follow.
But
take heed, if a white cricket should chance to appear upon the hearth, one of those
who warm their hands around that fire will surely die.
The
Mandrake's Herbal
The Turning
Walter,
the gatekeeper, was never one to want to stir from his fireside after supper,
even on a hot summer's night, and he certainly did not disguise his annoyance
at being roused at this late hour in the bitter cold. He stamped his feet and
blew ‹›n his hands, grumbling that the wicket door was very likely frozen solid
and if he did manage to prise it open, he'd likely not be able to get it shut
again for the rest of the night.
"You'd
think folks'd have the wit to get their business done in daylight,' he
muttered, 'not go traipsing around the countryside when they should be abed.
Second time this night I've been fetched out of my cot. All these comings and
goings, it's enough to daul a man to death.'
Raffe
was in such a foul mood that he scarcely registered what Walter was saying, but
the man's fumbling with the frozen latch only served to irritate him the more
and he pushed Walter out of the way so hard that the gatekeeper slipped on the
frosty cobbles and fell heavily to the ground. Raffe didn't even bother to
apologize.
Elena
bent to help the man, but Raffe caught her arm and pushed her out through the
wicket door. He ducked under the frame, following her. Elena stood shivering on
the path outside, clutching her small pack of belongings and staring hack at
the towering walls of the manor.
Raffe
glanced sourly up at the swollen moon, which seemed closer and heavier this
night as if it was taunting him with its belly-ripe fecundity. Holding the
flaming torch aloft, he strode off in the direction of the village at a
deliberately cruel pace, knowing Elena would almost have to run to keep up with
him.
How
could she have done it? How could she have betrayed him, after all he had done
for her? When he thought about how useless she was at almost any task in the
house, her clumsiness, the pots and flagons she had broken — other stewards
would have taken a stick to her long ago. But he had covered up for her, turned
a blind eye to her slipping out of the manor whenever she chose, had even given
her gifts to take home for her mother. By God, if he had a stick in his hand
right now, that little fool would smart for it. If he'd a whip in his belt he'd
have flogged her every step of the way from the manor to the village.
Raffe's
fury was not soothed by the knowledge that it was entirely his own fault that
he was having to put himself through this private agony of delivering Elena
into the arms of another man. For Lady Anne would have willingly allowed Elena
to stay until morning when a cart could have been sent to take the girl home,
but it was Raffe who had insisted Elena leave at once and now, though he told
himself he'd gladly drown her in the nearest ditch, he found he could not bring
himself to let her walk alone at night without protection.
Raffe
sensed Elena glancing fearfully up at him as she scuttled to keep pace, but he
wouldn't look at her. He couldn't bring himself to speak. When he had dragged
her into Lady Anne's presence, with that shrew Hilda triumphantly bringing up
the rear, Elena had started sobbing. He didn't know if her tears sprang from
her fear of Lady Anne's anger or from the pain of his vicious grip on her arm.
At that moment he didn 't care why she was crying, and he refused to
slacken his grasp.
But
Lady Anne had not been angry. Raffe knew she wouldn't be, whatever Hilda had
hoped. Anne had shaken her head gravely, but said it was only to be expected.
Elena had done no more than any pretty girl would do, especially now that
marriage was impossible because of the Interdict. Then she had turned her face
away and stared silently into the firelight for a long time, a silence no one
dared to
But
take heed, if a white cricket should chance to appear upon the hearth, one of those
who warm their hands around that fire will surely die.
The
Mandrake's Herbal
The Turning
Walter,
the gatekeeper, was never one to want to stir from his fireside after supper,
even on a hot summer's night, and he certainly did not disguise his annoyance
at being roused at this late hour in the bitter cold. He stamped his feet and
blew ‹›n his hands, grumbling that the wicket door was very likely frozen solid
and if he did manage to prise it open, he'd likely not be able to get it shut
again for the rest of the night.
"You'd
think folks'd have the wit to get their business done in daylight,' he
muttered, 'not go traipsing around the countryside when they should be abed.
Second time this night I've been fetched out of my cot. All these comings and
goings, it's enough to daul a man to death.'
Raffe
was in such a foul mood that he scarcely registered what Walter was saying, but
the man's fumbling with the frozen latch only served to irritate him the more
and he pushed Walter out of the way so hard that the gatekeeper slipped on the
frosty cobbles and fell heavily to the ground. Raffe didn't even bother to
apologize.
Elena
bent to help the man, but Raffe caught her arm and pushed her out through the
wicket door. He ducked under the frame, following her. Elena stood shivering on
the path outside, clutching her small pack of belongings and staring hack at
the towering walls of the manor.
Raffe
glanced sourly up at the swollen moon, which seemed closer and heavier this
night as if it was taunting him with its belly-ripe fecundity. Holding the
flaming torch aloft, he strode off in the direction of the village at a
deliberately cruel pace, knowing Elena would almost have to run to keep up with
him.
How
could she have done it? How could she have betrayed him, after all he had done
for her? When he thought about how useless she was at almost any task in the
house, her clumsiness, the pots and flagons she had broken — other stewards
would have taken a stick to her long ago. But he had covered up for her, turned
a blind eye to her slipping out of the manor whenever she chose, had even given
her gifts to take home for her mother. By God, if he had a stick in his hand
right now, that little fool would smart for it. If he'd a whip in his belt he'd
have flogged her every step of the way from the manor to the village.
Raffe's
fury was not soothed by the knowledge that it was entirely his own fault that
he was having to put himself through this private agony of delivering Elena
into the arms of another man. For Lady Anne would have willingly allowed Elena
to stay until morning when a cart could have been sent to take the girl home,
but it was Raffe who had insisted Elena leave at once and now, though he told
himself he'd gladly drown her in the nearest ditch, he found he could not bring
himself to let her walk alone at night without protection.
Raffe
sensed Elena glancing fearfully up at him as she scuttled to keep pace, but he
wouldn't look at her. He couldn't bring himself to speak. When he had dragged
her into Lady Anne's presence, with that shrew Hilda triumphantly bringing up
the rear, Elena had started sobbing. He didn't know if her tears sprang from
her fear of Lady Anne's anger or from the pain of his vicious grip on her arm.
At that moment he didn 't care why she was crying, and he refused to
slacken his grasp.
But
Lady Anne had not been angry. Raffe knew she wouldn't be, whatever Hilda had
hoped. Anne had shaken her head gravely, but said it was only to be expected.
Elena had done no more than any pretty girl would do, especially now that
marriage was impossible because of the Interdict. Then she had turned her face
away and stared silently into the firelight for a long time, a silence no one
dared to
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