After a moment, Elisha set his fingers to the knots and untied them, lifting the rope from the man’s chest, easing his arms forward, the newly bandaged hands draped in his lap. He came around to study the young lord’s face, turned away in shadows, always averted as if he feared being recognized. He had dodged the question of his name once before; Elisha would not ask again now. “Look, they’ve got supper on inside. Will you let me bring you a meal?”
Chapter 11
Elisha ducked into the kitchen, watching out for the low beams, dangling with betony and primrose—both said to be proof against witches, he noted wryly. The scent of rich beef stew reminded him he hadn’t eaten in quite a while.
A handful of soldiers gathered around the table with Rosalynn at the head, full bowls in front of them. She pushed back when she saw him, her face brightening, then going dark. “What’s happened to your shirt?”
He turned away, hiding his fresh wound, to fill a bowl from the pot hanging over the coals. “I used it to bind the dog’s ribs. He’d come awake and clawed at me, so the thing was torn up anyhow. I had to put him back out to deal with him.”
Ian gave a hearty laugh. “Aye, he’s a feisty one, then. He’ll fetch me a fine price if I can’t find the owner.”
“For a dog? All of this for a dog?” Rosalynn dabbed at her mouth with the only napkin in sight. They’d given her a napkin. Her hair was combed, and her dress held with a few pins. Evidently, the soldiers were upholding their bargain. “You should see the rest of the house. It’s lovely, but it’s clear nobody’s lived here for a long while. The whole place needs to be cleaned, and I haven’t any idea how to go about it without my maidservant.”
“You’ll get on fine, I’m sure.” Elisha smiled inwardly, suddenly eager to escape again to his wary captive and the silent Cerberus. With that thought, he plucked another bowl from the mantel and filled that as well.
“What’d you need two bowls for?” Rosalynn asked as he turned.
“Well, we don’t want the dog to go hungry, do we?” He looked to Ian, got his approval and more.
“Get a bigger bowl, then,” Ian ordered. “That’s a mighty beast we’ve got ourselves.”
Following the command, Elisha poured the contents of one bowl into another three times bigger and topped it up. “Maybe I’d best stay with him—make sure he recovers.”
“You can’t mean to sleep in a barn!” Rosalynn set her hands on her hips, but Elisha stared at her, then gave a little tip of his head, drawing her close.
“I’m looking for a copper pot that would just fit in this bowl,” he told her softly. “It’s got a sealed lid. It’s what I came here for. While you clean, will you look for me? I’ll be looking outside.”
Her eyes brightened with a conspiratorial smile. “I see. Of course.”
Elisha met Rosalynn’s gaze and mouthed the word “courage.” She lifted her chin and looked away. “I’ll see you in the morning then,” she remarked over her shoulder, not noticing the speculative glances that passed between the soldiers. They thought he was her leman. All the better if it meant they would leave her alone. Before taking up the bowls again, he tucked a half-loaf from the table under his arm and carried his booty out the door.
He entered the open end of the barn, carefully bearing the hot bowls toward the back.
The man started up, scrambling to his feet, his right hand flying automatically to his hip.
“Just me, the murderous witch,” Elisha said, with a slight smile. “If you want anyone to think you’re a beggar, you should be ducking your head rather than going for your sword.”
The man straightened, a deal taller than Elisha, then sank back to his knees, staring as Elisha set the huge bowl before him. “How on earth—?”
“It’s supposed to be for Cerberus, so you’d best share with him.” Elisha ripped the bread in two and handed some over.
As the man reached out to take it, he looked up, his eyes a vivid blue beneath their overlay of pain, his hand shaking. His eyebrows pinched together, and he let his gaze drop.
For a moment, their fingers brushed together. A rush of gratitude flowed through Elisha like the glory of that sunset, sweeping away the last of his doubts and his worries about what was to come. Suddenly, he understood what made monks give away all they had, and what made the nuns work so hard in the hospitals. Others might work for the glory of God or the glory of the church, but sometimes, it was enough to make a difference to one man, even for just one evening.
Settling at a pillar opposite the stranger, Elisha slowly ate about half of his stew. He set the bowl aside and turned a blind eye when Cerberus’s questing muzzle dipped in. Meditatively, he chewed on his bread, letting one hand stroke the dog’s coarse fur. “You weren’t with the king’s army, then.”
Glancing up, his mouth full, the man shook his head. “Up north,” he said, taking a bite of bread.
“With Prince Thomas.”
The man jerked, his gaze suddenly sharper. “The traitor.”
“So I’m told. Are you sworn to kill him, too?” Elisha asked lightly, surprised by the twist to the man’s lips.
“An enemy of the king is an enemy of mine.” The stranger raised his bowl to take another swallow.
“I take it my life is forfeit when you’ve finished dinner?” Elisha crossed his legs, leaning back against a pillar.
“I’ve not decided yet.” Another swallow finished the bowl, and he cast a guilty look at Cerberus, who lay content enough. No doubt the dog had been able to supplement his diet with rats and other wild things his master would have disdained. Settling himself, the man said, “I confess I don’t know what to make of you. You killed the king, and with witchcraft, both capital offenses in this country, yet apparently you’re free and happy in the company of the duke and his daughter.”
“Perhaps we are neither of us what we seem,” Elisha replied, rubbing his arms.
The man shook his head, tangled hair wreathing his shadowed face. “You don’t know who I am?”
“A nobleman—or you were—on the run, for some reason. The king’s man, the owner of this house. What else should I know?”
The stranger drew back a little, and asked a question of his own instead. “Are you cold?”
Self-consciously, Elisha dropped his hands, but the gooseflesh showed plain enough, even in the dim light. “I’m always cold. A man doesn’t invite Death and expect it to leave again without a trace.”
The man gave a low whistle and a toss of his head.
Ears perked, Cerberus rose and padded over, draping himself against Elisha’s side.
Wriggling his fingers into the dense fur, Elisha felt the warmth of life and company. The dog was all this man had left, and still he sent him to comfort another. “Thanks.”
A half-shrug. “You say that it’s hard to cast a spell on a creature of will.”
“Nearly impossible, unless his will is bent to helping the witch.”
The stranger looked away, drawing up his knees and hugging them. “I don’t know that I believe you. Or that I want to.”
“You’ve had dealings with witches before.”
“A long time ago.”
Edging back from the chill in his voice, Elisha asked instead, “Tell me about Cerberus. It’s a strange name.”
This brought a small chuckle and a shake of the head. “You don’t know Greek legends?”
Irritated to be caught again in his ignorance, Elisha said, “Well, I don’t have much call for that in my line of work.”
Instantly, the stranger’s manner changed, the haughtiness turning to contrition, his hands falling aside in apology. “Of course, of course. It’s the name of the dog who guards the gates of Hell.”
Turning to Cerberus, Elisha remarked, “Then you watch out for me, I’ll be bound there some day soon.” He scratched the long muzzle, receiving a contented sigh. The dog’s presence drew away the cold, replacing it with a warmth of more than simply life, of friendship. “Did you raise him?”<
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“Yes.” Pride evident, then sorrow. “The puppy was a wedding gift.”
Keeping his eyes on the dog, Elisha felt the wave of grief and worry begin to rise all over again. “I didn’t realize you were married,” he said quietly.
“Anna’s dead,” the stranger whispered. “They’re all dead, all of the women who loved me.” Huddled there, wrapped up in himself, the man looked more like a child than either lord or beggar, a child who found his way home only to discover that home no longer held any comfort for him.
Quietly, Elisha said, “I don’t know how long we’ll be here, or how I will be leaving, but, if I am able, I’ll leave the door open for you.”
The stranger drew a ragged breath and looked away. Then his head sank to his arms, and his shoulders quaked as the tears finally fell.
Cerberus raised his head, and Elisha lifted his hand. They rose together and crossed the few paces.
Once again, this man had touched him, the torrent of his sorrow stemmed for just a moment and released by Elisha’s offer. Elisha didn’t know how to approach grief of this magnitude and mystery. He had no more words—even his attempt at kindness brought only more pain. It seemed ages ago when he had spoken to Mordecai, when he knew him as a magus called “Sage,” pouring out his frustration, and Mordecai had answered him, “Each of us is as God has made us, cursed and blessed in equal measure.”
Cerberus sank his belly to the floor and burrowed his nose in his master’s lap.
After a moment, Elisha sat down, his arm brushing against the stranger’s. His fingers laced together in his lap, Elisha leaned his head back against the post. He shut his eyes and searched for peace. Cursed and blessed.
Instead of attuning himself to this place, the sounds and scents of the barn and all it held, he attuned it to him, reaching out to draw on the familiar scent of hay and the warmth of the dog’s steadfastness. He found again the glory of the sunset and the wonder of the moon, and took strength from the beauty all around them. He softened this strength with that familiarity and comfort, and let it all seep from him into the other man, a silent current of faith that swirled into the other’s pain. As he had done when he danced with Rosalynn, he did not try to guide it but sent it on with all of his good wishes, the only gift he had.
Eventually, the torch guttered and died, a trail of smoke drifting their way.
The man’s sobs, too, died away. He breathed deeper and let it out without that rough edge. After a while, he raised his head, expelling a long breath into the night. “My God.” His shoulders shifted back. “I hardly know who I am anymore.”
In spite of himself, Elisha laughed, just a little, with that bittersweet air. “I know just what you mean.”
And the other man laughed, just a little. “I’m glad I didn’t kill you.”
“Not as glad as I am.”
Another laugh. “Aren’t you supposed to go in some time? The duke’s daughter is waiting for you.”
“No, not for me, nor for any man, I think, thanks to the one who wouldn’t have her.”
“That bastard,” cursed the cultivated voice.
So perhaps he’d guessed right about the man’s attraction. Elisha smiled into the darkness. “A king’s man, but not a prince’s?”
He laughed again, longer, and with a suggestion of real humor Elisha had not felt in him before. “No,” he said at last, “Not that prince.” He yawned.
“You two should get some sleep,” Elisha said.
When he hesitated, the tension flowing back, Elisha added, “I’ll keep watch.”
With an awkward smile Elisha felt as a warmth against his skin, the other man said, “I should not trust you.”
“Probably not,” Elisha agreed. “But your dog does.”
“Yes, well, he’s rather daft, isn’t he?” Pushing the dog’s head from his lap, he got slowly to his feet and walked toward the far stall, his bare feet crackling straw and dirt. He placed a hand on the wood of the wall, bowing his head for a moment, a figure shown silver by the moon and stars. “You cannot possibly know what it means to me to feel safe, even just for tonight.” He tapped his fingers on the wood then slipped into the stall, the huge dog stalking after, with a wave of its tail.
Elisha’s throat ached. He settled on a mound of straw, trembling from the force of the other man’s emotions. Shaking himself free of the compulsion, he stretched out all of his senses. It seemed he could reach further every time, as if the exercise of the power made it stronger, like a muscle he had never known he possessed.
His awareness brushed the lives around him, light and serene. Four horses dozed in their stalls, whuffling in their sleep. A low fire burned in the kitchen, a lone man awake, prodding it to occupy his watch. Rosalynn tucked in an upstairs room, sleeping soundly. He could watch over her, even from here. It gave him a measure of comfort. Had she found anything in her search? That answer, and his own search, must wait the length of his promise. Outside, small animals prowled the night, something died silently, something else was born. He thought of Chanterelle sinking in the embrace of her beloved earth.
And in the last stall, a man slept curled against his one companion. Slept at last, for the first time in days. Elisha reveled in this, taking the power to comfort another even when his own situation was far from safe. Into the night, Elisha guarded the trust his spell had earned him, his simple spell of kindness.
Chapter 12
Even before the sun rose, Elisha could feel her coming. He felt the lifting of his spirit first and thought it only the aftermath of last night’s accomplishment. Then the anticipation grew stronger until he could not imagine it was only for the coming dawn. And at last, he sensed her presence drawing closer, riding at a good pace through the woods. She had abandoned the carriage then. He should not be surprised. He could flee under cover of a deflection spell, but Rosalynn was still inside, and the soldiers would tell Brigit he’d been there. He hadn’t even had a chance to search for the talisman that brought him here, and he had a new trust to protect as well.
He got up and stretched, considering what to do about the man and dog, still sleeping. A dreary gray sky greeted him, lightening ever so slightly and promising rain. The kitchen door popped open, and Patric came out, yawning and scratching under his arm. He walked to the edge of the road and pissed on one of the apple trees.
Disgusted, Elisha turned away. With a forest of trees to choose from, the man was pissing at another man’s food. His body ached a bit from assuming a wide variety of uncomfortable postures to stay awake. He had allowed himself to doze lightly, his heightened senses jerking him out of it when a horse shifted in its stall, when Rosalynn moved restlessly indoors, or when one of the guards experienced a dream that sent a rush of pleasure out into the night.
The sound of hoof beats rose from the road. Patric got his britches tied and trotted a bit down the road to meet them.
A wiser man would have spent his night searching for the talisman, knowing that Brigit was on her way. Well, if Elisha were such a fool, at least it was for a worthy cause, letting a battered man sleep peacefully before he faced his next day. Elisha retreated to the shadow of the barn door as Patric escorted the riders up the road.
“Good work, Patric. He’s tending a dog, you say?” Brigit’s voice cut the dawn, shrill after Patric’s revelations.
“Aye, Highness, huge one, with a spiked collar and all.” He waved his hands about, exaggerating Cerberus, but not by much.
Brigit frowned. “That sounds like Thomas’s dog, Cerberus. Alaric’s always complaining about that beast.”
“Dogs are known to find their way home, Highness.” Patric smiled up at her as he helped her down. “Maybe that means the traitor’s already dead.”
About to step from the shadow of the barn, Elisha froze, a chill sweeping over him. Brigit knew about Cerberus and his master: Thomas.
“Oh, my sweet Lord,” Elisha breathed. Immediately he clamped down on his shock, pulling back his tendrils of awareness as if he
had been singed. As carefully as he could, he retreated to the back of the barn, hurrying when he knew he was out of sight, and dropped to his knees in the straw.
Awake in an instant, Cerberus drew himself up and stretched out his long legs, giving a yawn full of pink tongue and sharp teeth.
“Wake up,” Elisha whispered, giving his voice an edge of power drawn from the talisman at his waist.
The man stirred and rolled, then sat bolt upright, his hand at his hip, then searching the straw until he found his knife. Shaggy dark hair hung down past his shoulders, and the ragged beard concealed his jaw, but those eyes were vividly familiar, a deep blue, almost as sharp as Elisha’s own—eyes that he’d been told reminded people of the king’s.
With a puff of breath, the man relaxed. “Is it dawn?” He rubbed his face.
“You’ve got to leave, out the back, right now.” Elisha thrust out his arm and helped him up, keeping a hand on his arm.
“What is it?” He glanced quickly toward the door.
“Your brother’s betrothed is here.”
His eyes flared in a panic that sprang through the contact. “You know who I am.” He searched Elisha’s face.
“I just found out.”
Prince Thomas stiffened, pulling away, his grip on the knife tightening. “Will you reveal me?”
“God, no.” Elisha took a step forward, reaching up to touch Thomas’s knife-hand, sending his assurance.
“I’m accused of treason.” He trembled, ever so slightly, his eyes darting to the door and back.
“I don’t care. Maybe you plotted to kill him and maybe you didn’t, but I’m the one who did the deed, remember? Trust me for a little longer—please.”
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