The Wise Woman (71 page)

The old lord was close behind him, his arms held out to me. “Come down, Alys!” he shouted at me. “Come away!”

Then Hugo flung himself past his father toward the flames and Stephen and some other men dragged him back. I saw them struggle with him, as I fretted from one frightened foot to the other and the heat fanned around me like the breath of a dragon. Through the heat haze I could see Hugo’s face looking toward me, his mouth calling my name, and I saw in his eyes his terror of losing me and I knew then—for the first time perhaps—that he had loved me. And that for a little while—God knows only a little, little while—that I had loved him
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I turned my face away from him, away from the castle, away from them all. I leaned my head on her thin shoulder and tightened my arms around her waist. The flames had flickered up the back of the stake and the singed rope binding her hands behind her suddenly parted. Her broken, racked hand stroked my hair, clasped the top of my head in her blessing. And even with the pain from my scalding feet and the heat of the smoke in my throat and the ceaseless, senseless thudding of fear all through me, I felt at peace—at last—at peace. Because I knew at last where I belonged, and because I had found, at the very last, a love I would not betray
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The last thing I knew, even more powerful than my old constant terror of fire, was her arms coming around me and her voice. She said: “My daughter.”