The Wolf of Harrow Hall (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms Book 7)

by Christine Pope

  In the next moment he had moved on, going to our bedchamber and the wash basin that sat on a carved oak table in one corner. Sensing he was occupied, Linsi and Doxen settled themselves once more at my feet, all three of us waiting until the lord of the manor bestowed his attention upon us once more.

  Well, there were less pleasant occupations, I supposed.

  * * *

  Over the next several days, no more catastrophes were visited upon the castle, despite my worries. Phelan was occupied, true, going with Master Merryk to inspect those sites that might be cause for concern, but despite the ever-falling snow, Harrow Hall seemed to be holding for the moment. And in those hours when I was left alone, I would sometimes lay aside my book or my needlework, and stand at the window and watch the white world outside, and wonder if all of North Eredor had been blanketed in snow, or whether one would only have to ride a few hours southward to escape this endless storm.

  I wished that were true. Perhaps I should urge Phelan to go forth with me now, despite the weather, and head south toward Tarenmar. But no, that was a fool’s errand, for of course we had no way of knowing how far this covering of snow-laden clouds reached. Still, I found myself craving the sight of the sun and blue skies the way a starving man might long for a solid meal. Even a small glimpse like the one I had had the day Phelan and I first kissed would be better than nothing.

  But that glimpse was not given to me. I could take some comfort in my husband’s arms at night, when all was safe and warm, and the bleak landscape outside was hidden in blessed darkness. And some nights I did not have even that much, for Phelan seemed to grow increasingly restless, his sleep marred by bad dreams, although when I awoke him to ask what troubled him, he had no answer for me.

  “Only nightmares,” he said one time, when we held each other in the very early hours of the morning. “I suppose this storm is beginning to prey on my mind as well. Or perhaps,” he added with a flashing grin that I could see even in the gloom, “it was that toasted bread with cheese we had instead of a proper dinner. It tasted good at the time, but — ”

  “It was not the cheese,” I said, tone somewhat indignant, since the simple fare had been my idea, something to consume while we sat on the carpet in front of the hearth and soaked up the warmth from the fire that burned therein. “For I had nearly as much as you, and I certainly have had no nightmares.”

  He shrugged, but I thought I detected something almost studied about the gesture, as if he was in fact more bothered by the dreams than he cared to admit, and wished to hide his concern from me. “Then something else. Bettany, I would be lying to you if I said this storm had not begun to wear on me, and on everyone within this castle’s walls. Every day brings a new worry with it.”

  Some part of me was glad that he had finally decided to admit his concerns, but at the same time, I could feel my heart sink. For if Phelan, who had always seemed so stalwart, had begun to give up hope, what could the rest of us do?

  I drew close to him, and he put his arms around me. It was difficult to be overly worried when he held me thus, although I knew the comfort he offered could only extend so far. In here, in this warm and dark chamber, where the glowing coals within the hearth were our sole illumination, it was easy to forget what might be happening elsewhere in the castle, let alone in the outside world.

  “It is indeed wearying,” I said. “I wish more than anything to venture forth into the sunlight again, to have you kiss me while flowers bloom all around.”

  “I wish for that as well. And that day will come, Bettany, even though at the moment it seems very far off.”

  Although the sun was not shining, he did kiss me then, and we progressed to even more pleasurable activities. I was distracted, as I was sure he intended, but I did not forget the restlessness of his sleep, the way his breath had come short and abrupt, his chest rising and falling far too heavily beneath the bulky covers.

  How could I forget, when his restlessness seemed to increase with each passing night? It infected me as well, and I found myself unable to find a comfortable position in which to sleep, even though the bed I shared with Phelan was far more luxurious than any I had ever slept in before. At first I wondered if it was merely because he was not used to sharing his bed with another, but I was almost positive that was not the reason. He had slept heavily on our wedding night, and the day after. Ever since then, though, his sleep had grown more and more disordered, and during the days he appeared hollow-eyed and pale. Not so surprising, considering how little rest he was getting, but whenever I attempted to broach the subject, to attempt to discover why he suddenly was unable to find any solace in sleep, he turned the conversation elsewhere.

  It came to me late one afternoon that nearly a week had passed since Phelan and I were married, which meant that I had been residing at Harrow Hall for two full weeks. How such a span of time could have elapsed while a storm still raged on outside, I did not know. We had suffered terrible storms before, of course — I recalled one that blew down out of the north in the winter of my tenth year and lasted for a good five days — but never one that had lasted for an entire fortnight. And if we were suffering here, in this massive castle of heavy stone, I could only imagine what it must be like in Kerolton.

  No, I did not want to imagine such a thing, for that would only awaken my worry for my grandmother, something I had pushed to the back of my mind and attempted to ignore, since there was nothing I could do to help her. I didn’t want to think of how our cottage surely must have collapsed under the weight of all this snow, or been buried past its windows. No one could survive in conditions such as that.

  I was so lost in these grim visions that I startled when Phelan entered the chamber, then barely contained a gasp of shock. For this — this could not be my husband, this man whose face was white as death, and whose eyes glittered like two pieces of faceted jet. He paused by the hearth, holding his hands out to the fire, and would not look at me.

  “My love, what is it?” I exclaimed. “Has the castle suffered another catastrophe?”

  “No,” he replied. His voice was a harsh rasp, and still he kept his face toward the hearth, so I could see only his profile. “I am — ” He broke off then, his hands knotting into fists at his sides. “I am…not well, but it is nothing you need concern yourself with.”

  “‘Nothing I need concern myself with’?” I echoed, disbelief clear in my voice. “I am your wife. If you are ill, then you must let me take care of you.”

  “No.” He pulled in a breath, and even from where I stood I could hear the way it rattled in his breast. “You are my wife, but you are not a healer. Master Merryk will look after me. And,” he went on, still with his gaze averted, “I think it best if you would return to the chamber that was yours before we were wed.”

  This suggestion was so preposterous that I could not prevent myself from moving forward and laying a hand on his arm. “What are you saying, Phelan? What kind of wife would I be, to abandon you when you have need of me?”

  A shudder ran through his body, and then he flinched, pulling away from me so I could no longer touch him. “You will be a wife who obeys me! Take your things and go. I would never forgive myself if — if I were to make you ill as well.”

  None of what he was saying made any sense. If he was truly so ill that he could infect anyone around him, then it was already too late for me. But although his appearance was altered, and he certainly looked as if some fell disease had taken hold of him, I could not quite believe that he was as sick as he wanted me to think. Otherwise, he would not have had the strength to stand there, let alone tear his arm from my grasp with a suddenness that made the tips of my fingers sting as they scraped across the wool of his doublet.

  The hateful words, driven by my worry, tumbled from my lips before I could stop them. “Or would you rather say that you are already weary of me, and no longer wish to have me in your presence?”

  Perhaps it was only a reflection of the firelight, but I could have sworn I s
aw that same strange golden flash in his eyes, the one I had detected when we first touched. Voice almost a growl, he snapped, “If that is what you wish to believe, then yes. I cannot think with you underfoot. Go now!”

  Never before had I been spoken to in such a manner. I could not believe it was Phelan who addressed me thusly, the man who had praised my beauty, had told me I was the only woman in the world for him. And yet I saw danger in those strangely gleaming eyes of his, and knew I should go if I did not wish to provoke him further. A man who wore an expression such as that might be capable of anything.

  So I did what any rational person would do. I fled, without stopping to gather any of my things. As I hurried out the door, I noticed Linsi and Doxen cowering in a corner. Never before had I seen them react to their master’s return with anything but outright joy, and the sight of their fear chilled me more than anything else.

  But I had come to love those dogs, and I did not wish them to come to any harm. After flicking a quick glance to the door of the bedchamber and noting that Phelan had made no move to pursue me, I called softly to them. “Doxen! Linsi! Come!”

  Relief evident in the looks they gave me, they bounded out of the corner where they had been hiding and followed me out to the hallway. I did not quite run, but my pace could not have been considered decorous by anyone who might have observed it. Not that I cared. I only wished to put some distance between my strangely altered husband and me.

  However, I would not hide in the bedchamber that had once been mine. After I had let the dogs in, and petted them and promised them some treats when I returned, I went back out into the corridor. There had to be some reason for Phelan’s behavior, something he would not tell me.

  So I went in search of the only person who might.

  Chapter 14

  A group of Phelan’s men-at-arms were loitering in front of the fire in the hall. They startled at my entrance, for I had spent most of the time since my marriage to their lord in the upper levels of the castle, and our paths had not had much reason to cross. But at least they did show the proper respect for the lady of the castle, standing up as soon as they spotted me.

  “Master Merryk,” I said. “Where is he?”

  Had I ever sounded so commanding? Truly, I had not been born to a station much given to command. But it seemed something of my urgency communicated itself to the men who stood there before me. One of them stepped forward, and I thought I recognized him. Lewyn, the older man with the grey-flecked hair and bright blue eyes.

  Expression not unkind, he asked, “Is something wrong, my lady?”

  “N-no,” I replied. Of course I would not reveal anything to these men of what had passed between their lord and me. “But I do need to speak with the steward.”

  “He’s in the kitchen, my lady, taking stock of our stores.”

  At another time, I might have applauded such behavior, for it meant Master Merryk was keeping a careful eye on our supplies. In that moment, however, I could only feel a flash of angry impatience. How dare he be occupied with something so mundane when his master was so terribly altered, so strange?

  “Thank you, Lewyn,” I said, and I saw a flicker of surprise, followed by gratitude, pass over the man-at-arm’s face. Clearly, he had not expected me to recall who he was. “Can you point out the way to me?”

  “Through that door” — he gestured with one hand toward a doorway to the left of the great hearth, which roared with flame — “and then on to the end of the hallway. There’ll be set of double doors.”

  I thanked him, then gathered up my skirts and hurried in the direction he had pointed. As I went, I did my best to keep my chin up and my gaze fixed forward. My haste was not all that seemly, but I wanted to appear as in control as possible.

  Once I had gone through the doorway Lewyn had indicated and had passed out of sight, I dropped all pretense and ran forward, skirts lifted high above my ankles so I might move more quickly. When I flung open the right-hand door at the end of the hallway and looked inside, I saw a large rectangular room with a cook fire at one end, and long tables lining the walls. Off to one side, a door stood open, revealing a dim space within. From that smaller chamber, which I guessed must be one of the larders, I heard the sound of men’s voices — Master Merryk, and someone I did not recognize, who I supposed was probably the cook.

  I went in that direction, then paused outside the doorway to the larder. “Master Merryk!”

  To my relief, he appeared right away. If he was surprised at my appearing so unexpectedly in the cook’s domain, he showed no sign of it. “My lady?”

  “I must speak with you,” I said. “It is quite urgent.”

  He did not precisely sigh, but I heard him let out a breath. In that moment, he suddenly looked very tired. “Is it his lordship?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “He is — he is quite altered, and — ”

  “Not here,” he broke in. “Come, let me take you to my chambers so we might speak.”

  “But — ”

  “Please, your ladyship.”

  What could I say to that? I nodded, and, after calling out a brief farewell to the cook, the steward guided me out of the kitchen and through another short hallway. At the end of that corridor was a single door of scarred oak.

  He ushered me inside, to a smallish chamber furnished with simple pieces that would not have been out of place in my grandmother’s cottage: a plain square table, equally unadorned chairs. Through a curtained alcove, I spied a narrow bed.

  But a fire crackled away in the hearth, and the room was warm enough, especially compared to the chilly corridors outside. Master Merryk pulled out one of the chairs, saying, “Please sit, my lady.”

  I did as he asked, settling myself on the hard wooden seat. As I did so, he went to a cabinet and pulled out a squat bottle of smoky-colored glass and two small silver cups. He set them down on the table and poured a small measure of pale gold liquid into each cup. The fumes were strong enough to make my eyes water and my nose wrinkle.

  “Cherbeg?” I asked, surprised that he would offer such a thing to me.

  “I think you will have need of it before we are done.” He took the chair opposite mine. “His lordship and I had prayed this day would not come, that you would be the cure he sought, but it seems that is not the case.”

  Ignoring the liquor Master Merryk had set before me, I said, “Cure? So he is ill?”

  “It is…a peculiar illness.”

  My stomach lurched. Could it be that I would lose my husband before I had had the chance to fully know him? I said, voice strained, “Please explain.”

  For a long moment, the steward did not respond, but took the cup of cherbeg and held it before him, not drinking. Perhaps the strength of its fumes was enough to provide something of the effect he desired. When he spoke, his words were measured, heavy. “What I have to speak of to you is a fantastical tale, one you might find difficult to believe. But it is all true. I have witnessed these things, may the gods help me. And I have done what I could to keep my master safe, although you may find that ‘safe’ is a relative term.”

  “What is it?” I asked, for the steward’s words had already chilled me, even though I had no real idea of what he was trying to explain. “Is it like some brain sicknesses I have heard of, when a person might seem quite well for weeks or even months, and then have a terrible fit of madness?”

  “I would that it were so easy to explain.” Master Merryk took a healthy swallow of his cherbeg, then added, “You would do well to have some of that, my lady, so you may hear what I have to say to you.”

  Mystified, I raised the cup to my lips and tipped barely a swallow over my tongue. Even that was enough to bring stinging tears to my eyes. I fought back the urge to cough. But then I felt a surge of heat moving down my throat and into my stomach, warming me. For some reason, that heat in the center of my body seemed to give me strength, to give me the will to hear what the steward wished to tell me.

  “All right,” I said. �
��Tell me now, Master Merryk. What is it that ails my husband?”

  A long pause. Master Merryk looked up from the cup he held and faced me squarely. In his expression, I saw worry…but also a strange kind of resignation, as if he had already confronted the reality of what he was about to say, and had long ago come to terms with it. When he spoke, however, the words were not anything I had expected to hear.

  “I suppose, my lady, you have heard of the corraghar?”

  “Of course,” I replied at once, wondering why on earth he had asked me that question. Everyone in North Eredor knew something of the corraghar, the wild tribe that lived in the hills to the south and east of the forest of Sarisfell. They had lived separate from us for time out of mind, great hunters and trackers. Indeed, the father of the current Mark had been one of the corraghar, although so far it did not seem as if his mixed heritage had done much to bring those wild men into North Eredor’s everyday society. I had never seen one of the corraghar, however. “They call themselves the people of the wolf, do they not?”

  A shadow passed over Master Merryk’s face, but he nodded. “Yes, that is what ‘corraghar’ means in their tongue.”

  “So what have they to do with Phelan? His lordship, that is,” I amended quickly, thinking the steward might not like me to be quite so familiar with his master’s name.

  “More than you might think.” Master Merryk drained the rest of the cherbeg from his cup, then set it down. “As it turned out, his lordship’s mother was half corraghar, a heritage of which she was entirely unaware. The man who had raised her as his own was not her natural father, and she did not look like one of the hill people at all.”

  “Do they look so very different from us?” For I had heard nothing about their appearance. It was not a topic that held much importance in Kerolton, since the village was located many leagues from the hills the corraghar called their own.

  “Their eyes are golden,” the steward replied. “Otherwise, they appear much like those of us of the north, save perhaps to be swarthier, and possibly somewhat taller and broader.”