Sorceress (33 page)

“I could not take the chance that I would be caught. There is still a price upon my head.”

“But why . . .” She didn’t finish the question. Her memory was fuzzy. Mixed with flashes of pleasure, pain, fear, and desire all jumbled together in a nonsensical twist.

But now she knew her time with Gavyn was true, not a dream. Parts of it cut through her brain and she remembered the brutal way he first took her, how angry he’d been. “Why, Gavyn, were you so vicious with me?”

“Vicious? But I wasn’t—”

“I was a virgin, Gavyn. ’Twas my first time.”

He was staring at her as if she were mad.

“Could you not tell?”

“Christ Jesus, Bryanna, I . . .” He seemed ultimately vexed. “I had no intention of . . . of making love with you last night. I sneaked into the great hall to make certain that you were alive and safe and—” He lifted his hands to the sky as if in disbelief. “I . . . ah, well, ’tis over now. If . . . if I hurt you or was rough with you or offended you, then . . . I am sorry.”

Her heart cracked as he seemed so sincere, so disbelieving, so inwardly disgusted with himself. He shoved his hair from his eyes and muttered a curse under his breath before adding, “I thought . . . I mean, it seemed as if you were enjoying it, too.”

Again she felt her cheeks grow warm and silently prayed that the darkness would mask her embarrassment.

“Were you not?” he asked, glancing up at her. “Enjoying yourself?”

Oh, God, yes.
“In the end, yes . . . mayhap it was my mistake. I just didn’t understand how it would feel, what it was between a man and a woman. . . .” But the woozy memories flashed behind her eyes and she sensed something was very wrong.

And what of the image she’d seen in the mirror? A trick of her mind? The voice claiming she was “forever bound.” Not Gavyn’s voice, but one she couldn’t explain.

“ ’Tis no use,” she said as the wind began howling again. “No way to explain. . . .” She was so sick of thinking about it, studying it, dissecting what had happened. “Enough has been said of it.”

He scratched at his beard, his dark silver eyes full of questions.

“I mean it, Gavyn. Let’s not speak of it again. Why don’t you tell me how you found me.”

“ ’Twas simple. I followed you.”

“But I was careful, watching over my shoulder to the empty road. No one was behind me.”

“You stole a lame gelding, Bryanna. I’ve worked with horses all my life and I’m a hunter. ’Twas simple enough in the mud to follow an animal’s track, especially one favoring a leg. And, as you said, there were not many travelers on the road. Which only made tracking that much easier.”

He crossed the distance between them, his boots sinking into the wet grass as he motioned toward the shovel she still held in one hand.

“So why don’t you tell me, Bryanna, what are you doing here in the middle of the night, digging into the ground? And what is it you plan to bury?”

Cael was trying to think of ways to bilk a few more coins from Lord Hallyd, when he spied the soldiers riding through the small village. Their uniforms were dirty and mud-spattered, their horses appearing weary, but they wore the colors of Agendor. Scarlet and gold, dirty but true.

Could his luck have turned on this night lit by the full moon?

He’d been in the saddle for days. His rump was sore, his leg aching from the bloody wolf’s attack. Though he was loath to admit it, he might just have to track down a physician. The wound, though healing, was ugly and hot to the touch.

He’d just stopped for a pint and was tying up his horse when the soldiers arrived and filed inside the inn.

He followed a little distance behind, scaring a beady-eyed rat that was lurking in the shadows but quickly scurried away, his long tail following his body into a hole on the porch. Cael walked into the raucous establishment and slid onto a stool in the corner. The small room was crowded and warm, smelling of body odor, sour ale, and mayhap even vomit. He ordered his mead and watched as the men settled onto benches and stools. They paid for pints and flirted with the serving girl as she brought them leather cups filled with ale.

Good girl,
Cael thought, and though he was thirsty and would like nothing more than to bury his own nose in his cup, drink it down and have another, he contented himself with sipping the strong beer slowly and watching.

It didn’t take long for their collective bad mood to lift, and there were jokes and jabs among the men, their voices rising. Altogether there were five soldiers, a small but effective hunting party, Cael guessed. After talk of battles and hunts and bedding the most willing women in the barony, one of the men said, “But we dinna find the bastard, now, did we? Nary a sign.”

Cael smiled and held his cup to his lips, his ears straining to hear the conversation above the loud wagers, exclamations, and rattling of the bettors’ dice cup at a table near the fire.

“We’ll find ’im, we will.”

“And how’ll we do that, now, Seamus? His trail has gone cold as a dead man’s cock.”

Several of the other soldiers laughed and grunted their approval while the dice rattled noisily.

“Someone will see him. Recognize him. Or catch sight of the horse.” Seamus wasn’t about to be the butt of a joke. “We ’ave to find him, Aaron. We must to avenge Craddock.”

“Craddock was a dung sucker,” the big one, Aaron, said, turning to look at the serving girl. As he did, Cael saw that the big soldier was missing part of one ear. “He deserved to die.”

“So now ye’re defendin’ the murderin’ bastard,” Seamus charged. He looked ready for a fight, his face turning as red as the color of Agendor’s crest. Seamus’s muscles bunched, as if he wanted to throw a punch or go for his sword. ’Twas obvious to Cael he wasn’t as smart as the others. Indeed, he’d often been the butt of a joke and was itching for a fight.

“Whoa, there, Seamus,” the one with the bad ear said. “Calm down. I was jest sayin’ what we all think. Now, we’ll find Gavyn, aye, and we’ll bring him back to Lord Deverill’s justice. ’Tis our duty. But I’m tellin’ ya that the bastard could have done a worse thing than killin’ Craddock.”

A roar went up at the dice table next to the spy. Men laughed and cursed.

Cael strained to hear more of the conversation, but the soldiers shifted, huddled over their drinks, and lowered their voices.

It mattered not.

He’d learned what he needed to know.

He considered approaching the soldiers himself, but then thought better of it. Let them return to Agendor. Let them admit that they couldn’t find the murdering horse thief. Let them incur Deverill’s wrath.

Only then would Cael demand an audience with the baron. Only then would he barter for the information he had. For surely the price upon the bastard’s head would increase.

He smiled into his cup.

Indeed, his luck had changed.

Bryanna leaned against her shovel in the silvery moonlight. “Nay, Gavyn,” she assured him. “I’m not burying anything tonight.”

He looked at the hole in the earth. “Then—?”

“I’m digging up something already buried.” Before he could ask what, she added, “Supposedly this is the burial place of Kambria of Tarth, and if Gleda, rest her soul, is to be believed, not only is Kambria buried here, she was also a witch. And, as it turns out, me old dear mum.”

“What? Wait . . . your mother? I thought Lenore of Penbrooke was your mother. I saw you with her when I worked in the stables. I was there.”

“Aye, I know. But according to Gleda, the story of my birth was a lie. She insisted that I was born to Kambria and was switched with Lenore’s sickly babe. My father knew of it.”

“Your father?”

“Yes, Lord Alwynn,” she said, snorting her disgust. “Another man who apparently could not keep his breeches laced.”

“He had a child with Kambria about the same time as he had one with Lenore?”

“Aye. So Gleda said. It’s written.”

“Where? On what?”

“That, I can’t tell you, except that now I have not one scrap of a doe hide map but two that apparently fit together, like pieces of a puzzle.”

“The map you had was not whole.” He nodded.

“So now you can help. Here!” She tossed him the shovel, as her muscles were already sore. As long as he was here, he may as well work. “You start digging.” She indicated the spot where she’d started making a hole in the earth. “And I’ll tell you what I learned.”

“Just like that?” he asked, driving the shovel deep into the soil. “You’re going to tell me everything? After leaving me in the forest?” Clearly he disbelieved her, and she didn’t blame him. But she’d been keeping too many secrets. Bryanna could stand it no more. Isa’s warning be damned; it was time she trusted someone, even a murderer and a thief.

She pulled her mantle tighter around her to ward off the cold. “I’m sick to my back teeth of lying and half-truths and riddles, and so I want you to be honest with me and so I shall be with you. Unless of course Isa tells me not to.”

“She’s here with you?” he asked skeptically. He tossed a shovelful of dirt to one side, then slammed the blade of Liam’s shovel into the ground again, slicing more dark wet loam. “She and her husband, Parnell was it?”

“Of course she’s not here, and no, she was never married,
Cain
,” she replied, emphasizing the false name he’d given her when they’d first met.

He snorted a laugh. “Fine, fine, so I admit it, I lied when we met, too. We’re even.”

“Doubtful,” she said dryly, and he chuckled again.

“So, Isa, is she meeting you?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Shrugging her shoulders, she looked away and cleared her throat. She wanted to be completely honest with him but found it difficult. Could she really admit that she was listening to a dead woman?

“So where is she?”

“Well . . .” She hesitated while he continued to dig. How exactly could she admit that Isa was talking to her from the grave? Nervously, she touched the amulet at her throat, the one she’d retrieved from Isa.

“I thought this was the time for the truth.”

“It’s kind of hard to believe,” she admitted, watching the mound of discarded earth grow.

“Try me.”

“Isa’s dead.”

He stopped shoveling. “Dead?”

“Oh, yes.”

Leaning against the handle of the shovel, he said, “You know, before I dig any more, why don’t you tell me exactly what it is you’re talking about?”

“I intend to. But don’t stop. You keep at it.” She motioned to the ever-deepening hole. “I’ll explain.”

“Then talk.”

And she did. From the beginning. As he threw shovelful after shovelful of soft loam onto the mossy grass and the pile grew, she told him of Isa’s death and of the strange conversations they’d shared. She explained about taking Isa’s things and setting out on her quest, of learning spells and chants and how to dig, dry, and use herbs. As he drove the shovel deeper into the earth, Bryanna reminded him of how they’d met and, later, about how Isa’s voice insisted she leave him in the forest. She told about the quest to save some child she’d never met, of the dagger and stones, of using the leather map and riding to Tarth, where she’d met Gleda.

Bryanna caught her breath and looked up at the glowing full moon as she relayed how Gleda had shared with her the secrets of her birth.

“. . . that is, if I can believe what Gleda said,” Bryanna confided as she walked closer to the fire. She picked up a dry, brittle stick, then banged it over her knee, the wood splintering and cracking.

“You don’t believe her?” Gavyn asked.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” She shook her head at the events that had brought her here to this place, with this man. “I find it difficult to think everything she said was true.”

“And do you not think it’s strange that she and her husband died on the very night that you met? A coincidence?”

“Worse than that, I think she might have known she might die.” She tossed the pieces of wood into the fire. Hungry flames crackled and burned around the new fuel and golden shadows danced against the rough bark of the surrounding trees.

“A premonition? That she would have an accident?” he asked, throwing his shoulders into his task.

“Or that someone would kill her.”

“Kill her? You mean on purpose? Murder her and her husband?” He flipped a thick scoop of dirt onto the ever-growing mound.

“Why else would she have left the second part of the map with me?”

“That’s how you got the second piece?” he asked, looking up.

“Yes, I was getting to that.” She added twigs to the fire and continued with her story as the flames grew ever brighter. “And so I stole the horse and some things from her home, then followed the map to here.”

Gavyn stopped digging to mop his brow with the back of his hand.

“ ’Tis quite a tale, Bryanna,” he admitted. “Some people would think you were daft.”

“And you?”

He smiled, a slash of white in the darkness. “No, I don’t think you’re mad, but it seems almost as if I’m in one of the old ghost stories that we shared as children. ’Twas always a challenge to come up with something darker and scarier, a tale that would frighten your friends, especially the littler ones. All this digging up coffins by the light of the moon.” He motioned to the starry sky. “’Tis a little dramatic, don’t you think, like the old woman did it just to scare you?”

“I know not why this all had to happen at night.”

“Near midnight, right?” he asked, and she nodded. “’Tis nothing more than sheep’s dung, a ghost tale.” He shrugged, “But, ’tis fine. Here we are. Why not dig for dead witches?” He looked up at her, his sarcastic grin needling her. “I guess we can be thankful ’tis a moonlit night.”

“Just dig.”

His smile widened. “I will, but not forever. Not just to prove you right. Soon, I should come upon a coffin. If I do, then we’ll know if Gleda was telling the truth.”