Blood Moon (6 page)

Add to that the pitfall of being a
young, unattached female amidst randy soldiers and it was small
wonder her nerves were frayed to tatters.

Dismissing her anxieties, she looked
around, her hands on her hips. Finally, she returned to the bedding
she’d left on the floor and dragged it outside. Gershin had had a
line to hang her wash, but the rope had long since rotted. Aslyn
tossed the bedding over the T that had held one end, beat it
thoroughly to remove as much dust and insects as possible, and left
it to air while she cleaned the cottage.

Uneasiness filled her as she made her
way back inside, however. She had not been far off the mark when
she’d imagined the king’s men camped on her door step. They had set
up tents no more than a quarter of a mile from the outskirts of
town--from her cottage, at the edge of the forest.

Chapter Four

The object she’d tripped over when
she’d been removing the bedding, Aslyn discovered, was old
Gershin’s cook pot. From the look of it, Gershin, like most people,
had not been prepared when death took her. She’d left the remains
of whatever last meal she’d cooked in the pot to slowly decay. It
had long since dried and blackened to an indistinguishable crust.
Taking it outside, Aslyn found a stick and scraped the inside of
the pot until she’d cleaned it the best she could.

She’d seen a community well as they
made their way through town. She had not seen one in the tiny yard
that surrounded Gershin’s cottage. Sighing, she headed for the
well. When she’d washed the pot, she filled it and headed back to
the cottage. Thankfully, it was not a very large pot, for her
shoulder felt as if it was slipping from the socket only with the
weight of the water she was carrying.

There was a stack of wood by her door
when she returned. She stared at it for several moments and finally
dismissed it, struggled inside with the pot, set it on the hook and
swung it over the fire. A brush broom, covered in cobwebs, stood in
the corner near the door. Much of the rush had rotted and crumbled,
but Aslyn took it and used it to rake down cobwebs around the tiny
cottage, brush the dust from the bed frame, the table and chair,
and the mantel piece over the hearth. When she was done, she raked
the debris littering the dirt floor outside. Examining the broom
when she’d finished, she saw it had reached the end of its
usefulness, broke the handle over her knee, and tossed the pieces
into the fire.

The water had begun to boil. Taking her
knife from her pack, she selected two potatoes and two carrots and
headed back toward the well. When she returned, she discovered that
the door was shut. She stared at it uneasily for several moments,
and finally moved toward it. Grasping the handle, she put her
shoulder against it and shoved.

The door swung open without resistance
and Aslyn staggered inside, almost dropping the vegetables she’d
just spent the past twenty minutes peeling and cleaning. Irritated,
she left the door open, glanced around the cottage to make certain
no one waited in the shadows, and moved to the cook pot.

Her heart skipped a beat when she saw
there was something floating in the boiling water. She stared at
it, fighting a wave of nausea, and finally speared it with her
knife. It was a rabbit, cleaned and neatly quartered.

Feeling more than a little disconcerted
that she’d imagined it might be something unpleasant, she dropped
the meat back in the pot and turned to look at the door. Finally,
she moved to the table, placed the vegetables there and returned to
examine the door. The hinges, she saw, had been
repaired.

Uneasiness swept through her as she
closed the door. Kale? Or Lord Algar? Or had both of them been
busily attending to her comfort? And why? What did they expect in
return?

It took no great intelligence to figure
out Lord Algar’s motives—if, in fact, it had been he who’d seen to
it that she had wood for fire, a stout door to close—food. He would
not have done it himself, of course. He would have sent one of his
men, but was such thoughtfulness in his nature?

A very little thought assured her that
she had not misjudged the man, however short their acquaintance. He
was not kind, not thoughtful, and not considerate. She suspected
that he was cunning and manipulative, though, and the deeds could
as easily have been performed from those motives as out of
kindness.

Although she was more inclined to think
Kale responsible for the offerings, the truth was, she could not
envision Kale as being kind, thoughtful and considerate either.
There was a chilling reserve about him, a sense of absolute
self-control that made her distinctly uneasy. It had flitted
through her mind, more than once, that he suspected … something
about her. She might be imagining it, of course, but Kale’s motives
were far more difficult to pinpoint and the doubts suggested Kale
was far more dangerous.

She was careful not to look in the
direction of the soldiers’ camp when she went out to check the
mattress. It still smelled a bit too soured for her taste, but she
could see no crawling insects. It was not so musty as it had been,
and, in any case, she did not want to turn it and leave it to air
longer. If she did so, she would have to make yet another trip
outside and it occurred to her that Lord Algar, at least, was more
than likely to interpret her repeated trips to and fro as some sort
of encouragement.

At any rate, it was nearing dusk. She
would not have been able to leave it much longer anyway.

Dragging the mattress from the post,
she hauled it inside.

The rabbit, she saw when she tested it
with her knife, was tender. Scooping the vegetables from the table,
she dropped them in the pot and went to check her pouch for some
herbs suitable for seasoning.

To her surprise and at least partial
relief, neither Kale nor Lord Algar showed up on her doorstep to
join her for dinner, although she waited until it was full dark
before she dismissed the possibility. She ate her stew in solitary
contemplation, banked the fire and crawled into bed, wondering
uneasily what would come of her chance meeting with two very
dangerous men.

* * * *

On the third day after she arrived in
Krackensled, Aslyn, who’d been out since first light foraging, both
for her cook pot and for medicinal plants and fungi, returned to
find a woman sitting on her doorstep. She was cradling something to
her chest that had been bundled from end to end.

Weary from trudging through the snow,
anxious because she had spotted soldiers more than once as she
foraged--which gave her the distinct feeling that she was being
watched--and disheartened that she’d returned almost as empty
handed as she’d been when she left, Aslyn had to force a polite
smile of interest. “May I help you?”

The woman turned at the sound of her
voice and looked up at her, studying her face searchingly. “Enid
told me ye were a healer. I come to see if ye’d look at me
boy.”

“You should have gone in. It can’t be
good for the child to sit outside in the cold. How long have you
been waiting?”

“Not long a’tall.”

It was obviously a lie. Either that or
the woman was sick herself, for she was shaking all over. Aslyn
pushed the door open and held out her arms for the child. After a
moment, the woman gave the child up reluctantly and followed her
inside. Aslyn frowned when she felt the weight of the child, for it
seemed curiously light for its size. “I apologize, but I’ve little
to offer you in the way of comfort. Take the chair, if you like,
and sit by the fire while I have a look at the child. But take
care, it’s a bit shaky. It’s like to break and dump you in the
floor if you’re not careful.”

The woman, who looked to be in her
mid-thirties, studied her a moment and nodded, but made no move to
do either. Instead, she followed Aslyn to the bed, watching her
every move as Aslyn removed the woolen blankets to unearth the
child. The little boy’s eyes were huge in a face shrunken either by
prolonged illness, or hunger, or perhaps both. It was impossible to
determine his age. She smiled at him as she studied his glassy eyes
and then made him open his mouth so that she could see his throat.
“What are you called, little man?”

Something flickered in the boy’s eyes.
He glanced at his mother. “John,” he supplied finally.

She looked at his ears. “That’s a good,
strong name. How old are you?”

“Seven winters.”

Aslyn tried her best to hide her shock,
but she’d seen toddlers near as big as the boy. “How many brothers
and sisters do you have?”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I ain’t
too keen on you pumpin’ my boy.”

Aslyn glanced at the woman, subduing
her anger with an effort. “If I’m to help him, I must know certain
things.”

“Gershin never asked so many
questions.”

“Then Gershin either knew the answers
already, since she lived here, or she was a witch. I, myself, am
not. And I’m not good at guessing, either,” Aslyn responded tartly.
“In any case, John seemed uneasy. I was trying to make him feel
more comfortable.”

She more than half expected the woman
to grow angry. To her surprise, the suspiciousness vanished from
her face. “Oh. I’ve six, not countin’ Johnny.”

Aslyn nodded. “Are any of the others
sick?”

“Johnny’s the baby. He’s always been
sickly. The others seem well enough.”

“What about you? And his
father?”

“I’ve got a bit of a cold, I
think.”

Aslyn smiled at John and ruffled his
hair. “John, too.”

“You think?”

“His throat is a little pinker than
normal, his ears, too, but I don’t think it’s anything serious.”
She turned to John. “Why don’t you wait here while I have a little
chat with your mother?”

The woman glanced at her uneasily but
followed Aslyn across the room. Aslyn pushed the pot of stew over
the fire before she returned her attention to the woman. She
considered for several moments and finally sighed. “I know of no
gentle way to say this, so I hope you’ll pardon me for being blunt.
I’ve seen John’s problem more times than I can count. He’s
starving, plain and simple. He isn’t getting enough food to grow,
or sustain strength; otherwise the cold would not have affected him
so badly.”

The woman turned red as a beet, glanced
quickly at the child sitting on the bed and then down at the floor.
“We do our best.”

“I’m not accusing you or condemning
you. I’m only trying to tell you that … you’ll not raise that boy
if something isn’t done. If he’s too weak to fight off a cold,
he’ll have no chance at all if he gets something more
serious.”

The woman looked like she was going to
cry for several moments, but fought it back. “Is there anything,
you think, that I could do?”

Glancing at the stew pot, Aslyn saw
that it was boiling. Taking one of the wooden bowls she’d found in
the cottage, she filled it and took it to the table, then summoned
John and bade him eat it. “This will help your feelings a bit, I
think.”

She waited only long enough to see that
he dug in with enthusiasm and then returned to the fire where the
boy’s mother waited. “You said he’s the youngest, the weakest.
Perhaps he’s simply having trouble fending for himself?”

The woman looked taken aback. “I dole
out the food meself.”

“Then make sure you give him a bit
more, especially meat.”

She nodded, but looked a little
doubtful. “There’s not much meat to be had now, with it winter and
all. And the soldiers are camped out here now. They’re bound to
hunt the woods around here out if they stay the winter.”

A frisson of uneasiness went through
Aslyn. “They’ll not be here long, surely?”

The woman shrugged. “From what I’ve
heard, they’ve no plans to move any time soon. They’re tracking
wolves, and the last several attacks were near here.”

The blood rushed from Aslyn’s face so
rapidly that a wave of nausea followed it.

The woman gripped her arms. “Ye best
sit down if yer thinkin’ about faintin’.”

Aslyn stared at her uncomprehendingly
for several moments. “No. I just felt a little dizzy for a moment.
I should probably eat.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “It had
nothing to do with what I just told you?”

Aslyn forced a half-hearted chuckle.
“Whatever made you think that? No. I’ll admit it’s a scary thought
… the possibility of the wolves being near here. But, it’s just
that I didn’t take the time to eat before I left this morning. I
expect it was the smell of the food more than anything
else.”

The woman didn’t look convinced. “Not
that I’d blame ye, mind ye. The wolves aside, I’m more than a bit
uneasy about having soldiers camped on our doorstep meself. There’s
almost always trouble when the soldiers have too much time on their
hands.”

“Too true. But mayhap they’ll kill off
the wolves fairly quickly and be on their way.”

The woman glanced over at her son and
lowered her voice. “There’s somethin’ right queer about these
wolves, from what I hear tell of it. Ye’d think they was starvin’
or they wouldn’t be preyin’ on folks, but they’re real cautious for
all that, and wily. The soldiers’ve been trackin’ ‘em for months
now, an’ still ain’t managed to catch up with them. Now, don’t that
sound more’n a little strange to you?”