Wolfskin (39 page)

“You're welcome to her,” Rona muttered. “Waifs and strays, more trouble than they're worth, if you ask me. You'll be wanting a cup of tea, I expect, after that walk. This wind's enough to freeze the marrow in your bones.” She disappeared inside the cottage.

Nessa turned to the girl, speaking in the tongue of Eyvind's people. “You have come into a forbidden place,” she said. “Perhaps you didn't know that. Your people are not welcome on our land. Why have you come here? What do you want?”

“I heard—my lady heard—that there was a wise woman here,” the girl managed, her voice breathless with anxiety. “I only wanted—they say she can cast spells, make potions—I only wanted—”

“You need some help? A faithless lover, a cruel master? We do not provide such easy solutions here; we do not deal in quick remedies and instant cures.”

“They said—they said the wise woman…” The girl glanced at the cottage door; clanking noises from within told Nessa that Rona was setting water to heat in the iron pot. The smell of herbs wafted out on the cold air.

“Is she making a spell?” the girl whispered, eyes fearful.

“Quite possibly,” Nessa said. “Now listen to me. I too am a wise woman, and I have little time for this. Tell me plainly what you want. This is a women's place, and you are a woman, though you are not of our kind. I will help you if I can.”

“She wants—I want—what you said, a faithless lover, something like that. A philter, a remedy, to make him turn back. That is what she asked me to say…” If this was supposed to be an attempt to disguise the nature of the request, it had failed miserably. This girl had no more subtlety than a chicken.

“This lover. Your sweetheart? Your husband?”

“Yes—no—I mean—”

Nessa regarded her a moment in silence. Whoever had set this on her had been less than fair to her. “I'm afraid I cannot help,” she said. “You see, if it were for yourself, I might be able to give you something to use, though I would warn against such charms. They are effective, certainly, yet in the long run they do more harm than good. But it's clear to me what you want is not for yourself, but for another: your mistress, I assume. And unless I
can see her and speak to her direct, I cannot provide what she needs. I'm sorry. You must go home empty-handed.”

“Oh, but—” The girl's eyes were alarmed, her cheeks flushed with dismay. “Oh, but—”

“I'm sorry. That's the way it is. And I would not advise the lady to come here herself. Our people are on the brink of war. It is not safe to travel so far away from home: not safe for her, nor for you. I am astonished she sent you out here all alone.”

The girl's blue eyes were round and guileless. “Oh, but she didn't—I mean, she came with me, but she wouldn't come in here and ask—now I have to tell her no, and she'll be cross with me.”

“I see,” Nessa said slowly, while her mind raced to Kinart and Ferach, one on each side of the women's place, and the day already growing late. “Where is the lady now? Where does she wait for you?”

“Just up there.” The girl jerked her head to the east, beyond the cottage.

“Go and fetch her,” Nessa said. “Bid her be quick; dusk will fall soon, and you must be back across the borders by then. Indeed, there may not be enough time for that; it's a long way.”

“We have horses. I'll go and tell her.” The girl fled, boots slipping on the wet grass.

Rona put her head around the cottage door. “Got rid of her, did you?”

“Not yet. You'd better stay inside. I won't be long.”

“If you say so.” The head disappeared.

The woman looked familiar. She was young, close to Nessa's own age. She held her back straight, her head regally high. The auburn hair was woven into a coronet, fastened with black ribbons. For all the pallor of her cheeks, she showed no sign of nervousness.

“Gunhild tells me you cannot grant my request unless I speak to you myself,” she said coolly, with no attempt at introduction. “I did not wish to come here.”

“Believe me,” Nessa said grimly, “I had no wish to receive you in this sacred place. But you are here now. It was foolish to come so far. It will be dark soon, and there are guards. Don't you understand how things are between my people and yours? You have put the girl at risk, and yourself, and all of us.”

The young woman's brows rose a little. “You care about our safety? That surprises me. I'm not some foolish goodwife after love potions. I need help: real help. But for that I would never have set foot here, believe me.”

She reached up an elegant hand to adjust the silver clasp that held her
cloak, and Nessa saw the fine rings she wore, rings with bright jewels and delicate filigree work. This was no farmer's wife, no warrior's consort. Indeed, if her memory served her right, Nessa thought she had seen this young woman before under very different circumstances. She must tread carefully here.

“I've said I will help if I can. But you must tell me the truth; the cure must be made strictly in accordance with the malady, or it will have no effect, or the wrong effect. That is why you cannot use an intermediary.” Nessa glanced at the girl. “I imagine you wish to discuss this in private.”

The young woman inclined her head.

“Right,” Nessa said. “The girl must go into the cottage with the old woman. We'll talk out here in the open. Be quick, child. Go on now, Rona won't eat you.”

The girl sidled into the cottage; the door closed firmly behind her.

“Now,” said Nessa, sitting down on one of the stone benches by the remnants of the cold fire, and motioning the other woman to be seated. “Tell me your name.”

The dark eyes stared back at her unblinking. “I cannot do that.”

“You must, if you want me to help.”

“Margaret.”

Nessa shivered. It was as she had thought. This ashen-faced girl, sitting proud and straight in her thick gray cloak, was Ulf's widow. This was perilous indeed.
I will split their bodies like pigs on a spit…

“Very well, Margaret. I am a priestess of the women's mysteries here in the Light Isles. You must tell me what you need. The girl said it is to do with a man.” She would not let slip she knew the name's significance. Perhaps there was more than one Margaret among them. “Your husband? Your lover? Or one you wish might be so?”

“I–I don't think I can do this after all,” Margaret said tightly. “I don't think I can say it.”

Nessa waited in silence. The clouds built overhead; the air smelled of a storm to come. Kinart would be guarding the western path, Ferach the other. It was just as well these unexpected visitors had arrived before she got here, and brought their horses right in. But how would they get out? Curse the woman, how could she be so foolish? Desperation must have driven her.

“It is…it is not a love potion I seek. I thought, once, this man might be capable of love, though he has known little of it himself. He was kind to me. He made time for me. My husband did not have a great deal of time;
his vision drove him hard.” She bit her lip, and looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap.

“So, this man is not your husband?” Nessa asked cautiously.

“I–I don't think I can tell you. You might be a spy. I was expecting an old woman. I can't tell you.”

“Then why have you come here, Margaret? You need have no concern about secrets. This is the women's place, sacred to the deep powers of the earth. Confidences are safe here. Now tell me.”

“I am a widow. My husband died. He was a good man, a fine man, who strove to do what he believed was right. A true leader. I tried to be the kind of wife he needed. But…but there was so much for him to do, too much…He was consumed by the will to achieve his goal, to make his vision reality before…If he had lived, there might have been time for the two of us. But his life was cut short. He expected that, I believe.”

“He is gone, then. What of this other man?”

Margaret's eyes changed; a shadow entered them. “There were such possibilities for him, when we came here,” she said in a voice no more than a whisper. “For him, for all of us. This is a man who has followed a lonely road, a man to whom the gods have not been kind. Because of that, he cannot readily give of himself. He lives behind high walls of his own making; he trusts no one. Perhaps that is not quite true. There was one he trusted, besides myself. But he is—he is very much alone. I thought…I thought it would change things for him, coming here. I thought he could forget the wrongs he has suffered.”

“But this did not come to be?”

“He has changed,” Margaret said wearily. “He has not come to himself, but moved farther away. I thought…I thought he might put aside the terrible jealousy that consumed him, might find his own right path. But even after his brother died, he flayed himself with his failure to be his brother's equal; to have what my husband had. I have tried to put it right. I have tried to reach him. But…”

Somerled. She meant Somerled. By all the powers, how could this be? Ulf's own brother: that man, that hideous man with his cold eyes and his little crooked smile.

“But what, Margaret?” Nessa asked gently as her flesh crawled with horror.

“I think some darkness has fallen on him,” she whispered. “He looks at me now and does not see me. His mind is set one way only, on his own path. And it is an ill path. This is a man who will never be content. When he
gets what he wants, he soon tires of it, and sets his goal higher.”

“Did you lie with him?” Nessa asked her. “With your husband's brother?”

A flush rose to Margaret's pale cheeks. “That's none of your concern!” she snapped.

“Perhaps not; still, you did seek my advice. Has this man tired of you? Do you indeed want only a love philter, to rekindle the dying fires of his passion? That could be had from any old woman of the cottages, lady. There was no need to come to me. I am a priestess of the Folk. My work is in the high mysteries, the dark and secret ways of our people. I do not dabble in such tricks.”

“They say the Folk are finished.” Margaret's tone was flat. “So much for Ulf's bright vision. It lasted no longer than he did.”

Anger flared in Nessa. She rose to her feet. “You dismiss us easily,” she said. “Yet you come to me for help. Why should I help you?”

“Because you are a woman, and so am I,” said Margaret quietly, standing to look Nessa straight in the eye. “And I told you, I do not want a love potion. If a man cannot love me of himself, then his love is not worth much. You despise me, I can see that. You misjudge me. I was never unfaithful to my husband. I did not lie with this other man, even though he said he loved me and begged me to be with him. I did not lie with him until…until after…” Margaret drew a deep breath; Nessa could see the way she summoned the will from deep within her, a core of iron strength. “And it was only once. I thought to comfort him; his brother's death was a cruel blow to him. It was then that I knew—that I realized he was not the man I had thought him to be. He was…he was less than gentle with me. And afterward, disdainful, as if the gift I had given him was no more than his due. I don't know why I'm telling you all this, I don't even know you.”

“I do not judge you, Margaret. How is it I can help?”

“I wish to discover how I can turn him from this path he follows, for I see in it only sorrow and destruction and death. He used to listen to me, but not anymore. The other friend he had is gone; he is surrounded by men who jostle to please him. If you have a charm to make him listen, any talisman by which I might influence him, I would pay well for it. I have silver. I only want him to hear me. No matter if he does not love me.”

Nessa was silent a moment, seeing how tightly controlled were the pale features, how full of pain the dark, proud eyes.

“If we had longer,” she said slowly, “I could look in the fire, and ask the ancestors; I could seek wisdom for you. But there is no time. You must be away quickly, and I'll have to distract the guards. Perhaps it is too late
to halt this man. Most certainly there is no easy solution, for he has brought a darkness on our two peoples, a shadow from which we may not escape. I will give you herbs to sprinkle on your hearth fire. Do it alone, at night. Sit quiet before the coals, make your mind empty, and watch the smoke that rises there. If you are open to it, you will receive guidance.”

Margaret stared at her. “Is that the best you can do?” she asked. “What if I take this, and try it, and nothing happens? I could be wasting my silver on a bunch of old weed.”

Nessa bit back her first answer, and took a deep breath. “I want no payment,” she said. “Your silver is no good to me.”

“Really? It seems you live in some poverty here. This could help, surely? Blankets for the old woman, a joint of meat?”

“I do not want your silver. And believe me, what I give you is rare, precious, and sacred, bestowed seldom even on our own kind. I give it to you because I see truth in your eyes, honesty in your face. I give it to you sister to sister. Wait here, please.”

She fetched what she needed from the cottage. Rona raised her brows as she watched Nessa unseal the small jar hidden deep on a stone shelf, and fill an even smaller bag from its powdery contents. The girl stood shivering by the hearth, an untouched cup of Rona's herbal brew steaming between her hands. She thought, perhaps, that one sip might transform her into a newt or a toad.

It was necessary to find a pretext for going out, for walking with Ferach down to the shore and keeping both him and Kinart distracted while the women took their horses and made their escape. Just as well it was nearly dark; the traces the animals left would otherwise be clearly visible. They lingered on the shore until after the sun set, looking up and down the water's edge for something Nessa said she had seen, a man's body perhaps, a stricken seal, or a mysterious bundle. When she could be quite sure Margaret and her attendant were safely away, and rain was starting to fall in a fine, drenching mist, Nessa told the two men perhaps she had been mistaken: a trick of the light. They must return to their watch, and she to her place of ritual. The rain grew heavier; by morning, hoof marks and other signs of passage would be all but obliterated.