Darkwitch Rising (29 page)

“We will come to London after you,” said Marguerite once she had regained some semblance of control.

“Charles and Catharine shall be here soon,” Marguerite continued, “and then all Eaving’s Sisters shall be together, and near you. We will find a way to touch you and comfort you, Eaving.”

I touched Marguerite’s face, then Kate’s. Then I turned for the horse, and managed to mount with as
much grace as my painful back and voluminous skirts would allow me.

Marguerite handed Catling up to me—I settled her in the saddle before me—and then, with nothing more than a nod, I put my heels gently into the horse’s flanks, and turned his head for the road, and we were off.

That day was but a gentle ride, paced at a walk. I had no heart for a joyous canter southwards towards London, nor did I have the strength. With one arm about Catling at all times, and the other being tugged at constantly by the horse (who had patently decided to repay me for his early morning’s awakening by leaning his head down into the bit the entire day), by midmorning my body ached and my back throbbed horribly. The road was relatively quiet, for which I was thankful, and Catling kept quiet, for which I was even more grateful. I did not think I could bear some false, daughterly chatter.

It was a dreadful ride. This was not merely because of my aches, nor because of what I rode towards, but because I think I was finally forced to confront the fact that Catling was not all that she should be. Had her journey into the Otherworld and back to this world changed her so much? Had she learned, perhaps, to hate me somewhere on that long and terrible journey? I didn’t know what it was, I didn’t know what was wrong. All I knew was that Catling bore me no more love than she bore the most inanimate pebble, and that I regarded her with disappointment, even some slight fear, rather than with love.

I had hoped for so much for her and from her. What I had instead was such a vast realm of disappointment that I felt a complete failure, as both a mother and as Eaving.

Thus we continued. The pain in my body grew increasingly worse, and eventually I had to grind my teeth together to prevent myself from begging Catling to do something about it.

By late morning we had passed through the town of Toddington. The town was bustling with market day, and it took a good hour for us to thread our way through the crowded streets. Every time someone jostled the horse I winced, and once a stab of pain so agonising seared up my spine that I only barely managed to restrain myself from falling off the horse.

When we emerged into the countryside again I was weeping, not only with pain, but with fear: how was I going to continue on as far as London in this degree of pain? Damn Weyland! He did not need to be so vicious.

We continued on, Catling gripping the pommel of the saddle with both hands, as if she could not trust me to keep hold of her, and she kept her face determinedly ahead, ignoring every gasp that escaped my lips.

Gods…

By late afternoon we had reached Luton, and I knew I could go no further that day. I reined the horse in at a roadside inn, wanting nothing more than to be able to stretch out on a bed and close my eyes and somehow sleep away the aches and pains and worries.

But my day in the saddle, coupled with the injury to my back, meant that my muscles had cramped badly and, as I tried to first lift Catling from the saddle, I felt myself waver before inexorably tilting over the horse’s near shoulder.

Then, just before Catling and I plummeted to the ground, I heard a marvellously familiar male voice call my name, and the next instant strong arms lifted both myself and Catling down, and I blinked, and looked into John Thornton’s dear face.

J
ohn Thornton had only barely handed the reins of his own horse to the stableboy when he heard the sound of another horse behind him.

He turned, then froze in shock as he saw Noah Banks and her daughter ride into the inn’s courtyard.

In hindsight, he realised that it was not merely the shock of seeing them there, but the look of agony on Noah’s face that momentarily glued him to the spot.

Then he saw Noah teeter, her mouth open in horror as she realised she and Catling were about to tumble to the muddy surface of the courtyard, and he lunged forward, catching them only just in time.

One of his hands slipped about Noah’s back as he steadied her, and she flinched away from him with a terrible cry.

“My God, Noah, what assails you?”

“Mama needs aid,” said Catling. “She is not well. She cannot cope.”

Thornton spared the girl a glance (and, by God yet again, how had a girl only some thirteen or fourteen months old managed to grow to such height, and clarity of expression?), then looked back to Noah.

She had steadied herself now, and proffered him an apologetic smile. “John. What do you here?”

I could well ask the same thing
, he thought, but for the moment saved the question. “I am on my way to London. Lord Bedford has sent me there to
prepare his townhouse for his and Lady Bedford’s arrival…they are journeying down in a few days to greet the king on his arrival. Noah—”

“John, I beg you, Catling has spoken truly. Can you aid me to obtain a bed, and perhaps some manner of hot food? I am tired beyond knowing—”

“Noah,” Thornton said softly, moving closer to her again and settling an arm gently about her waist, avoiding as best he could her back, “you are in agony. What has happened?”

“John, I beg you, a bed…”

Thornton gave her one more searching look, then acquiesced. “Catling, take my other hand. There is a room waiting for me, and you shall share it. No, don’t protest, Noah. I have a feeling that if I allow you out of my sight then you shall slip away.”

“I shall slip nowhere in this state,” Noah muttered, but she made no more protest about the room.

Thornton looked to the stableboy, nodded at Noah’s horse to indicate the boy should take care of the animal, then slowly led Noah and Catling inside the inn.

Far distant, on the grey heaving seas, a ship leaned into the wind.

At its prow stood Louis, alternately glancing at the billowing sails, silently thanking Charles for sending such a propitious wind and looking forward, straining to see the coasts and cliffs of the British Isles.

Further back on the deck of the
Fair Polly
the captain stifled a yawn, then muttered to his first mate, “You’d think the hounds of hell were after him the way he begs us to make full speed.”

The first mate shrugged. “So long as he pays us.”

The captain grinned, and jiggled his hand deep inside the pocket of his voluminous coat. “Handsome payment in king’s gold already received,
my friend. We’ll all be dining well once we reach London.”

Sweet Jesus Christ!
Thornton slowly peeled Noah’s bodice back over her shoulders so that her back lay exposed before him.

She must be in agony! He’d never seen wounds like this before, and could not think what had caused them, save that perhaps some foul villain had thrashed her with a lead-tipped whip.

As soon as they’d reached the room, and Thornton had closed the door behind them, he’d sat Noah on the bed and wordlessly, ignoring her protests, unbuttoned her bodice. He’d had no idea what he might find…but it certainly had not been this.

He spoke a single, soft word. “Who?”

“It is no one you—” Noah said.

“Who?”

“A bad man,” said Catling, sitting on Noah’s other side and looking at Thornton.

“Who?” he repeated yet one more time.

“John,” Noah whispered, “there is nothing you can do.”

In response, he leaned forward and very gently kissed the unmarked nape of her neck. “Who?” he whispered.

“John…”

He kissed her again, this time a little lower, and again on unmarked skin. “Who?”

“A fiend,” she said. “His name is malevolence incarnate.”

Again Thornton’s lips touched Noah’s back, lower yet, and she shuddered.

“I shall kill him,” he said.

Noah jerked away from his hands and mouth, pulling her bodice over her shoulders again. “John, no. Don’t. Please. There is nothing you can do.”

“Yes, there is,” said Catling. “Reverend Thornton, if you please, we travel also to London. Will you accompany us? Mama cannot look after me herself. She shall fall, and fail. I cannot have that.”

“You travel to London?” said Thornton, sparing Catling a sharp glance for her strange words. “Why?”

“I have a friend there, who has asked me to stay during the joyous time of King Charles’ restoration,” said Noah.

“And his name?” said Thornton, hating the tightness in his voice. He had thought to have put his need for Noah a long way behind him. He had hoped that his new wife would make him forget his once-lover.

Forget how the land rose to meet him when he touched her.

Ah…how foolish he had been.

“Jane,” said Noah softly. “Jane Orr.”

Thornton cursed himself and his jealousy, and cursed the night the sixteen-year-old Noah had first come to his room. Better ignorance of her, than knowing her, and knowing he could never have her love.

“Catling,” he said. “Please go to the innkeeper’s wife, and ask her for a bowl of warm water, with some mint steeped in it, and bring it to me. Your mother’s back needs to be washed.”

Catling nodded, rose, and left the room.

“I find it most strange,” Thornton said, “that I should issue such a request to a child only just turned a year old and watch her walk from this room as might a five- or six-year-old child. Woburn gossips, Noah, about what could have bred such a girl on you.”

“She had a most magical and powerful father,” Noah said. Her voice was very soft, and she still sat
so that he could see little of her save her back and shoulders.

“Most apparently,” Thornton said. He hesitated, then added, “Who you love greatly…”

She twisted about to look him in the eye. “What do you want to hear, John?”

He sighed. “I do not want to hear…oh, Noah, I do not know what I want to hear.” Hesitating, he reached out a hand, slipping it inside her open bodice, caressing her breasts and belly.

“Don’t, John,” Noah said. “What do you want? To force such a sorely wounded woman to your will?”

He hissed, pulling his hand sharply away from her. “Where was your magical and powerful lover then, when you were so cruelly injured? Why cleave to him so faithfully, when it is I here with you now, and not he? Why love him so greatly, when it is apparent he has deserted you and your child?”

“You cannot understand,” Noah said, then stopped and began again. “I’m sorry for what I said. I was too tart.”

He gave a hollow laugh. “You have made it plain enough to me that what we once had is now gone, Noah. But as you see, I am a weak man.”

Noah took one of his hands in hers, waiting until it had relaxed before speaking again. “John, you promised to aid me if I should need it. Will you do so?”

Thornton bit back his almost instinctive response:
Your lover is not here to aid you now
. He sighed. “Aye, of course.”

“Accompany us to London, for we have sore need of your care. But—”

“Ah, that ‘but’.”

“Once we have arrived, then leave me, John. Where I go, you cannot follow.”

“You go to your lover.”

She gave a small, sad smile. “I wish that were so, but, no, I do not go to him. He is lost to me for a long time, I think.”

“I will accompany you to London, then, where I shall leave you. Noah…”

“I know,” she said, and gave his hand a squeeze.

“I am lost in you, Noah. I was lost that first night you came to me. Lost in you…”

T
he next day at mid-morning they set out from Luton. Noah looked much better for sleeping well, and she had enjoyed the good food provided by the innkeeper’s wife. She appeared fit enough to ride, so Catling rode behind Thornton, while Noah kept her own horse. It was a fine day, although there was a strong westerly wind blowing, and for the most part Thornton let his worries abate. Noah’s back had looked much better in the morning, and he chose to believe that she was, indeed, visiting her friend Jane Orr in London, so that she might enjoy the festivities surrounding the king’s restoration.

Noah had meant to travel to London via Watford today, but Thornton persuaded her to a slightly different plan. He meant to stay this night with friends who lived close to the manor of Bushey Park, just north-east of Watford. Thomas and Leila Thanet would provide much more comfortable accommodation than a crowded public inn and, Thornton argued, better care for Noah should she need it.

Noah had not been sure of Thornton’s suggestion—how would John explain both her and Catling?—but acquiesced after only a short hesitation. Thornton had argued that it would be safer for her and Catling if they stayed at the Thanets’ Langley House, and to this Noah had no counter.

The way from Luton to the Watford region was gentle and easy. They passed between ranges of hills on either side during the morning and, in the early afternoon, stopped in the fields of St Albans, where they rested and partook of some food they carried with them.

“What shall you say to the Thanets about myself and Catling?” Noah asked as they stood up from their picnic, brushing down their clothes from the grass seeds and flowers which clung to them.

John Thornton shrugged slightly. “That you chose to accompany me to London to see your friend Jane Orr,” he said. “Perhaps following the death of your husband.” He looked significantly at Catling.

“I would prefer that you told them the truth,” said Noah.

“What? That you are the scandalous companion of Lady Anne that so much of the county has gossiped about?”

Noah flushed, and Thornton fought away a twinge of guilt.

“Noah,” he said, “it is best not to tell them
all
the truth. We need not speak of a deceased husband if you so wish—the Thanets shall merely assume it, and assume Catling is his child.”