Claire Delacroix (27 page)

I could not permit that to happen. I could not permit this lady of stalwart will stumble so fatally.

Evangeline was the reason why I would return to Inverfyre. Make no mistake, this was no lasting change in me. The goddess Fate had merely mistaken me for a man of honor and, despite the odds, had persuaded me to make a chivalrous choice rather than a selfish one.

Indeed, I felt responsible for Evangeline’s situation. Having made too persuasive an argument that I was an unreliable and heartless scoundrel, I had inadvertently convinced the lady to retreat to Inverfyre rather than continue to Ravensmuir with me.

I had long suspected that scruples were troublesome and thus had always ensured that I not cultivate any. It was no consolation to find my suspicions correct.

My every instinct told me it was fool’s errand to pursue Evangeline and that either of us would be fortunate to escape Inverfyre again alive. My gut told me that this was no longer my concern, that the lady could fend for herself well enough. My desire to survive, which had always served me well, told me to flee for Ravensmuir while I yet could and leave this land far behind me.

But I turned back to collect my few remaining belongings, knowing full well that I would not go to Ravensmuir this morn.

No, I and my newfound scruples would go to Inverfyre.

* * *

Evangeline, I was certain, would seek out this old woman in the woods name of Adaira. So concerned was Evangeline with justice, so persuaded was she of its power, that she would collect the sole witness of her innocence before returning to Inverfyre’s keep. No doubt, she would knock upon the very gates, the old woman’s hand fast in her own, certain righteousness would reign supreme.

I strode a little faster at that chilling prospect. I would have much preferred to ride through the forest than to walk, but that choice had been made for me.

Forests, after all, are filled with dangers of a most human kind. People who live in the forests outside of towns are of two types: those who choose their abode and those who have the choice made for them.

It is the nature of our kind that some are wrought wicked, and also our nature when in groups to mercilessly outcast those whose presence is not of advantage to the rest of us. I make no judgment here, merely comment upon what I have seen. One cannot readily distinguish between the unfortunate and the lawless in the forest, as either may be maimed or scarred.

Neither is less dangerous. All people of the woods are suspicious beyond expectation and, shall we say, enterprising beyond belief. They will steal, even kill, without compunction for some trinket that might ensure their own survival.

They also know their abode better than any other stranger can. A person of the forest will be found only if he or she desires to be found - thus, I made no effort to find Adaira, but concentrated on remaining undiscovered myself.

Although Alasdair and his comrades would be delighted to retrieve one of their escaped prisoners, I doubted that I would enjoy the ensuing festivities. That they might be prepared to pay a bounty for my hide had me repeatedly glancing over my shoulder.

I moved with considerable haste, knowing that I could not match the speed of the horse. At least the path was sufficiently uneven that the horse could not set an aggressive pace. My sole hope was that Evangeline had found Adaira and that the older woman had dissuaded her from marching up to Inverfyre’s gates.

Of course, the old woman might be mad. There was consolation!

When it fell dark, I slept in a tree, which I assure you is not pleasurable in the least, and leapt awake at every snapping twig in my proximity.

* * *

As a result of worry, discomfort and a decided lack of life’s most meager comforts, I was not at my best the following morn.

My own growling gut awakened me at first light, and having nothing with which to sate it, I began walking again. Greenery erupted from its winter slumber on all sides of me. I had no doubt that some of what I could see was edible, but one has only to make a single bad choice of mushroom to cease foraging forever.

I know nothing of mushrooms, nor other plants, so chose to go hungry.

Thus, I was in somewhat of a sour mood - walking toward my certain demise, damp and tired and hungered - when someone tapped me upon the shoulder around midday.

I nigh leapt for the sky, so startled was I.

I spun and found a wrinkled old woman before me, chuckling to herself as she leaned upon a stick nigh as gnarled as she. She tilted her head as if to regard me, but I noted the blue haze across her eyes and knew her to be blind.

Then I recognized her.

“You are the alewife!”

“And where is the child I entrusted to your care?”

“I am not Connor MacDoughall.” I stepped closer, intending to see matters straight upon one matter. I was more angry with her than even I expected. “You erred gravely in thinking that I was that babe’s father…”

“I knew you were not Connor,” she scoffed. “You did not answer my query. Where is the child?”

“That child might have died! I know nothing of the care of children, but you, you should have known better than to force her into a stranger’s care, into my care.” I scoffed in my turn. “Now, you fear for her survival. What if it is too late?”

“You did not kill her and you are not so fool as to not ask for aid.”

“You know nothing of me.”

“I know that you are a man to see to his own advantage. It can be no advantage to be burdened with a dead child. You do not have her with you and did not when last you came to Inverfyre, which means that you have found a home for her. Where is it?”

“I have no obligation to confide in you.”

She laughed then, a wry cackle that seemed to weaken her knees. “Do you not then?” She turned with unexpected speed and began to stride through the woods.

In a heartbeat, I realized that she would fade from view before I could catch her. Her homespun cloak already seemed to disappear at the edges in a most curious way, blending with the forest so that only her whitened hair could be spied.

If she but lifted the hood, I would lose her utterly.

“Halt! I will tell you!”

“I am blind, not deaf,” she said without slowing her pace.

“You need not fear for the child. A couple have taken her in, upon my entreaty.” She paused. I scrambled closer, and smiled my best smile though I knew she could not see it. “You will enjoy that they think the child to be my own bastard.”

She snorted. “Where?”

“You cannot retrieve the babe or visit her. You no longer have a claim upon her, not now that you have surrendered her welfare so heedlessly.”

“How far?” she demanded. “I care not where but only how far.”

I considered her, then realized that she might not wish the child to return to her one day. “No one knows of your tale but me, and I will tell none.”

“How far?”

“More than four days ride.”

She nodded and turned to the forest, chomping her lips together as she evidently thought about this. “It is enough,” she muttered. She strode into the forest again and it was only as she nigh disappeared that I came to my senses.

“Wait!” I lunged after her, finding a muddy puddle that she had neatly evaded and miring my boots. She did not so much as pause, so I began to run. The mud sucked at my boots, the branches slapped my face. The ground was uneven and I had a hard time meeting the old woman’s pace. “Wait! I beg of you. Do you know Adaira?”

She halted suddenly, as if her feet had taken root.

I hastened toward her, disregarding the brambles that scratched my flesh and the rocks that tripped me. I came to a stumbling stop beside her, my breathing heavy. “Do you know where I might find Adaira?”

She slanted that odd milky blue glance at me, as if she could indeed see, despite her cataracts. “Why do you seek Adaira?”

“I seek the lady Evangeline, in truth, but she has gone to Adaira. She has been accused of murdering her lord husband, Fergus, and Adaira is the sole witness of her innocence.”

The old woman pursed her lips.

“The lady’s life could rest in your hands,” I added, hoping that none in these woods held any grudges against Evangeline.

“The lady’s life rests in her own hands,” the alewife said firmly. “So it is with all of us.” She began to march away again, but this time, I was fast behind her.

If she spurned my quest, then all the forest dwellers would do so. I have learned that they act with more cohesiveness even than those within towns - it is not merely their safety as stake, but their very lives.

“You must have some fondness for her, as you burdened me with that babe at her bidding.”

The woman snorted. “The lady knew nothing of the child, nor indeed of what aid I granted to you.”

“Then why did you aid me, if not by her command?”

“Because I chose to do so,” she said with unexpected ferocity. “Just as I choose now to not aid you.”

It was not my imagination that she moved more quickly then, barely stirring the leaves of the forest as she passed. She might not have been of this world, for she seemed suddenly less substantial, more likely to vanish if my gaze slipped from her. She lifted her hood, turning her entire figure to the same hue as the forest, and I despaired.

I had heard that hunger begat whimsy and now I knew that too was true.

“Do you feel no compassion for her fate?” I dodged a tree, managing to keep reasonably close behind the old woman.

She laughed. “In the great scheme of things, there are matters of more concern than the fate of any one of us. I have learned that lesson well enough myself.”

“Do you not care that Evangeline is innocent?” My ire rose when the old woman shrugged. “Do you not care that she is so trusting of others that she will declare herself before her opponents? Do you not care that her husband’s family will be more than pleased to kill her that they might secure their grip upon Inverfyre?” My words might have been more misty rain for all the heed she granted them. “Do you not care that this woman will die needlessly and her unborn child with her?”

“Ah, you know of the child.”

“I fathered the child!” I roared.

Her step seemed to falter, but she recovered so quickly that I doubted what I had seen. “So, you would save the lady to ensure the survival of your get?” Her low opinion of this was most clear.

“No!”

She turned a corner so quickly that I was compelled to leap over a rock to pursue her. I landed upon a scree of rocks, which then tumbled. I fought to gain a footing and found one in a burrow, turning my ankle painfully in the process.

“For the love of God!” I shouted, my patience well-expired. “Can you not take me to Adaira and let her decide whether she would aid me?”

The old woman began to cackle. She laughed so hard that she nigh bent in half. She sat down upon a rock when she apparently could not support herself, not while in the grip of such mirth. She braced her hands upon her knees as she hooted and guffawed.

So, she was mad.

That was a perfect outcome, well-suited to my fortunes in this sorry land. Indeed, she would likely be of no aid to me at all. I tested my ankle and found it could bear my weight, if only just, then turned to limp away. I would seek Adaira without whatever assistance this one might choose to grant.

“And why do you leave?” she asked, probably hearing my footsteps on the stone. I glanced back, intending to make some cutting remark, but she lifted her hands and turned her palms up. She smiled just as a shaft of sunlight pierced the leaves high above and landed upon her face. She looked suddenly younger and less gnarled, and I could have sworn that her clouded eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Why do you leave, Gawain Lammergeier, just when you have found the Adaira whom you seek?”

I gaped, for I do not take kindly to surprises. “You are Adaira?”

She smiled with all the innocence of an angel, then inclined her head in acknowledgement.

I propped my hands upon my hips. “How did you know my name?”

Her peal of merry laughter was apparently the sole answer I would have. I was irked, if you must know, certain that I had been made to look a fool and not at all convinced that she was Adaira as she claimed.

She rose to her feet, grasped her walking stick and beckoned to me with a twisted finger. “Come. I will feed you and tell you some of what you wish to know.”

Some, not all. I swallowed my foul mood and followed the woman, intent upon charming more of the tale from her lips than she intended to tell.

* * *

Her abode was a hut, buried in the deepest shadows of the forest. It was wrought of wood, but not in any fashion I knew. The builder had used salvaged timber, perhaps trees that had fallen in storms, for entire branches were netted together to make the walls and roof. The shape of the dwelling was irregular as a result, the walls far from flat or of consistent thickness. The spaces between the branches were filled with dead leaves and moss.