The Tower of Ravens (42 page)

“Well, when we come back up after dinner I’ll come and have a swig,” Rafferty said.

“Maybe I should have custody o‘ this famous bottle o’ wine?” Nina said. “I’m sure Dedrie did no‘ mean for ye all to get sozzled on it.”

“Ye just want it for yourself,” Rafferty said teasingly.

“No‘ I,” Nina said. “My father was both a fire-eater and a drunkard, a combination that does no’ work well. I will drink Isabeau’s goldensloe wine at Midsummer, but naught else, ever.”

Her words cast a pall of sobriety over the room. She looked up and smiled. “Do no‘ fear, he did no’ burn himself to death or anything awful like that. He just could no‘ work his trade, and he was a jongleur to the bone, it hurt him to have to leave the travelling life. Luckily my brother Dide had a house where he could stay and do his best to drink the cellars dry. He died comfortably in his bed when Roden was a babe.”

“Thank Eà for that!” Felice said. “I was imagining the worst.”

Nina smiled. “I think my da would probably have preferred to go out in a blaze o‘ glory. Dying in bed is no’ the way a jongleur wishes to go.”

“What is it about this place that makes us keep talking about death?” Felice wondered. “Canna we find aught else to talk about?”

“I was happy talking about the wine,” Cameron said. Felice laughed and moved to sit down next to him by the fire.

Nina smiled at Rhiannon. “Ye look the very picture o‘ courtly fashion. I fear it is wasted on the laird o’ Fettercairn. Did ye notice he wears his hair short and his chin clean-shaven? He wears the fashion o‘ thirty years ago. He willna like all the long curls and soft clothes o’ today.”

She cast a rueful hand down her own gown, a low-cut, cap-sleeved orange velvet dress that brought out fiery tones in her long chestnut hair. Round her neck she had clasped an amber and gold necklace. Roden stood between her legs, squirming and protesting as she tried to comb out his unruly curls. He was neatly dressed in a clean white shirt with a flowing collar and full sleeves, under an embroidered brown velvet jerkin.

“If the laird willna like it, why do I have to wear it, Mam?” the boy complained, tugging at his collar. “It’s tight. It itches. I dinna like it. Ow! Mam!”

“Sorry!” Nina freed the comb from his hair and tried again.

“Please, Mam? I dinna want to.”

“We’re guests here, Roden, and must mind our manners. I canna have ye coming down to the drawing room all in a tangle, and wearing a shabby auld shirt.”

“I dinna like this one. I want to take it off!” He pulled violently at his collar and a button pinged free.

“Roden!” Nina sighed in exasperation and pulled him onto her lap, as Lulu uncurled her long, dexterous tail, retrieved the button from under the chair, and gave it back to Nina, all without moving from the table, where she sat eating her way through a bowl of small green apples.

“Can I have my sewing kit too, please, Lulu?” Nina said, twisting Roden round so she could see where the button had come loose. Obligingly Lulu leapt across the room, rummaged through one of the bags, and brought back a little floral-topped basket. Roden had become engrossed in looking at Nina’s necklace and so his long-suffering mother was able to deftly sew back the button without any more trouble.

As Rhiannon sat down next to them, he turned and showed her the pendant. Frozen inside the large amber stone was an orange-and-black butterfly.

“Mam says its thousands o‘ years auld,” he whispered. “It must’ve been sipping at the sap o’ the tree and got stuck, and slowly the tree-sap flowed all over it and set hard, and the butterfly was trapped inside. We do no‘ have butterflies like this here in Eileanan, Mam says. This necklace came over with the First Coven. From the Other World, ye ken. So it’s no’ just thousands o‘ years auld, it’s from millions and millions o’ miles away! Is that no‘ amazing?”

As Rhiannon nodded in agreement, Nina turned to her and smiled, dropping a kiss on Roden’s curly head. “He loves this necklace,” she said. “It belonged to my grandmother. I do no‘ ken where she got it from, but I remember her telling me the story when I was just a bairn. I always loved it too.”

“It’s beautiful,” Rhiannon said, putting her hand up to her bare neck. For the first time in days she thought of her necklace of teeth and bones, hidden away inside her saddlebags, and felt a cold shudder of revulsion. Her face must have reflected her feelings, for Nina’s brows contracted and she leant forward, her eyes asking a question. Rhiannon shook her head and tried to smile, pushing away the memory forcefully. She was not a satyricorn anymore, she told herself. She would throw the necklace away the first chance she got.

The door opened and Edithe limped in. She had put her hair into ringlets too, and was wearing a very striking dress of gold lace, with a beautifully worked amulet hanging on a long gold chain round her neck.

Cameron whistled. “Going all out, Edithe! Trying to impress the laird?”

“What, with this auld thing?” she replied coolly, though the colour rose in her cheeks. “No‘ at all. I only brought a few clothes, we were no’ allowed to bring more than a trunk each, as ye ken. The material o‘ this dress is so fine, it folds very small and doesna take up much space.” She twirled about, holding the skirt so the material glimmered in the dim glow of the candles.

“Well, ye look mighty grand,” Cameron said.

Edithe smiled and thanked him, genuine pleasure on her face.

“A daffodil, a rose and a lily,” Landon said. “The spirits o‘ spring.” A thought struck him and he groped in his coat pocket for his notebook and the disgracefully chewed quill. Finding he had left them in his everyday coat, his face fell, but Iven tossed him a scroll of paper and a quill, and it lit up again. He went to the desk, found an ink-bottle and began to scribble, his handwriting looking like an insect had fallen into the ink and managed to scrabble its way free.

There was a soft knock on the door. Lewen got up and opened it, to let in the nursemaid Dedrie. She came in briskly, looking with approval at Edithe and saying, “Och, your foot is all better, I see. That’s good. And ye lads? A lot more colour in your cheeks this evening, I’m glad to see.”

“I think that may be due to the elderflower wine,” Nina said rather apologetically, putting Roden down so she could rise to her feet. “Cameron has taken rather a liking to it.”

Dedrie smiled. “He wouldna be the first young man to sneak a few extra glasses o‘ it. It is delicious indeed, and will do him no harm. No’ even a headache in the morn.”

“I must have the recipe!” Cameron cried. “Dear, dear Dedrie, will ye no‘ write it down for me?”

“I canna write, sir. But if ye like, I can tell ye the recipe, which is simple enough, and ye can write it down yourself.”

As Cameron thanked her exuberantly, Nina said to her softly, “Were ye never taught to write nor read, Dedrie? Do they no‘ have a school here?”

“No‘ since the fall o’ the witches’ tower,” the nursemaid answered stiffly. “That was nigh on fifty years ago, when I was but a bairn. There has been no school since then, nor any healers, which, Truth kens, we have need o‘ here. That is why I set myself to gathering what skill I could in herb-lore and healing, since there was no-one else to do it.”

“I will let the Coven ken,” Nina promised. “Ye have no need o‘ a healer, for ye clearly ken your craft well, but the bairns need a school, and Eà kens ye need a good exorcist!”

She spoke lightly, but Dedrie did not smile. “What do we need a school for?” she said bitterly. “There are no bairns left to teach.”

Nina’s smile faded. “Happen there will be in the future,” she said gently. “Eà willing.”

Dedrie looked up at her. “My lady, I would no‘ be so quick to throw around your witch-words, if I were ye.”

“Ye are the second person to say so to me,” Nina said, drawing herself up to her full height, her face stern. “Why so?”

Dedrie looked away, the rosy apples of her cheeks darkening.

“Witches have brought naught but trouble to Fettercairn,” she said roughly. “I mean ye no disrespect, my lady, I ken you are a sorceress and I am sure ye mean well. But… we have long memories here, and Fettercairn has no‘ been well served by witches. There are those that will mislike ye for your powers, and it would be wisest no’ to remind them.”

“But why are witches so disliked? What have they done?”

“Och, it was grand in the auld days, when the Tower was strong and people came from everywhere to study here,” Dedrie said. “We were a rich valley then, and able to put up with the wildness o‘ the students and the arrogance o’ the sorcerers for we had money in our pocket. But then the Red Guards came and burnt down the Tower and put all the witches to the sword, and anyone who protested was killed too, without hesitation.”

“They bided here in the castle, the soldiers, and no-one in the valley could mumble a witch-word in their sleep without them hearing it. We soon learnt to mind our tongues, we did. And the Seeker walked among us and told us all the wickedness the witches had done, under our noses all the time, and promised we would be rewarded for keeping faith with the blessed Banrìgh, as she was called. So we did what we were told, and it was true, we all prospered better than ever afore, for the Banrìgh came to live in Ravenshaw, at the blue castle by the sea, and needed guards and servants and food—and we are close to the blue castle here, only two days’ ride away.

“But then the witch-rebels came and attacked Fettercairn Castle, and our laird was killed and his son too. Since then it is has been a cold, unhappy place, filled with ghosts, and each year it only grows worse, so that no-one dares put their nose outside their doors after dusk. Ye’ve seen the walking dead, I ken, and heard the tales o‘ robbed graves and murdered children. All o’ that has happened since the witch-loving rebels stormed the castle and killed our laird. It is said the witches have long memories, and will no‘ forgive or forget our support o’ Maya the Blessed.”

“The people o‘ Fetterness blame the witches? But that makes no sense! Why would the Coven rob graves and murder bairns? That is ridiculous.”

Dedrie shrugged. “If it was no‘ for them, the auld laird would still be alive, and our dear Rory too.”

Nina was silent, though her black eyes glittered with anger under her knotted brows.

Dedrie looked at her appealingly. “So ye see, they do no‘ like witches here, and though it is mostly foolishness and superstition, ye canna blame them. I do no’ mean that ye should hide what ye are, it is too late for that, but just… mind your words. Words can jab as sharp as any thorn and, when the wound is already deep, cause fresh blood to flow.”

“That is true,” Nina said evenly. “I must admit I mislike hearing ye call upon the Truth. That was one hypocrisy I thought never to hear again.”

Dedrie went scarlet.

“Enough!” Nina said, taking a quick step away. “I heed your warning and thank ye for it. I will mind my tongue. Tell me, how does Maisie? I sat with her a while and she seemed to sleep easy enough. I did no‘ dare remove the poultices to see the wounds, no’ wanting to undo your good work.”

“She does well. She is young and strong and will heal quickly. There will be scars, there’s naught I can do about that, but the one on her face is only small and will no‘ mar her too much.”

“Will she be well enough to ride out tomorrow?”

Dedrie pleated the edge of her apron. “I fear the road shall no‘ be cleared in time, my lady. It would be dangerous to try and leave afore the tree is taken away.”

Nina regarded her with frowning eyes. “Happen Iven and I shall ride out tomorrow morn and inspect the road for ourselves,” she said silkily.

“As ye please, my lady.”

“Thank ye for enquiring.”

“No‘ at all, my lady.” Dedrie curtsied, then said, with colour again rising in her plump cheeks, “My lady, if I may be so bold… happen your laddie would rather have his dinner up here, on a tray? I’ve already asked the kitchen to bring up some broth for the poor wee lass. It would be no trouble for them to bring up some more for the boy. ’Tis just… my laird is rather auld-fashioned in his ways, he has had no bairns o‘ his own, he is no’ much used to their ways…”

Nina hesitated. “Normally I’d agree like a shot,” she said. “Roden is no‘ good at formal dinners. But…”

“Och, please, Mam?” Roden cried. “I wouldna have to wear this bloody shirt then!”

“Roden!” Nina cried. She cast a vexed glance at Iven, who shrugged and held up his hands.

“If ye like, I could stay here with the lad?” Dedrie said. “I’d like to stay close to the lass too, her fever still worries me.”

“I want to keep my laddie near me,” Nina said, almost inaudibly. “I’m afraid…”

Dedrie nodded. “Aye. I understand. I’ll have a care for him, though, my lady, I promise.” There was a fierce note of passion in her voice.

There was a long pause. Just before it grew embarrassing, Lewen bent his head and coughed into his hand. “Och, I fear I’ve caught Cameron’s cold,” he said. “Do ye think I could be excused from dinner too, Nina? I really am no‘ much good at formal dinners, either, and I do no’ want to cough all over my laird.”

Nina looked relieved. “Very well. O‘ course. Happen ye feel well enough to sit up with Roden for a wee while and tell him some stories afore he goes to bed?”

“Yippee!” Roden shouted. “Lewen, will ye tell me some o‘ the tales from when your
dai-dein
was a rebel with the Rìgh? Please?”

Lewen grinned at Roden. “Sure!”

Dedrie was frowning but when Nina turned back to her, one eyebrow raised, she nodded her head, smoothing down her crumpled apron with work-reddened hands. “Sure, and that’s a happy solution for everyone,” she said. “Happen the young man can help me with the lassie too. I thank ye all. My lady… my lady forgets sometimes, ye ken. It is no‘ good for her to be reminded o’ the past. She is happy enough, in her own way, if she does no‘ remember.”

Nina nodded, her dark eyes softening with sympathy. “It is a terrible thing, to lose a child.”

“Aye,” the nurse said and, for one moment, crushed her apron between her two large, red hands. Then she smiled ruefully, smoothed it down again, and moved towards the door, which Iven opened for her. Just before she crossed the threshold, she turned back and regarded them all with those troubled dark eyes, at such variance with her round, rosy cheeks and brisk step.