Meri (22 page)

Gwynet glanced at her sharply. “She told her mother she met
a magic buck in the forest.”

“That’s what Ruhf said,” prompted Meredydd. “Of course,
there wasn’t any magic buck.”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“It
was
Ruhf, wasn’t it?
And he’s afraid Hadder will find out.”

Gwynet hung her head. “Please don’t make me say, mistress.”

“But Hadder’s not stupid, Gwynet. She doesn’t believe in
magic bucks any more than I do.”

“Ah, she knows, all right. I’ve heerd her say so. She knows
who the father of Flann’s child is. But, she’s waitin’ on somethin’. I’m not
sure what. Maybe she thinks the child will look like its pa and that’ll be tha’.
Too, she thinks Flann was willing. She wasn’t willing, Meredydd. But, she won’t
say tha’, and she won’t speak the words that’ll point to Ruhf.”

“Because she’s afraid.”

“I ’magine.”

“You can do more than imagine, can’t you, Gwynet?” Meredydd
asked gently. “Why don’t you leave here?”

“Where would I go, mistress?”

“Please call me Meredydd. And you could go almost anywhere
else. There’s a whole world out there where the Sun shines and the streets are
clean and the Cirkes are really places of worship and the people are kind and
caring.”

“I surely couldn’t know tha’.” She paused. “But I’ve dreamed
of it.”

“When I leave, you can come with me,” Meredydd told her. “I’ll
take you home with me, back to Nairne. Osraed Bevol—he’s my guardian—he’ll take
care of you just as he’s taken care of me.”

Gwynet studied her face. “He doesn’t hit you, does he?” It
was a statement of fact, not a question.

“No, Gwynet. He doesn’t hit me. He never would. He loves me.
And he’d love you, too. I know it.”

The girl smiled. “I’d like tha’. To be loved. I’d like tha’.”

“Then it’s settled. When I leave, you’ll come with me. All I
have to do, I think, is get that crystal from the Cirke-master.”

Gwynet had stopped just short of throwing a bundle of dirty
linens out into the hallway. “But, Meredydd...who’ll take care of Flann?” She
turned back into the room and pierced Meredydd with the most anguished
expression she’d ever seen. “If I leave, there’ll be no one to care for her. No
one to keep Hadder from her throat. No one to keep Ruhf away.”

Meredydd stared at her. “Keep Ruhf away?”

“Aye. He gets in these tempers sometimes. And it’s poor
Flann he wants at. He gets all scared and mad at once; afraid she’ll stop the
Magic Buck Tell and give up the real Tell instead. You saw how he was,
Meredydd. All ready to hurt somebody—you or old Okes, it didn’t matter. There’s
times he talks of comin’ here and making sure she’ll tell no one nothing. I got
to be here, then. I can stop him.”

“By letting him beat on you, instead.”

Gwynet shrugged—a queer crook-shouldered little movement
that made her look, just for a moment, like a wizened old hag instead of a
little girl. “It keeps him off Flann,” she said.

“Well, maybe we can find some other way of keeping him off
Flann.” And as they worked, Meredydd tried very hard to think of some way of
doing just that.

They finished the rooms quickly, with both of them hard at
work, and reported back down to Hadder. The lodge was nearly empty now, and the
house-mistress sat before the hearth, sipping a mug of ale. She seemed
skeptical when they told her they were finished with their tasks, and she made
some noise about checking up after them, but she didn’t stir from the
fireplace, only gazed at them as if she only half saw them. Meredydd wondered
how much ale she’d had.

“How’s my daughter?” she asked unexpectedly.

The two girls traded surprised glances. “Asleep, Moireach,”
Meredydd answered.

The woman smiled wryly. “You seem bent on granting me more
importance than I deserve. I’m no Moireach, cailin. Just a wayhouse keep. I own
the building, the furniture, the linens and an interest in the girls I keep.
That’s it. No land. No estate.... Still, you can call me that if you will. It
strokes the ears.”

Meredydd tried a smile on her. “I will, Moireach.”

“So, my lazy daughter sleeps, does she? And what wrought
that miracle? The poor creature hasn’t slept night or day for weeks.”

Meredydd swallowed. “I sang her to sleep, Moireach. A song
my own guardian taught me. It always worked on me....”

“A song?” The woman’s glance was sharp. “A duan, you mean?
Oh, yes. I understand about these things. I’m from up Nairne-way myself. And I’ve
heard the morning’s gossip. You visited the Cirke. The Cirke-master’s mouth is
famous in these parts for that which comes out of it. A Wicke, he styles you.”

Meredydd blanched. A Wicke. And she already knew what they
did to Wicke in Blaec-del.

Hadder laughed. “Oh, I doubt he’ll bury you under the Cirke
with the rest of your ilk. Leastwise not while you’re under my roof. Not if he’s
kept a scrap of sanity in that bald little head.”

“We’re going to get some herbs, mistress,” Gwynet confided
breathlessly. “For Flann. Meredydd thinks they’ll help settle her poor stomach
and help with the sickness.”

“Really? Well, I suppose I should thank you then, Wicke
Meredydd, for saving my worthless get some anguish.”

“Surely, she’s not worthless, Moireach,” protested Meredydd.
“Surely you don’t really believe that.”

“Don’t I? Letting herself be fouled by that Ruhf
Airdsgainne. Now there’s worthless, for you.”

“Pardon, Moireach, but I don’t think she
let
herself be fouled by anyone. I heard the men
speaking of it—in the mercantile down the street. I don’t think your daughter
had a bit of choice in the matter.”

There, it was out. Now, if Ruhf Airdsgainne ever found
out...

Hadder peered at her intently, leaning forward to study her
face. “You wouldn’t lie, girl?”

“No, Moireach. I would not. It’s what I heard. And that he’s
afraid she’ll tell.”

“And she’s afraid, too,” added Gwynet. “He’s a mean.... I
mean to say, he’s a-a powerful man, mistress.”

Hadder sat back in her chair. “I believed she was willing.”

“No, mistress,” whispered Gwynet.

“That bastard! Well, that’s the picture then, is it? And my
poor stupid daughter has to make up some tale of a magic buck with faery eyes.
Well, he’ll get nowhere near my girl again, I swear.” She glanced at the two of
them standing there and flicked her fingers at them. “Well, go pick your herbs,
then. The sooner we get Flann over this sickness of hers, the sooner she can be
of help to her mother around this place.” She got to her feet and walked away
toward the stairs.

Gwynet grabbed Meredydd’s hand and dragged her out the back
door of the wayhouse into the wilds of the yard. It wasn’t a yard, really. It
was simply a no-man’s land where the forest encroached on Blaec-del. The grass
was ankle deep and darkly green and the mist hung in silver scraps like
fishnets caught in driftwood.

“I think there’ll be some mint over here,” said Gwynet and
led the way into the woods. Meredydd followed, her eyes alert for any sign of
usable herbs.

They found much more than merely mint and chamomile and,
before two hours had passed, had filled their pockets and tunic skirts with all
manner of useful stuff: Yarrow and verbena, valerian and nettle, foxglove and
rosemary. They were busily inspecting a growth of fennel when the crashing of
underbrush startled them almost into flight.

Meredydd knotted her fore-skirt and stood, ready to bolt,
her eyes in the direction from which the sounds came. Gwynet huddled close to
her and a little behind, her pale eyes wide and fearful.

“Are there boar in these woods?” Meredydd asked in a
whisper.

“I’ve ne’er seen any and I’m out here a fair bit.”

Meredydd straightened her shoulders, a hand going to her
neck. “It’s probably just deer. I’m sure we’ve nothing to be afraid—”

It was not just deer. It was Ruhf Airdsgainne and he
appeared to be in a towering rage. “Where’ve you been, you filthy brat? I’ve
looked all over for ye. What’re you doin’ out here with this schemin’ cat?”

“Just-just pickin’ herbs, sir,” said Gwynet.

“Pickin’ herbs?” Incredulity poured over his face in a
flood. “What for? Who told ye to?”

“Hadder,” said Meredydd loudly and clearly. Her fingers
locked around her amulet. “Hadder has us picking herbs for her daughter’s
illness. To make a healing tea.”

His eyes grasped her face so forcibly, she swore she could
feel them pinching her cheeks. “Ye’ve met Hadder, then, girl?”

“Yes, sir. I have. She’s a shrewd woman.”

“Is she?” He stopped and merely stared at them. Then, “The
Cirke-master says ye’re a Wicke.”

“The Cirke-master is entitled to his opinion.”

He goggled at her. “Ye’re damned sassy for someone I could
break in two with one hand.”

“Oh, please, sir!” wailed Gwynet. “Don’t be angry with me! I
didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I just was tryin’ to help Meredydd and poor
Flann.”

The words provoked in the mercer a rage quite beyond his
ability to control it, and Meredydd suspected Gwynet knew they would before she
uttered them. The man roared like a wild beast and launched himself after them,
dragging his cleft-heart belt from his waist as he came on.

Meredydd shrieked and ran back toward the wayhouse as fast
as her legs could carry her. It took several seconds before she realized she
was not being pursued. She stopped at the edge of the wayhouse “yard” and
looked back the way she had come. She could see nothing, but she could still
hear Ruhf’s bellowing and Gwynet’s pale screams. The girl had intentionally led
him off in the opposite direction, just as she had intentionally goaded him
into taking his anger out on her.

As Meredydd started back toward the deeper woods, wondering
what she could do if she found them, a voice behind her stopped her in her
tracks.

“There you are, girl! Come in. Flann’s awake and she’s in
need of something for the sickness.”

Meredydd turned and saw Hadder standing upon the crumbling
back porch of her inn, her face set imperiously, concern showing only in her
dark eyes. With a last glance at the forest, she turned and carried her load of
herbs into the wayhouse. Hadder-a-Blaecdel was not without civility. She
thanked Meredydd for her troubles by feeding her a fine meal and allowing her a
room to clean up in. She reiterated her offer of a position in her house.

“I could use a girl like you,” she said. “You’re a
hard-worker and you’re honest. That’d be a great asset here. You could be a
great help to the other girls at times and I’d not insist you have men to your
room.”

“Thank you, Moireach, but I’m not planning on being here
very long. I came here to find something and I think I’ve found it, so....” She
shrugged and glanced away from the woman’s astute gaze.

“Found something have you? Well, that’s a damn piece better
than most folks around here can say. Still, if you change your mind, there’s a
place open for you.” She paused, studying

Meredydd momentarily then said, “I wish I had a son. I think
I’d marry him off to you.”

Meredydd blushed. “Well, you have a fine daughter, Moireach.
And I think the tea I made her will get her through the rest of her pregnancy.
Just have her drink a bit first thing in the morning and whenever else she
feels sickly. And rest. She should have rest.”

Hadder nodded absently. “I’d like to throttle that Ruhf
Airdsgainne. It’s probably too late to charge him with what he did to Flann.”

“Flann needs protection from him,” said Meredydd bluntly. “He’s
a dangerous, violent man.” She glanced for perhaps the fortieth time out the
window of the wayhouse’s decrepit kitchen.

“You’re fretting about that urchin, aren’t you?” guessed
Hadder.

Meredydd nodded.

“Well, I’ll not keep you. Go on after her. I suppose I
should hope you find her in one piece.”

Meredydd rose from the table and thanked her hostess for the
meal. The woman waved the gratitude away. “I’d say we’re even, but that’s not
true. I’m beholden to you on several counts, Wicke Meredydd. Take care,” she
added as Meredydd slipped out the back door. “Ruhf is not someone to be trifled
with.”

Meredydd was as aware of that fact as any one could be, yet
she recognized that finding Gwynet was her first priority. Or at least, it had
become that. Guiltily, she pushed aside the knowledge that that was not the
goal of her task. Finding the jewel was her goal, and she thought she’d done
that. The problem now would be in getting it away from the person who currently
held it.

She stood for several moments at the corner of the wayhouse,
watching the street beyond and fingering her necklace. Where would Gwynet
be...if she was still alive. No, Meredydd told herself, Ruhf had been abusing
the girl for some time. He hadn’t killed her yet. She must be somewhere,
licking her wounds, and wherever she was, Meredydd would find her.

First, the mint glade. She went there at a run, searching,
calling, listening for sounds of despair and hurt. There was nothing. She went
for a while in the direction she thought Ruhf had chased the girl, but apart
from trampled grass and broken twigs, there was nothing to be seen or heard.

She was near the Cirke when she gave up her search of the
wood and gazed at the rear of the building for some time. Yes, Gwynet might go
there for solace, since she favored the place for daydreaming. Meredydd even
pictured her for a moment, curled up on one of the benches, crying herself to
sleep, or perhaps sitting in her puddle of colored light, trying to dream the
hurt away.

Praying she would not run into the Cirke-master, Meredydd
dared to approach the sanctuary. She slipped through the front doors in silence
and stood, listening to the hushed sounds of candles guttering and torches
hissing. Besides the two stained-glass windows, the only other breaks in the
thick walls were mere slits set low—almost as if the place was expected to
double as a fortress.