The High Sheriff of Huntingdon (27 page)

“He’s
not
a bad
boy,
you
know,”
the old woman
said
as
she handed
Elspeth
a
bowl of rich, dark
s
t
e
w.
“He
has a t
emper, that’s
for
certain. He
always
was
too
quick, even
as
a child. He
doesn’t
suffer fools
gladly, and the world
is
full of fools.”

The stew
was
thick
and savory, warming the empty
knot in
Elspeth’s stomach.
She
at
e
slowly, dreamily
,
c
o
nt
e
nt to
watch
as
the
old woman
brought
a
b
a
s
i
n
of
herbed
water for her bruised,
bleeding
feet.
“
Who
doesn’t?”
s
h
e
murmured,
the spoon
s
cra
p
in
g the bottom
of
the
earthenware
bowl.

The
w
o
m
a
n
moved
beside
her,
dried flowers in
her
h
a
n
d
,
and
she
shook them over
Elspeth’s
w
e
ar
y
head.
“My
son,
of
course,”
she
said. “Your
husband.”

For
a moment Elspeth’s lassitude lifted.
“You’re the
witch,”
she gasped.

“Not the most tactful
thing
to call
your
mothe
r-
in
-l
aw,”
the old
woman
said, “but
accurate,
nonetheless.
You may call
me Morgana.
Unless
you’d
prefer so
m
et
hin
g
a
l
i
t
tle
more intimate.”

Elspeth
t
r
i
e
d
to
m
o
v
e
back on
her seat,
but th
e
r
e
was
no
w
h
e
r
e
to go
and
she
was
f
e
e
l
i
n
g
so
deeply weary.
“I
don’t
b
e
l
i
e
v
e
in witches,”
s
h
e
said, wondering
she still meant it.
“How
did
I
get
here?”

“I
summoned
you. After all,
I
couldn’t
l
et
you
wander around
the
woods with
no protection.
These are
d
a
n
g
e
r
ous
times,
and d
e
s
p
i
t
e
everything,
Alistair is
too trusting.
My
son
would
never
forgive
me if
I
let
anything
happen to
you.”

“He
wants
to kill me
himself.”

“Nonsense. And
you
seemed
like
such
a
lev
el
headed
girl.
Don’
t
believe all
t
h
e things
that are
said of
my
son.
To
be sure, he’
s
a
bit wild, a bit dangerous,
perhaps
even a
bit
mad.
But
you
could be the making of him.”
And she began to
mutter something
beneath her breath, something Elspeth couldn’t
quite
hear,
about white
and
black, blood
and
snow, and
fire
and
rain.

She
tried to struggle to her feet,
but
her body
refused to obey her,
and her mind began to
spin.
“I won’t…”
she
murmured,
and felt
herself
begin
to
fall
moments befo
re
Morgana’s unusually strong arms
caught her with surprising gentleness.

“Of
course
you will,”
she said. “There’s
no
denying the prophecy.
It came to
me on the
wind the
day
he was
born, and t
h
e
r
e
was no
turning
away
from it.
Let me
make
you
some of
my special
tea, and you
won’t
mind it at all.”

“No!”
Elspeth
screamed,
but the
sound came out as
an agonized w
hisper. She raised
her hands to
ward off
any
more potions. “You’ve poisoned me.”

“Of
course
not.
Just
given
you something
to h
e
lp
you sleep.
You’re
weary, child.
you
n
e
e
d your rest.
We have time.
Alistair won’t
realize
where
you
are until tomorrow at
the soonest.
When
you
a
w
ak
e
I’ll
brew you som
e tea.”

“No,”
she cried again, but
there
was no
sound.
She was helpless
to
resist
as
Morgana pulled her through
a
curtained doorway
into
a
small
,
dark
room.