Old Magic (17 page)

The cottage has life in it, but it’s not human. A cow, a half-dozen grunting, snorting pigs, and a few chickens are crudely barricaded off to one side. Not that the cottage is large enough to house animals and humans. It’s just one room. The only light is coming from a few candles, or so Kate calls them. I try to remember how they’re made— simple reeds dipped in animal fat, I think. They have a putrid odor, but Kate says our senses will soon adjust. There is a place where a fire is usually lit, in the center of the room. A scalded iron pot hangs over it.

After acknowledging the animals, Kate explains that the pot is where the woman does her cooking, and that it must be winter, or near enough, as the cooking is normally done outside the cottage in the warmer months. She has a real interest in this period, is incredibly knowledgeable on the subject. There’s burning enthusiasm in her eyes. She’s ecstatic about being here. It gives me an eerie feeling she might like this era too much.

The little smoke from the candles just hovers inside the cottage. There’s no raging fire like the other cottages must have. The room is miserable with damp. I’m still shivering from that cold sprinkling of rain and wish we did have a raging fire in here so I could dry off.

I take a good look around. Dragging my still stunned gaze away from the restless, offensive-smelling animals, I notice the cottage has only one window. I yank on the wooden shutters and close it, lessening the chill. The walls are sooty black; the room itself has little furniture. There is a pile of straw in a corner with a couple of dirty rags on top that might be animal skins, apparently where the inhabitants sleep. There are a couple of low crude-looking stools, a table with some stale black bread on top that feels like a brick, a few wooden plates, and a box with raglike clothes inside.

Kate’s excitement is so real it’s spooky. She has no fear, and marvels at everything her eyes focus on, her fingers adoringly caressing even the tiniest details. Nothing escapes her passionate attention.

Even though I liked doing the research project, I don’t have Kate’s eagerness for this era. The very idea itself, of being here, not only in a stranger’s house uninvited, but in another time, for goodness’ sake!

“This is unreal, Jarrod!”

I stare at her. “It stinks.”

She just laughs, shaking her head as if she’s tolerating the ravings of an idiot child.

It begins to rain hard. As it pelts down on the roof I worry it will fall in; it’s already dripping. My mind shifts to the sound of scurrying feet splashing around outside. People are running fast. It soon becomes apparent they’re running toward this cottage. Any second and we’ll be discovered.

“Here.” Kate grabs my hand.

We climb over the barricade and dive through startled animals. Chickens scatter noisily as we make for the farthest, darkest corner. Squatting, hugging knees to chests, we try to slow our breathing, and will the chickens to settle down quickly. A pig comes over to give us a sniff. His face hovers close to mine. I keep my eyes averted and try to slow the pace of my pounding heart.

Two women with five small children between them come rushing into the cottage. The children start tearing around, chasing each other, except for the baby, who is clinging to one woman’s hip. This woman is the elder of the two and has gray-brown hair poking out from beneath a sopping white scarf. “Is it true, Edwina?”

The woman called Edwina looks about twenty at the most, and is rake thin. She holds her arms out to one of the children, a small boy, who eagerly hops up. “Every word.”

They stand just inside the open doorway as the rain incredibly thickens outside and the ceiling drips increase. “He’s a cruel lord, there’s no doubt about it, but this . . .” The older woman shakes her head in a disbelieving manner, and loosens the dripping white scarf with her free hand. “Can he really do it? Can he turf ye out of your home, strip ye of your land?”

Edwina fights back tears. There is sorrowful pride in her eyes. “A woman’s no good to her lord with no husband, bless poor William’s soul. Who will work the land? Who will work the lord’s stupid fields?”

“There’s no kindness in that man’s soul. He should take ye in at the castle, that’s what.”

“He says nay. He says he has enough lazy servants.”

The older woman’s face contorts into a disgusted frown. “What will ye do?”

“On the morrow we head south to the streets of London. Eventually I hope to find servant’s work there. If not, I will do all I can to survive. I have me little ones to think of, even if I have to beg.”

The older woman peers around the single room, her eyes moist with compassion, and for a second I swear she pauses as she glances into our dark corner. My own eyes shut tight as if I can will myself to disappear. A long breathless moment later I hear feet shuffle. Taking a quick look I see her attentions are taken by an older child clinging to her leg. She pats his small red head, straightening his hair. “This house is too cold, Edwina. Ye have no fire tonight. And that rain dripping in will make it difficult to start. Come, stay with me. We’ll drink to your sorrows. Aye, Thomas has plenty of ale to see us through till morning. Now don’t ye worry none. Lord Baron Thorntyne’s day will come and I will be there to spit on his grave.”

“Make sure ye spit on it for me, too.” They laugh together and their conversation shifts to the children as another little one seeks attention.

Eventually the rain eases and the women, children clinging to their long skirts, leave.

We’re finally alone but neither of us seems inclined to move. I don’t know about Kate, but I’m still ingesting the women’s conversation, beginning to get the picture now. My ancestor, Lord Thorntyne, is throwing an entire family out of their home because the man of the house died and can no longer work his fields. I cringe at the harsh and callous act.

“Your relative is a complete monster.”

“He certainly wouldn’t win any popularity awards.” We help each other stand, our limbs stiff, and are careful to keep our clothes away from the animal dung that litters this end of the room. As the woman and her young family are not returning tonight, it seems safe to climb over the animal barricade. It’s cleaner in the other part of the room, although impossible to find relief from the stench of wet animals and their droppings.

Kate adeptly makes a bed out of the straw. “It’s kind of Edwina to leave us her cottage for the night.”

I follow Kate down. “Just wonderful.” I burrow beneath the foul-smelling rugs and wonder what insects I’m sharing the night with. The temperature drops with the lifting of rain. It’s soon completely dark as the candles burn away to nothing. Even the animals settle into sleep. Other than the stench, there’s nothing but silence—deep and empty.

Though exhausted, I can’t sleep. I start thinking of the enormous task ahead. “How on earth are we going to find the person responsible for this curse?” I ask Kate. “Do you still think it’s the illegitimate half-brother?”

She answers with a sleepy slur, “We’ll know him when we meet him, Jarrod. I’m pretty sure he’ll stand out.”

“What about the people here in the village? They hate the Thornton name so much maybe they did the curse. We’ve only been here a few hours and already have three suspects.”

“Hmm? What are you going on about? These poor peasants don’t have the skills to procure a curse.”

I feel her shiver and snuggle in close, seeking physical warmth. It takes all my effort to remember what I’m talking about. I shrug; Kate tugging right in under my arm is doing strange things to my senses—all of them. She burrows down so that her damp head lies on my chest, one arm wrapping snugly around my waist. In seconds she is sleeping. I can tell by her slow steady breathing.

Positioned like this, Kate lying asleep in my arms, so close, even the stink from the animals fades. I thread my fingers into Kate’s hair. Though still plaited, the coils have come apart. It feels like silk, just as I thought it would.

Sleep nears; I feel its druglike pull, yet I fight it for as long as possible, enjoying the feel of Kate’s warm body next to mine. But it’s no good, the day with all its unbelievable events has drained my energy.

I let myself fall into the mental peace sleep offers. Dawn, and all the challenges it brings with it, will arrive soon enough.

At least, for this moment, we’re safe.

Kate

Something wakes me. Outside, someone is moving about. It’s not quite dawn yet, though the sky is beginning to change. I stir and feel Jarrod’s warm body beside me. I move, instantly waking him, though he remains groggy for a minute. It gives me time to crawl out. God, how did we end up in that position, entangled arms and legs? My hair between his fingers?

Sitting up, I adjust my clothes. They’re a mess, just like the rest of me. I need a drink to clear the cotton in my mouth. I also need to relieve myself, but that I guess will have to wait until we’re on the road. I miss not having a mirror, comb, and especially a toothbrush and have to rub my finger over my teeth.

Instinctively we both know we have to get out of the cottage before the entire village wakes and starts doing whatever it usually does at this time of morning. We learned from the man with the pigs last night where the Thorntyne family lives—on the southern peak of the headland we saw yesterday. About a morning’s walk and we should be there.

Without saying a word, in case we’re heard in the still, early dawn silence, Jarrod and I creep silently outside, round the back of the cottage, avoiding the early risers and skirting the village much in the way we came in last night. With the dawn the weather changes, giving us all the cover we need. Fog, thick and moist, rolls in from the ocean. It’s quite eerie watching it, a vaporized white sheet concealing everything it touches.

Luckily, the road appears straightforward, heading in one direction, the twin peaks on the ocean edge. Still, the farther we travel, the thicker the surrounding woodland becomes, so we’re careful not to deviate from it, and risk getting lost. The road itself proves hard on our feet, cold as if the earth froze overnight, and slick with patches of icy mud. Our boots are not enough protection, the soles too soft. I miss my springy sneakers.

We travel only a short distance when Jarrod almost walks straight into a water trough sitting on the roadside, probably used by thirsty cows or travelers’ horses.

We stare at it, trying to measure up just how desperate we are for the stuff.

Jarrod’s mouth looks dry. “I really need a drink, but . . .”

“It’s been raining, so it should be fairly clean,” I suggest.

Jarrod looks at me. “What about that plague? Bubonic, wasn’t it?”

This comment actually has me laughing, relieving some of the tension. “You’re such a negative creature, aren’t you?” I whack his arm lightly. “Assuming Jillian’s got it right, we should be a good hundred years too early for the Black Death. I guess that’s not a bad margin for error.”

Still, jokes and all, I too am reluctant to drink from the animal trough. But thirst in the end pushes aside any other doubts. “It’s not like we’ve got a lot of choice here.”

Jarrod scours around for something to break the ice-covered surface. He finds a small rock that satisfactorily does the job. I plunge my hand into the icy water and drink. It’s not too bad.

Jarrod drinks and we move on, a little more comfortably. I ignore my growling stomach, food is another thing that will have to wait. Hopefully we’ll be made welcome at Thorntyne Keep. I try not to think about how much can go wrong. While walking we revise our plan, airing doubts, double-checking our story. We’re only going to have one chance to get it right. If they don’t believe our first story they’re not going to sit and wait for us to come up with another, more plausible version.

Finally the fog lifts, freeing the sun, allowing it to shed a little warmth. We keep walking, the road inclining noticeably now. But it’s around noon before we get to the foot of the steeply rising headland. Together we stand and stare straight up at the castle.

“It’s for real,” Jarrod mutters like it’s only now sinking in where and when we are.

“Of course it is. I told you Jillian was good.”

We’re silent for a minute, taking it all in. I sigh in absolute awe, and wonder at the job it took to build the thing. It stands high on the top of the hill, a square tower from the main keep’s back corner reaching farther into the sky. What a laborious task it must have been for the peasants to haul the massive amounts of stone up that headland. It would have taken years for sure. “Wow,” I can’t help saying. “It’s magnificent. Just look at that wall and how it circles the entire peak. And those battlements. There are soldiers up there, you know, probably looking at us right now.”

Jarrod gives me a shrinking look. “Thank you, I needed to know that.”

We decide to take a moment and rest our backs up against a tree trunk. The weedy grass is wet from last night’s soaking. I can’t be bothered worrying about my clothes anymore, the whole lower half is mud.

I glance at Jarrod, and without even trying, feel his doubts. “Just stick to our story, we’ll be fine.”

His eyes roll. “What if they don’t buy our story?”

“Stop being so negative. We can always go home.”

He attempts a smile, but it’s really pathetic. Going home before we’ve dealt with the curse would mean this whole exercise was a waste of time, and Jarrod would still have his problems.

“Look,” I try to lighten his mood. To carry this off, Jarrod needs to approach his ancestors with confidence, not cowardice. “They’re not going to expect visitors from another time. They wouldn’t even understand the concept. And thanks to Jillian, we’re suitably clothed in period costume, jewelry and all.” I hold out my hand, fingers splayed, the ruby and gold ring gleams as if in confirmation. “So what if our accents are a little off? We’re supposed to have come from a distant country, remember? I swear, Jarrod, they won’t suspect a thing. Besides, didn’t that pigman say you look just like them?”

Jarrod’s eyes swing to mine, a glimmer of strength brightening them. “Yes, you’re right. Even though it’s probably no more than a coincidence.”