by Kate Forsyth
As Rhiannon sat down next to them, he turned and showed her the pendant. Frozen inside the large amber stone was an orange-and-black butterfly.
‘Mam says it’s thousands o’ years auld,’ he whispered. ‘It must’ve been sipping at the sap o’ the tree and got stuck, and slowly the tree-sap flowed all over it and set hard, and the butterfly was trapped inside. We do no’ have butterflies like this here in Eileanan, Mam says. This necklace came over with the First Coven. From the Other World, ye ken. So it’s no’ just thousands o’ years auld, it’s from millions and millions o’ miles away! Is that no’ amazing?’
As Rhiannon nodded in agreement, Nina turned to her and smiled, dropping a kiss on Roden’s curly head. ‘He loves this necklace,’ she said. ‘It belonged to my grandmother. I do no’ ken where she got it from, but I remember her telling me the story when I was just a bairn. I always loved it too.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ Rhiannon said, putting her hand up to her bare neck. For the first time in days she thought of her necklace of teeth and bones, hidden away inside her saddlebags, and felt a cold shudder of revulsion. Her face must have reflected her feelings, for Nina’s brows contracted and she leant forward, her eyes asking a question. Rhiannon shook her head and tried to smile, pushing away the memory forcefully. She was not a satyricorn anymore, she told herself. She would throw the necklace away the first chance she got.
The door opened and Edithe limped in. She had put her hair into ringlets too, and was wearing a striking dress of gold lace, with a beautifully worked amulet hanging on a long gold chain round her neck.
Cameron whistled. ‘Going all out, Edithe! Trying to impress the laird?’
‘What, with this auld thing?’ she replied coolly, though the colour rose in her cheeks. ‘No’ at all. I only brought a few clothes, we were no’ allowed to bring more than a trunk each, as ye ken. The material o’ this dress is so fine, it folds very small and doesna take up much space.’ She twirled about, holding the skirt so the material glimmered in the dim glow of the candles.
‘Well, ye look mighty grand,’ Cameron said.
Edithe smiled and thanked him, genuine pleasure on her face.
‘A daffodil, a rose and a lily,’ Landon said. ‘The spirits o’ spring.’ A thought struck him and he groped in his coat pocket for his notebook and the disgracefully chewed quill. Finding he had left them in his everyday coat, his face fell, but Iven tossed him a scroll of paper and a quill, and it lit up again. He went to the desk, found an ink-bottle and began to scribble, his handwriting looking like an insect had fallen into the ink and managed to scrabble its way free.
There was a soft knock on the door. Lewen got up and opened it, to let in the nursemaid Dedrie. She came in briskly, looking with approval at Edithe and saying, ‘Och, your foot is all better, I see. That’s good. And ye lads? A lot more colour in your cheeks this evening, I’m glad to see.’
‘I think that may be due to the elderflower wine,’ Nina said apologetically, putting Roden down so she could rise to her feet. ‘Cameron has taken rather a liking to it.’
Dedrie smiled. ‘He wouldna be the first young man to sneak a few extra glasses o’ it. It is delicious indeed, and will do him no harm. No’ even a headache in the morn.’
‘I must have the recipe!’ Cameron cried. ‘Dear, dear Dedrie, will ye no’ write it down for me?’
‘I canna write, sir. But if ye like, I can tell ye the recipe, which is simple enough, and ye can write it down yourself.’
As Cameron thanked her exuberantly, Nina said to her softly, ‘Were ye never taught to write nor read, Dedrie? Do they no’ have a school here?’
‘No’ since the fall o’ the witches’ tower,’ the nursemaid answered stiffly. ‘That was nigh on fifty years ago, when I was but a bairn. There has been no school since then, nor any healers, which, Truth kens, we have need o’ here. That is why I set myself to gathering what skill I could in herb-lore and healing, since there was no-one else to do it.’
‘I will let the Coven ken,’ Nina promised. ‘Ye have no need o’ a healer, for ye clearly ken your craft well, but the bairns need a school, and Eà kens ye need a good exorcist!’
She spoke lightly, but Dedrie did not smile. ‘What do we need a school for?’ she said bitterly. ‘There are no bairns left to teach.’
Nina’s smile faded. ‘Happen there will be in the future,’ she said gently. ‘Eà willing.’
Dedrie looked up at her. ‘My lady, I would no’ be so quick to throw around your witch-words, if I were ye.’
‘Ye are the second person to say so to me,’ Nina said, drawing herself up to her full height, her face stern. ‘Why so?’
Dedrie looked away, the rosy apples of her cheeks darkening. ‘Witches have brought naught but trouble to Fettercairn,’ she said roughly. ‘I mean ye no disrespect, my lady, I ken you are a sorceress and I am sure ye mean well. But … we have long memories here, and Fettercairn has no’ been well served by witches. There are those that will mislike ye for your powers, and it would be wisest no’ to remind them.’
‘But why are witches so disliked? What have they done?’
‘Och, it was grand in the auld days, when the Tower was strong and people came from everywhere to study here,’ Dedrie said. ‘We were a rich valley then, and able to put up with the wildness o’ the students and the arrogance o’ the sorcerers for we had money in our pocket. But then the Red Guards came and burnt down the Tower and put all the witches to the sword, and anyone who protested was killed too, without hesitation.
‘They bided here in the castle, the soldiers, and no-one in the valley could mumble a witch-word in their sleep without them hearing it. We soon learnt to mind our tongues, we did. And the Seeker walked among us and told us all the wickedness the witches had done, under our noses all the time, and promised we would be rewarded for keeping faith with the blessed Banrìgh, as she was called. So we did what we were told, and it was true, we all prospered better than ever afore, for the Banrìgh came to live in Ravenshaw, at the blue castle by the sea, and needed guards and servants and food – and we are close to the blue castle here, only two days’ ride away.
‘But then the witch-rebels came and attacked Fettercairn Castle, and our laird was killed and his son too. Since then it has been a cold, unhappy place, filled with ghosts, and each year it only grows worse, so that no-one dares put their nose outside their doors after dusk. Ye’ve seen the walking dead, I ken, and heard the tales o’ robbed graves and murdered children. All o’ that has happened since the witch-loving rebels stormed the castle and killed our laird. It is said the witches have long memories, and will no’ forgive or forget our support o’ Maya the Blessed.’
‘The people o’ Fetterness blame the witches? But that makes no sense! Why would the Coven rob graves and murder bairns? That is ridiculous.’
Dedrie shrugged. ‘If it was no’ for them, the auld laird would still be alive, and our dear Rory too.’
Nina was silent, though her black eyes glittered with anger under her knotted brows.
Dedrie looked at her appealingly. ‘So ye see, they do no’ like witches here, and though it is mostly foolishness and superstition, ye canna blame them. I do no’ mean that ye should hide what ye are, it is too late for that, but just … mind your words. Words can jab as sharp as any thorn and, when the wound is already deep, cause fresh blood to flow.’
‘That is true,’ Nina said evenly. ‘I must admit I mislike hearing ye call upon the Truth. That was one hypocrisy I thought never to hear again.’
Dedrie went scarlet.
‘Enough!’ Nina said, taking a quick step away. ‘I heed your warning and thank ye for it. I will mind my tongue. Tell me, how does Maisie? I sat with her a while and she seemed to sleep easy enough. I did no’ dare remove the poultices to see the wounds, no’ wanting to undo your good work.’
‘She does well. She is young and strong and will heal quickly. There will be scars, there’s naught I can do about that, but the one on h
er face is only small and will no’ mar her too much.’
‘Will she be well enough to ride out tomorrow?’
Dedrie pleated the edge of her apron. ‘I fear the road shall no’ be cleared in time, my lady. It would be dangerous to try to leave afore the tree is taken away.’
Nina regarded her with frowning eyes. ‘Happen Iven and I shall ride out tomorrow morn and inspect the road for ourselves,’ she said silkily.
‘As ye please, my lady.’
‘Thank ye for enquiring.’
‘No’ at all, my lady.’ Dedrie curtsied, then said, with colour again rising in her plump cheeks, ‘My lady, if I may be so bold … happen your laddie would rather have his dinner up here, on a tray? I’ve already asked the kitchen to bring up some broth for the poor wee lass. It would be no trouble for them to bring up some more for the boy. ’Tis just … my laird is rather auld-fashioned in his ways, he has had no bairns o’ his own, he is no’ much used to their ways …’
Nina hesitated. ‘Normally I’d agree like a shot,’ she said. ‘Roden is no’ good at formal dinners. But …’
‘Och, please, Mam?’ Roden cried. ‘I wouldna have to wear this bloody shirt then!’
‘Roden!’ Nina cried. She cast a vexed glance at Iven, who shrugged and held up his hands.
‘If ye like, I could stay here with the lad?’ Dedrie said. ‘I’d like to stay close to the lass too, her fever still worries me.’
‘I want to keep my laddie near me,’ Nina said, almost inaudibly. ‘I’m afraid …’
Dedrie nodded. ‘Aye. I understand. I’ll have a care for him, though, my lady, I promise.’ There was a fierce note of passion in her voice.
There was a long pause. Just before it grew embarrassing, Lewen bent his head and coughed into his hand. ‘Och, I fear I’ve caught Cameron’s cold,’ he said. ‘Do ye think I could be excused from dinner too, Nina? I really am no’ much good at formal dinners, either, and I do no’ want to cough all over my laird.’
Nina looked relieved. ‘Very well. O’ course. Happen ye feel well enough to sit up with Roden for a wee while and tell him some stories afore he goes to bed?’
‘Yippee!’ Roden shouted. ‘Lewen, will ye tell me some o’ the tales from when your dai-dein was a rebel with the Rìgh? Please?’
Lewen grinned at Roden. ‘Sure!’
Dedrie was frowning but when Nina turned back to her, one eyebrow raised, she nodded her head, smoothing down her crumpled apron with work-reddened hands. ‘Sure, and that’s a happy solution for everyone,’ she said. ‘Happen the young man can help me with the lassie too. I thank ye all. My lady … my lady forgets sometimes, ye ken. It is no’ good for her to be reminded o’ the past. She is happy enough, in her own way, if she does no’ remember.’
Nina nodded, her dark eyes softening with sympathy. ‘It is a terrible thing, to lose a child.’
‘Aye,’ the nurse said and, for one moment, crushed her apron between her large, red hands. Then she smiled ruefully, smoothed it down again, and moved towards the door, which Iven opened for her. Just before she crossed the threshold, she turned back and regarded them all with those troubled dark eyes, at such variance with her round, rosy cheeks and brisk step.
‘Ye’ll all stay close, won’t ye? Fettercairn’s a big place, and very auld. Ye willna go wandering about, will ye, or play any silly games like hide-and-seek?’
Rafferty and Cameron exchanged mischievous glances and Fèlice had to bite back a giggle, but they all agreed solemnly that they would stay close to their rooms.
‘Och, good,’ Dedrie said. ‘I wouldna want aught to happen to ye. Wait here, I’ll send Wilma to direct ye. She willna be but a moment.’
The door shut behind her.
‘What a weird auld lady,’ Fèlice said. ‘I swear my blood ran cold when she said “stay close”, with such a meaningful look. What do ye think she’s afraid will happen to us?’
‘Ye might get lost and spend the rest o’ your life wandering the halls o’ Fettercairn, looking for a way out,’ Rafferty said solemnly.
‘Happen they have dungeons. Or an oubliette,’ Cameron said. ‘Ye could fall in and no-one would ken where ye were. Someone would find ye in a hundred years, naught but a skeleton wearing a rose-coloured gown.’
‘Happen the ghosts would get ye,’ Roden said in his high, treble voice. ‘Ooooh, oooooooooh.’ He pulled his shirt up over his head and ran round the room, wailing and flapping his arms.
Fèlice shuddered. ‘Enough!’
‘Aye, that’s enough, laddie,’ Nina said. ‘Ye can go and get out o’ your good shirt now. I just wish I hadna asked for it to be ironed. Look at ye! Ye’re grubby already. Ten minutes on your back, and it looks like ye’ve slept in it. I dinna ken how ye do it.’
Roden whooped with joy, dragged the hated shirt over his head and flung it on the ground. Lulu leapt on top of it, jumping up and down, howling with glee. Laughing, Roden joined her, the little bag of muslin he wore about his neck bouncing up and down on his thin chest.
‘Roden!’ Nina cried in exasperation. ‘Ye’ve got your boots on! Look at it now. It’ll have to be washed again. Why do ye do these things?’
‘I don’t have to go to dinner!’ Roden sang. ‘Yippee!’
‘We’ll go and check on the horses,’ Lewen said, ‘and give them a bit o’ a walk in the grass, then have dinner just the two o’ us.’
‘And a story.’
‘Sure, and a story.’
‘Ten stories!’
‘Three,’ Lewen compromised. ‘And only if ye do no’ give me any cheek!’
‘I wouldna do that,’ Roden said in all sincerity, his eyes wide. ‘Would I, Mam?’
‘Never,’ she said with a smile, and drew close to Lewen so she could thank him.
‘I do no’ wish to upset anyone, but I canna be easy about leaving Roden with a stranger,’ she said softly. ‘I ken I’m probably over-anxious but all these tales we’ve been hearing … and those poor ensorcelled corpses … I just canna be easy in my mind.’
‘Och, that’s grand,’ Lewen said. ‘I’m happy to have a quiet night by the fire. I have no desire to get myself all fancied up.’
He caught Rhiannon’s eye and looked away, and she turned her back, feeling unaccountably snubbed. She smoothed down her green silk, shook back her ringlets, and smiled at Rafferty, who shielded his eyes, saying, ‘All this beauty, I am blinded!’
Rhiannon did not glance at Lewen again as she allowed Rafferty to show her out of the room.
The maid Wilma was waiting anxiously outside to show them down to the dining room. They went down two-by-two, and were shown into a huge, gloomy room panelled from floor to ceiling in wood so dark it was almost black. Each lofty wall was crowded with the stuffed heads of dead animals – stags, hinds, boars, sabre-leopards, snow-lions, woolly bears, hoar-weasels – their glass eyes shining awfully in the dull flicker of the iron chandelier suspended from a chain in the centre of the ceiling.
Nina’s step faltered as she took in the sight of all the disembodied heads and antlers, and Fèlice made a face. Rhiannon looked round in interest. She had never seen the taxidermist’s art before but she understood the desire to display such trophies of one’s hunting prowess.
In the centre of the room was a long table spread with a yellowing linen tablecloth and decorated with ornate silver candlesticks and an enormous silver epergne. Lord Malvern sat at one end, looking with displeasure at his watch, and Lady Evaline sat at the other, her face unhappy. There was an old man wearing round eyeglasses sitting on her right hand, and a thin, brown, drably dressed woman sitting on her left, fiddling with her fork. Another elderly man with thin gnarled fingers and anxious, grey eyes sat a little further along, a middle-aged man with the same grey eyes sitting beside him. All the other guests looked apprehensive, and Lord Malvern was frowning heavily, two white dents driven down from his hooked nose to the sides of his mouth.
‘I’m sorry, are we late?’ Nina said, crossing the room swift
ly.
‘Your maid’s fault, no doubt,’ Lord Malvern said, standing up and bowing stiffly.
‘Nay, I’m afraid we were all rather tired and slow to get ready. I am sorry.’
‘No matter,’ Lord Malvern said.
The seneschal Irving was there in his sombre livery, carrying a white-tipped stick in one hand. He bowed to Nina and lightly touched the back of the chair on Lord Malvern’s right hand. At once a footman sprang forward and pulled out the chair for Nina, who sat obediently. Irving touched another chair, and a footman pulled it out for Iven. One by one, the seneschal indicated where each person was to sit, showing himself uncannily aware of the order of precedence owed to each and every one of them.
Rhiannon found herself sitting right down the end of the table, next to the old man with the eyeglasses. He peered at her over their rim, mumbled, ‘My, my!’ and then introduced himself as Gerard the Sennachie. Not knowing what this meant, Rhiannon smiled and nodded her head, and discovered, in time, that this meant the old man looked after the family history and papers, and kept the clan registers and library in order. He rambled on for what seemed like a very long time, telling Rhiannon all about the long and distinguished genealogy of the MacFerris clan. They were one of the few great families of Eileanan to have an unbroken line of inheritance, father to son, for a thousand years, he told her.
‘Is that important?’ Rhiannon asked, bored.
He was surprised. ‘O’ course! Though the line is broken now, unhappily. Hopefully my laird can repair the break and restore the line. I ken it is his dearest wish.’ Just then the first course arrived, and he thankfully subsided into silence.
Lady Evaline was scanning all their faces with anxious eyes. ‘Where is the lad?’ she asked piteously. ‘Did I no’ see a lad with ruddy hair and dark eyes, just like my wee Rory? Is he no’ here? Was he a ghost too?’
Nina hardly knew how to answer, and everyone else sat feeling troubled and uncomfortable. Then Lord Malvern said very lightly, from the far end of the table, ‘There’s always lads running about, my dear, ye ken that. It must have been some pot-boy ye saw.’
