Read Online The High Sheriff of Huntingdon by Anne Stuart - Free Book Online
Authors: Anne Stuart
Ads: Link
eerily familiar. “How li k e them,” she murmured . “Come in, child, and let me give you something t o eat. I’ v e a pot of stew on the hearth. It s h o u l d put some strength back into you.”
Elspeth followed her into the tiny hut. It was small, cramped, redolent of herbs and other foreign smells that w e r e strangely beguiling . For the first time since she’d been informed that s h e was now a married woman , El speth felt curiously at peace.
“He’s not a bad boy, you know,” the old woman said as she handed Elspeth a bowl of rich, dark s t e w. “He has a t emper, that’s for certain. He always was too quick, even as a child. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly, and the world is full of fools.”
The stew was thick and savory, warming the empty knot in Elspeth’s stomach. She at e slowly, dreamily , c o nt e nt to watch as the old woman brought a b a s i n of herbed water for her bruised, bleeding feet. “ Who doesn’t?” s h e murmured, the spoon s cra p in g the bottom of the earthenware bowl.
The w o m a n moved beside her, dried flowers in her h a n d , and she shook them over Elspeth’s w e ar y head. “My son, of course,” she said. “Your husband.”
For a moment Elspeth’s lassitude lifted. “You’re the witch,” she gasped.
“Not the most tactful thing to call your mothe r- in -l aw,” the old woman said, “but accurate, nonetheless. You may call me Morgana. Unless you’d prefer so m et hin g a l i t tle more intimate.”
Elspeth t r i e d to m o v e back on her seat, but th e r e was no w h e r e to go and she was f e e l i n g so deeply weary. “I don’t b e l i e v e in witches,” s h e said, wondering she still meant it. “How did I get here?”
“I summoned you. After all, I couldn’t l et you wander around the woods with no protection. These are d a n g e r ous times, and d e s p i t e everything, Alistair is too trusting. My son would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you.”
“He wants to kill me himself.”
“Nonsense. And you seemed like such a lev el headed girl. Don’ t believe all t h e things that are said of my son. To be sure, he’ s a bit wild, a bit dangerous, perhaps even a bit mad. But you could be the making of him.” And she began to mutter something beneath her breath, something Elspeth couldn’t quite hear, about white and black, blood and snow, and fire and rain.
She tried to struggle to her feet, but her body refused to obey her, and her mind began to spin. “I won’t…” she murmured, and felt herself begin to fall moments befo re Morgana’s unusually strong arms caught her with surprising gentleness.
“Of course you will,” she said. “There’s no denying the prophecy. It came to me on the wind the day he was born, and t h e r e was no turning away from it. Let me make you some of my special tea, and you won’t mind it at all.”
“No!” Elspeth screamed, but the sound came out as an agonized w hisper. She raised her hands to ward off any more potions. “You’ve poisoned me.”
“Of course not. Just given you something to h e lp you sleep. You’re weary, child. you n e e d your rest. We have time. Alistair won’t realize where you are until tomorrow at the soonest. When you a w ak e I’ll brew you som e tea.”
“No,” she cried again, but there was no sound. She was helpless to resist as Morgana pulled her through a curtained doorway into a small , dark room.
Moonlight s t r e a m e d through a window in the roof, illuminating a bed covered with velvet and animal skins. The old woman pushed her gently down on it. Elspeth felt herself fall from a great distance, landing on a cloud of luxuriant softness, her hair spilling around her as she stared up at th e creature who was her husband’s mother.
“Rest now, my child,” Morgana murmured, pulling a velvet throw ar oun d her, and for one bizarre moment she reminded Elspeth of Sister Mary Frances.
Elspeth needed to escape. She was tall for a
Elspeth followed her into the tiny hut. It was small, cramped, redolent of herbs and other foreign smells that w e r e strangely beguiling . For the first time since she’d been informed that s h e was now a married woman , El speth felt curiously at peace.
“He’s not a bad boy, you know,” the old woman said as she handed Elspeth a bowl of rich, dark s t e w. “He has a t emper, that’s for certain. He always was too quick, even as a child. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly, and the world is full of fools.”
The stew was thick and savory, warming the empty knot in Elspeth’s stomach. She at e slowly, dreamily , c o nt e nt to watch as the old woman brought a b a s i n of herbed water for her bruised, bleeding feet. “ Who doesn’t?” s h e murmured, the spoon s cra p in g the bottom of the earthenware bowl.
The w o m a n moved beside her, dried flowers in her h a n d , and she shook them over Elspeth’s w e ar y head. “My son, of course,” she said. “Your husband.”
For a moment Elspeth’s lassitude lifted. “You’re the witch,” she gasped.
“Not the most tactful thing to call your mothe r- in -l aw,” the old woman said, “but accurate, nonetheless. You may call me Morgana. Unless you’d prefer so m et hin g a l i t tle more intimate.”
Elspeth t r i e d to m o v e back on her seat, but th e r e was no w h e r e to go and she was f e e l i n g so deeply weary. “I don’t b e l i e v e in witches,” s h e said, wondering she still meant it. “How did I get here?”
“I summoned you. After all, I couldn’t l et you wander around the woods with no protection. These are d a n g e r ous times, and d e s p i t e everything, Alistair is too trusting. My son would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you.”
“He wants to kill me himself.”
“Nonsense. And you seemed like such a lev el headed girl. Don’ t believe all t h e things that are said of my son. To be sure, he’ s a bit wild, a bit dangerous, perhaps even a bit mad. But you could be the making of him.” And she began to mutter something beneath her breath, something Elspeth couldn’t quite hear, about white and black, blood and snow, and fire and rain.
She tried to struggle to her feet, but her body refused to obey her, and her mind began to spin. “I won’t…” she murmured, and felt herself begin to fall moments befo re Morgana’s unusually strong arms caught her with surprising gentleness.
“Of course you will,” she said. “There’s no denying the prophecy. It came to me on the wind the day he was born, and t h e r e was no turning away from it. Let me make you some of my special tea, and you won’t mind it at all.”
“No!” Elspeth screamed, but the sound came out as an agonized w hisper. She raised her hands to ward off any more potions. “You’ve poisoned me.”
“Of course not. Just given you something to h e lp you sleep. You’re weary, child. you n e e d your rest. We have time. Alistair won’t realize where you are until tomorrow at the soonest. When you a w ak e I’ll brew you som e tea.”
“No,” she cried again, but there was no sound. She was helpless to resist as Morgana pulled her through a curtained doorway into a small , dark room.
Moonlight s t r e a m e d through a window in the roof, illuminating a bed covered with velvet and animal skins. The old woman pushed her gently down on it. Elspeth felt herself fall from a great distance, landing on a cloud of luxuriant softness, her hair spilling around her as she stared up at th e creature who was her husband’s mother.
“Rest now, my child,” Morgana murmured, pulling a velvet throw ar oun d her, and for one bizarre moment she reminded Elspeth of Sister Mary Frances.
Elspeth needed to escape. She was tall for a
Similar Books
