M'Lady Witch

CHAPTER 11

Hostlers took the horses to the stables. Fess's words echoed in both the Gallowglasses' minds: Farewell, Cordelia; be wary, Geoffrey. These people are not what they seem. If you have the slightest need of me, call.

We shall, Fess, Cordelia promised.

Delilah and Forrest both wondered why Cordelia and her brother were so quiet for a few seconds. They could not sense the exchange, since Fess's remarks had been made in the encrypted mode of telepathy that the Gallowglasses had invented for the use of their family alone.

Servants showed them to their rooms. They looked about them as they were led through the house—at the graceful double stairway, and the leaded panes of tinted glass that adorned the landing, filling the whole entry hall with light.

Up the stairway they went, to the chambers above. The ceilings were ten feet high, the hallways broad, and the rooms spacious. It was scarcely a castle or a palace, but it was a good and very big house, with real glass in the windows and featherbeds in the bedrooms—both great luxuries, in a medieval society.

Since Fess had taught the Gallowglass children history, Cordelia recognized the architecture as being post-Medieval—Tudor, at least. It did not concern her terribly—she knew that her planet's original colonists had redefined Medieval society to incorporate whatever suited them. A Renaissance manor house was only a century or two too late, after all.

Cordelia was delighted with the chamber—it was huge, light, airy, and decorated with the sort of frills and pastels that reminded her of her own room at home. She went to the windows to see how much of a view she had, and was delighted to see an acre or so of carefully tended garden, bright with flowers, and cut into several smaller gardens by high hedges.

"Shall I draw your bath, milady?" the maid asked. "Not quite yet," Cordelia answered. "I must explore this delightful garden that I see below me! Will you show me to it?"

The maid did, and Cordelia went out, looking about her, feeling refreshed by the mere sight of such gay flowerbeds amidst luxurious lawns. She bent to smell a rose—and as she straightened, she saw Forrest watching her.

"Like will to like," he said.

She blushed and looked away, hoping he spoke only of herself and the flower, knowing he hinted at more. "You have me at a disadvantage, sir."

"The best way." He stepped up, proffering his arm. "Come, shall we discover what wonders this garden holds?"

He was almost courtly about it, his manner reminding her that he was gently born and well bred, no matter what he had become. Almost against her will, she slipped her arm through his, knowing it was dangerous but finding that gave spice to the stroll, making it almost an adventure.

They strolled between beds of glorious flowers. "Truly a riot of color," Forrest said. "Do you not find them attractive, my lady?"

"Indeed I do," she sighed. "He who laid out such beds must have been truly inspired."

"But why should it have been 'he'?" Forrest asked. "Might not a woman prove as proficient at laying out beds as a man?"

She wondered again if he meant more than he said. "I should think a woman's taste in color and form should be equal to any man's," she agreed.

"Nay, far more." He halted, and she realized that they stood in a corner of the hedge, screened from view of the house—and he stepped closer, his face coming nearer. "A woman's taste should be far superior to a man's," he breathed.

Transfixed, she stared at him—and he lowered his face, touching his lips to hers.

It was almost as though sparks spangled across her mouth, seeming to sting even as they tasted amazingly sweet. For a moment, her eyes fluttered closed, savoring the delicate, exciting sensation ...

Then she felt the tip of his tongue touch her lips, and a stew of emotions boiled up within her: longing and revulsion, yearning and fright. A tickling began deep within her and spread ...

No more! She stepped back, with a gasp of surprise. "Oh, nay!" he pleaded. "A moment more, only a second longer . .."

Somehow, the plea frightened her, and she darted away from him, pausing ten feet away, hands clasped at her waist, striving for composure ...

Forrest laughed, and leaped after her. Cordelia gave a cry of alarm and ran. Forrest gave a joyful shout and chased.

It was the joy in his voice that banished her fears, his laughter that made it a game. Breathless, she nonetheless found herself laughing, too, as she dodged behind a tree, then peeked out to see if he still followed—and found herself staring straight into his face.

She ducked back behind the tree, out the other side, found him there before her, ducked back twice more, then ran, laughing. Crowing with delight, he followed.

In and out among the hedges, under arches of roses they fled, he chasing, she fleeing with a high, wild excitement singing through her. Finally her steps began to slow, and he reached out and caught her. She turned to fight him off with joyful squeals, but tripped over a root and fell backwards. Unfortunately, she caught at Forrest for support, and instead of holding her up, he fell with her—and landed on top.

He caught himself on his forearms, so there was no impact—none but the softest, of his body against hers, sending wild currents of heat all through her. She panted, her bosom heaving, staring up into his eyes, only inches away. "Oh, sir, you must let me rise!"

"Must I?" He grinned, his face coming nearer, his voice husky. "Wherefore?"

"If you are a gentleman, you must!"

"Oh, then, I pray I may not be a gentleman!" he breathed, and kissed her.

She stiffened, galvanized beneath him, as the unfamiliar welter of emotions churned up within her—but she was truly frightened to realize that she wanted him to go on. And on, and on. She wrenched her head aside with a little cry, protesting in earnest. "Nay, sir, you must let me up! Would you force a lady against her will?"

"If I must, I must," he sighed, but she wasn't sure how he meant it. "Come, then, milady, I shall do as you askbut you must pay a ransom."

"What ransom is that?" She regarded him warily. "One more kiss," he breathed, and lowered his lips again.

She was taut for a moment more, then reminded herself that he would let her go after only one more, and let herself relax a little, let the wonderful, frightening feelings well up within her ...

Then his fingers touched her breast.

She lay rigid a moment, her whole consciousness focussed on that one touch, turning now to a caress, trailing fire through the cloth across her skin, the maelstrom of feelings boiling up toward it, threatening to engulf her ...

The fright was too great. She broke away from his lips with a gasp, then slapped his cheek with all the force she could muster—which was not very much, given her position.

But it sufficed to startle him; he drew back just enough for her to struggle free. She leaped to her feet and backed away, pressing her skirts smooth and crying, "For shame, sir! You have taken far more than the ransom you stated!"

"I have, I will own," he said, all contrition. " 'Tis only that you are so irresistible to me, that I crave more and more of you. I implore you, sweet lady, do not disdain me for naught but love's labors."

"Love's labors will be lost, unless they be less free," she replied tartly, and hurried away, face flaming.

At the opposite edge of the garden, Alain plodded moodily along. He, too, had felt the need for a walk before bathing, but to his eyes, the beauty of the garden seemed dimmed. He was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Cordelia was lost to him, if he could not learn to be more romantic—and he did not think he could, for truly, he was not romantic by nature. All he could do would be to learn to be false. As he was, all he had on his side was sincerity, and what use was that?

A bunch of roses caught his eye-white, and near them, a bush of pink ones. Behind them glowed blossoms of deep red. Alain gazed at them moodily, reflecting how much they seemed to be like Cordelia, and himself ...

He stiffened, struck with inspiration. He had only sincerity to recommend him, had he? Well, mayhap sincerity could be romantic, in its way! Kneeling, he plucked a few of each color of rose, then hurried back toward the house, face glowing, hoping to come upon Cordelia.

He found her almost on the threshold. She, too, seemed to have been for a stroll, and surely, it seemed to have been good for her. She seemed filled with energy, and her cheeks were rosy.

"Alain!" She saw him, and brought up short. "What do you here?"

"Only strolling in the garden," he explained, "feeling the need to let my limbs cool ere I heat them in water." Her eyes fastened on the bouquet. "Whence came those?"

"I found them in the garden." He pressed them into her hands. "I could not help but pluck them for you, sweet Cordelia, for they remind me so much of yourself—at least, the white blooms do, for they are so pure, like yourself. The red, alas, are steeped in passion, as I am when I gaze at you—and the pink are, I hope, the love I feel for you: my passion allayed by your purity."

Cordelia felt her heart melting, so touched was she by his clumsy tenderness. She leaned forward to give him a quick peck on the cheek, but even as she did, she remembered Forrest's kiss, and felt leaden guilt within her. She turned away, ashamed.

"Ah, once more I have offended!" he cried. "Say, fair Cordelia, what have I done?"

"Only what is right," she answered, trying not to let her anger at herself turn into anger at him. She turned back, managing a flirtatious smile. "If only you had done it sooner! And if only you would do it more often, my Prince, you might yet save me from a drastic fate!"

"What fate could that be?" he asked in total innocence. Exasperated, she almost told him—but instead, she snapped, "Spinsterhood!" Then she spun on her heel and sped through the door, leaving Alain to gape after her, not understanding at all.

Cordelia splashed water on her face, then turned away to find a beautiful afternoon dress of green and yellow laid out on the bed for her. She stared, amazed, then took it up reluctantly. Surely it could not be Delilah's! The lady was too small for any of her clothing to fit Cordelia. Her sister's, perhaps? Certainly the style, though outdated, was not old enough for the dress to have belonged to her mother. Cordelia wavered for a moment, but the gown was very pretty, and her own russet travelling dress was rather dusty. With a sudden decision, she unfastened the dress, letting it drop to the floor, then wriggled out of her shift, took the washcloth, and gave herself a quick sponge bath. When she was done, she waved her arms and hands, fanning herself, to dry, and slipped into the clean shift that had been laid out for her. She delighted at its smoothness—not silk, perhaps, but very fine linen. And yes, it did fit.

Then she took up the green-and-yellow gown and slipped it over her head. She fastened the kirtle around her waist and wished for a cheval glass to regard herself in, but of course there was none; her brother would have to do in its place. She projected a thought on their family's encrypted mode:

Geoffrey.

Aye, Cordelia. He answered so quickly that she might have thought he was waiting for her call.

Let us walk in the garden. Her tone was peremptory. Geoffrey didn't disagree for a moment, though. In truth, a stroll among the flowers should be most pleasant. Let us walk, sweet sister.

Lightfooted, she stepped out through the door and ran to the garden, feeling much more presentable.

Geoffrey was there, though he too had changed garments. Strange that they had clothing to fit him so wellalthough, coming closer, Cordelia could see that his doublet was of an old-fashioned cut. No doubt it was one that had belonged to Sir Julian in his youth.

"Why, Geoffrey," she began, to compliment him, but before she could, he grinned broadly.

"Cordelia! Why, how lovely! I would never have thought green and yellow to be your colors, but they are most becoming!"

"Why, thank you, sir." Suddenly, Cordelia felt even better. She smoothed her gown, feeling more than a match for anything Delilah might bring on.

Then she became solemn; it was time to compare notes. "There is one chamber in this house that is shielded from thought, brother."

"There is indeed," Geoffrey agreed. "Either there is some telepath who is given full-time to its warding, or..." Cordelia nodded. "There is a machine of some sort hidden within it that cloaks it from all human thought."

"Let us assume it to be the latter," Geoffrey said, "and that our hosts know something of advanced technology. But why would they give themselves away in this fashion? They must know that any telepath who chances upon them will know at once what they do!"

"Even so," Cordelia said, "as surely Delilah must have known that we should know her for a witch, simply for the excellence with which she has shielded her mind."

Geoffrey lifted his head suddenly. "The shielding is gone."

Cordelia tested the room with her own mind, and nodded. "Mayhap it is only an esper who wards there." Geoffrey asked, "You were not greatly surprised to learn that Delilah was a witch, were you?"

"Nay, surely," Cordelia smiled. "And it did not take telepathy to read my mind in that regard, brother."

"Well, then, we deal with witchfolk," Geoffrey said. "Do we deal with aught more?"

"If the dream we shared last night was true," Geoffrey said slowly, "we deal with a woman who has command of men, though she would have it seem that she does not, and who could order this house prepared for her use simply to deceive us."

Cordelia nodded. "But such a house, Geoffrey! Have you ever seen its like?"

"A few," Geoffrey said slowly. "They are rare, but they do exist."

"Nonetheless, there is something about it that strikes me as anomalous."

"Anomalous indeed," Geoffrey agreed. "There is too much of good planning here, of the well-coordinated. We must consider, sister, that we deal with our old enemies from the future, who may move against us in some such way as they have before. Of course, I suppose this could be the work of a native telepath..."

"Not so," Cordelia said, "if the telepath knew no more of machines, or the universe outside our world, than the folk who are born here. She could not have expected that two who have such knowledge might visit."

Geoffrey gave her a cynical smile. "Come, sister! Do you truly think we have deceived her any more than she has deceived us?"

That gave Cordelia pause. "No," she said slowly, "from what you have said thus far, she must know, must she not? Are we not therefore in peril?"

"We must believe so," said Geoffrey, "if we are not to be taken by surprise."

Cordelia felt a touch of fear. "Then we must be on our guard night and day, brother."

"You may take the day," he said at once. "I shall take the night."

"To be on guard, Geoffrey." Cordelia glared at him. "I have seen the way in which you look upon the Lady Delilah."

Geoffrey shrugged carelessly. "I can be on guard whiles I do other things, Cordelia."

"Oh, surely," she said, with a withering glance. "Yet bear in mind, brother—you are only human."

Geoffrey grinned. "Well, that is so—there are some weaknesses built into us."

Neither of them said a word about leaving. In fact, Cordelia felt a stab of fear, and was amazed to realize that she was more frightened for Alain than for herself.

"Truly," Geoffrey said, "you do not think they would dare attempt to assassinate the heir to the throne?" Cordelia shrugged impatiently. "We do very poorly at disguising ourselves, do we not, brother? For who is there in this land who does not know of the High Warlock and the names of his children? Nay, especially among witchfolk, who does not know of us?"

"True," Geoffrey agreed, "and who does not know that the Crown Prince is named Alain, nor that he is the friend of the children of the High Warlock? Nay, you have the right of it, sister—we must be prepared for anything, even murder. Yet there is this." He spread his hands. "Why have they not already struck?"

"There is that," Cordelia said slowly. "We may yet have some time. Still, brother, ought we not leave tomorrow, or as soon as we may?"

"We should leave now, but Alain would never agree to it," Geoffrey said. "He would see it as a breach of courtesy."

Cordelia wondered if that was the only reason.

"No, we must stay at least the night—and study the situation. It may be that we can strike a blow now that will save us a hundred in the future. We can always call for help, if we need it—but let us first see what this pleasant nest of traitors does intend."

"Aye," said Cordelia. "But guard the Prince, my brother. Ward him well. Although perhaps I should do that—and stay close by him."

"Oh, you need not," said Geoffrey quickly.

Cordelia smiled. "Why, brother—could you fear for my honor?"

Geoffrey took a second, and answered as delicately as he could. "Let us say, my sister, that I know how fragile a thing honor may be, and I would not wish to lay more stress on it than needs be. But come—our host will be expecting us for dinner soon enough, and we must not disappoint him."

"As you say, brother." Cordelia took Geoffrey's arm, and they went back toward the manor house arm in arm.

They went in through the tall windowed doors that opened onto the terrace. Sir Julian looked up as they came in. "Ah, well met! I thought you had tired of my company so soon!"

Cordelia smiled. "Surely not, my lord." She accepted a glass of wine from a servant and looked about her at the Great Hall. The trestle tables were set up as they would have been in a castle, though with many fewer places. The head table stood on a dais only a few inches high. Behind it, painted on the plaster and beams, was a huge coat of arms. Cordelia gave it a glance, memorizing it for later analysis; she did not easily remember any such tokens as these.

The rest of the hall was plastered too, between the old oaken beams. There was a tapestry centered in the long wall across from the windows, and another at the end.

The original colonists of Gramarye had reconstructed the Middle Ages not as they really were, but as they should have been. Accordingly, they had kept costumes and customs from the Seventh Century, and mixed them in with all the succeeding centuries through the Fifteenth. But when it came to the amenities and courtesies, they had been more much eclectic; the range spanned through the Nineteenth Century and into the early Twentieth. On Gramarye, there were elements of gracious living that had never been there in the real Middle Ages of Terra—and this gathering for wine before dinner was certainly one of them.

So, for that matter, was the manor house itself.

They had come late; Delilah had already managed to work Alain off to the side of the conversational grouping. Seeing Delilah, Cordelia felt dowdy all over again, for the hussy was attired in a demure gown of pink and cream, considerably looser than her riding dress, only hinting at the lush contours beneath. It complemented her blonde hair so well that Cordelia automatically felt dimmed by comparison. But she lifted her chin; she would not be outdone!

Even as Cordelia watched, though, the vixen took another step toward the far corner. Alain perforce stepped with her, to hear what she was saying. He began to respond gravely, but Cordelia could tell, from the color of his face, that her suggestion had not been entirely decorous. Her flirtations had become even broader than on their journey.

Cordelia leaned over to Geoffrey and murmured, "Brother, would you see if you can distract the Lady Delilah from my inconstant suitor?"

Geoffrey looked up, then smiled. "He is constant, Cordelia, or he would not be blushing. Naetheless, I am certainly more than delighted to do as you ask." He stepped away.

But Cordelia stopped him with a hand on his forearm. He turned back, eyebrows raised in polite inquiry. "Only flirtation, mind," Cordelia said sternly.

Geoffrey grinned. "I make no promises." Then he was gone, moving over to join Alain and Delilah. She looked up with a flash of annoyance, which turned very quickly into a sensuous stare which she even more quickly broke, turning to Alain with a silvery laugh.

Cordelia turned half away from them, satisfied; Delilah certainly would not be able to keep her mind on Alain now. She reflected that a brother with overabundant hormones could have his uses.

For herself, she must not appear to be watching too closely ...

"Lady Cordelia! How beautiful you are!"

She turned, warmed by the sincerity in the voice—then caught her breath.

Forrest stood beside her, resplendent in a doublet of the same cut and period as Geoffrey's, hose clinging to his legs to show his magnificent calves and thighs to advantage. Cordelia scolded herself; she should not be noticing his legs so, even if they were remarkably well turned. Or the feeling of his lips on her hand, though they were amazingly soft, amazingly sensuous ...

He looked up, gazing into her eyes, and she managed to find enough voice to say, "You sound surprised, sir. Is it so rare that I am ... presentable?"

"Nay, not in the slightest!" He grinned, white teeth flashing. "You are rare indeed, my lady! Surely there cannot be another like you!"

"Oh, is there not?" Cordelia began to feel a bit better. "And to how many damsels have you said that, sir?"

"Never, milady, not to a single other woman!" Forrest reflected that he had also never been given so good a cue line. "I have never seen you in those colors before. Surely they bring out highlights in the glorious auburn of your hair that I would never have known, though 'tis so great a pleasure to see your hair unbound in the sun's rays that come through this window."

Cordelia blushed. "You extol my charms too much, sir."

"I speak honestly." He stepped a little closer. "Would you have me prevaricate?"

He was so very near, the aroma of him so masculine, so compelling ... and the strange feelings had begun within her again... "I would have you speak only as a gentleman should, sir!"

"Alas! Must I be a gentleman, then?"

"You must be as you were born!" They both looked up, startled.

Alain stood by them, looking stern, wearing a russet doublet, again of the antique cut, and fawn-colored hose. Cordelia could not help but notice that his legs, too, looked very well, perhaps even better than Forrest's ...

"Why, so I must!" Forrest turned to Alain with a dangerous glint in his eye. "But who are you to tell me what I must and must not do, sir?"

Alain began to answer, but caught himself in the' nick of time.

Forrest noticed the pause, and lifted an eyebrow. "Only a knight," Alain said, still stern, "but as such, 'tis my duty to remind you of your duty to knighthood."

"Am I still a knight, then?" Forrest cocked his head to the side. "I, who have broken the law?"

"You are still a knight!" Alain snapped, more sternly than ever. "You are a knight, who can redeem himself, and behave as a knight should once more."

Cordelia stepped a little closer to him. Yes, sometimes Alain was insufferable, overbearing, and his holier-than-thou attitude did grate upon her now and then—but she felt safer next to him, somehow. The troubling feelings inside her were so much less in his presence ...

She glanced up at Forrest, and knew a moment's longing. If only he were as proper a man, as morally sound and steady a man, as Alain!

Though if he were, she wondered, would he be so attractive?

Then Sir Julian was offering her his arm, and leading her to the head table. "Surely you will allow your host the benefit of your beauty and charm, my dear, if only for the space of this dinner."

"I shall be honored, my lord." But even as she said it, Cordelia wondered if this was a ploy to get her away from Alain, so that Delilah might work on him at her leisure. A glance out of the corner of her eye showed her that she had no need to worry, though—the lady was sandwiched between Geoffrey and Alain, and Geoffrey was definitely occupying most of her attention. Alain was looking none too pleased about it, but he glanced up at Cordelia longingly.

She found it very reassuring.

She turned back to Sir Julian. "I thank you, my lord."

"Then sit! Sit! And we will dine!" Sir Julian sat down, and immediately, the servants began laying in front of them the huge slices of bread that served as plates. Behind them came another server, laying thick slices of beef on the trenchers.

Sir Julian picked up his knife and began to cut at the meat—the signal to begin.

Cordelia found it slightly disturbing that he did not start with a blessing over the meal, but she had no choice other than to abide by the custom of the house.

"I must honor you, my daughter's rescuers!" Sir Julian said, lifting a cup. "Honor you with a toast tonight, and a ball tomorrow night!"

"Ball?" Cordelia stared, appalled.

"Indeed. I have sent word to my neighbors, bidding them come rejoice with me." He laid a hand over hers. "You must not be upset, lady. We are rude folk here in the country, taking any opportunity that offers to celebrate Life—and if our dress is not elegant, why, we make up for it with exuberance."

"My sister has left many beautiful dresses behind her," Delilah said, all sweetness. "I shall bid my maid show them to you."

Cordelia was certain that Delilah's maid would not show her anything that was too lovely.

"Or if you wish," the lord said, "I have bolts of wonderful cloth, yards of laces. Only say what you wish, and a seamstress shall labor all this night and all tomorrow, to make a gown that will delight you."

"Indeed she shall," Delilah said. "My own seamstress, if you wish it, my dear."

Cordelia had a brief vision of the kind of dress Delilah's seamstress would make for her, and smiled sweetly. "How good of you, Lady Delilah! It will not be necessary, though. However, my lord .. ." She turned back to Lord Julian. "I would see your cloths and your laces. It may be that I myself can craft a dress to my taste."

"Yourself?" The Lady Delilah tittered behind her hand. "Why, I had thought you a lady high-born, Cordelia surely not one who plies needle and thread in her own right!"

"Why, my dear, do you not embroider?" Cordelia asked, all innocence.

Delilah stared at her, paling. "Aye, most assuredly, and most excellently!"

"Why, then, so do I," Cordelia said, "and my mother was quick to teach me the crafting of a gown—for, she said, I must know how 'tis done, if I wish to make sure my seamstress does it well." She turned back to Lord Julian. "Yes, my lord, I shall see your cloths."