“What news?” Guthrie called out as the men marched purposefully toward them.
“It is good you are back.” The leader halted in front of the horses, forcing them to stop.
“How so?” Guthrie fought to control his horse, who wanted nothing more than to reach his own shed and manger.
“There be more trouble here in the Croft than what you left behind, I vow,” the man proclaimed, while the others grunted in agreement.
“What trouble?” This time it was Rory who asked, as the serpent of fear awoke and writhed in his stomach.
The man turned on the headman’s brother. “The foreign witch has poisoned our women.”
Chapter Sixteen
Rory stared at the old warrior in disbelief. His first instinct was to throttle the man, to make him retract his accusations against the woman he loved. But the hostility on the faces of the other men told him that the soldier was not alone.
Rory dismounted and stood eye-to-eye with Serine’s accusers. “What has happened? Tell me, now!”
“We returned to find those left behind purging and puking, too ill to do more than lie abed. At first we thought it might be some tainted food or a piece of bad fish, but it has not lessened and even more are afflicted.”
“You were gone and your Sheffield lady saw her chance to destroy us all out of revenge for taking the children from her village,” another added.
“Where is Serine? What have you done to her?”
“She hides in McLir Manor and dares not show her face,” the soldier boasted. “Go to your home, Rory McLir, and tell your foreign witch to give us the antidote or we will march on your house and force her to do so.”
“You will stay away from both my house and my woman or you will answer to me.” Rory jumped back onto his horse. “Guthrie, are you with me?” Rory asked his brother.
“I would not be so quick to go,” the man told Guthrie, “for your own wife is sore taken and has scarce gone from her bed since you left.”
“See to Damask,” Rory called. “I must go to Serine.” And he urged his horse to a gallop, scattering the groups of people like feathers in the wind.
* * *
The house yard seemed unearthly silent. This was not the welcome he had anticipated throughout the long days and longer nights since he had left. He tossed his reins to the groom and went swiftly to the door.
This time it was the servants who scattered, disappearing into the nether regions of the house rather than face their master.
“Serine! Serine, answer me! Where are you?” Rory took the stairs two at a time and burst into the apartments they shared. Within moments he was on his way back down the stairs. “Hendrick! Where are you, lad? Answer me!”
There was a scuffling below the staircase, but by the time Rory reached the area it was empty.
He paused in the center of the room. It was obvious that something was amiss and the servants wanted no part of telling him. “Wine!” he bellowed. “By the gods, I will have wine and have it now, or I will put every man, woman and child to the whip.”
A serving girl was shoved into the room from the security of the kitchens. She stumbled forward clutching a pitcher and goblet in her hands.
“Here, m’lord.” She thrust the goblet at him and sloshed wine into the cup. The pitcher thumped down on the table and the girl would have been gone had Rory not stopped her.
“Where is the Lady Serine?”
The girl crumpled to her knees. “I do not know,” she cried. “I swear I do not know.”
There was a rustle of clothing and Rory looked up expectantly, but it was Gerta who came toward him. A Gerta he hardly recognized.
“I will serve my lord,” she said, dismissing the unfortunate girl. Even in the dim light he noted the powder caked on her face, covering her usual ruddy complexion. The dress she wore belonged to Serine, and although it was not uncommon for a lady to reward her servants with remnants of her own clothing, this particular dress had been but lately obtained. It seemed out of place that Serine would part with it so readily.
Gerta came to stand before Rory. Close, far too close for a servant and a lord. His eyes moved over the girl’s attire and she preened herself. It was when she turned that he heard the jingle of metal and realized she wore the keys of the chatelaine.
“Where is Serine, and why do you wear her keys?”
“Lady Serine is gone.” Gerta fingered the coveted keys uncomfortably. “As for the keys, who else would have them? No one is here to play the part of chatelaine.”
Rory swallowed his anger. The girl had said the word and given away the ruse, for to Gerta it was but play. A village milkmaid playing the part of a great lady of the manor, but the play was at an end. “Again, Gerta, I ask you where the Lady Serine has gone and why she is not here to greet me.”
“She crept off in the night,” the girl blubbered as he grasped her wrist firmly. “And well that she did, for it is only a matter of time before they come here looking for her.”
“Who are they?” he asked, but he already knew what her answer would be.
“The villagers, of course.” Gerta retrieved her wrist and rubbed it gingerly. “‘Tis common knowledge she poisoned us all with her brew.”
“Has anyone died from this malady?” Rory inquired.
“Not that I’ve heard, but it is only a matter of time. The sick get no better as the days go on.” The girl leaned against him. “Why, I can hardly walk myself and only your arrival brought me from my bed.” She gave him a meaningful look that said had he been willing to go to her bed she would never have left it.
“What of your child?”
“Jamie?” She looked around, assuring herself that the child was nowhere in sight.
“Is he ill?” Rory demanded. “Who cares for him while you are incapacitated?”
“Jamie is just fine. Serine would never harm a child. But she has taken Hendrick and gone. You cannot want her, my lord. She is most like too old for childbearing. I can give you a number of fine, healthy sons and daughters. Beyond that, I can care for your house and warm your bed. You need not look for the Lady Serine when you can have me.”
Rory stared at the girl. He hardly heard her words. It was Serine’s words he remembered. He had left in the hope of bringing about a better, safer life for Serine and his people. Instead, his absence had taken from him the thing he desired most in life. Serine and the child she cradled within her body.
“You needn’t hide your desire any longer,” Gerta was saying as she twisted a thick plait of her maize-colored hair. “I know you have longed for me from afar and that gratitude to Serine for saving your life is the only reason you did not present your suit. I waited, though. I would not have any other man. Had Serine not been jealous, she might not have reached such dire straits that she had to resort to poison to be rid of me.”
“And what makes you think Serine wanted to be rid of you?” Rory pulled himself from his reverie in time to grasp the girl’s last words.
“Why, she threatened to force me to wed with the steward. I knew you would not wish it to be so.” She batted her eyes as she had seen the ladies do when they passed her as she milked cows in the fields of Sheffield.
Gerta was hiding something, but Rory could not imagine what it might be. “Come.” He grabbed her arm and propelled her along with him. “We will go to Guthrie. Perhaps he will be able to sort this out.”
They had but reached the door when they were aware of deep voices raised in anger. The noise followed them from McLir Manor through the town. An odious sound that permeated the air and caused the heart to swell like the bloat of fear until they reached the castle, where Guthrie met them with an anxious expression on his face.
“Where is Serine?” he asked once he realized it was Gerta who accompanied his brother.
“According to Gerta, Serine has been driven away by the very people she sought to help.”
Gerta bowed her head and tried to look penitent, but the joy of her success
was too great for complete achievement.
“What have you discovered?” Rory asked his brother.
“Only that some of what is rumored may be true.” Guthrie rubbed his head in frustration. “Damask is indeed ill. She was unable to do more than greet me and tell me not to fear.”
Gerta realized that the men paid her no mind, and doubled up as though in pain. “I can go no farther. Pain grips my belly. I know the poison again does its work.”
Because they stood just within the doors of the great hall, the crowd that had gathered in the bailey were able to observe Gerta’s actions. Voices of anger rose and fell until a spokesman took his place before the crowd.
“Give us the foreign witch and we will make her tell the antidote.” His cry was taken up by the others as they moved toward the brothers.
“There is another foreign woman here,” a man called out, pointing an accusing finger at Gerta. “Perhaps she knows something.”
Gerta cowered against the stairs leading to the solar, forgetting her supposed illness in her haste to put herself as far as possible from the angry mob.
Rory and Guthrie conferred for a moment before coming forward.
“Are there any new cases of this malady today?” Guthrie asked.
“My wife took ill this morning,” one of the men volunteered.
“And no one shows any sign of recovery,” another man complained.
“You all look to be in good health,” Rory observed. He knew the bitter brew did nothing but good. Rory himself was living proof of the benefits. More than that, Serine would never have sought to harm his people. They must look to another source for the cause of the illness.
“Liam!” Rory challenged. “How was this poison dispensed and by whom, and how do you know, since you admit you were not here?”
“It was your English lady,” Liam said doggedly.
“When and how?” Guthrie reinforced his brother’s question.
“When I was gone, and no doubt through that nasty brew the witch urged us to take. She promised children and has given us sickness and, most like, death.”
Rory turned to Tavish, who leaned on his crutch near the edge of the crowd. The man had been injured several weeks before the invasion and had not been able to join the other men. “Are you ill, Tavish?” Rory asked.
“Except for my leg I feel fine,” the man declared. “‘Tis my wife who is sick. I came to find the Lady Serine and ask for something to ease her.”
Serine was gone. The moment opportunity had presented itself, she had taken her son and returned to the land of her birth. And, try as he would, he could not find it in his heart to blame her, for he knew the demeanor of the mob and the fear they would send into the heart of a woman.
He should have given up his plan for a lasting peace, killed the invaders and returned home. Had he been here none of this would have been allowed to happen. He cursed himself and his misplaced loyalties. Once again he had lost his woman and child. Was he destined to live alone forever without wife and family?
His eyes swept the hall and he imagined it ringing with the laughter of children. Guthrie’s children, but not his own. That hope had sailed across the sea with Serine, and he knew there would never be another woman in his life or in his heart. Still, he felt he must defend her.
“I cannot believe that Serine did anything to cause you pain. You accuse her falsely and without proof. Until you can show me something other than your blind accusations, I will not believe you.”
“If she is not guilty, then where is she?” Liam asked. “Why has she fled if she is innocent?”
“She has fled to save herself from your stupidity.” Damask appeared in the open doorway, a shimmering flame against the darkness of the hall. As always, the men were silenced by the presence of her bright beauty.
It was the old soldier who first found his voice. “It is not stupidity to suspect treachery when we return from battle and find our women sick unto death. They are poisoned, I tell you, and the witch must be made to pay!”
“Your wives have taken to their beds not from poison, but from pregnancy,” Damask told them. “I myself suffer from the same malady.”
She looked up at Guthrie and saw the amazement and joy reflected in his face. Without a word he reached out and took her into his great arms, holding her as gently as if she were a crystal chalice of immeasurable value.
“Are you certain?” he managed to say.
“I am most certain, my lord husband.” She took his face in her hands and lightly kissed his lips.
“If my woman is with child, why has she not told me?” one of the men demanded.
Damask reluctantly disengaged herself from her husband’s arms. “It has been so long since there was a woman pregnant in this village I doubt anyone remembered the discomfort of the early months.”
“What our lady says is true,” another man declared. “My woman kept nothing in her stomach when our first child was conceived, but in the grief of his loss and the years of waiting for another I had put it out of my mind.”
“I would believe you, but for one thing.” Liam lumbered forward. “How can so many women become pregnant at the same time, and why are they not all with child if this be true?”
“Perhaps some of you men did not take the brew,” Damask suggested. “It is your wives who have failed to conceive because you would not cooperate.”
Several of the men looked at the ground, and Damask knew she had spoken true. “Go to your homes,” she urged. “Ask your wives if what I say is not true. In a few months our village will ring with the laughter and cries of children and all will be right with the world.”
She again turned to her husband. “This was not the way I wished to tell you, but I was not aware of the accusations of the villagers until I heard them shouting outside our walls. I could not allow them to speak ill of Serine.” She turned now to Rory. “She must be terrified. Why did she not come to me?”
Rory could not meet Damask’s eyes. He looked instead out over the darkening fields. “Drojan and Ethyl have taken Serine and returned to England.” He took a deep breath and tried to steady his voice. “I wish you joy in your news. I hope you will bring forth a healthy child to grace your halls and fill your hearts and lives, but my house will remain silent. The laughter, the joy and the children will be yours.”
He brushed past them toward the door but Gerta rushed forth and blocked his path.
“It need not be so, my lord,” she gushed. “I would gladly share your home and bear your children. You know I am well able.”
“You claimed you were ill,” he reminded her. “How can that be when the other women are with child and you have no husband?” His eyes narrowed and perused her body. “Would you have me wed with you and make you mistress of McLir Manor and then pawn off another man’s child on the pretense it is mine? Is that the pledge of honor you bring to your husband?”
“Oh, no!” Gerta declared, dropping to her knees in supplication. “My illness is nothing more than a slight indisposition. I have known no man other than the father of my son, Jamie.”
Rory looked at her, long and hard. She squirmed under his eyes.
“Please believe me,” she urged. “I am young and strong. I will be a good wife and mother and take great care of McLir Manor.”
Still Rory did not speak.
“And I will be an honest and loyal wife. You will never have reason to complain.” She hurried on, hoping to find the right ploy with which to win him. “Can you not believe me?”
“I do believe you, Gerta.” Rory finally spoke. “And, in truth, you deserve the chance to become a good and loyal wife. Your son, Jamie, is a fine, healthy lad and one of which any man would be proud. Therefore, I will give you in wedlock to the steward, for I know he cares for both you and your child. As wife to my steward you will have the care of the house and keep it in good condition whether I am in residence or not.”
“But I do not wish to wed the ste—”
Her
words were cut off midsentence as the steward of McLir Manor himself came bearing down on them carrying little Jamie on his shoulder. “I could not help but overhear, and I will take her, my lord,” he announced. “I will take her with a heart full of gladness, and I care not whether she be with child this day or no. For if it is so I will love the child as my own, and if not, she will be soon, I’ll vow.”
A cheer of laughter went up from the remaining crowd as the steward led his wife-to-be off toward the church.
“What will you do?” Guthrie asked as they watched the exuberant steward lead away the reluctant young woman who stood half a head taller than her proposed husband.
“I do not know,” Rory told them. “I have not yet decided. In my heart I believe that Serine left to insure her own safety and that of our unborn child. The threat was too great. Drojan and Ethyl are with her, I know she will be safe, but I wish to God she had not gone.”
“You heard the men,” Guthrie said. “They might have killed her in their false belief that she had poisoned their women. Had Damask not come forth we would still be worrying the problem as to what had caused the outbreak.”
“Go after her, Rory,” Damask urged from the safety of her husband’s arms. “Tell her it is safe to return. By the time you bring her back she will be a hero among our people. Do not let her break both your hearts because of a misunderstanding that was not of your making.”
“And what do I tell her? That I was unable to guarantee her safety the moment she was out of my sight?” He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Do I admit that I was unable to control my own people? That I am such a poor leader and hold such a lack of respect that they would threaten those I hold most dear?”
“You fled Sheffield when Serine believed her overlord was coming to take you as his prisoner. There is but little difference from this situation to that. Serine would understand your dilemma,” Damask assured him gently.
“Ah, but there is a difference,” Rory told them. “Serine never left me. She placed her frail body between me and my enemies. But when she had need of me, I was not here.”
Barbara Leigh Page 21
