A Dark Night Hidden (35 page)

Also she knew she had to make reparations for what she had done; the month of contemplation and meditation in the cave had merely been the start. There were rules in her new world just as there had been in the one she had left over a year ago. She had had her reasons for her actions and she knew she could defend them. But defend them she would have to do. The prospect frightened her, for all that Lora and the others tried to reassure her. In the end, seeing that she was about to be overwhelmed by her dread, Lora had said, ‘Live in the now, my girl. Let tomorrow look after itself. If you spend all your time in fear of what may be to come, you won’t appreciate the beauty of today.’

It was sound advice, Joanna knew it. Also, Lora’s words echoed what dear Mag Hobson used to say. Still did say sometimes, her faint voice sounding as an echo of Lora’s. It was a great comfort.

As she finished her packing and fastened her leather satchel, Joanna sat down beside the hearth and looked around her little home. Mag’s home. Everything was spotlessly clean and tidy; she wanted to leave it so in case someone should happen upon it and investigate within. Perhaps, recognising it as a dwelling that was loved and cherished, they would leave it alone. Just to be on the safe side, however, Joanna intended to put another hiding charm on the place.

Later today – in only a little while from now – she would put Meggie in her sling, pick up her bundle and set out on the long, secret road that led north-westwards. It was one of the old straight tracks, made – or so her people said – by the Great Ones of an earlier time who could feel the Earth’s pulse beneath their feet and who let Her power lines ordain where their paths led. It went as straight as any of the old roads that the Romans built, heading always for that distant destination.

Mona’s Isle. The very name made something within Joanna quake and turn over, like a fish caught in a sudden eddy.

There she would begin receiving instruction. Some of the great ones of her people – the Domina included – would teach her. She could hardly believe it, but it seemed to be because of the bear claw. And, more significantly, who had given it to her. The Domina had told her about the bear man. A little, anyway. Just enough to make Joanna both dread and long to see him again.

Thinking of that made her fears return. So instead she turned her mind to her little house. What would she miss? The song of the birds at dawn. The cry of the vixen and the occasional distant howl of the wolf. The flowers and the herbs in her garden, the rows of simples, ointments and remedies that she had made, bottled and labelled with her own hands.

Josse.

His image was suddenly there before her eyes, unbidden. She had seen him that day when he had come for Utta, and it was only because she had been so quick in slipping into hiding that he had not seen her too. She had gone foraging, leaving Utta happily playing with Meggie beside the stream. Returning, she had heard his voice. Her reaction – the reaction of her body that had loved him and lain with him – had all but taken her breath away.

Utta had asked him to return for her later. Then, as soon as he had gone – was it not just typical of big, kind Josse, Joanna now thought, to understand Utta’s fear and do exactly as she asked? – Utta had sought out Joanna to return Meggie to her and to say goodbye. It had been heartbreaking; Joanna could still remember Utta’s halting words of gratitude and love, still feel the tight hug and the warm tears on her cheek that might have been Utta’s or her own. Then Utta had gone, and Joanna and Meggie were once more alone.

Josse.

He had asked her to marry him once but she had declined, knowing that his heart was not really in it and that he loved another. Also, she knew she was not destined to live the life of a knight’s wife in his cosy manor house; her way was very different.

Josse.

He had planted his seed in her; she had conceived and borne him a daughter. And he did not know. She wished there were some way that he
could
know without its changing anything. But she did not believe that was possible.

Josse.

‘I am going away,’ she said softly to him, wherever he was. ‘Not for ever, they say. But it may be for a long time.’ She sighed. ‘I loved you, in my way. Perhaps I still do. But it is not destined that our paths run together, not for the moment, anyway.’

No. Her path, or so she understood, was very different.

She got to her feet, gently arranged Meggie in her sling, then picked up her pack. She checked that the fire was quite dead, that everything was as she wished, then went out through the low door and carefully fastened it behind her, concentrating hard and quietly chanting her strongest spell. Then, stepping back a little, she imagined the hut disappearing into its surroundings.

‘Wait for me,’ she said aloud. ‘I’ll be back.’

Then, squinting up at the Sun, she turned on to the track that led off into the north-west and strode away.

Alys Clare is a history enthusiast who has written many novels under a different name. Alys Clare lives in Kent, where the Hawkenlye mysteries are set. You can reach her on her website
www.alysclare.com