Faerie (33 page)

Sigge could only nod. But it was enough.

“Then find a way to tell the king.”

“What about you?”

“We’ll work on that. Just help me get out of here.”

Her heart raced again, for now she remembered those skeleton creatures. Four of them, not just the single one she had seen when Sigge cut his foot. They had attacked her. They’d come for her twice. So they would again.

One thing at a time.

Sigge nodded and walked with an exaggerated lanky gait to the corner of the forge where he could survey the entire bailey, and he nodded to tell her it was clear. She blessed her long legs as she dashed to the curtain wall and flattened herself against it, then, moving faster than she dared think would protect her, she ran along the perimeter, completing the arc that took her to the gate between the two baileys.

She looked in all directions but now saw no signs of Sigge. Had he gotten scared? Or been stopped? Then he popped out of the kitchen with something in his hands in a cloth. He ran toward the bailey gate and glanced around, then laid the bundle on the ground next to the gate. The boy turned away, pretending to peer down into the lower bailey that was now the scene of all the commotion.

Of course. She’d forgotten. He had no idea where she was now. She bent down and picked up the bundle, hoping it also disappeared when she held it beneath her cloak.

A fleeting grin flashed across the boy’s face, and he returned his attention to the gathering of horsemen below. Leonie smiled. If she hurried along, she’d be able to walk out the front gate right beside Philippe as he rode out. A stupid idea, but one that pleased her.

As Philippe waited for his squire to fasten the girth on Tonerre’s saddle, his eyes scanned the bailey for any signs of Leonie. She wasn’t anywhere inside the castle, yet she had to be.
Unless she really could pass through solid walls.
Yet there was something.

It was almost as if he could feel her presence, close to him. The hairs on his arms bristled as they might in a sudden cool breeze.

He’d had that sense before and been right. He turned in a full circle, letting his senses feel whatever it was they were feeling. There was nothing to be seen. Yet something was there. It was the same sense that had led him the day she had run away from Castle Brodin. Although he hadn’t recognized it then, he’d known she’d been too easy to find. He’d followed that elusive sense once before. He could do it now.

Aye. She was here. Close. The feeling grew stronger and stronger until the very hairs on his neck and arms tingled with it.

Whoever she was, it was as if she’d grabbed his heart and ripped it from his chest.

“Go on, Philippe,” Hugh urged. “You know it must be you who greets the king. I’ll keep watch.”

But Hugh wouldn’t have that sense, whatever it was, to guide him.

I’ll find you, Leonie.

Reluctantly, he mounted Tonerre and rode out through the barbican with his knights. The presence was close. Very close. He wished he could tell her—

What? What could he tell her?

That he didn’t want to lose her.

“By your own hand, Peregrine.”

The hideous shudder rippled through him yet again. But losing her might be the only way to save her. Or was her end to be soon and horrible? Nay, even if she were a witch, he would not allow the accusation. She had not really done him harm, and he must somehow stop anyone from hurting her.

He had to find her. And then get her away from him, where she’d be safe.

But what would he tell Rufus?

“Did you perhaps forget to tell him something?”

As he rode with his knights down the steep slope of the motte, he could see Rufus and his guard already splashing into the water at the ford where only hours ago the troops of Durham had made their hasty exit. Rufus spotted them and dashed ahead of all the others, for although the king had great respect for his own rank and demanded the same of all his minions, even those with whom he claimed friendship, in his heart he had the exuberance of a young boy.

Philippe was fond of the king, a man many others detested. He could not truly call him friend, for there was something in friendship that demanded equality, and Rufus never forgot he had no equals. Rufus was England. For all his self-interest, he held the kingdom above himself, but few besides Philippe understood that.

Philippe goaded his grey to a gallop and reached the river just as Rufus and his guard emerged from the ford. He couldn’t help but return the king’s broad smile, and they leaned across saddles to clasp arms.

“Ah, Philippe, I see I find you well. I hear you have chased Durham’s lackey back to his lair this very day.”

“Aye,” Philippe replied. “Or it could be said you did, Sire. They heard you were coming.”

Rufus let out an evil-sounding chuckle. “And de Mowbray, what do you think of him?”

“It’s all odd. The Bishop of Durham claims to back you, and de Mowbray grumbles about all alliances. But when it comes to a battle with the Scottish king, I’ll wager it’ll be de Mowbray who will side with you while Durham will defect.”

“And your lovely wife? I’ll wager you are finding marriage more agreeable now?”

Philippe felt color draining from his face. “
Beau Sire
, might we talk of it in private?”

As heartily jolly as he had been before, Rufus’s face dropped to deadly seriousness. “What has happened?”

“She—” What could he say? The words choked as he remembered his vow to protect her with his own life. “She has gone missing, Sire, just this last hour.”

“Missing? How?”

“I cannot say, Sire. She—cannot be seen anywhere.”

“From the castle? Then Fulk has found a way to capture her out from beneath your very nose.”

Philippe watched tensely as Rufus’s ruddy face darkened. “Nay, I do not think so.”

“Well then, what else could it be? You did ride after Fulk, did you not? And while you rode out to be sure he was gone, somehow his men entered and captured her. Were your gates not secured?”

“All was secured. I had stopped in the village while Hugh held the castle. She had felt ill, so Hugh escorted her to the solar himself. I myself saw her there when I returned.”

Rufus’s eyes narrowed. “Ill?”

“There are pains in her head and she faints. I think from the injuries she suffered at Brodin. I have seen it several times, but I don’t know what to do for her.”

The king nodded, his body rocking with the movement as he absorbed the information. “But then she disappeared? Philippe, we cannot lose her. She is the key to everything, and she is in grave danger. Surely it is the Bishop of Durham who is behind this.”

“My king, I beg you, release me now to continue my search.”

“Aye, but let us go for the castle first. Haps we can add something to your search. A woman cannot simply disappear into the air.”

Philippe felt the blood draining from his face. That was exactly what she had done. Somehow. Philippe feigned a smile that was grim at its best and joined in the ride up the high motte toward Bosewood. The last thing he wanted was to be subject to Rufus’s intense interrogation, which he knew was coming. But all he could do was to be patient until the king finally released him, or he would provoke his suspicion. Philippe had no idea what Rufus’s response would be, but he dared not take the chance.

“Did you perhaps forget to tell him something?”

“By your own hand, Peregrine.”

He felt a chill. What could the two possibly have in common? Was the curse somehow tied in with his secret, which he suspected the old woman knew?

They rode up the hill with Philippe relating to the king the details of Fulk’s attack and de Mowbray’s visit. But the king very carefully avoided any further questioning that involved Leonie, and frequently looked about him. Philippe knew the motive, which was to move out of hearing range. Just as he had at Brodin.

Once reaching the upper bailey, Rufus spotted the second palisade and laughed. “Clever man, you are, Philippe. So you tricked them into burning one wall, to be trapped by another.”

Philippe nodded.

“Now show me the hall.” Rufus waved his hand backward, and that was enough to inform everyone present not to follow.

Inside, Rufus’s nose wrinkled, nostrils flaring.

“We cannot get rid of the stink,” Philippe said.

“Tear it down. This hill can support a strong stone hall.” Philippe had no time to answer before Rufus dashed off toward the solar, his thick, compact body moving rapidly and his ruddy face growing deeper red with the exertion. With quick flips of his hands, he sent everyone scurrying out the doors.

The king’s pale eyes flashed in all directions, and he passed through the doorway, throwing the tapestry aside.

“Now, Philippe, you are hiding something from me. I will have the truth. All of it. If Durham did not arrange her disappearance, then who did? How? Why?”

“I fear I frightened her, Sire.”

“How? Why? Then she left of her own accord? She is hardly the sort of woman to flee without some cause.”

“You must blame me, not her. I was annoyed.”

“Speak the truth.”

“Sire, she is not—she is very different, Sire. She can do things—”

“What things? Other than outshoot any man in England. How could she get out of here without anyone seeing her?” Rufus walked around the solar studying every corner of the walls, as if he sought a clue there. He suddenly stiffened and spun around, his sharp eyes and bushy blond brows forming a menacing kingly frown, yet something like horror or fear lurked in their depths. “Philippe, tell me true. Have you by chance seen her walk through walls?”

Philippe’s throat turned instantly dry.

“Sweet robes of Christ!” Rufus said. “And have you seen an old woman around here, a very old hag?”

He had, just this morning in the village. He licked his dry lips, remembering the strange old woman. She had disappeared in exactly the same way. All he could do was nod.

“And she walks through walls too. Herzeloyde. I should have known.”

“Nay, Sire, the old woman I saw could not be Leonie’s mother. She is far too old.”

With his small eyes still flared wide, Rufus tapped his pursed fingers rapidly against his thumbs the way he did when he was thinking furiously, and he began pacing about. He stopped, folded his hands prayer-like, and brought the fingers to his lips.

By the minute, Philippe’s anxiety grew as he prayed for this interminable interview to end and let him go back to finding Leonie.

“Ah, Philippe,” said Rufus, “you do not know. There are things. You suspect witchcraft, I can tell, for you fear to tell it to me. But this is not done by Satan’s evil, though there are such forces loose in this land. There are also others who are not like us, who come among us from time to time. But folk fear what they do not understand, Philippe, just as you fear what you have seen. Does de Mowbray know of her disappearance?”

“Nay, Sire, she left after de Mowbray returned to Alnwick.”

“And tell me, what does he make of the lovely Leonie?”

“He seems fond of her. He offered his protection.”

Rufus nodded, his face full of solemnity. “He should. It was he who saved her from her father when she was a babe. De Mowbray is a man of many past evils, but there is a core of honor somewhere in him, as if he hides his honor behind a mask of brutal evil. He himself carried the child to her uncle at Brodin, bringing also her Scottish maid, who had been badly injured. And he vowed to Theobald he would tear him limb from limb if the man ever came within sight of the baby again. My father, too, made a strange vow then, to an old hag. That is why the girl remained in the care of her uncle all these years.”

“Theobald did not send her to be fostered, then?”

“Do not give any credit to that man. He had tried to murder both her and her mother, as well as being the most useless of marcher lords.”

“Then what happened to Herzeloyde?”

“I suspect de Mowbray knows, but honor or no, he also easily condescends to lying.”

“Still, how could the old woman possibly be Herzeloyde, who would not be past middle age?”

Rufus scratched at his golden beard, as if he debated to himself what he would say, and then nodded as if coming to agreement with himself. “Have you heard of the Cailleach?”

“I heard it among the villagers on our wedding night. The village elder, Cyne, tells me it is merely a word for an old woman.”

“Not any old woman.
The
old woman. The crone. The hag. The old Celts believed in many things, like the spirits of the trees, of water, and the like, but this old woman is a different sort of being. They say she is a mortal being, though she lives a very long life. But she dies, like any mortal. Then another takes her place.”

“But then how could it be Herzeloyde, who was not old?”

“I’m only a king, Philippe. How can I tell? I have asked many questions as discreetly as I could, yet I still know so little. I have thought for some time Herzeloyde was the one chosen, and now I believe it.”

“Then you have seen her too.”

“She has come to me five times, twice in this year. I have honored my father’s promise to her. Information for a favor still to come.