A Witch's Tale (3 page)

Hugh reddened at that. The elder de Valmont
cursed under his breath. Several women in the crowd tittered. Many looked
pleased to hear the baron’s son get his comeuppance at long last.

“They are all naught but whores who would
lie!” Hugh spat and a grumble of dissent spread through the crowd. “She put a
spell upon me! She’s a witch!”

“Shall I ask for a show of hands to see who
have had your unwanted attentions in the past?” Gavin persisted. The young man
looked disgusted at the prospect. He realized he was caught in his own web of
lies.

“Sir de Mortaine, you prove only that my son
may have misconstrued the situation with Mistress Farrand,” Baron de Valmont
bit out angrily. “What of all the other peculiarities? Can you explain them
away?”

“I would only suggest the drought and flood
the crime of nature!” Gavin snapped in annoyance at the man. “You are an
educated man, de Valmont. You know this is not the work of witchcraft. It
appears your son suffers from wounded pride. It is certainly no fault of hers.”

The older man fumed and nodded briefly;
turning away and retreating back to their coach. Hugh looked at Gavin furiously
and stomped after his father. The old priest looked horrified during the
exchange, seeing de Valmont caved under the knight’s persuasive words.

“You would interfere with the church and the
crown in this matter?” the priest cried in outrage. His eyes filled with
righteous indignation. “This is heresy, Sir de Mortaine! My superiors shall
hear of this!”

“Speak one more word of heresy and I shall
write to my uncle. He is still the archbishop of this province,” Gavin promised
warningly and took a step towards the priest, his green eyes flashing in anger.
“You will conduct no more of these ridiculous trials or I’ll see you put to the
torch yourself!”

The priest quailed from the knight’s wrath,
fear in his expression at his threats. He took a hasty step back, hands up as
if too ward the man off.

Gavin smiled pleasantly and offered the girl
his arm. “Please allow me to escort you from here. Such a harrowing ordeal has
no doubt overwhelmed you, Mistress Farrand.”

The handsome knight led her from the
scaffold. His strong hand was meant as a comfort at her elbow. The trembling in
her hand assured him her knees were weakened from her ordeal.

Hinx Minx, the old witch
winks,
The fat begins to fry.
Nobody at home but jumping Joan,
Father, mother and I.
~Anonymous
.

 Madeline felt his possessive hand upon
her forearm and felt a tingling sensation. Her heart fluttered wildly and her
stomach did somersaults. She reasoned she was still in a state of shock. She
looked up into his sage-colored eyes and seemed stuck there. She rarely knew a
moment where her tongue failed to work. 

She stole a glance up at him, seeing the smug
expression on his handsome face. Confusion now filled her gaze.
Why would he
save her,
she thought?  It made no sense. She was suddenly suspicious
of his intentions. A sudden fear made her stiffen halfway down the stairs.

“I warn you fairly, Sir de Mortaine. Should
you have some foul intent I will turn you into a toad,” she warned low under
her breath. “Do not assume I trade one fate for another here.”

“You wound me, fair witch,” he chided in mock
injury, all innocence as he met her stormy expression. “I would know why it
must always be a blasted frog? I think I would make a handsome hawk, or even a
regal mountain cat,” he suggested to her, smiling in such a charming way, her
heart lurched sickeningly within her breast.

“Very well, you can be a hawk if you wish
it,” she allowed with a maddening thrill despite her sharp words.

“My thanks, I would make a horrible toad, I
think. All that hopping about seems rather pointless.”

“Are you always in the habit of rescuing
witches, Sir de Mortaine?” she whispered in irritation despite her urge to
smile. “If so, you have appalling taste in those you would bestow such chivalry
upon. Do I need to remind you of what I am accused of?”

“I find I’m cursed with an affliction, my
fairest damsel,” he whispered under his breath, eyes lingering upon her full
lips. “I can never resist a beautiful witch needing rescue.”

“Now you make jests at my expense?” she
accused, and fumed as she came to the bottom of the stairs.

“I do not jest,” Gavin replied and bowed
gallantly to her. “I am under your spell for certain.”

“You are completely mad, is what you are, Sir
de Mortaine,” Madeline informed him and shook her head in bemusement. “You
would endanger yourself and your companions to come to the rescue of a common
witch? Need I point out the villagers behind you carry sickles and clubs? And
they are bored to boot.”

Gavin grasped her small white hand in his
larger one, bringing it to his lips lingeringly, making her heart flutter
wildly in her chest. Her palm grew moist. Her breathing grew increasingly
unsteady. The man was close to making her swoon.

She was a damned witch! Witches didn’t swoon
over handsome knight’s rescuing them. Well, when exactly did that ever happen?
She had no recollection of it in Minerva’s book.

“I am fearless in my quest to get a closer
glimpse of such loveliness.”

She swallowed hard, reminded he indeed saved
her life. She could at least thank him properly. The words seemed to stick in
her throat. She was overwrought after coming so close to being burned to a
cinder. The harrowing ordeal since her arrest made her long for the comfort of
her cottage now. Incarceration was a horrible experience, and one she didn’t
wish to repeat again.

She shuddered inwardly as she looked back at
the pyre. She knew that she couldn’t stay here now. Not after what she had done
to protect herself from Hugh. As soon as this man and his companions left her;
the priest would only resume this ridiculous course.

The knowledge she couldn’t go home made a
lump form in her throat. She must leave this place at once. Madeline did what
no self-respecting witch dared ever do when things went awry. She began to feel
tears burn behind her eyes. Good Goddess! She felt them well up and threaten to
spill over. Toad’s bones, she was weary.

Madeline was miserable with the knowledge she
was right back to where she started six months before when Minerva took ill.
The old woman must have sensed she was going to die and wished to move back
here. She was once again moving on for the same reasons they left the last
village. Was there no place a witch could call home? Was this the curse of her
magic?

The man took the opportunity to peruse the
rounded neckline of her gown with considerable interest. She longed to slap him
for his insolence. She blushed furiously, unable to control her volatile reaction
to the man. She was feeling it spread to the roots of her hairline, suffusing
her face with such heat she forced herself to look away from his appreciative
gaze.

Madeline was mesmerized by his green stare.
Her heart was thudding crazily in her chest. She fought for control, trying to
thank him for his unsolicited aid. Her mouth went as dry as parchment. His
fresh manly scent met her nostrils, as captivating as the promise within his
eyes. She felt an ache where no ache had ever come to be before.

Something more than warned her he would take
no trivial reading of his fortune in exchange for saving her life. He would
accept no minor token for luck and be on his way. He wanted much more than that
from her. Madeline felt her knees shaking once more, realizing with a certainty
it would take every spell in her arsenal to refuse him.

“We must go, Sir Gavin,” Alastair called out
with a look of disgust. “Just snatch up the damned witch and let’s be on our
way.”

Madeline looked outraged at the other man’s
words. Before she could react, he scooped her up suddenly and tossed her over
his saddle, mounting up behind her quickly.

She shrieked and struggled in earnest. His
large hand held her still easily while she flailed and cried in dismay.

“Now do be good. Cease your wailing, fair
witch,” he whispered down to her and spurred his mount forward, past the
platform, and away from the square. “We cannot leave you here now. I will not,
in all conscience, be responsible for what happens.”

“Put me down! You saved me from certain
death, only to accost me now? What manner of a hero are you?” Madeline demanded
in a furious voice as she craned her neck around to glare at him, “You have
made it very hard to thank you, Sir Gavin!”

“And you make it very hard to not kiss you,
sweet one.” Gavin leaned down and his hot breath made gooseflesh spread over
her neck. “But do not tempt me to it, for I have thought of nothing else, I
assure you,” he confided in a whisper and laughed in delight.

“Enough! You wretched fool of a man!” she
cried, alarmed by his words. “Leave me at my cottage. I assure you no harm will
come to me.”

“Aye, a fool only for you, my precious,” he
quickly agreed and smiled, his large hand stroking her back lingeringly through
her gown, “but I think not, you will come with us.”

 She seethed as he patted her buttocks
with a familiarity that made her grit her teeth. “This is unseemly for a
knight, Sir Gavin!”

 “Please act as though you are enjoying
being rescued. You remind the men they’re supposed to be chivalrous. They will
all lecture me to let you go if you continue to object.”

“But I do object! You need to let me go!” she
snarled sharply, her blue eyes narrowed dangerously as they snapped opened and
met his. “Need I remind you that I am a witch, Sir de Mortaine?”

“Bah, you are no more a bloody witch than I
am, Girl!” he asserted with a scoff of disbelief. “A lovelier witch I have
never seen. You have captivated me, most assuredly. This is a compliment I give
you, Wench. You could thank me by showing me some affection?”

“I did what they say I did!” she exclaimed
and glared up at him.

“You cannot take credit for all that,” he
admonished softly.

“I am a witch, I say!

“If it pleases you,” he returned and smiled
down into her furious face, “it should make it quite a bit more entertaining, I
agree.”

“You are owed a reward, Sir Gavin,” she began
in a rush. “It is your right for saving me. Take a token of luck and leave me;
I bid you.”

“A reward, you say?” he smiled roguishly and
sighed deeply. “You warm me with your continued play, Mistress Farrand.” 

“I do not play at all! I am a witch! If you
would but listen to me!” she argued vehemently.

“I will listen to everything you have to say
when you give me what I would ask as a reward, Sweet Sorceress.”

“What is it you want?” She craned her neck up
to see his knowing smile and cringed.

“Is it not obvious? I didn’t drag you out of
that fire pit to have my fortune read, my sweet,” Gavin informed her with a
lustful glance, his large hand caressing her back.

“But, that is not what I am prepared to offer
you!”

“It is my reward to name, is it not?”

“Yes, but…but,” she stammered and trailed
off, face reddening. “That is not a fit reward at all, Sir de Mortaine.”

“You do not think your fair company a fit
reward?” he asked and raised a dark eyebrow, his ruggedly handsome features
amused.

“I am no reward, Sir de Mortaine!” she
snapped harshly, her blue eyes frigid.

“Perhaps after enough time in my company you
will be, Madeline,” Gavin murmured thoughtfully and chuckled at her furious
expression.

They galloped wildly across the open fields
back toward the main road. He slowed and looked down at her with a chiding
look.

“You think me as foolish as the villagers
back there to believe this witch nonsense?” he asked as they made their way
down the road, looking down at her with a shake of his head.

“I cast the spell upon Hugh!” she cried in
desperation. “You would do well to let me go, my lord, or the same will happen
to you!”

****

Gavin ignored her words, refusing to believe
them. She was hardly a witch. From what little he knew of them; witches were
ugly and old. They had warty faces and a harsh cackle of a laugh. They preyed
upon the blood of children, looking nothing like this lovely creature sprawled
before him. She was lush and vibrant, cheeks of ivory, and lips of the sweetest
cherries.

“I warn you that should you not release me;
you’ll be sorry,” Madeline promised as she was bounced up and down across the
saddle.

“I will never be sorry to rescue and possess
such beauty,” Gavin whispered huskily. “A mere thank you will suffice. I did
save you, did I not? Any other damsel would be drowning me in kisses by now.
You do naught but threaten me. I think you play coy on purpose, my pretty
witch, but I will sweeten thy lips.”

She reluctantly directed him to her cottage.
All the while she sent him fuming looks.