Epic Historial Collection (197 page)

She still had the love potion. The little pottery vial was in a tiny leather bag attached to a thong around her neck. It hung between her breasts, hidden from view. She could have dosed his ale at any dinnertime, but she would not be able to take advantage of its effects out in the fields in the middle of the day.

Every evening he went to Perkin's house and had supper with Annet and her family, so Gwenda sat alone in his kitchen. When he returned he often looked grim, but he said nothing to Gwenda, so she assumed he must have overruled Annet's objections. He went to bed without taking anything more to eat or drink, so she was not able to use the potion.

On the Saturday after Gram ran off, Gwenda made herself a supper of greens boiled with salt pork. Wulfric's house was stocked with food for four adults, so there was plenty to eat. The evenings were cool, even though it was now July, and after she had eaten she put another log on the kitchen fire and sat watching it catch alight, thinking of the simple, predictable life she had led until a few short weeks ago, marveling at how that life had collapsed as completely as the bridge at Kingsbridge.

When the door opened, she thought it was Wulfric coming home. She always retired to the cowshed when he came back, but she enjoyed the few friendly words they exchanged before going to bed. She looked up eagerly, expecting to see his handsome face; but she suffered an unpleasant shock.

It was not Wulfric, but her father.

With him was a rough-looking stranger.

She leaped to her feet, full of fear. “What do you want?”

Skip gave a hostile bark, but retreated from Joby in fear.

Joby said: “Now, then, my little girl, no need to be afraid, I'm your pa.”

She recalled, with dismay, her mother's vague warning in church. “Who is he?” she said, pointing at the stranger.

“This here is Jonah from Abingdon, a dealer in hides.”

Jonah might once have been a merchant, Gwenda thought grimly, and he might even come from Abingdon, but his boots were worn, his clothes were filthy, and his matted hair and straggly beard showed that he had not visited a city barber for some years.

Showing more courage than she felt, Gwenda said: “Get away from me.”

“I told you she was feisty,” Joby said to Jonah. “But she's a good girl, and strong.”

Jonah spoke for the first time. “Not to worry,” he said. He licked his lips as he studied Gwenda, and she wished she were wearing more than her light wool dress. “I've broken in a few fillies in my time,” he added.

Gwenda had no doubt that her father had carried out his threat and sold her again. She had thought that leaving his house would make her safe. Surely the villagers would not permit the abduction of a laborer employed by one of their number? But it was dark now, and she might be far away before anyone realized what had happened.

There was no one to help her.

All the same, she was not going without a fight.

She looked around desperately, searching for a weapon. The log she had put on a few minutes ago was blazing at one end, but it was about eighteen inches long, and the other end stuck out invitingly. She bent quickly and snatched it up.

“Now, then, no need for that sort of thing,” said Joby. “You don't want to hurt your old pa, do you?” He stepped closer.

A rush of rage overwhelmed her. How dare he speak of himself as her old pa when he was trying to sell her? Suddenly she did want to hurt him. She leaped at him, screaming with rage, thrusting the burning log at his face.

He jumped back, but she kept coming, mad with fury. Skip yapped frantically. Joby lifted his arms to protect himself, trying to knock the brand away, but she was strong, too. His flailing arms failed to stop her rush, and she pushed the red-hot end of the log into his face. He screamed in pain as it scorched his cheek. His dirty beard caught fire, and there was a sickening smell of roasting flesh.

Then Gwenda was grabbed from behind. Jonah's arms encircled her, pinning her own arms to her side. She dropped the burning log. Flames leaped up immediately from the straw on the floor. Skip, terrified of fire, ran out of the house. Gwenda struggled, wriggling in Jonah's grasp, throwing herself from side to side, but he was surprisingly strong. He lifted her off her feet.

A tall figure appeared in the doorway. Gwenda saw only the shape, then it disappeared again. Gwenda felt herself thrown to the ground. For a moment she was stunned. When she came to her senses, Jonah was kneeling on her, tying her hands with a rope.

The tall figure reappeared, and Gwenda recognized Wulfric. This time he was carrying a big oak bucket. Swiftly, he emptied the bucket onto the burning straw, putting out the flames. Then he changed his grip, swung the bucket, and hit the kneeling Jonah a mighty blow on top of the head.

Jonah's grip on Gwenda relaxed. She pulled her wrists apart and felt the rope loosen. Wulfric swung the bucket and hit Jonah a second time, even harder. Jonah's eyes closed and he slumped to the floor.

Joby put out the flames of his burning beard by pressing his sleeve against it, then sank to his knees, moaning in agony.

Wulfric picked up the unconscious Jonah by his tunic front. “Who on earth is this?”

“His name is Jonah. My father wanted to sell me to him.”

Wulfric lifted the man by the belt, carried him to the front door, and threw him out into the road.

Joby groaned. “Help me, my face is burned.”

“Help you?” said Wulfric. “You've set fire to my house and attacked my laborer, and you want me to help you? Get out!”

Joby got to his feet, moaning piteously, and staggered to the front door. Gwenda searched her heart and found no compassion. What little love she might have had left for him had been destroyed tonight. As he went out through the door, she hoped he would never speak to her again.

Perkin came to the back door, carrying a rush light. “What happened?” he said. “I thought I heard a scream.” Gwenda saw Annet hovering behind him.

Wulfric answered the question. “Joby came here with another ruffian. They tried to take Gwenda away.”

Perkin grunted. “You seem to have dealt with the problem.”

“Without difficulty.” Wulfric realized he still had the bucket in his hand, and he put it down.

Annet said: “Are you hurt?”

“Not in the least.”

“Do you need anything?”

“I just want to go to sleep.”

Perkin and Annet took the hint and went away. No one else seemed to have heard the commotion. Wulfric closed the doors.

He looked at Gwenda in the firelight. “How do you feel?”

“Shaky.” She sat on the bench and leaned her elbows on the kitchen table.

He went to the cupboard. “Drink a little wine to steady yourself.” He took out a small barrel, put it on the table, and got two cups off the shelf.

Gwenda was suddenly alert. Could this be her chance? She tried to pull herself together. She would have to act quickly.

Wulfric poured wine into the cups, then returned the barrel to the cupboard.

Gwenda had only a second or two. While his back was turned, she reached into her bosom and pulled out the bag that hung around her neck on its leather thong. She fumbled the vial from the bag. With a trembling hand she unstoppered it and emptied it into his cup.

He turned around as she was pushing the bag back into her neckline. She patted herself as if she had merely been straightening her clothing. Typical man, he noticed nothing amiss, and sat opposite her at the table.

She picked up her cup and raised it in a toast. “You saved me,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Your hand is shaking,” he said. “You've had a nasty shock.”

They both drank.

Gwenda wondered how long the potion would take to have its effect.

Wulfric said: “You saved me, by helping me in the fields. Thank you.”

They drank again.

“I don't know what's worse,” Gwenda said. “To have a father like mine, or to be like you and have no father at all.”

“I feel sorry for you,” Wulfric said thoughtfully. “At least I have good memories of my parents.” He emptied his cup. “I don't usually drink wine—I don't like that woozy feeling—but this is great.”

She watched him carefully. Mattie Wise had said that he would become amorous. Gwenda looked for the signs. Sure enough, he soon began to stare as if seeing her for the first time. After a while he said: “You know, you've got such a nice face. There's a lot of kindness in it.”

Now she was supposed to use her feminine wiles to seduce him. But, she realized with a panicky feeling, she had had no practice at this. Women such as Annet did it all the time. However, when she thought of the things Annet did—smilingly coyly, touching her hair, fluttering her eyelashes—she could not bring herself even to try. She would just feel stupid.

“You're kind,” she said, talking to gain time. “But your face shows something else.”

“What?”

“Strength. The kind that comes, not from big muscles, but from determination.”

“I feel strong tonight.” He grinned. “You said no man could dig over twenty acres—but I feel as if I could, right now.”

She put her hand over his on the table. “Enjoy your rest,” she said. “There's plenty of time for digging.”

He looked at her small hand on his large one. “We've got different color skin,” he said, as if discovering an amazing fact. “Look: yours is brown, mine's pink.”

“Different skin, different hair, different eyes. I wonder what our babies would be like?”

He smiled at the thought. Then his expression changed as he realized something was wrong with what she had said. Abruptly, his face became grave. The change might have been comical if she had not cared so much about his feelings for her. He said solemnly: “We're not going to have babies.” He took his hand away.

“Let's not think about that,” she said desperately.

“Don't you sometimes wish…” He tailed off.

“What?”

“Don't you sometimes wish the world could be different from the way it is?”

She got up, walked around the table, and sat close to him. “Don't wish,” she said. “We're alone, and it's night. You can do anything you want.” She looked directly into his eyes. “Anything.”

He stared back at her. She saw the yearning in his face, and realized with a thrill of triumph that he desired her. It had required a potion to bring it out, but it was unmistakably genuine. Right now he wanted nothing in the world other than to make love to her.

Still he made no move.

She took his hand. He did not resist as she drew it to her lips. She held the big, rough fingers, then pressed the palm to her mouth. She kissed it, then licked it with the tip of her tongue. Then she pressed his hand to one breast.

His hand closed over it, making it seem very small. His mouth opened a fraction, and she could see that he was breathing hard. She tilted her head back, ready to be kissed, but he did nothing.

She stood up and quickly pulled her dress up over her head and threw it to the floor. She stood naked in front of him in the firelight. He gazed at her, eyes wide, mouth open, as if he were witnessing a miracle.

She took his hand again. This time, she touched it to the soft place between her thighs. It covered the triangle of hair there. She was so wet that his finger slipped inside her, and she gave an involuntary groan of pleasure.

But he did nothing of his own volition, and she understood that he was paralyzed by indecision. He wanted her, but he had not forgotten Annet. Gwenda could move him like a puppet all night, perhaps even have sex with his inert body, but that would change nothing. She needed him to take the initiative.

She leaned forward, still holding his hand against her groin. “Kiss me,” she said. She moved her face closer to his. “Please,” she said. She was an inch away from his mouth. She would not get nearer: he had to close the gap.

Suddenly, he moved.

He withdrew his hand, turned away from her, and stood up. “This is wrong,” he said.

And she knew that she had lost.

Tears came to her eyes. She picked up her dress from the floor and held it in front of her, covering her nakedness.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I shouldn't have done any of those things. I misled you. I've been cruel.”

No, you haven't, she thought. I've been cruel. I've misled you. But you were too strong. You're too loyal, too faithful. You're too good for me.

But she said nothing.

He kept his gaze steadfastly away from her. “You must go to the cowshed,” he said. “Go to sleep. We'll feel differently in the morning. It might be all right then.”

She ran out through the back door, not bothering to get dressed. It was moonlight, but there was no one to see her, and she would not have cared anyway. She was inside the cowshed in seconds.