Warped (25 page)

Tessa looked up at Will, who suddenly seemed very high. Impossibly high. “You mean me? Ride?” She tried to swallow the flitter of nerves.

“That was my intent, yes.”

Tessa had never been on a horse in her life. Horses weren’t this tall, were they? It must be some kind of prehistoric mastodon horse. She shook her head. “The poor thing,” she said. “We can’t both ride him. It’s too much weight.”

“Nonsense,” Will said, gathering the reins closer. “Hannibal could bear me and ten stone of plate armor to Galway at a gallop. You will pose no difficulty.” Again he reached his hand for her.

Tessa gave a little mewl of nerves and put her hand in his.

“Now your foot there,” Will said patiently. “Your other foot. No, there. Right. And hup!” He pulled her up behind him.

The view down looked even worse than the view up. Tessa felt as if she were balanced on a precarious, moving cliffside. “Okay,” she said. She clamped her hands awkwardly onto Will’s torso and felt the ripple of lean muscles beneath her fingers. He was still wearing the same modern clothes as when she had seen him last: a white button-down cotton shirt and jeans. “Just so you know, I’ve never been on a horse before.”

“Really, Mistress Brody?” Will turned and gave her an amused look. “I never would have guessed.”

Tessa jabbed him lightly in the ribs.

He leaned forward and said something in a low tone and suddenly they lurched forward. The ground, so very far below them, began to move. Tessa abandoned her pride to wrap her arms around Will’s waist. After she realized she wasn’t going to slide off the animal’s back end, she relaxed a little. She closed her eyes. It seemed better if she couldn’t see how high they were as she slowly got accustomed to the lurch and sway of the horse’s movement. She rested her cheek against Will’s warm, broad back. All in all it was not that bad, she decided.

“How fast are we going?” she asked.

“We are walking, Tessa.”

“Oh. Right.”

The tapestry still lay on the hotel-room bed, but it had changed yet again. A horse was pictured in the center of the dark wood, carrying two figures, a young man and a girl with long, dark hair.

“There she is,” fumed Gray Lily. “How is it possible that she keeps doing these inconceivable, infuriating things?” She turned to Moncrieff. He was staring at the tapestry with a puzzled expression.

“What’s the matter with you?” Gray Lily said sharply. “Get ready. We’re going in after her.”

Chapter 38

W
ill and Tessa rode through the forest, following one small winding path after another, ducking their heads beneath low branches while Will guided the horse over mossy logs and gullies. High overhead the rushing wind swept the treetops and made limbs creak. Rumbles of thunder grew closer.

“Look over there.” Will pointed to a break in the trees. “I see something.”

They made their way toward the gap in the dense forest. It opened onto a wider, smoother path. “At last,” said Will, taking a deep breath and releasing it. “I recognize this.”

Tessa was relieved to hear it. The sky was becoming darker with each passing moment, and the air was heavy, as if with an electric charge. The storm was coming. She didn’t want to see what this forest looked like in the dark, never mind the wet, cold, thundering dark.

“Hold on to me,” said Will. Which was completely unnecessary. Tessa hadn’t planned otherwise. He goaded the horse to a faster pace and they surged out of the forest onto a broad expanse of land, where the wind had beaten the long grasses into a green sea of rolling waves. Tessa felt the cold seep through her light sweater, and she shivered and molded herself to Will’s warmth.

“Hartescross is just ahead,” he said. Tessa looked out across the grassy plain. Her eyes traveled up. A huge stone structure rose against the darkening sky.

“The castle. You live in a castle,” she said slowly, taking it in.

“Yes. Well, a small one.” Will seemed distracted as he held the horse in place and scanned the surrounding countryside.

Just a small castle
, thought Tessa. Okay. Looking at the huge structure looming ahead, she couldn’t quite believe, even now, that this was real. Just like the grass, the trees, the horse. Except it wasn’t. Everything in this place was woven in a flat, two-dimensional square of fabric. Thinking about it made her brain hurt.

Hartescross Castle sat on top of a small hill. Around the perimeter a high stone wall circled the inner building, interrupted at intervals by jags of stone outcroppings as well as turrets. The inside tower was high and round and pierced with narrow windows. At the top a blue pennant snapped in the brisk wind.

Will guided Hannibal to a road. Actually, it looked like little more than a ridged path of hardened mud. As the horse trotted up the slope, lurching over the pits and rises of the road, Tessa realized why Will had been so impressed with pavement.

Rain began to lash down in fat, icy drops as they approached the castle, and a clap of thunder boomed. To Tessa, the eerie, empty appearance of the castle was more menacing than the storm. Maybe it was the sheer size and somber glitter of the massive stone walls, now stained with wetness to a dark gray.

But menacing or not, any shelter was welcome at this point. The rain sliced at their clothes and they were both cold and wet. At least they were together. Somehow that made things bearable.

“You have a moat,” Tessa said, observing the steep, rock-lined depression that circled the castle.

“No. It’s a more of a ditch, really,” said Will. “We used to pump in seawater but it stank too much in the summer. It still serves the purpose. It’s a bloody pain to climb down and out again.”

They walked across the drawbridge as the rain started to fall in windblown sheets. The horse’s hooves clattered on the huge beams and Tessa looked overhead, awed by the soaring span of stone of the main entry as they passed beneath it. A heavy iron grate was suspended halfway up, held by massive ropes.

They entered a courtyard and Will slipped down, then reached to help Tessa. They ran to a low, sheltered building huddled against the foot of the central tower.

“This courtyard is usually filled with people,” said Will, his voice raised against the wind and rain. He pointed. “The smithy here. And over there the wheelwright.” He led Hannibal to a dry stall.

“Come,” he shouted. “Help me close the gate.”

Will ran to a large wooden wheel with crank-type handles on either side, and unlocking it, he directed Tessa to hold one handle as he positioned himself at the other. Together they allowed the thick rope to unwind through its pulley system, lowering the massive gate.

He took her hand and they ran across the muddy courtyard to the tower entrance. “This leads to my family’s living quarters,” Will said as they ducked into the narrow doorway. It was a relief to be out of the pelting rain and wind. Tessa looked up at a spiral staircase that rose within the tower. The center of each stone step was worn down, smoothed with age.

Will released Tessa’s hand and bounded ahead as she ran to keep up. At a landing they emerged in a great room, where a huge open hearth stood against the far wall. Long tables ran the length of the room. Ceramic bowls, cups, cutlery and dried bunches of flowers and herbs were laid, as if awaiting a roomful of guests. Brightly colored tapestries hung from the stone walls, and large barrels and boxes and sacks were stacked in the corners. The huge room was as dark as a cave except for the high, narrow windows, which were periodically lit with streaks of lightning.

“Everything is the same,” said Will. “She has put my home in the tapestry.”

“But none of the people.” Tessa looked around the expansive hall. “There
are
other people trapped here in the tapestry, right?”

“Yes, I believe so.” Will went to the hearth and poked through the blackened coals. A dull red ember flared. “Someone has been here,” he observed. “The fire has not gone cold. The lymerer, perhaps.”

The thought of seeing the gruesome one-eyed giant again made Tessa’s stomach churn. But he was one of the seven threads too. He was a person. “Seven people,” Tessa said. “That’s what the Norn said. Gray Lily stole seven threads. Seven lives. And they have to be returned. Or else . . . ”

“Or else?” Will prompted.

Tessa rubbed her eyes. “Or else my world will fall apart. It sounds crazy. But it’s true.”

Will came to stand before her. When he spoke, his face was grave. “I believe it. What the witch has done here is foul and unnatural. No wonder it wreaks havoc with nature. This world may appear familiar, even beautiful, but make no mistake: it is a prison. It is not my home.” He looked away, as if trying to find the right words. “It is like the bubble of glass in your bedchamber.”

Tessa frowned. “Bubble of glass? Oh. The snow globe.”

Will was watching her. “Gray Lily’s spell must be broken, and the threads returned. That is why you are here, Mistress Brody, is it not? To fix things.”

Tessa searched for some flicker of confidence inside herself. It wasn’t there. “I’m lost, Will,” she replied. “I have no idea what to do.”

“You must get dry and eat,” he said. At the hearth Will fed bits of straw and bark to the embers until a small, guttering flame sprang to life. Soon he had the fire burning steadily, heaped with split logs from a huge pile in the corner. Tessa was grateful for the crackling warmth and light. She could see steam rising from their wet clothes in the cool air.

From the fire they lit thick stubs of candles that made small, trembling lights flicker over the gloomy stone walls. Tessa shook her head wonderingly. She could hardly believe it; she was in a medieval castle. She listened to the rain and the keening wind whistling through the windows. High overhead, somewhere in the dark recesses, she could hear the flap and coo of birds.

“There may be dry clothes upstairs,” said Will. “Come.”

He led her up the spiral stairs again, and this time they came to a set of spacious adjoining rooms laid out like wedges of a circle.

In one of the rooms was a tall wooden wardrobe that, when opened, gave off the dry, pleasant fragrance of a flowery herb. Lavender, Tessa thought. Inside hung dresses on pegs. In the dim light Tessa could see the rich fabric of long gowns, sashes and veils. Velvet headpieces that looked like small caps were adorned with tiny pearls. Jeweled buckles and brooches sat on a small shelf above.

“I can’t,” she said.

“Please.” Will dismissed her questioning glance with a brief smile. “Take whatever you desire.” With that he left.

Tessa held her candle higher and peered into the wardrobe. She found a thin shift of what felt like soft linen. Tessa peeled off her sodden clothes and gratefully slipped it on. She also discovered a less ornate dress buried in the back of the wardrobe. It was made of deep blue velvet, and its fitted bodice was stitched with golden thread in a delicate pattern of vines and flowers. The dress fit her but was snug in the waist and the bust, with a neckline cut low and square across her breasts. It was also a little short, Tessa realized; the heavy, flared skirt fell only to her ankles. It was probably just as well. She felt awkward enough without tripping over her own clothes.

She unbraided her hair and fingered it loosely over her shoulders so the dark, wavy tendrils could dry. She smiled when she saw the pig bracelet on her wrist. It was such a silly little thing, but it made her think of home, of Opal and her father. She wondered suddenly if she would ever see them again.

“Cut it out, Brody,” she said, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. She looked around for some shoes. In the bottom of the wardrobe were small embroidered slippers with tiny heels, but they never would have fit her, so Tessa walked back to the great hall in her bare feet, stepping quickly on the icy-cold stone of the castle hallways.

She thought she heard Will catch his breath, but he said nothing as he watched her walk toward him. He stared at her as if he had never seen her before, and made no move to come closer.

“What’s wrong?” said Tessa. She tugged the neckline of the dress a little higher. She probably looked ridiculous.

“Nothing.” Will nodded. “You are beautiful.” But somehow the compliment sounded cool and detached, as was his formal bow. “You do Hartescross a great honor, mistress.” He turned away. “I’m sorry you see it in such a state. Usually this hall is ablaze with warmth and color. And noise,” he added ruefully as his voice echoed through the damp darkness around them.

“I’ve found what I could from the larder,” he said. “Come and sit.”

“Food?” asked Tessa. “The edible kind?” She shook her head at the concept of how this was all possible. Gray Lily had meant it when she said she’d made a world inside the tapestry.

They ate from heavy pewter platters that reflected dark-veined, silvery images of their faces in the dim light. Will cut rich, creamy slices from a wheel of cheese, and they shared bowls of dried apricots and apples. There was also a tough, dried-out loaf of heavy brown bread. They broke off chunks of this and dipped them into a small bowl of honey. Finally Tessa tried a swallow of what Will called sweet March ale. It was so heady it made her choke. “Maybe I should stick to water,” she gasped, and reached for the earthenware pitcher nearby.

As she sipped, she stole a glance at Will. The candlelight played over his face and brought every strongly angled feature into stark relief. His face was troubled and pensive and his eyes dark, shadowed by a fall of unruly hair. Will usually seemed so confident, so full of life. Seeing him so desolate now made Tessa realize how traumatic the day had been. She had been completely focused on her own troubles, and so awestruck by the strange splendor of this place that she had nearly forgotten. This was Will’s home. Or at least a shallow replica of it.

She tried to imagine growing up in such a huge . . . fortress. Surrounded by servants, riding across the countryside, free to do whatever you wanted. “You must have had an exciting life here,” said Tessa, trying to lighten his mood.

Will seemed to consider this. “I would not have called it so.” He shrugged. “I am the younger son, not in line for my father’s title, which goes to Hugh. I had not yet found a place or a calling of my own.” He frowned. “I didn’t even have an inkling of what it should be, though the choices were plain enough.” He ticked them off on three fingers: “marriage, to a girl with a large estate and a larger dowry; soldiering; or the priesthood.”