Townsend, Lindsay - The Snow Bride (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (5 page)

Why was Magnus here in the forest?

Elfrida imagined the village headman and Magnus together, a picture that came easily to her mind. Magnus was at ease in the forest—she saw that in how he gathered wood and checked for deer and boar droppings and set traps for birds. He knew where to sweep aside the snow to find paths and then fallen sweet chestnuts, crab apples, and frozen blackberries. Chestnuts were already roasting, and their savor reminded her that she had not eaten for days.

Had the village
men
sent a messenger to Magnus, pleading for his help against the beast? Or was she mistaken? Was Magnus as evil as he looked?

Again she tried to rise, but the slow spinning in her head increased. She turned onto her back and stared upwards. A yellow sun blinked at her through the branches, and her breath was the only cloud in a wide sky the shade of cornflowers. From her clothes she brought out a dried, fragile sprig of rosemary, an amulet that she had given to Christina last winter, when her sister had nightmares and she wanted to protect her from evil spirits. Tucking the sprig between her breasts, she covered her eyes with her cloak and willed herself to sleep.

Dream of Christina. Dream of where she is. “See” where she is.

Elfrida knew she was dreaming, in the place between spirits and earth, even before the lion came out of the forest and spoke to her. It was a gold beast with a shaggy coat like a wolfhound and kind, crinkled eyes.

“Do you remember the speech of your grandfather?” the lion asked.

“I do.” And she knew what she would say to Magnus, once she was awake.

* * * *

Magnus was worried. The fire he had made should have brought his people. It was an old signal, well-known between them. His men should have reached the village by now—that had been the arrangement. They were bringing traps and provisions, in covered wagons, and hunting dogs and horses. He had been impatient to start his pursuit of the Forest Grendel and so rode ahead, returning with the messenger until that final stretch when the man turned off to his home. He had ridden on alone, finding the wayside shrine.

But from then, all had gone awry. Instead of the monster, he had found an ailing witch, and the snowstorm had lost him more tracks and time.

Magnus shook his head, turning indulgent eyes to the small, still figure on the rough pallet. At least the little witch had slept through the night and day, snug and safe, and he had been able to make her a litter from woven branches. He would give his fire signal a little longer and then return Elfrida to her village. There he might find someone who could translate between them.

Perhaps she did have power, for even as he looked at her, she sat up, the hood of her cloak falling away, and stared at him in return. She said something, then repeated it, and he drew in a great gulp of cold air in sheer astonishment, then laughed.

“I know what you said!” He wanted to kiss her, spots and all.

He burst into a clumsy canter, dragging his peg leg a little and almost tumbling onto her bed. She caught him by the shoulders and tried to steady him but collapsed under his weight.

They finished in an untidy heap on the pallet, with Elfrida hissing by his ear, “Why you have done such a foolish thing as to burn all our fuel?”

He rolled off her, knocked snow off his front and beard and said in return, “How did you know I would know the old speech, the old English?”

“I dream true, and I dreamed this.” She was blushing, though not, he realized quickly, from shyness.

“Why burn so wildly?” she burst out, clearly furious. “You have wasted it! All that good wood gone to ash!”

“My men know my sign and will come now the storm has gone.” He had not expected thanks or soft words, but he was not about to be scolded by this red-haired nag.

“That is your plan,
Sir
Magnus? To burn half the forest to alert your troops?”

“A wiser plan than yours, madam, setting yourself as bait. Or had your village left you hanging there, perhaps to nag the beast to death?”

Her face turned as scarlet as the fire. “So says any witless fool! ’Tis too easy a charge men make against women, any woman who thinks and acts for herself. And no man orders me!”

Magnus swallowed the snort of laughter filling up his throat. He doubted she saw any amusement in their finally being able to speak to each other only to quarrel. Had she been a man or a lad, he would have knocked her into the snow, then offered a drink of mead, but such rough fellowship was beyond him here.

“And how would you have fought off any knave, or worse, that found you?” he asked patiently. “You did not succeed with me.”

“There are better ways to vanquish a male than brute force. I knew what I was about!”

“Truly? You were biding your time? And the pox makes you alluring?”

“Says master gargoyle! My spots will pass!”

“Or did you plan to scatter a few herbs, perhaps?”

He thought he heard her clash her teeth together. “I did not plan my sickness, and I do not share my secrets! Had you not snatched me away, had you not interfered, I would know where the monster lives. I would have found my sister! I would be with her!” Her voice hitched, and a look of pain and dread crossed her face. “We would be together. Whatever happens, I would be with her.”

“This was Christina?”

“
Is
Christina, not was, never was! I know she lives!”

Magnus merely nodded, his temper cooling rapidly as he marked how her color had changed and her body shook. A desperate trap to recover a much-loved sister excused everything, to his way of thinking.

She called you a gargoyle
! This piqued his vanity and pride.

But she does not think you the monster
, Magnus reminded himself in a dazzled, shocked wonder, embracing that knowledge like a lover.

Elfrida was unaware of the impact of her words. He wondered if she even knew what she had admitted as she continued to speak in a torrent of fear. “She will be so frightened, and Christina is so young, so delicate. She was getting married, but what if her betrothed says no to the wedding after this? To marry and to be loved were always her greatest hopes!” Elfrida lurched to her feet, growing paler still. “I must find her!”

She stumbled off the pallet, losing her footing, and collapsed in a puddle of clothes. She lay still, her long hair streaked across her limp form like a trail of blood.

Cursing, Magnus reached for her. “Should have kept to love potions and spinning,” he muttered, tossing her over his shoulder. He knew a girlish faint when he saw one, but Elfrida would have to come to on the back of his horse. At long last he could hear the drumming of approaching riders and, from the shouts and catcalls, knew they were his men.

Chapter 3

Her dreams were dark and strange, full of loud noises and storm. She called, in her dreams, on the saints and the old ones to protect her, while at times she was in a land of white, then red and green. When the space about her turned blue, she woke.

Magnus was sitting beside her, playing chess with another man. As he moved the queen, he lifted his familiar, ugly head and smiled at her.

“How are you now?”

“Better, becoming better,” she said. “But how long and where—”

He smiled. “Never fret, Elfrida! My men and hounds are searching the forest even now, and Christina’s betrothed is with them. They will find the track of the monster even in this snow.”

Elfrida looked about, recognizing the hut and the charred remains of Magnus’s huge bonfire.

“You were too ill to move,” Magnus said simply. “I did not realize at first, but when the fit-demon came over you, I reckoned we must stay here.” With a quickness that astonished her, he took her face in his hand. “The demon has gone from you. Your eyes are as clear as amber again, and very sweet.”

Elfrida flushed, unused to anything of hers being called sweet. She was conscious, too, of the steady warmth of Magnus’s fingers against her cheek even as she anguished, wondering what the fit-demon had made her do. For the first time in an age she wondered how she looked. Were the itching-pox spots very bad?

I fret for a mirror when Christina is still missing! That is more sinful than witchcraft.

The man beside Magnus spoke, and Magnus laughed, releasing her.

“Mark is a simple soul. He thinks you are not pretty enough to bother with. He says he would have rolled you in the snow and left you.”

Elfrida rubbed her finger and thumb together, murmuring a charm to bring fleas to the ungracious Mark, a wiry russet-and-gray fellow with a red nose. She smiled when he clapped a hand onto the back of his neck, and cursed.

“How long have your men been searching?” she asked, wondering if the helmet full of hot water was still about and if she might have some.

“Since dawn today,” Magnus replied, holding out a flask. “We must do it quickly. More snow is coming.”

Elfrida glanced at the cloudless sky and wondered how he thought that. “Where are you looking?” she demanded, taking the mead with a nod of thanks. In this sacred time before Christmas, such honey drinks and small luxuries were forbidden, but God would understand a gesture of peace and fellowship.

Mark glowered and said something more, which Magnus waved away with the stump of his right hand.

“What did he say?”

“That an ugly woman is an affront to God and that you ask too many questions.”

“Mark is a fool. When I am well, I will be acceptable, and Mark will still be a fool.” She glanced at the fellow, who slapped at another biting flea on the back of his neck. “That one will say that all women talk too much. He steals brides, do you know?”

“I think you mean the monster rather than my soldier.”

“I hope he fights better than he reasons.”

“He does. As for the monster, Walter told me through an interpreter.”

“What else has Walter said?” Loathing the way the men of her own village had kept secrets from her, Elfrida forced herself to swallow her resentment—it would only waste time now. Biting her tongue, she took a huge gulp of mead, which made her eyes water and had her half choking.

Magnus did not grin or clap her on the back. He waited until her coughing had subsided and gave her a slow, considering look. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him. He spoke again to Mark, a clear order, and waited until the man had risen and kicked through the snow to a covered wagon.

“How are the spots? Itching yet?”

Elfrida gave a faint shudder. “Do not remind me.” Since stirring, she had been aware of her whole body tickling and burning. Mark’s idea of rolling in the snow might not be so bad.

“Walter told me that the
village
of
Great Yarr
has a bathhouse. Bathing in oatmeal will help you.”

She did not say that the village could afford to spare no foodstuffs and would not be distracted. She had tried to rush off in pursuit of the monster before and gained nothing, so now she would gather her strength and learn before she moved. “What did you call the beast?
Forest
Grendel? Is it known he lives in the forest?”

Magnus shook his head. “It is not known, but I do not think so now, or at least not outdoors. I have hunted wolf’s heads who have been outlawed and fled into woodland, and they always have camps and dens and food caches within the forest. I have found none of those hereabouts.”

“My dowsing caught no sign of any lair of his,” Elfrida agreed.

Magnus leaned forward, bracing himself with his injured arm. Elfrida forced herself not to stare at his stump, but to listen to him.