Page 10 of The Queen’s Witch

“But who? Who is my Third?”

“I do not know. I told ye all I know.”

She was not lying. I said, “But you know where Hever is. And you know the family name. Where is it, and what is the name?”

“For the last time: Ye understand that the Dark One told me ‘Hever’ for His own purposes, whate’er they be? That ye may be serving those purposes if ye seek yer Third?”

She did not guess how far I was prepared to go beyond merely seeking my Third. I did not want her to guess. I said, “Where is Hever? And what is the family name? Please.”

I had exhausted her. Her breath came faster now, and she put one hand over her breast. I knelt in front of her. “Mother Redcap, are you dying too?”

“We all must die, Alysoun.”

To that there was no answer. And then, Goddess forgive me, I pressed her even further. “The name. Where is Hever and who lives there now?”

“A little south of London,” she said. “Sir Thomas Boleyn.”

3

Tydd Saint Stephen

A day later, Mother Redcap was seized with a series of fits. When they ceased, all speech, like all magick, had left her. She lay in bed, unable to move, and I cared day and night for her bodily needs, which were many. The burden eased my grief, even as my spells and potions eased her pain. Mistress Prentiss visited, and told me quietly that there was no way to tell if Mother Redcap would recover some speech and motion, remain as she was, or die.

Mother Redcap liked me to sing to her, which must be a measure of love because I cannot hold a tune. Mark, a musician of unusual gifts, always winced if I sang in his hearing. So, of course, I did not.

He would visit me, but only after Mother Redcap slept. Slowly I realized that illness and death repulsed Mark. His nose flared unpleasantly at the medicinal smells and bodily fluids. He was made for health and music and laughter. So I asked him to play for her.

He came inside reluctantly, standing as far from Mother Redcap’s bed by the fire as the small room allowed. His healthy male presence, smelling of leather and fresh spring air, was relieving, a balm to the infirm household. He played his lute, a tune he had written for me last autumn when we first began to court. Then he had sung it as we sat on a bed of oak leaves under a great sheltering tree in the September dusk, I giddy with happiness:

“O sweet is night in autumn

When my love comes to me,

Time doth stop its woodsmoke course

Just for me and thee.”

Mother Redcap smiled faintly and closed her eyes. Mark strummed softly; once he began to play, his music consumed him. He stopped only when Mother Redcap began to snore.

Mark took my cloak from its peg. “Come outside. For only a moment, I promise.”

Dusk, and the air smelled of soft spring wind and early spring flowers. Mark pulled me close, and my mouth sought his. The kisses were sweet, intoxicating, and for the first time since Grandmother’s death, I felt a stirring of desire. But I could not linger.

“Mark, I must go.”

“In a moment. I sail day after tomorrow, Alysoun. Stay a moment longer. Ye look peaked, sweetheart. I do not like to see ye less than blooming.”

Of course I looked peaked. The terrible dream about Grandmother’s haunting had not returned, but I slept badly, rising several times in the nights to check on Mother Redcap. In the days, I washed her and her soiled linens, fed her, turned her in bed, brewed tisanes and cast spells to ease her, cut wood to keep the cottage as warm as she wanted. Between tasks, I was consumed by all I had learned about Grandmother, about Mother Redcap, about the Dark One, about my Third. And about Joan. It was she who would haunt Grandmother on each of the four sacred days, and it was she, my mother, that I must battle to free Grandmother. Unnatural, wrong, to hunt one’s own mother. But, then, so much had gone wrong with the life I had so blithely planned.

Mark kissed me, but my desire had fled. I promised to see him set sail two days hence, and went back inside, shutting the door against the spring night.

He sailed at sunrise of a fair day. The North Sea lay barely crinkled, green and placid. Mark threw his bundle aboard the small boat that would take him to the ship anchored offshore. We stood close together to say our farewells.

“It be only for the summer, Alysoun, and then we will marry. I will be back before ye . . . you . . . know I am gone.”

“I love you, Mark Smalacombe,” I whispered, and he returned sweet endearments and sweeter promises until the oarsman’s mocking laugh pulled him away. I stayed on the beach as the two men rowed to the ship and she hoisted sail to move slowly east in the light wind. I watched, straining my eyes on the shining water, until the sails were lost to sight. Only then, in the brief respite from nursing Mother Redcap and agonizing about Grandmother and my unknown Third, did I realize how much I would miss him. Mark was my future, and although I could not leave Mother Redcap until she recovered or died, someday I would find my Third, become thrice braided, free Grandmother, and then claim that future. It would happen that way.

It must.