“Who are these men, Matthew?” I moved closer to get a better look at the pair. He turned and settled his hands on my upper arms, keeping me where I was.
“They’re friends,” Matthew said, but his obvious effort to regroup made me wonder if he was telling the truth.
“Well, well. She’s no ghost.” Hancock peered over Matthew’s shoulder, and my flesh turned to ice.
Of course Hancock and Gallowglass were vampires. What other creatures could be that big and bloody-looking?
“Nor is she from Chester,” Gallowglass said thoughtfully. “Does she always have such a bright glaem about her?”
The word might be unfamiliar, but its meaning was clear enough. I was shimmering again. It sometimes happened when I was angry, or concentrating on a problem. It was another familiar manifestation of a witch’s power, and vampires could detect the pale glow with their preternaturally sharp eyes. Feeling conspicuous, I stepped back into Matthew’s shadow.
“That’s not going to help, lady. Our ears are as sharp as our eyes. Your witch’s blood is trilling like a bird.” Hancock’s bushy red brows rose as he looked sourly at his companion. “Trouble always travels in the company of women.”
“Trouble is no fool. Given the choice, I’d rather travel with a woman than with you.” The blond warrior addressed Matthew. “It’s been a long day, Hancock’s arse is sore, and he’s hungry. If you don’t tell him why there’s a witch in your house, and quickly, I don’t have high hopes for her continued safety.”
“It must have to do with Berwick,” Hancock declared. “Bloody witches. Always causing trouble.”
“Berwick?” My pulse kicked up a notch. I recognized the name. One of the most notorious witch trials in the British Isles was connected to it. I searched my memory for the dates. Surely it had happened well before or after 1590, or Matthew wouldn’t have selected this moment for our timewalk. But Hancock’s next words drove all thoughts of chronology and history from my mind.
“That, or some new Congregation business that Matthew will want us to sort out for him.”
“The Congregation?” Marlowe’s eyes narrowed, and he looked at Matthew appraisingly. “Is this true? Are you one of the mysterious members?”
“Of course it’s true! How do you imagine he’s kept you from the noose, young Marlowe?” Hancock searched the room. “Is there something to drink other than wine? I hate these French pretensions of yours, de Clermont. What’s wrong with ale?”
“Not now, Davy,” Gallowglass murmured to his friend, though his eyes were fixed on Matthew.
My eyes were fixed on him, too, as an awful sense of clarity settled over me.
“Tell me you’re not,” I whispered. “Tell me you didn’t keep this from me.”
“I can’t tell you that,” Matthew said flatly. “I promised you secrets but no lies, remember?”
I felt sick. In 1590, Matthew was a member of the Congregation, and the Congregation was our enemy.
“And Berwick? You told me there was no danger of being caught up in a witch-hunt.”
“Nothing in Berwick will affect us here,” Matthew assured me.
“What has happened in Berwick?” Walter asked, uneasy.
“Before we left Chester, there was news out of Scotland. A great gathering of witches met in a village east of Edinburgh on All Hallows’ Eve,” Hancock said. “There was talk again of the storm the Danish witches raised this past summer, and the spouts of seawater that foretold the coming of a creature with fearsome powers.”
“The authorities have rounded up dozens of the poor wretches,” Gallowglass continued, his arctic-blue eyes still on Matthew. “The cunning woman in the town of Keith, Widow Sampson, is awaiting the king’s questioning in the dungeons of Holyrood Palace. Who knows how many will join her there before this business is done?”
“The king’s torture, you mean,” Hancock muttered. “They say the woman has been locked into a witch’s bridle so she cannot utter more charms against His Majesty, and chained to the wall without food or drink.”
I sat down abruptly.
“Is this one of the accused, then?” Gallowglass asked Matthew. “And I’d like the witch’s bargain, too, if I may: secrets, but no lies.”
There was a long silence before Matthew answered. “Diana is my wife, Gallowglass.”
“You abandoned us in Chester for a woman?” Hancock was horrified. “But we had work to do!”
“You have an unerring ability to grab the wrong end of the staff, Davy.” Gallowglass’s glance shifted to me. “Your wife?” he said carefully. “So this is just a legal arrangement to satisfy curious humans and justify her presence here while the Congregation decides her future?”
“Not just my wife,” Matthew admitted. “She’s my mate, too.” A vampire mated for life when compelled to do so by an instinctive combination of affection, affinity, lust, and chemistry. The resulting bond was breakable only by death. Vampires might marry multiple times, but most mated just once.
Gallowglass swore, though the sound of it was almost drowned out by his friend’s amusement.
“And His Holiness proclaimed the age of miracles had passed,” Hancock crowed. “Matthew de Clermont is mated at last. But no ordinary, placid human or properly schooled female wearh who knows her place would do. Not for our Matthew. Now that he’s decided at last to settle down with one woman, it had to be a witch. We have more to worry about than the good people of Woodstock, then.”
“What’s wrong in Woodstock?” I asked Matthew with a frown.
“Nothing,” Matthew said breezily. But it was the hulking blond who held my attention.
“Some old besom went into fits on market day. She’s blaming it on you.” Gallowglass studied me from head to toe as if trying to imagine how someone so unprepossessing had caused so much trouble.
“Widow Beaton,” I said breathlessly.
The appearance of Fran?oise and Charles forestalled further conversation. Fran?oise had fragrant gingerbread and spiced wine for the warmbloods. Kit (who was never reluctant to sample the contents of Matthew’s cellar) and George (who was looking a bit green after the evening’s revelations) helped themselves. Both had the air of audience members waiting for the next act to start.
Charles, whose task it was to sustain the vampires, had a delicate pitcher with silver handles and three tall glass beakers. The red liquid within was darker and more opaque than any wine. Hancock stopped Charles on his way to the head of the household.
“I need something to drink more than Matthew does,” he said, grabbing a beaker while Charles gasped at the affront. Hancock sniffed the pitcher’s contents and took that, too. “I haven’t had fresh blood for three days. You have odd taste in women, de Clermont, but no one can criticize your hospitality.”
Matthew motioned Charles in the direction of Gallowglass, who also drank thirstily. When Gallowglass took his final draft, he wiped his hand across his mouth.
“Well?” he demanded. “You’re tight-lipped, I know, but some explanation as to how you let yourself get into this seems in order.”
“This would be better discussed in private,” said Walter, eyeing George and the two daemons.
“Why is that, Raleigh?” Hancock’s voice took on a pugnacious edge. “De Clermont has a lot to answer for. So does his witch. And those answers had best trip off her tongue. We passed a priest on the way. He was with two gentlemen who had prosperous waistlines. Based on what I heard, de Clermont’s mate will have three days—”
“At least five,” Gallowglass corrected.
“Maybe five,” Hancock said, inclining his head in his companion’s direction, “before she’s held over for trial, two days to figure out what to say to the magistrates, and less than half an hour to come up with a convincing lie for the good father. You had best start telling us the truth.”
All attention settled on Matthew, who stood mute.
“The clock will strike the quarter hour soon,” Hancock reminded him after some time had passed.
I took matters into my own hands. “Matthew protected me from my own people.”
“Diana,” Matthew growled.
“Matthew meddled in the affairs of witches?” Gallowglass’s eyes widened slightly.
I nodded. “Once the danger passed, we were mated.”
“And all this happened between noon and nightfall on Saturday?” Gallowglass shook his head. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Auntie.”
“‘Auntie’?” I turned to Matthew in shock. First Berwick, then the Congregation, and now this. “This . . . berserker is your nephew? Let me guess. He’s Baldwin’s son!” Gallowglass was almost as muscle-bound as Matthew’s copper-headed brother—and as persistent. There were other de Clermonts I knew: Godfrey, Louisa, and Hugh (who received only brief, cryptic mentions). Gallowglass could belong to any of them—or to someone else on Matthew’s convoluted family tree.
“Baldwin?” Gallowglass gave a delicate shiver. “Even before I became a wearh, I knew better than to let that monster near my neck. Besides, my people were úlfhéenar, not berserkers. And I’m only part Norse—the gentle part, if you must know. The rest is Scots, by way of Ireland.”
“Foul-tempered, the Scots,” Hancock added.
Gallowglass acknowledged his companion’s remark with a gentle tug on his ear. A golden ring glinted in the light, incised with the outlines of a coffin. A man was stepping free of it, and there was a motto around the edges.
“You’re knights.” I looked for a matching ring on Hancock’s finger. There it was, oddly placed on his thumb. Here at last was evidence that Matthew was involved in the business of the Order of Lazarus, too.
“We-elll,” Gallowglass drawled, sounding suddenly like the Scot he professed to be, “there’s always been a dispute about that. We’re not really the shining-armor type, are we Davy?”
“No. But the de Clermonts have deep pockets. Money like that is hard to refuse,” Hancock observed, “especially when they promise you a long life for the enjoying of it.”
“They’re fierce fighters, too.” Gallowglass rubbed the bridge of his nose again. It was flattened, as though it had been broken and never healed properly.
“Oh, aye. The bastards killed me before they saved me. Fixed my bad eye, while they were at it,” Hancock said cheerfully, pointing to his gammy lid.
“Then you’re loyal to the de Clermonts.” Sudden relief washed through me. I would prefer to have Gallowglass and Hancock as allies rather than enemies, given the disaster unfolding.
“Not always,” replied Gallowglass darkly.
“Not to Baldwin. He’s a sly bugger. And when Matthew behaves like a fool, we pay no attention to him either.” Hancock sniffed and pointed to the gingerbread, which lay forgotten on the table. “Is someone going to eat that, or can we pitch it into the fire? Between Matthew’s scent and Charles’s cooking, I feel ill.”
“Given our approaching visitors, our time would be better spent devising a course of action than talking about family history,” Walter said impatiently.
“Jesu, there’s no time to come up with a plan,” Hancock said cheerfully. “Matthew and his lordship should say a prayer instead. They’re men of God. Maybe He’s listening.”
“Perhaps the witch could fly away,” Gallowglass murmured. He held up both hands in mute surrender when Matthew glared at him.
“Oh, but she can’t.” All eyes turned to Marlowe. “She can’t even conjure Matthew a beard.”
“You’ve taken up with a witch, against all the Congregation’s strictures, and she’s worthless?” It was impossible to tell if Gallowglass was more indignant or incredulous. “A wife who can summon a storm or give your enemy a horrible skin affliction has certain advantages, I grant you. But what good is a witch who can’t even serve as her husband’s barber?”
“Only Matthew would wed a witch from God-knows-where with no sorcery to speak of,” Hancock muttered to Walter.
“Quiet, all of you!” Matthew exploded. “I can’t think for all the senseless chatter. It’s not Diana’s fault that Widow Beaton is a meddling old fool or that she can’t perform magic on command. My wife was spellbound. And there’s an end to it. If one more person in this room questions me or criticizes Diana, I’ll rip your heart out and feed it to you while it still beats.”
“There is our lord and master,” Hancock said with a mocking salute. “For a minute I was afraid you were the one who was bewitched. Hang on, though. If she’s spellbound, what’s wrong with her? Is she dangerous? Mad? Both?”
Unnerved by the influx of nephews, agitated parsons, and the trouble brewing in Woodstock, I reached behind me for the chair. With my reach restricted by the unfamiliar clothes, I lost my balance and began to fall. A rough hand shot out and gripped me by the elbow, lowering me to the seat with surprising gentleness.
“It’s all right, Auntie.” Gallowglass made a soft noise of sympathy. “I’m not sure what’s amiss in your head, but Matthew will take care of you. He has a warm spot in his heart for lost souls, bless him.”
“I’m dizzy, not deranged,” I retorted.
Gallowglass’s eyes were flinty as his mouth approached my ear. “Your speech is disordered enough to stand for madness, and I doubt the priest cares one way or the other. Given that you aren’t from Chester or anywhere else I’ve been—and that’s a fair number of places, Auntie—you might want to mind your manners unless you want to find yourself locked in the church crypt.”
Long fingers clamped around Gallowglass’s shoulder and pulled him away. “If you’re quite finished trying to frighten my wife—a pointless exercise, I assure you—you might tell me about the men you passed,” Matthew said frostily. “Were they armed?”
“No.” After a long, interested look at me, Gallowglass turned toward his uncle.
“And who was with the minister?”
“How the hell should we know, Matthew? All three were warmbloods and not worth a second thought. One was fat and gray-haired, the other was medium size and complained about the weather,” Gallowglass said impatiently.
“Bidwell,” Matthew and Walter said at the same moment.
“It’s probably Iffley with him,” remarked Walter. “The two of them are always complaining—about the state of the roads, the noise at the inn, the quality of the beer.”
“Who’s Iffley?” I wondered aloud.
“A man who fancies himself the finest glover in all England. Somers works for him,” Walter replied.