M'Lady Witch

CHAPTER 3

"How could he! How could he go gallivanting off with one who has but lately given his sister insult!"

Cordelia was pacing the floor of the solarium, fuming, tiny slippers tapping. Rod and Gwen sat by, watching their daughter and biting their tongues. At least, Rod was biting his.

"Perchance," Gwen suggested, "thy brother had already rebuked Alain, and punished him."

Cordelia looked up, instantly dismayed. "Oh, say not so! I know the manner of Geoffrey's rebuke." She frowned. "Nay, he could not have, or there would not be enough of Alain left to sit a horse!"

"Unless Alain apologized," Rod pointed out.

Cordelia stared. "Alain, apologize? That stuffed, selfimportant popinjay, lower himself to apology?"

"I think thou dost wrong him in that, daughter," Gwen said gently. "He is chivalrous enough to apologize, if he could be brought to see that he had wronged you."

"Even if he had, 'twas to me he should have apologized—not Geoffrey!"

"Why, that is so," Gwen said, puzzled. "Wherefore would he not seek thee out?"

"Scared," Rod opined. "I would be, too, if a pretty girl had just rejected me flat out."

Cordelia turned to him, puzzled. "Why should this be?"

"Just a quirk of the male mind. We're sensitive about being told we don't matter."

Cordelia frowned. "But I did not."

"Sure—you just told him "no.' Right? No explanations, no excuses—nothing but a flat "no.' "

"There was more than that." For the first time, a trace of guilt crept into Cordelia's expression.

Rod was silent, waiting—but Cordelia was silent, too, lost in recent memory, and mortified.

Finally, Gwen broke the silence. "Thou hast ever been quick and sharp of tongue, daughter."

"Oh, but I so rarely mean what I say in the heat of the moment!"

"Aye—'tis naught but the telling remark, the barbed retort, that matters, is't not? Yet hast thou thought of the hurt thy hasty words may do?"

"Surely he knows that rash words are not meant!"

"Alain? No," Rod said. "I don't think he knows anything of the kind. Very serious young man, that. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he thinks angry words show how a person really feels."

"Oh, but he cannot!" Cordelia wrung her hands. "He cannot truly think that I meant what I said!"

"Are you sure you don't?"

Cordelia stilled, considering. Then she said, "He is somewhat pompous..."

"And insensitive," Rod agreed. "Are you sure he's right for you? Shouldn't you be going after a man with a bit more of a sense of fun?"

Gwen flashed him a glare.

"But he could be changed!" Cordelia cried. "I could make him see his true nature, lessen his conceit, teach him to think of others' feelings!"

Rod shook his head. "Never think you can change a man, daughter. Oh, he will change, in time—but not necessarily into what you want him to be."

"Marriage itself will change him!"

"Aye, marriage will," Gwen agreed, "but not on the instant, and not always in the way thou wouldst wish." Rod cast her a rather guilty glance. Fortunately, she wasn't looking.

"But I have always known I would wed Alain!"

"Thou art not pledged to him," Gwen said sternly. "Look at the man he has become, daughter, and say if thou truly dost wish him."

"I do! Oh, I know I do! Have I not lain awake thinking of him? Have I not watched him year by year, and considered him?"

"Hast thou ever asked thyself if thou dost love him?"

"We will love one another in time!"

Rod shook his head. "Don't ever bet on that."

"Are not all royal marriages so made?"

"Catharine's wasn't," Rod pointed out.

"Aye," Gwen agreed. "She married for love, and I doubt not she doth hope that her sons will also."

"I know that I want him!" Cordelia cried. "Is that not enough?"

And, "No," both her parents said together.

"Oh, be still!" Cordelia stormed. "You understand nothing, you are too old! You have forgot what 'tis like to be young!"

Her parents ground their teeth, and tried to remember what Cordelia had just said about not meaning what she said in anger.

"The worst of it is that I must now follow them." Cordelia started pacing again.

"Follow them?" Rod stared. "In the name of Heaven, why?"

"It might not be the course of wisdom, daughter," Gwen hinted.

"Wisdom is for crones, old men, and Gregory! I must follow to see that no harm befalls my Prince!"

"Surely he is safe with thy brother," Gwen objected. "Naught could touch him there."

"Naught but Geoffrey's soldierly nonsense! He will fill Alain with swagger and bluster, I doubt not—tell him that no man's a man unless he can drink a gallon of wine and still bed a wench!"

"Cordelia!" Gwen gasped.

"He will, Mother—you know he will!"

"Maybe not quite in those terms," Rod hedged. "Terms! What matter the terms?" Cordelia stamped her foot. "Nay, 'tis what he may do that worries me! By your leave, my parents, I must fly!" She turned and strode out of the solar without waiting for an answer.

It was very still behind her, for a few minutes.

Then Rod released a long breath and said, "Well! What do you think she's really planning to protect him from, dear?"

"Wenches who are pretty and willing," Gwen retorted. "What else?"

"I think she'll find that her usual array of witch powers doesn't do her much good there. Think she can learn new techniques?"

"How to enchant a lad? I have no doubt that she can, if she wishes to."

"Yes, but knowing our daughter, she's too honest to want to, if she isn't in love herself."

"Dost thou truly fault that?"

"Not in the slightest," Rod sighed. "But I can't help wondering if she's going to be enchanting for Alain. What do you think of the chances?"

"I think that she may make the greatest mistake of her life," Gwen answered, "or the wisest choice."

"Let's hope for wisdom, in spite of what she thinks of it." Rod shook his head. "I'm only glad that in my case, wisdom and love happened together." He squeezed her hand and smiled into her eyes.

Gwen smiled back, reflecting that it had taken her a great deal of effort to make him understand that.

"He is gone! What! Off into the forest? Alone?"

Tuan forced down a surge of irritation. He understood that to his wife, "alone" meant with fewer than twenty bodyguards. "Be of good cheer, my sweet. He could not be more thoroughly warded if he had an army with him."

"Oh, thou dost place far too much faith in this boisterous boy of Gwendylon's! How could they stand against a whole troop of bandits, they two alone? And they are quite like to meet such, there in the greenwood!"

She had been carrying on like this since Sir Devon had reported what had happened.

"To dare to strike at the Heir!" Catharine ranted. "'Tis treason, 'tis a crime most foul, 'tis..."

"'Twas a disagreement between two youths," Tuan interrupted, "and our own lad was not blameless, if thou wilt consider."

"Well ... aye, he may have spoken rashly and in haste! But the Crown Prince may not be assaulted!"

Privately, Tuan thought it had probably done his son a world of good, and was rather proud that he had stood up for so long against Geoffrey Gallowglass—for King Tuan was a knight born, bred, and trained, and knew well the warrior—worth of the middle Gallowglass boy. "Blows or not, they are friends again..."

"Through our son apologizing! A Prince, to apologize! 'Tis unheard of, 'tis humiliation, 'tis..."

"Most chivalrous," Tuan finished for her. "Howsoe'er it may or may not have become him as a prince, it is most fitting for him as a knight, and I am proud of him for it."

"Oh, thou wouldst be, thou! Men! Hast thou no care but thy game of honor?"

Tuan stiffened. "That honor is the protection of many a lady, and giveth her the respect that is due her. If our son hath transgressed in this, at least he hath had the grace to make amends..."

"Or shall, if he doth live! Husband, art thou a fool? Canst thou not see his danger?"

"Danger, when he is a swordsman most excellent himself, and is accompanied by the best in the land?" Tuan smiled. "Be of good cheer, my sweet. He shall come forth from this wood hale and sound, and more sure of himself than ever he hath been."

"Oh, to be sure! That is what our son Alain most truly doth need—an even greater opinion of himself!"

"In truth, he doth," said Tuan quietly, "for though he may believe himself to be good, he cannot know. He is untried, and therefore unsure of his own worth."

"Men!" Catharine threw up her hands in disgust. "As though naught but thy ability with the sword proves thy worth!"

Tuan reflected that she had been glad enough of his ability with weapons, when she had stood at war with her noblemen. "There is also the matter of his being an object of desire in the eyes of the lady he loves—and he hath but now found that in that regard, he is naught."

Catharine stopped abruptly, frowning down at her knotted hands. She was silent a moment, then said, "Doth he love her, then?"

"Be sure that he doth," Tuan said softly. "Hast thou seen his eyes when he hath watched her at a banquet or a ball, and thought she did not see?"

"I have," Catharine said, her voice low, "and have watched Cordelia's face, too, as she watched him when he was engaged in talk—or in dance, with another damsel."

"Is she too in love?"

"I cannot tell," Catharine said slowly. "She is jealous, aye, though whether it is for love, or for others' interest in something that she doth regard as belonging to her, I cannot tell."

"If 'twere only a matter of property, would she have cast him off but now?"

Catharine shrugged. "If he came upon her unannounced, when she was in such disarray? Aye, any woman would have turned him away."

"I know so little of women," Tuan sighed, "but to me, that hath more of the sound of love than of covetousness." Catharine shrugged, irritated. "I fear, husband, that our son is lacking in gallantry."

"He is," Tuan admitted, "as he is lacking in knowledge of his people."

That stung Catharine in one of her most tender spotsfor she was, in spite of her willfulness and temper, a diligent ruler who tried her best to rule for her people's good. "Thou dost speak truth. He hath never been among the folk." Then hysteria surged again. "But how can I risk him?"

"You must," Tuan said, gently but inexorably. "He cannot be a good man if he hath not tested his true mettleand he cannot become a good King if he knoweth naught of those whom he would rule."

"But the price!" Catharine cried, anguished.

"The price must be paid." Tuan still strove to be gentle. "He must come to know at least a little about his people, and what their lives are truly like. He must rule more folk than the noblemen he hath grown to know, after all, nor must he govern only for their benefit."

"I know that thou hadst some months among the poor," Catharine said, low—she still felt guilty for having banished her lover, even though he had forgiven her instantly. He had smuggled himself back in from exile, and lived in hiding among the commoners of the capital town. Then he had proved himself in war, for her sake.

Tuan nodded. "'Tis for this that I have ever had as much sympathy for the poor as thy tender woman's heart hath given thee. But our son will not, if he goeth not among them whilst he can."

"It is true," Catharine admitted, "and I have been glad of the caution and respect for the common folk that thou hast brought to accompany mine ardent wish to better their lot." She looked up at Tuan. "Dost thou truly believe he must undertake this quest, to become a good monarch?"

"And a good lover," Tuan amended. "Aye, it is most necessary indeed."

"Why then, let it be!" Catharine threw up her hands in surrender. "But if he must go, husband, thou must needs assure he will not go unguarded—or, at the least, no more so than is necessary."

"I shall have a squadron of knights ever at hand, in case of need," Tuan promised.

"But how shalt thou know if there is such need!"

"That," said Tuan, "I shall leave to Brom O'Berin."

Brom O'Berin was the Lord Privy Councillor, but in secret, he was also the King of the Elves. To his human friends, he was a dwarf—but to his elfin subjects, he was a giant. He managed to straddle both worlds without being torn apart—but his love for a diminutive mortal woman had nearly rent his soul, when she died. What had kept him going was the child she had left behind, whom he had seen raised in secret, not knowing he was her father, for he feared she would be ashamed of him. He swelled with pride when he saw her with her husband and her children, for she was Gwendylon, now Gallowglass, and her halfelven blood made her the most powerful witch of her generation.

A few years later, his caring for his natural daughter was supplemented by his love for his foster daughter—for he was the King's jester, and took the little princess under his wing. She had grown up to become Catharine the Queen.

So Brom had a double interest in the current quest—his grandson, and the son of the woman that he loved almost as much as his daughter.

He made sure they would be very safe.

"Still, my lord," said Puck, "the Prince should concern thee as much as the warlock."

"Should he truly, Robin?" Brom turned a dark gaze upon his right-hand elf. "Geoffrey is my grandson, after all—and more to the point, Cordelia is my granddaughter."

Puck's brow puckered in puzzlement. "Aye, my lord, she is—yet wherefore is that more to the point? She is not at risk on this quest."

"Nay, but her happiness is. I find myself wary in regard to Alain—moreover, in his fitness as a suitor."

"He has ever been summat of a spoiled brat," Puck admitted.

Brom nodded. "He spoke with far greater anger to the lady than a gentleman ought."

"Well, true—but she had refused his suit, and quite abruptly, with no graciousness to cushion the blow. Still, I will own that even a squire should have shown more selfrestraint, let alone a prince."

"Is it so easy, then, to believe that Alain is unworthy of her?" Brom demanded.

Well, now, Puck wasn't related—and more importantly, he had been baby-sitter for the Gallowglass brood when they were children. He knew their inner selves quite well. "I love the lass dearly, as do any who know her—yet I must own that she, too, has her faults."

"Oh, aye, a temper ever too ready! Yet should she not thereby wed a man with great inborn patience?" Brom shook his head. "I had thought Alain to be such."

"Why, so he is, like his father before him," Puck answered, "under most circumstances. Yet we speak now, my lord, of a wound to the heart—and, though 'tis not easily seen through the maze of Alain's vanity, he is in love with her."

That brought Brom to a halt. "Aye, he is, and hath been since that he was a child. It is well thou dost bring it to mind, Puck, for I am like to forget it, he hath learned to hide it so well."

"What else might he do?" Puck sighed. "The lady hath ever been bright and cheery with him, but hath never shown a single sign of being a-love with him. Thinking him to be her property, aye, but in love?"

"Mayhap I should not be unhappy to see them parted," Brom mused. "Indeed, even a prince of mortals may not be worthy of a lass who is herself a princess of Faerie, though she knoweth it not."

And of course, as they both knew, the folk of Faerie were worth far more than mere mortals.

"Worthy or not, were he to die, her heart would break," Puck pointed out.

"Aye—but would it not also break if she kept a pet dog that were slain? For she hath a most generous heart." Brom's visage was dark.

Puck knew the kind of storms that darkness could presage, and quailed within—but he spoke up bravely. "There is no question, then, my lord—they must be warded, protected."

"Even so," Brom said heavily. "'Tis my duty to the Queen..."

"If a King of Faerie could be said to have duty to any other monarch," Puck muttered.

"I have sworn allegiance to her, Puck, and I love her, though not so intensely as mine own daughter. Nay, we must protect her son—and my grandson. Go thou to watch over them, and summon a legion of elves if need be."

"I go." Puck bounced up—then paused. "Yet how if need not be?"

"Then I will rejoice to hear it. Send word of their journey daily, Robin—most particularly as regards the bearing and conduct of the Prince."

Puck eyed his sovereign with foreboding. "And if his comportment doth not meet thine expectation?"

"Then," said Brom grimly, "I shall find some way to bring his suit to disaster."

A devilish grin lit Puck's face.

"Aye, thou hast had a dozen manners of mischiefbringing spring into thy mind on the instant, hast thou not?" Brom said, with dry amusement.

"No, my lord," Puck said truthfully. He had only had six schemes for sabotaging Alain's courtship burst fullblown into his mind.

"Hold them in abeyance until I bid thee," Brom commanded, "and ponder on ways to aid his suit, should I decide he is fitting."

Puck made a face; helping lovers was far less to his taste than sabotaging them.

"Away, now, to ward!" Brom commanded.

Puck darted away down the tunnel, and was gone. Brom turned back to the long stone staircase that would take him up to the secret door into the royal castle. He still had to command the seneschal to send out a troop of knights to follow an hour's ride behind the prince. As he climbed, he considered Puck's reliability, especially considering the elf's inability to refuse a chance to play a practical joke, should the occasion offer. No, everything considered, Brom decided that he should occasionally go himself, to check up on Alain's welfare and progress.

Tuan had similar concerns, though he wasn't about to voice them to Brom, and certainly not to Catharine—she would have denied his comments hotly, taking them as an attack upon her son and, more pertinently, on her ideas about rearing him. But Tuan was the offspring of a country lord, and had been hardened by combat in the field. He had been worried for some time that his son was becoming a court fop, removed from the realities of life, concerned more with the cut of his hose than the sufferings of the poor or the political machinations of the aristocrats. Everything considered, the chances of any real harm befalling Alain seemed quite small compared to the benefits he might gain from the excursion—not the least of which was the companionship of Geoffrey Gallowglass, who had grown up to be everything Tuan had hoped his sons would be. Admittedly, Geoffrey was several things Tuan would not want Alain to be, too—he had heard tales of the boy's roistering and wenching—but he trusted to Alain's good breeding and inborn sense of rectitude to help him resist those traits.

Above all else was the invaluable knowledge that Alain was travelling with a swordsman who could beat him handily, and who had no more respect for his station than if he had been the lowest beggar on the road. Indeed, if that beggar had been able to put up a good fight with his quarterstaff, it was quite possible that Geoffrey would have had more respect for him than for the Prince. Geoffrey respected the man and his inner qualities, not the station. Tuan wasn't entirely sure that was a good attitude, but in the present circumstances it was ideal.

No, all in all, the King had high hopes for the trip—it might be the making of Alain, both as a man and as a human being.

Still, there was danger.

He couldn't come right out and say any of this to Rod Gallowglass, of course, but he could propose a friendly hunting trip.

"Let us leave the ladies to their own devices for a while," he said as the two of them walked in the courtyard of Rod's castle. "It is too long since we rode the greenwood together, to remember the true troubles of the world."

Rod couldn't remember their ever having gone hunting together, but he knew a cue when he heard one. "After all, what could be more natural than that the King and his Lord High Warlock should go hunting together?"

"My thought exactly!" Tuan grinned. "And on the way, Rod Gallowglass, we might discuss our mutual concernsperhaps even our hopes."

"And just happen to be going in the same general direction as our sons." Rod nodded. "Of course, it would be beneath our dignity to travel with fewer than a dozen knights as an honor guard."

"Quite so," Tuan agreed. "Certes, 'tis true that each of us hath oft gone abroad among the common folk alone, and disguised—but this would be more in the nature of a meeting of state."

"Of course. Any time we get together officially, it's always a meeting of state—and the fate of our children just happens to fall under that heading, too."

"It does. Thou art not opposed to the match, then?"

"Cordelia and Alain? Not at all—though I would have appreciated it if Alain had followed the social formula of asking my permission before he proposed. Might have staved off the current disaster."

"Aye." Tuan nodded heavily. "I have told him aforetime that being royal doth not allow him to trample on custom . .."

"But his mother has told him that princes are above tradition, eh? Well, I think he'll begin to see that customs grow up for reasons." Rod frowned. "But there's another side to it, too, my liege."

"Aye." Tuan's face darkened. "Are they in love?"

"Such a short little word," Rod sighed, "but it can create such difficulties, can't it? Especially if it's not there." Tuan shook his head, perplexed. "How can he have gone to ask her to be his wife, if he did not know her to be in love with him?"

"Oh, they have more or less grown up with the idea that of course they'll get married some day," Rod sighed. "After all, how many young folk of their age are there among the nobility of Gramarye?"

"A hundred, perhaps," Tuan said slowly.

"Yes, and a properly inbred bunch they are! Besides, half of them regard Alain as a hereditary enemy, simply because their fathers rebelled against you and Catharine at one time or another."

"Aye," said Tuan, "and the other half live so far from Runnymede that 'tis a wonder we have seen them once in a year. Still, my boy hath seen other lasses his age. I wonder that his devotion to thy Cordelia hath never swerved."

"It would be normal," Rod admitted, "but Alain is an unusually conscientious lad, and very loyal." He did not add "humorless and dull," though he might have. "He may feel that once he has pledged himself to Cordelia in his heart, he can't even look at another lady."

Tuan shook his head. "If it is not love, then the Archer will smite him soon or late."

"Better to have it sooner," Rod agreed. "I'll tell you frankly that I'm not all that sure that the match would be best for either of them; they may not be right for each other."

"Cordelia is certainly of acceptable rank to be a queen," Tuan said quickly, "and more than acceptable in her own person. Indeed, I would be honored to call her my daughter-in-law."

"And I couldn't ask for a more worthy or more responsible mate for her." Rod tactfully didn't mention that he really didn't want his daughter to marry a selfish prig like Alain. Of course, if she had really been in love, he wouldn't have argued. "However, though they may be of the right quality for each other, they may not be right in personality. After all, so far as I know, neither of them has ever fallen in love with the other."

"Oh, I have seen the odd glance between them," Tuan said, "and the lilt to her voice when she speaks, and the toss of her head."

"Flirting, sure," Rod said, "but even that might have been due more to a shortage of other young folk their own age than to any real interest."

"So we must watch them in more ways than one, eh? Well, I shall tell Catharine of my departure. I doubt not she will be relieved to have some small time to herself."

Catharine might have been pleased if she hadn't seen through the ruse in an instant. Fortunately, the Lady Gwendylon had come to discuss the situation with her. They were sitting in Catharine's solar when Tuan breezed in and dropped his little bombshell.

"Surely thou wilt not be too aggrieved, my love? Thou shalt not? Why, there's a wench for you! Come on and kiss me!"

Catharine's protests were smothered, and by the time she caught her breath, Tuan was out the door and gone. "Oh! The idiocy of men!" she fumed. "Thinks he that I cannot see through his ruse? Hunting, forsooth!"

"In a manner, they do," Gwen sighed, "though 'tis our sons they hunt, not the deer."

"And the dear knows when we shall see them again! Pray they do not let the boys know they are followed!"

"I shall—and I shall pray the same for Cordelia." Catharine turned to her, stunned. "Surely she doth not follow them, too!"

"She doth," Gwen returned. "She hath little trust in her brother."

"Well, therein may I agree with her," Catharine said judiciously, "for Geoffrey is more filled with masculine non sense than most—if thou wilt forgive the observation, Gwendylon."

"When did truth need forgiveness?" Gwen returned, though she could have added, "Frequently."

"They are so ridiculous!" Catharine fumed. "They will likely follow a day's pace behind—too distant to protect 'gainst assassins, too close for the boys to know they must trust to themselves!"

"Aye, 'tis most ridiculous," Gwen agreed, "but then, so are Geoffrey and Alain. Still, I doubt not that Brom's forces will be near. The young men will be protected, never fear." She knew, far better than Catharine, exactly how ubiquitous and effective Brom's troops were—his personal forces, at least. She had been raised by the elves, and they had no secrets from her, except the name of her father.

"Well—I warrant the men can do the boys no harm," Catharine grudged.

"We must let this issue pass, as we do so many that are really of no consequence," Gwen agreed.

"Still..." Catharine turned to her with a glint in her eye.

Gwen braced herself. "Aye, Majesty?"

"Why should not the followers be followed?" Catharine said, with a wicked smile.

Slowly, Gwen's own smile matched the Queen's. "Aye, Majesty. Be assured, I shall look in now and then on mine husband—and on thine, too."

So Alain and Geoffrey went a-wandering wild and free, two knights errant in search of adventure, on what must surely have been the best-supervised quest of all time. In fact, it was a virtual parade, with Puck shadowing his lord's grandson (not to mention his granddaughter's suitor), a dozen royal knights following a few hours behind the Heir Apparent, the two fathers trailing their sons with a score of knights, and the Lady Gwendylon keeping an eye on the two husbands.

But in front of them all, of course, went Cordelia.