Novels 03 The Wise Woman Read online

  “Yes, it’s done and we’ll keep it quiet,” Hugo said. “I don’t want to distress Catherine, not at this time. And my father would be disturbed. We’ll collect those little dolls and give them to Father Stephen. He’ll know what to do with them. And we’ll say no more on this.”

  Alys nodded again.

  “You are lucky it was me that found you,” Hugo said. “If it had been anyone else they would have tried to catch two witches, not just the one.”

  Alys shook her head. “I have taken an ordeal,” she said coldly. “I am no black witch. I counseled Lady Catherine against having Morach in the castle, and I warned her that though I am just a herbalist and a healer, Morach always had a reputation for dark work. I warned her and I warned you. No one would listen.”

  Hugo nodded. “That’s true,” he conceded. He was silent for a moment while his horse walked up the path to the high moor. “It must have been an odd childhood for you, Alys, all alone on the moorland with a woman like Morach as your mother.”

  “She was not my mother,” Alys said. “I am glad of it.” She paused. “My mother, my real mother, was a lady,” she said. “She died in a fire.”

  Hugo pulled his horse to a standstill and looked down at the ground.

  The spade lay where Alys had dropped it, beside the little hole. The pannier bag was on the ground, split from top to bottom. But there were no little wax dolls anywhere.

  The wind stirred the heather all around them and the rain began to fall in great thick drops of water. Alys pulled her hood up over her head and felt the wind tug her cape. There were no little dolls anywhere on the sodden ground.

  Hugo jumped down from the horse and kicked around in the clumps of heather. “I can’t see them,” he said. “Hey! William! Come and help me search for them.”

  “Search for what, my lord?” William asked, dismounting and leading his horse forward.

  “For the dolls, the dolls that the old woman had in her sack,” Hugo said impatiently. “You saw them.”

  The young man shook his head. “I didn’t see anything, my lord,” he said. “I just saw the old woman running off and then the hounds followed a hare and ran it to ground.”

  Hugo squinted against the driving rain. “You saw nothing?” he asked.

  “No, my lord,” William said, his round face wet, his hair plastered to his scalp.

  Hugo hesitated, not knowing what to say, then he laughed shortly and slapped him on the back. “Mount up, we’ll go home,” he said and swung back into the saddle himself. “Lead those ponies back to the castle.”

  “Will you not hunt for the dolls?” Alys asked, her voice low.

  Hugo shrugged his shoulders and turned his horse homeward. “If they were made from lye or tallow they’ll melt quick enough,” he said. “They were maybe broken under the horses’ hooves. Maybe they were fancy and cheating like half the rest of witchcraft. They’re on sanctified ground—for what that is worth—let’s forget it.”

  Alys hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the holly tree. There was something white at the root; she leaned forward to see. Hugo tightened his grip around her waist.

  “Don’t fret,” he said. “Let’s away, it’s going to pour with rain.”

  He turned the horse but Alys did not take her eyes from the roots of the holly tree. She saw a tiny little white root, like a worm, like a little candle-wax arm. She saw a tiny, misshapen, white hand. It waved at her.

  “Let’s go!” she said with sudden impatience.

  Hugo wheeled the horse and it reared forward into a great loping canter, all the way across the top of the moor until it slowed for the ford south of the castle.

  “What shall we tell Lady Catherine and your father?” Alys asked, her words whipped away by the wind.

  “That Morach fell in the river and drowned,” Hugo said. “And when the baby comes, you will be able to deliver him, won’t you, Alys? You will care for him and for Catherine?”

  “Yes,” Alys said. “I was at every childbirth Morach attended since I was two years old. And I have delivered several babies on my own. I didn’t want to care for Catherine while she hated me, but I can do well enough now. I will care for him as if he were my own child.”

  Hugo nodded and held her more closely. “I thank you,” he said formally.

  “I won’t fail you,” Alys said. “I shall use all my powers to keep Catherine well. Your baby will be born and I will keep him well. For you, Hugo, and for me. For your fortune and your freedom depend on him. And I love you so well that I want you to be rich and free.”

  Hugo nodded, and Alys sensed he was smiling. She leaned back into the rich warm jerkin and felt his body heat warm her through, and his arm tighten around her waist.

  “I have news for you that I have been saving,” she said. She hesitated on the lie for no more than a moment. “I am with child, Hugo,” she said. “I am going to bear your child. We lay together only once but I am fertile for you and you are lusty and strong with me.”

  Hugo was silent for a moment. “Are you sure?” he asked incredulously. “It’s very soon.”

  “It’s nearly two months,” Alys said defensively. “He will be born at Christmas.”

  “Christmas!” Hugo exclaimed. “And you’re sure it is a son?”

  “Yes,” Alys said determinedly. “The dream I had at the Christmas feast last year was a true Seeing. You and I will have a son and we will be lovers, we will be as man and wife.”

  “Catherine is my wife,” he reminded her. “And she is carrying my son.”

  “But I am carrying another son,” Alys said proudly. “And your son on me will be strong and handsome. I know it already.”

  Hugo chuckled. “Of course,” he said soothingly. “My clever Alys! My lovely girl! He will be strong and handsome and brilliant. And I will make him wealthy and powerful. He and his half-brother can be companions for each other. We will bring them up together.”

  Hugo loosened the reins and the big horse moved forward faster in its rolling canter. “My father will be glad,” Hugo said, raising his voice against the wind in their faces and the rain. “His own whores had sons by the quiverful—but his own wife had only the one.”

  “And who loved him the best, and who did he love the best?” Alys challenged.

  Hugo’s broad shoulders shrugged. “That matters not at all,” he said dismissively. “Love is not for us. Land, heirs, fortune—these are the things that matter for lords, Alys. The poor can have their loves and their passions. We are interested in weightier things.”

  Alys leaned back and rested her head against his shoulder. “One day you will love as passionately as a peasant,” she said softly. “One day you will be mad for love. You will be humbled to dirt for it.”

  Hugo laughed. “I doubt it,” he said. “I doubt that.”

  They rode in silence for a little while, Alys weighing the lie of pregnancy, which should guarantee her safety whatever anyone in the castle said against her or against Morach. Hugo would never lose the chance of another son, even if a proclaimed witch were carrying it. While he thought she was carrying his child he would die to protect her. But once the lie was discovered…

  Alys shook her head, she could plot no further than one move at a time, plot and trust to her dreams of herself in the garden in Catherine’s rose and cream gown. A scud of rain hit her in the face, and a low rumble of thunder sounded around the western hills and rolled nearer.

  Alys had a sudden vision of Morach listening to the sound of the storm in the dark cave, her head against the stone ceiling, the water roaring and washing around her knees, and the hounds waiting for her outside. She blinked. For a moment she could feel the hard unyielding stone on the back of her own neck as she pressed upward, away from the water. The water around her legs was icy cold, storming with currents, a rising torrent which tumbled around her knees, and poured unstoppably to pull at her skirt around her thighs. Some driftwood banged against her roughly and she stumbled and fell into the water and sp