The Sorceror's Revenge (9 page)

             
‘How could any man return from the dead?’  Melloria shivered, remembering Robert’s conviction that a sorcerer had bewitched her – and the day she had found the book of secrets.  Had Nicholas learned the secret of life and death? For a moment she wondered if perchance there was more to the rumours than she had believed, but in the next moment she dismissed it as nonsense and superstition.  ‘If his body had disappeared someone must have taken it.’

             
‘I thought it might have been you, mistress, but if you knew nothing it must be the work of the Devil.’

             
‘No, I shall not believe that of Nicholas.  My husband was not an evil man.’

             
‘Your husband be the Earl Devereaux – him that killed innocent folk for trying to protect themselves and do their duty.’

             
‘Robert Devereaux may be my husband in law,’ Melloria said.  ‘But in my heart I shall treasure the memory of Nicholas, the partner of my soul and my mind.’

             
Griszelda gave her a strange look.  ‘I packed your things in case you sent for them.  Shall I have them taken out to the cart?’

             
‘Yes, please.  My clothes and books, and the lyre that Nicholas bought for me but not the harp.  That belongs here.  I shall take some of these journals for I fear that if the house is left empty they may be stolen or destroyed.’

             
‘I’ll have your clothes taken to the cart, mistress.’

             
‘What of you?’ Melloria asked.  ‘Will you manage here alone?  I am sure there would be room for you at the abbey if you cared to come back with us.’

             
Griszelda sniffed.  ‘I’ve seen enough of such places, mistress.  I’ll not take my old bones there to die of cold.  Besides, someone should stay here.’

             
‘Why – do you think Nicholas is alive?’  Melloria saw a flicker in the old woman’s eyes.  Her heart leaped for joy. ‘You don’t believe these tales of his coming back from the dead, do you?  You think he recovered his senses in the night and went off without anyone knowing.  I think you may be right.  Some of his journals have gone and other small things…’ Her heart lifted as she read the answer in the old woman’s face.  ‘Yes, stay here, Griszelda.  I shall send you money and food when I can.  If you are here to keep the house from becoming a ruin there will be a place for Nicholas if he ever returns.’

             
‘Why would he return?  Would the earl not try to kill him again?’

             
‘He might if he knew Nicholas was here,’ Melloria said.  ‘In time he will forget.  Robert believes that Nicholas is dead.  It is best that everyone believes it.  Leave me now, Griszelda.  I wish to sit and think for a while.’

             
‘God be with you, mistress.’

             
‘And with you.’

             
Nicholas was alive.  Melloria had sensed it, known it in her heart, though her mind denied it.  Hope sprang up in her.  If Nicholas lived she might yet see him again…feel his arms about her…and yet nothing could change the truth.  She was Robert’s wife.  Nicholas had let her believe otherwise, but he had hidden the truth from her – feared to tell her lest she leave him.

             
‘If you had told me, we could have gone away.  I should never have left you, Nicholas.  I could not for you are part of me…my very soul.’

             
Melloria went to sit in the chair Nicholas had used so many evenings writing in his journals.  The newest one was on the board, his quill lying beside it.  She opened the journal at a fresh place, dipped the quill tip in the inkpot and began to write, blowing on it when she had finished to dry it before she closed the page.  If Nicholas ever returned he would know that she had been here.  He would know that she had taken his journals to keep them safe and learn from them.

I shall keep them for you in case you return,
she had written. 
Melloria, Countess Devereaux may have to return to the earl, but she will never forget a time when she was happy.  Anne will always love you, Nicholas, and your child shall not forget her father.

There was little more she could or wished to say.  Another woman might have begged him to come for her and take her away but Melloria was not that woman.  Anne had died with her husband.  Melloria would live on and find a way to conceal the birth of Nicholas’s child from a jealous man who might harm the babe if he learned of its existence.

Melloria had not yet decided what form her revenge would take, but she would never forgive Robert for what he had done.  He was to blame for what had happened here not Nicholas.  She would never have come to this place alone and close to death if Robert had protected and loved her, as he ought.

Why had he not avenged her by killing Montroy?  Beatrice had learned that a Welsh crossbow had killed the earl.  He was dead and could do her no more harm, but Robert had not taken revenge for what Melloria had suffered.  He had not searched long or hard enough to find her and her child.

It was possible that he might redeem himself by finding the missing child and if that were to happen, she might be able to forgive him though she did not think she could ever love him again.

‘I love you, Nicholas,’ she whispered.  ‘If you are living still, forgive me for doubting you.  Take care, my love.  I hope one day that we shall meet again, whether it be this side of the grave or the other.’  She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened.  ‘God give me strength to do what I must.  Let my poor child be found…let her not suffer wherever she is…’

Melloria tried to imagine the woman who had taken her child.  Was the babe safe and loved or was she suffering at this very minute?

9

Will had been gone for hours.  Marta looked out at the sky, which was gathering with dark clouds.  It looked as if a storm was on its way.  Will had told her he would only be gone a short time.  He had left her with the intent of booking passage for them on a ship bound for France, but he had been away so long that she was beginning to wonder if he had deserted her.

             
‘Marta…’ the child wailed.  Mary was tired from the incessant travelling, because Will had been frightened to stop anywhere for more than a day.  He was constantly glancing over his shoulder and every time a horse came up behind them he dragged Marta and the child from the road to hide.  ‘Mary want milk…Mary hungry…’

             
‘Stop your whining, girl,’ Marta snapped, her tone sharper than she would normally use to the child.  ‘I have no milk and no bread neither.  I’m hungry same as you.  Will promised to bring food back for us.  He won’t be long now.’

             
Mary continued to grizzle and complain of being hungry.  In the end Marta reached into the food pouch and took out a piece of hard bacon that was turning rancid.

             
‘If you are so hungry chew on this but don’t blame me if it makes you sick.’

             
Marta knew she was being harsh.  She would be sorry for it later, but Mary had hardly stopped crying and complaining since they left Winchester.  She demanded to be carried and asked for milk and bread, which were things Marta could not often provide.

             
Looking up at the sky again, she thought that it would soon be dark.  It was not cold but she had grown used to a bed and the thought of sleeping on hard ground was not pleasant, especially in a strange place.  She did not know where to go to find food and shelter, and was afraid to spend the money in her pouch because if Will deserted her she would not know what to do.  Travelling the roads was hard enough but she was too frightened to beg or ask for work, the shadow of murder hanging over her like a dark cloud.  Her guilt and remorse was so strong that she felt folk would see it just by looking at her.

             
Marta imagined the fires of Hell and souls tormented.  She heard the Devil laughing as they writhed in agony in the flames.  It was what the priest preached, and the religious pictures she had seen all portrayed such an end for those who had committed far less evil crimes than theirs.

             
Will said that it would be better when they left England.  No one would know about the murder in France.  There they could relax and be happy again.  If it was possible to relax and forget?  Marta was not certain she would ever put the sight of Todd’s poor head completely out of her mind.

             
She wondered if she should move on, start to look for a place to sleep, but Will had told her she must stay here by the side of the road and she was afraid to move in case he came looking for her.

10

Rhoda shivered as the air became cool after the heat of the day.  It had taken longer for her things to be packed than she had imagined and Jonathan had suggested they wait one more night, but she had insisted they leave once everything was ready.  There was no point in staying longer than need be.  The castle was not her home.  Robert wanted her gone and she could not wait to leave.  Since she must leave her son behind the break would be best done and finished.

             
She had not shed a tear as she allowed Jonathan to put her up on her horse.  Nor would she allow herself to look back as they rode away, Jonathan leading the packhorse that carried their goods.  Robert had forced her to give up her son.  He had paid her with gold and jewels, but for once Rhoda did not care what they might be worth.  She would have snatched her son and fled with him, but Robert had taken good care that she could not break her word.  His son was being closely guarded.  His son!  Inwardly, she raged over the words that Joanne had used.  Robert had had little enough to do with the birth of his son.  Any man could have taken his part.  It was she who had carried him for nine months in her womb.  She who had suffered the frustrations and pain of childbirth, and Jonathan who had held her hand as Harry was born.

             
What right had Robert to claim the boy?  What right to send her away as if she were a brood mare that had served her purpose?  Hate was building inside her as she rode.  The softer feelings that Jonathan’s love had aroused in her were thrust aside to make room for the cuckoo’s egg of hate  that had been planted in her breast.  One day she would make Robert pay for what he had done to her.

             
‘Are you feeling tired, my love?’

             
Jonathan’s look of concern forced a smile from Rhoda’s stiff lips.  She could not hate him, though a kind of resentment was forming inside her head.  Why had he not stood up to Robert?  He claimed that he loved Harry as his own.  Why had he not refused to leave the child behind?

             
‘Where shall we rest tonight?’ she asked.  ‘We cannot…’

             
A strange whistling sound made her look towards the trees on the left side of the road, which was at the very edge of Robert’s estate.  Then, as she looked at Jonathan, she saw his body jerk and shudder as the bolt from a crossbow thudded into his forehead.  He stared at her for a moment, as if surprised, and then fell from his horse to the ground.  His horse neighed and bolted, clearly spooked by the unexpected attack. 

             
With no thought for her own safety, Rhoda flung herself down from her horse and ran to where Jonathan lay.  She bent over him, looking at his face.  A thin trickle of blood ran from the wound where the bolt had penetrated deep into his skull and his eyes were still open.

             
‘Jonathan…’ she sobbed.  ‘Jonathan my love…please don’t die…’  Tears ran down her face as she threw herself down beside him, bending over his body to kiss his lips.  She stroked his face, crying and begging him to speak to her though she knew he was dead.  ‘I love you…I love you…’

             
‘You should have kept your promise to me, Rhoda.’ 

             
She looked up as the shadow loomed over her.  Kerrin, the man she’d once promised to love, was standing in front of her.  His face was cold and remote, the face of a stranger that sent terror running through her.  Even Robert had never looked at her this way.

             
Slowly, Rhoda got to her feet.  She met his icy gaze but felt no fear.  It was very strange.  Once upon a time she would have been terrified.  Jonathan was dead and Robert had abandoned her.  She was alone in the world but there was still a chance – a chance to win back her son and take revenge on the man who had wronged her. She no longer cared what became of her but she wanted revenge and she wanted her son.

             
‘Kerrin…’ she said, forcing a smile to her lips.  ‘You have come at last.  I acquit you of the promise you made…’