Return- Hansel and Gretel Retold

by Demelza Carlton

  Father grinned. "Want me to bring a bucket of water to put the fire out?"

  Grieve wished he could laugh, but there was nothing funny about deserting Rhona now. She might not need him, but that didn't change how much he cared about her. If war was coming to the isles, the Albans would return in even greater numbers, and she could be caught unawares again. But he'd been as good as useless, anyway. Better to go to Lady Portia, and be useless among a dozen other men, hoping they would be enough to protect the girl.

  Grieve took a deep breath and marched up to the house. This would not go well.

  Thirty-Five

  "Rhona, wait!" Grieve called, but Rhona didn't.

  She intended to set fire to something and watch it burn to ashes before she'd do anything for Grieve again. One moment he was ready to marry her, and the next he intended to head off to guard some girl on a faraway island? Who was this Lady Portia to him, anyway?

  She wanted to run into the woods and hide where he'd never find her, but the sea was closer. Something on the beach would surely burn. But the tide was in, licking at the sand, and the rock the seals liked to sun themselves on was now surrounded by dark water. Rhona didn't care. She summoned a gust of wind to carry her to that rock, where no one could reach her until she willed it.

  "Rhona, come back! Please," Grieve said, as he slowed at the water's edge. "I have to do this."

  "You have to protect Portia, do you? And why is she so special?" Rhona reached for the beach, for the tiny specks of dried seaweed and sawdust between the sand, and ignited them. The shore lit up like a grassfire.

  Grieve jumped back onto a rock. "She's Lord Angus's daughter. His eldest. The heir to Isla."

  The fire died for lack of fuel. Rhona cursed. "So? What's Isla to you? Why kiss me, make love to me if you intend to go off and marry this other woman so you can be lord of her island instead? Is Rum Isle not good enough for you? Or is it me? I am not good enough for you, now you know I am a witch and a bastard."

  Grieve shook his head. "It is I who is not good enough for Rum Isle, or you. You are…a powerful sorceress, who will one day be the lady of prosperous Rum Isle, able to protect this place without needing a husband. As for Angus' daughter…Lady Portia and the lordship of all the isles is as far beyond me as the very heavens above. The Albans want her as a wife to one of their princes, and I have no doubt the Vikens will offer for her as well."

  "Women are not prizes to be carried away like the spoils of war," Rhona snapped.

  Grieve sobered. "No, you are not. And nor is she, which is why I must go. Alba will not have her without a fight."

  Rhona swallowed. "Is she more important to you than I am?"

  "No," he admitted. "She is perhaps the most important woman in the isles right now, because with her claim to Isla comes a chance at kingship, or so the Council says. I should want to defend her with my life because if Alba gets her, then they will conquer us all, and no one will be safe. I would give anything to stay here and marry you like I promised. But war is coming, and I am honour bound to fight and defend what is ours, as is every man of the isles. And you…you are not mine. Not yet. I don't deserve you. You saved us both on that island, and you have no need of me as your defender. When war comes to Rum Isle, as it will to Isla, I know you will save your family without me. My place is where I am most needed, and my father says it is on Isla, guarding the last of the Three Little Pigs."

  It was Rhona's turn to laugh. "You mean THAT Lady Portia of the little pigs tale? She cannot be much to look at, if she is likened to a pig. I imagine she is kept cloistered like some princess in a tower, waiting for her prince to come and claim her."

  "Perhaps. I do not know, for I have never seen the girl. My father says that she has inherited her father's instinct for politics, and that she is fond of archery. Perhaps he is sending me to her to be her bowyer and archery instructor, more than her bodyguard. I will not be alone, either – all the lords are sending men to guard her. It will not be forever. Only until the war against the Albans is over, or the girl chooses a husband."

  Rhona jumped off her rock, splashing through the shallows to shore. She was too tired to use magic, and too tired to argue any more. Grieve was right, though it pained her to admit it. "Fight with honour, and don't let the Albans touch her. And when your duty is done, come home to me. I will wait for you."

  Grieve ventured onto the sand, crossing the distance between them without hesitation. "Truly, I do not deserve you. But I will do as you command, for I live in hope." He kissed her, the moment stretching as Rhona tasted longing, desire and duty in that kiss. Longing and desire wanted to continue, but it was duty that ended it. "Farewell, my lady. If it is our fate to meet again on these shores, then I will marry you."

  Then he turned and was gone. Rhona waited until he was out of sight before she sank to her knees and let the tears flow. If fate didn't bring him back to her, she'd burn that bitch's bones to ash. Just like the witch. And every Alban who thought to stand between her and vengeance.

  Thirty-Six

  Rhona didn’t return to the house until she knew they'd sailed away. Her eyes were probably red from crying, but no one would notice if she kept her head down. If her father asked, she could say they were tears of grief for Doireann.

  She entered the Great Hall, expecting to find it empty.

  Of course, it wasn't.

  Lord Lewis lifted his cup to her. "My son tells me you are a witch, Lady Rhona. We haven't had one here on the isles in many years. We may need your help to drive off the Albans if it comes to war."

  Father slammed his cup down. "No, man, you may send your sons to war, but leave my daughter be. Women protect their homes, with force if need be, but they do not go to war. We need her here at home."

  "You're holding her here, just like you did to Brigid. I don't know what you did, but no matter how much she wanted to marry me, she stayed here with you! You had a wife. You didn't need her!" Lewis said, pouring himself another cup.

  "Lady Brigid loved her sister, not me. Maybe not even you, either. I could not have kept her here against her will. The woman took on Alban raiders thrice, with not a survivor among them. If she were here, Doireann would not have died." Father peered into his cup.

  "Doireann was a traitorous bitch who deserved to die. The Albans only spared her on Scitis because she promised to tell them the location of the riches of Rum Isle. They killed her here because she could not lead them to Sanctuary." Rhona folded her arms across her chest. "I would have killed her, had they not knocked me unconscious before I could. I heard enough to damn her before they did. My mother would not have protected her."

  Father peered blearily at her. "Did Blanid tell you? She was the only one who knew, except Brigid and me. I was too drunk on my wedding night to know the difference – drunk because I couldn't bear to see the bride I loved flinch every time I touched her, after what those bastards did to her. The second time, I knew she wasn't my wife, but, God forgive me, I lay with her anyway. She said she would do what her sister couldn't…to pretend…and I did. Blanid claimed you as hers, and I knew you were mine. Brigid wanted to give me a son, though, so we tried again…and again, but the babies did not live long enough, and then, nor did she. And Blanid…it took years before she would tolerate my touch, but she promised her sister she'd try…but we never had a son. When she died, I swore I'd never lie with another woman, and be grateful for the children I had. Doireann was a widow, I wanted her to be a nurse to my girls, but she refused to live under my roof unless we were married. So I took another vow, but she was never a wife to me. My daughters are enough."

  "You mean you knew I was a bastard?" Rhona asked.

  "You are my daughter, the heir to Rum Isle, until I say otherwise, and there are no bastards under this roof. I swore to Brigid on her deathbed, and I keep my oaths." Father rose. "I will hear no more of this matter. As the Lady of Rum Isle, you will protect it as your mother would."

  Rhona slumped into a seat and poured herself a cu
p of wine. "Yes, Father."

  Father nodded, took his leave of Lord Lewis, and left.

  "Now how did he know you were thinking of running away to Isla, and Grieve?" Lord Lewis asked.

  Rhona glared at him. "I most certainly was not!" she lied.

  Lord Lewis sipped from his cup, then set it down. "My son tells me you are fond of stories. May I tell you one? One I do not think even my son knows, though he will, in time."

  Rhona inclined her head. "Go on."

  "Have you heard the story of the Three Little Pigs?" At Rhona's nod, he continued, "And do you remember who saves the little girls?"

  "Their nurse," Rhona said slowly. "Like Candace saved my sisters."

  "What if I told you it was the wolf?"

  Rhona eyed him. "Then I would think you a fool, Lord Lewis, which my father tells me is not true. But if you have had as much to drink as my father, perhaps it is the wine talking."

  Lewis laughed. "Wine does not talk, but it does make men talk. Too much, sometimes. Like the day Lord Angus told me about his little wolf, the prince we have all pinned our hopes on." His shrewd eyes peered at her over the rim of his cup. Lord Lewis was as sober as Rhona herself.

  "What if I told you Lord Angus took a Viken fosterling, a young prince, his blood as royal as both the king's and the crown prince, as a favour to his father? And on the day of the feast meant to welcome the boy, Lord Angus's own daughters went missing. Little Portia, the leader of the three, wanted to go swimming, she said, but her nurse said no. So when the nurse wasn't looking, she led the girls out of their father's house and down to a pool she'd heard the boys speak of… And when no one could find the girls, the young prince went searching. He found the girls in the mud, and raised the alarm so the nurse came running. Two girls came when the nurse called, but little Portia refused. He waded into the middle of that mud in his best clothes, heedless of the damage he did to them, and coaxed her out. A different man might have thrown the little girl over his shoulder and carried her out, but that boy offered her his hand and they walked out of the woods together, hand in hand."

  "Why are you telling me this?" Rhona demanded.

  Lewis smiled. "My son adores you, Lady Rhona, and I know he will return to Rum Isle for you. Much like I know the Viken Wolf Prince is in love with Lady Portia, and he will return to claim her. My son will do his duty, for he is honour-bound to uphold his oath. I knew your mother, and she would never desert her family, not for love or her own happiness. She would fight to the death to protect those she loved. Including you."

  Rhona's eyes blazed. "Are you telling me to stay home, like a good little girl?"

  To Lord Lewis' credit, he did not back down. "No, Lady Rhona. I am suggesting you do everything within your power to protect Rum Isle and its people, including yourself. For the only man who can end the war against Alba is that Viken prince, and until he arrives, you are the best Rum Isle has. Just as I am all Myroy has, and Grieve must keep Portia safe for the Viken. We all must endure until our allies arrive. But that doesn't mean we won't fight. On the contrary. We will be defending our homes, more fiercely than any Alban raider can imagine." Lord Lewis rose from his seat and bowed. "Lady Rhona, I would hope you burn every Alban you see, before he even reaches the shore of your lovely isle. I have no doubt you will make your mother proud." He headed off.

  Rhona sipped from her cup, deep in thought. She wasn't sure what to think, or to do. Too many revelations in too short a time. And yet…somehow, she thought it would all turn out all right in the end. How, she did not know, but all the best stories did, and hers…would be the best she could make it. Making her mother proud did have a lovely ring to it.

  Thirty-Seven

  When war came to Rum Isle, her people came to Sanctuary. So it was, and so it always would be. After the initial attack, though, the Albans had left no garrison on Rum Isle, so most of her people had returned to their homes. All except Lord Ronin's family, for their home had been burned along with the Albans and their boats. Rhona had learned her lesson – after the first attack, she'd burned the boats at sea. No Alban would set foot on her shore while she lived.

  There had been whispers at first, until her father insisted that his daughter had Lady Brigid's blood in her veins and the magic that ran with it, and she would defend the island alongside its men. After watching what she could do, the men heartily embraced this idea, and the whispers ceased.

  So Sanctuary echoed with emptiness, until a boat was spotted approaching Rum Isle.

  The watchmen reported this to Rhona, while the people of Rum Isle filled Sanctuary again.

  "We have visitors," Rhona announced to her family. Her sisters huddled closer together, looking fearful. "Don't worry, I shall see them off shortly."

  Father caught her arm. "Don't go out there alone. I shall come with you. Remember what happened to Doireann."

  Rhona gently pulled out of his grasp. "Doireann got what she deserved, luring Albans to our home. As will our latest intruders. Don't worry, Father. They will tell no tales once I am finished with them."

  But Father would not be dissuaded. He buckled on his sword and shouldered his crossbow. "Once we both are finished with them. I am not so old that I cannot defend Rum Isle."

  Blowing out a frustrated breath, she waited for him to lead the way out of the cave and onto the ridge, where he took up his accustomed spot behind a boulder that was just the right height to rest his crossbow on.

  Two figures beached a coracle, before one climbed the rocks above the beach and started shouting. Shouting her name.

  Rhona swore. "It's Lord Lewis. With another man."

  Her heart leaped. Was it finally time to stop hiding, and start fighting?

  "I have a proposition for you!" Lord Lewis bellowed.

  Rhona squinted at the second man. Only one man had a proposition she might want to hear, and Lord Lewis' companion did not look like Grieve.

  "Stay here and defend the girls, Father. I will speak to him."

  Bless the man, he looked like he wanted to argue. As though two men would be any match for Rhona and her magic.

  She bit her lip. Sparks erupted from her fingers. "I will be fine, Father."

  He nodded. "And I will keep them in my sights."

  She let the wind carry away the sound of her footsteps, so that the men would not hear her approach. Lord Lewis's companion dressed like a man of Isla, with a coracle to match, but no Islander ever wore a sealskin so fine over Isla wool, except perhaps Lord Angus. Lord Angus was closer to her father's age than this man, who could not be older than thirty. And Lord Angus had no sons, least of all this giant.

  Lord Lewis shouted his offer again.

  "I'm already betrothed, and not to that beast of a man." Rhona stepped out of hiding.

  She'd surprised the Viken, for that's what he must be. Was this the man Lewis had promised would come to their aid?

  Lewis' impassive face told her nothing. Instead, he gestured for the Viken to speak.

  He inclined his head with what appeared to be genuine courtesy. "I am no beast, lady." The rumble of his delightfully deep voice said otherwise, as he continued, "I am Rudolf Vargssen, Prince of Viken. I have come from my cousin, King Reidar, to cast the Albans out of the Southern Isles." His eyes flashed with something like battle-fire.

  One man's fire would only go so far.

  Rhona dismissed him with a flick of her fingers. "Just you and old Lewis here? You have no chance, Prince of Viken. Not without an army that can match the Albans."

  A faint smile curved his lips. The Viken liked a challenge. "I have three ships." Rudolf pointed.

  Still Lewis said nothing. Did he think she was a politician like Lady Portia, able to read men and their true intentions before they knew themselves? Lady Portia dealt in subtleties. Rhona did not.

  "Is this the wolf we are waiting for?" Rhona demanded.

  Lewis inclined his head. "He is."

  She wanted to breathe out a sigh of relief, but the Viken had his eyes
on her. Instead, she inspected him right back. "What is your stake, Prince of Viken? What do you get out of saving the Southern Isles?"

  For just a moment, Rudolf looked lost, like a boy looked out through his eyes. Then the moment was gone and he stood as stoic as before, almost as though she'd imagined it. But she hadn't.

  "He wants Lady Portia," Lewis supplied.

  Good luck, Viken. If Grieve was to be believed, and he usually was, Lady Portia would be no easy conquest. She might not be a witch, but she had her own weapons. If this man sought to bully Lady Portia into a marriage she did not desire, Rhona would defend her alongside Grieve and the others. "Lady Portia is no prize, like the women of other lands. She is the Lady of Isla, and if she does not like you, may heaven help you, for no one else will."

  She expected him to defend his title, his suitability as a suitor. His right to conquer a woman.

  What she didn't expect was his laughter.

  He wiped his eyes and shrugged. "Portia liked me well enough before I left. If she likes me still...well, I guess we shall see. As long as the lady is safe, I will be satisfied."

  She stared at him for a long moment. He spoke the truth, she was sure of it. And that look in his eyes…yearning, that's what it was. But for Portia or her claim?

  Slowly, Rhona said, "She is safe enough. My betrothed guards her with his life."

  Rudolf relaxed just the slightest bit. Relieved. Rhona bridled. If he dismissed Grieve and his men so easily, she would give him a piece of her mind.

  "My son has sent word?" Lewis asked eagerly, interrupting her train of thought.

  Rudolf would keep, Rhona swore, as she answered, "When he can. His letters are carried in secret and left in a place only he and I know. The lady lives, and so does he."

  Lewis' grin was positively devilish. "How goes the hiding, Lady Rhona? Are your sisters sick of fish yet?"

  Rhona turned her glare on Lewis. "They complain constantly. The sooner this war ends, the better." If she could play a part in it, it would be over much sooner.