Novels 03 The Wise Woman Read online

  Lady Catherine gave a little moan and tugged on the fine slashings of his doublet. “Please!” she begged. “Tell me truly what passed between you. I cannot bear not knowing. I cannot bear the thought of you…”

  “You cannot bear what?” he asked acidly. “You cannot bear me lying with her, and you cannot bear me not lying with her. You must tell me, madam, what I should do to please you.”

  She stared at him as if she could not comprehend his speech. “Oh God, Hugo,” she said hungrily. “I don’t want you to lie with her. But most of all I don’t want you to spare her. I’d rather you raped her than spared her. I don’t understand what you are doing if you are gentle with her. I don’t understand what it means! What are you thinking of if you treat her tenderly? I wish you’d raped her and hurt her! I wish you had torn her inside to slake your lust rather than be tender!”

  He looked back up at her and for a moment she flinched from the disdain on his face. “You’d rather I raped her than spared her,” he said wonderingly. “You want a little maid of sixteen, in your care, torn inside by your husband’s rape? Good God, madam, you are an ugly woman.”

  She gasped and fell back against the stone wall.

  “I did not touch her because she was so warm and so loving,” he said, his voice very low. “She had a dream and she foretold a future for me, a future for me and for her. My father will die and I will be master here. She will give me a son.”

  “No,” Lady Catherine moaned and sank to the floor as her knees buckled beneath her.

  “Make your mind up to it, lady,” Hugo said remorselessly. “You struck me for the last time just now. Your days here are done. I shall have the wench from Bowes Moor in my bed.”

  “My dowry…” Lady Catherine said. “And my lands…”

  “Damn your money,” Hugo swore. “Damn your lands! And damn you. I want the wench from Bowes Moor and I will risk anything—the castle itself—to have her.”

  He flung himself away from her and strode across the guardroom.

  Lady Catherine sat on the stairs in the cold for many minutes, then she raised herself up awkwardly, as if she were an old woman. The cold light of the rising moon shone through the arrow-slit on to her beaky, vengeful face. Then she said one word, the most dangerous word of any in her fearful, dangerous world.

  “Witch.”

  Chapter

  8

  Lord Hugh was sitting at the fireside in his little stonewalled room when Lady Catherine stormed in, without knocking. He lifted his gaze from the fire as he saw her and raised one eyebrow.

  “I sent for the maid,” he said. “I asked for Alys.”

  “She can be your clerk no more,” Catherine said. She spoke softly but her voice trembled with an undertone of passion. “I have to speak to you, my lord, I have to demand that you find her and bring her to trial.”

  “What’s she done?” Lord Hugh said wearily. “Run off? Is something missing from your chamber?”

  “Worse than that!” she hissed. “A thousand times worse than that.”

  She waited to see if the old lord seemed impressed. He held his peace.

  “My lord, I accuse her of the worst crime of all,” she said. She was panting in her eagerness to ruin Alys. “I accuse her of a crime worse than murder itself.”

  “What’s she done?” he asked again.

  “She is a witch,” she said.

  There was a stunned silence in the hot little room.

  “I don’t believe it,” he said blankly. But Catherine was on to his momentary hesitation like a striking adder.

  “You suspect her yourself!” she said triumphantly. “You’ve been closer to her than anyone! And you suspect her yourself!”

  “I do not,” the old lord said; but his tone was uncertain.

  “Well, I accuse her!” Catherine’s voice rang out. “I accuse her of witchcraft. She has bewitched the Lord Hugo. He has just abused me to my face and said that he will not rest until he has her. That is witchcraft at work, my lord, and your son is the prey.”

  A little color came back into the old lord’s face. “Faith, Catherine!” he said easily. “I had thought we were speaking of the black arts! You’ve seen Hugo hot for a wench before now. It’ll pass.”

  He put a hand out to her and smiled at her with effort. “Come,” he said kindly. “It galls you, I know, but she’s just one of Hugo’s flirts. There’s naught there to cry witchcraft over except the magic a young girl weaves when she’s hot. It’s no more than that.”

  Catherine’s face was white with malice. “No, my lord,” she said venomously. “You misunderstand me. Lord Hugo tells me that he could have had her and he did not. He has forsworn taking her without her consent. He tells me she cast a spell so that he could see a future with her as his woman. He says that he will throw away my dowry lands, aye, and the whole castle, to have her and the son he believes she will conceive. That is witchcraft, my lord, not courtship.”

  The old lord shifted uneasily. “I’ll see Hugo,” he said. He reached out to the table beside him and rang a small silver bell. A servant came running and was ordered to find the young lord. Lord Hugh looked at Catherine.

  “You may leave,” he said.

  “No,” she said.

  She met his astounded look without fear. “I will stay,” she said. Her yellow teeth were bared in open malice. “I say he is bewitched, I say you are half bewitched too. It needs a woman with a clear head here. It needs the witch-taker. I dare not trust your judgment, my lord, for your own safety I dare not trust it.”

  The old lord’s eyes flared at her. “You can stay, but you must be silent.”

  “Call Eliza Herring also,” Lady Catherine suggested. “She went with my lord and the witch when he carried her from the hall. She will know what passed between them.”

  The old lord nodded.

  “And your chaplain,” she urged. “Father Stephen. He is a holy man, and a true servant of yours. I ask for nothing more than my safety and your safety and the safety of Lord Hugo. If she is a witch as I think then she should be taken, my lord. Taken and tested and strangled.”

  “This is nonsense…” the old lord started. “Wind and women’s malice…When Hugo comes he will explain all.” He gathered his strength. “And you will say nothing,” he ordered. “You will hold your tongue. I permit you to stay but if you speak I will have you thrown from my chamber. I can do that, madam, remember it.”

  “I’ll be silent,” she promised readily. “But ask him one thing before you release him and before you believe the lies he will tell for her.”

  “What?” he grunted.

  “Ask him how you are to die,” Catherine said, her voice strong with spite. “The witch foretold your death as well as her triumph over me. She said you will die next year.”

  Lord Hugh gasped.

  “Who should know better?” Catherine asked silkily. “She gives you your medicine, she handles your herbs. She is by your side when you are ill. If she did not hex you outright she could poison you. And now she has promised him your death.”

  Lord Hugh shook his head. “She is my vassal,” he said, half to himself. “She is my little maid.”

  “But what if she were suborned?” Catherine said quickly. “What an enemy she would make against you! Think where you have put her, my lord! You have raised her as high as David, your confidant! She knows all your secrets, she nurses you. If she were turned against you by ambition, or lust…” The door opened and Hugo came in. Catherine whirled around at the sight of him and fled behind the old lord’s chair. With her hand resting on the high back of the chair and her eyes fixed on her husband’s face it looked as if the two of them were united against him.

  The young lord took in the scene in one rapid glance and beamed in mockery at the sight of his wife’s white face.

  “Why, Catherine, we meet again,” he said pleasantly. Then he took two swift strides forward and knelt before his father. “My liege,” he said. “I’m told you sent for me. I hope