough,” he muttered to himself, climbing the stairs three at a time. “She will learn to obey me, to do my will, and then there will be no need for the pain.”

C
atharine woke, screaming. Charles lurched upright, sure that Weyland Orr had somehow managed to find his way under the sheets, and was even now engaged in ripping Catharine apart.

The door to the bedchamber opened, and several men stumbled in: a valet, a guardsman and a passing nobleman. The valet carried a candle, and by its light Charles was able to see that Catharine was whole, if distressed.

He grabbed at the sheet and pulled it modestly over Catharine’s naked breasts.

“My love…what is it? Wake up, a nightmare only, I assure you. Wake up!”

Catharine blinked, and seemed to come somewhat to her senses. Her hair was tumbled about her shoulders, her face pale, her eyes white and frightened. “Charles?”

“A nightmare,” he said, but there was an underlying question to his voice.

“A nightmare…” Catharine said, her voice as laden with meaning as his had been, and she looked significantly at the three men who now stood gape-mouthed at the side of the bed.

Charles turned to them, and smiled. “All is well, my friends. Catharine no doubt dreamed she’d been
married to some German toad instead of to me. You may leave the candle, John, if you please.”

There was polite laughter from the three, and they bowed, murmured a few well chosen words appropriate to the occasion, and, the valet placing the candle on a table close to the bed, exited the chamber, closing the door behind them.

“Gods, Catharine, what has happened?”

“Weyland Orr has called Noah to him. He woke her, Charles, with pain so terrible that I felt a glimmer of it from this distance.”

Charles had leapt from the bed as she spoke, and now paced naked to and fro at its foot. “Weyland has called Noah to him? But I have not yet set foot in England! Long Tom said he would not do this until I had set foot in England!”

“Charles—”

“Long Tom said he would not touch her until I had set foot in England!”

“Charles—”

“Catharine, we were supposed to save her! We—”

“Charles!”

He stopped his pacing, and stared at her.

“Send for Louis,” Catharine said. “Now.”

Charles stared one moment longer, then gave a curt nod, and strode for the door.

Louis managed not to run as he made for the royal bedchamber, but it took all of his self-control. There might be many reasons Charles would send for him in the middle of the night, and Louis could not think of a single positive one.

The valet hurrying at his side sent Louis a sidelong glance, and Louis supposed that within the hour most of the people at Charles’ court would know that the king had sent for his favourite French companion in the midst of the night.

Why? they’d whisper. Could our king not manage to service his wife as he ought, and thus called for de Silva? If the queen be pregnant this time next month, should we be watching at the child’s birth to see if it cries in French, or in English?

Louis didn’t give a damn about the undoubtedly ribald whispers. All he wanted was to discover the reason for the summons.

Finally they reached their destination. There was a small crowd standing about outside the bedchamber—Louis could see two physicians, as well as Sir Edward Hyde, five Dutch noblemen, three serving girls and at least seven guardsmen.

“Allow us passage!” the valet cried dramatically. He threw open the door and gestured Louis to enter.

Then, thankfully, he was inside, the door closed behind him, and he could see Charles sitting on the edge of the bed, and Catharine in its centre, her pretty face pale and patently upset.

“What?” Louis said, starting towards the bed.

“Weyland Orr has taken Noah,” Charles replied, and Louis stopped dead, still only halfway to the bed, his face slack in shock. “But—”

“I know, I know,” Charles said, standing. “Not until I set foot in England, Long Tom said. But when has Asterion ever done what anyone else has planned for him? No, he must have suspected we’d try to rescue her ourselves, and so has forestalled us.”

Louis looked to Catharine. “You felt this?”

She gave a single nod. “The imp…such pain…she can’t resist. She must to London immediately.”

Louis paled. “She is still in Woburn village?”

“Yes,” said Catharine. “But I have no doubt she’ll leave soon, in the morning. She can’t go through an attack like that again. If she doesn’t move, Weyland will…”

Charles and Louis locked eyes, thinking over that
Weyland will
…

“If she’s at Woburn, then I have time to get to her,” Louis said.

“But—” Charles said.

“Damn it, Charles! We can’t just sit here and moan! There are ships waiting at the wharves. On your authority I can command one to take me for England within the hour. If there is a good wind—”

“There will be,” Charles said quietly.

“—then I can be at London within two days. Perhaps only thirty-six hours. It will take Noah at least that long to reach London by road. I can reach London before she does, be waiting at the city gates, watching the road from Woburn. I can get to her before she reaches Weyland!”

“Gods, Louis,” Charles said. “If Weyland realises you are there—”

“And if he takes Noah?” said Louis. “What then, eh? If he has Noah, then he has the bands. If he can command her to London, then he can command her to fetch those bands as easily.”

Charles gave a slow, reluctant nod. “Very well. But, by all gods in existence, be careful! I’ll move as fast as I can, set out for England myself within the next few days. Weyland Orr, if he senses anything, will think it is me moving.”

“Write me letters of introduction. To Monck, to Parliament, to the damn passport inspectors, to the street sweepers if you must, but give me enough documentation to get me free access to London.”

Charles turned for the desk set against one wall of the chamber. “Send for Hyde. He can aid me with the cursed passports and letters of introduction while you send to the wharves to wake the captain of the
Fair Polly
. He’ll stand the best chance of getting you speedily and safely to London.”

When Jane finally woke from her unconscious state, she only very slowly became aware of her surroundings.

The kitchen was dark; both the lamps and the fire had died.

She was cold, colder than she’d ever been in her life.

Her entire body ached. Everything, not just her belly: her fingers, her head, her very bones. Her entire existence throbbed.

And yet, Jane was barely conscious of any of this.

Instead, she thought of something that had happened to her in the time when she had been in agony and when unconsciousness had not yet claimed her. Someone else had been there with her, sharing her pain.

Noah. Noah had been there, very faint, but there, writhing even as Jane writhed. Screaming, even as Jane screamed.

Sisters, finally, in agony, as they had never been when free of Weyland’s imps.

I
had not expected that agony. That was foolish of me, I am sure, but I had truly not expected it. As Caela, whether as herself or in her glamour as Damson, I’d seen the terrible effects of Swanne’s imp on her body, and I’d seen the suffering in Swanne’s eyes. I should have known that Weyland would visit a similar anguish on me.

And yet, still, both the pain and the attack came as a shock. I’d harboured the imp for so many years, through two lives, with little to show for it save some discomfort during my monthly menstrual cycle that when it did strike…oh, merciful heavens…

I could feel that imp crawling through my body. Feel him reaching out his claws and raking them slowly down my inner back, delighting in my terror and pain.

Hear him giggling, the sound horribly distorted by its passage through my flesh.

All I could think of was Catling’s statement that she could help if the imp troubled me during my monthly menses. All I could think of was how Catling seemed able to control the imp. All I could
think of was that she could now call a halt to this terrible tearing…this terrible agony.

That she didn’t came as no true surprise. She was right, of course, to say that if she stopped the imp then Weyland would know that the black horror was beyond his control.

But even so…to have her refuse to aid me…

Marguerite and Kate did what they could. Cool herbal poultices and love and compassion, applied in equal amounts, eased much of my suffering. By dawn the overwhelming agony had gone, but my flesh still pained considerably. Marguerite said the welts in my back had bruised a deep purple, and when she gently laid her fingers to one of them I yelped and jerked my body away.

Catling had returned to her bed for the night, but now came to me. At one point, when both Kate and Marguerite had left to prepare our breakfast, she said to me, “You are leaving for London today.”

It was no question.

“Aye,” I said.

“I shall accompany you,” she said.

I said nothing. I wondered what she wanted, and what her purpose was.

I wondered what she
was
.

I was so tired from my night of suffering, so drained, and still so terrified of what might lie ahead of me that I said nothing. I knew full well that if I said “No” then Catling would nonetheless accompany me.

Marguerite returned eventually, carrying a fresh dish of herbs to apply to my back, and Kate came with her, bearing a tray of food for myself and Catling.

Both women were very quiet, very reserved. “I wish…” Kate said as she handed me a bowl of thick, warm porridge. She leaned back to her tray, hesitated, then handed a second bowl to Catling.

“Aye,” I said, trying to smile at her. “I wish also.”

“When will you go?” asked Marguerite. “How shall you travel?”

“I will leave as soon as I have finished this porridge,” I said, trying to keep the despair out of my voice, “and I shall take one of the horses, and Catling and I shall ride it well enough.”

“But,” said Marguerite, accepting without comment that Catling should accompany me, “travelling the roads to London for a woman and child is dangerous. I thought you would…walk the land.”

She was being obtuse, but I knew what she meant. Why risk physical travel along the roads when I could use my power well enough to walk the land as Eaving?

“I do not want Weyland to see it,” I said. “He knows too much as it is. I do not want him to see all that I can do. Besides, he wants me in London. He shall make sure I get there alive.”

“Alive,” Marguerite said, her tone harsh, “but not necessarily well and whole. We all know the extent of his cruelty and I can well believe he shall have several ‘surprises’ for you on the journey south. Sweet heavens, Noah, the journey will take you three days at least. Where will you stay? Who shall protect you? And Catling? What of her? You are so terribly injured you cannot look after yourself, let alone her. I—”

“Peace,” I said. “I will travel to London, and both myself and Catling shall arrive there safely enough.”

“And then?” said Kate.

I fell silent, not wanting to think of what would happen once my daughter and I reached London.

And then?

I shivered, and turned my mind away from it. I would think no more of London, but only of the journey there.

I rose. “Marguerite, will you aid me to wash? I do not want to set out unwashed.”

She nodded, and, as she aided me to first bathe and then don some loose-fitting underclothes beneath a lightly laced bodice and skirt, we talked of some of the necessities I should take with me in a pack.

Such preparations did not take long. What could I take save a change of clothes for Catling and myself, along with some food for the journey? If I travelled too heavy, then I risked not only slowing myself down, but exposing myself to theft. Better to journey light, and poorly, than to invite attention.

We were all subdued. I felt sickened, not merely with the ache in my back, nor only for the fact I should so soon be leaving Marguerite and Kate, but for what I walked towards.

By the time dawn had made its mark, I was ready. The horse was stabled at the back of the house and was saddled and bridled and standing by the front door, Catling’s and my small bag of belongings tied behind his saddle. I took my daughter’s hand and smiled somewhat wanly for Marguerite and Kate.

“It is farewell for the time being, then,” I said, a little lamely.

Marguerite’s eyes filled with tears.

I gulped, and then all three of us were crying, and huddled together in as close an embrace as we could manage.