Alys Clare - The Enchanter's Forest

His eyes on Joanna’s bottom as she rode ahead of him, he wondered if his sudden desire to sing might have more to do with her than any benevolence he might or might not be receiving from the trees around him.

He was still trying to get used to the headiness of being alone with her. Well, alone except for Meggie, but her presence was an enchantment in itself. This morning she was riding with her mother on the golden mare — he could have spent all morning simply watching his child’s lithe and graceful little body and the way the sun caught glints of gold in her dark hair — but, during much of the long journey from Hawkenlye, Josse had been in the close company of his daughter for hours at a stretch and their fascination for each other had not faded; quite the opposite, in fact. Well, it was not to be wondered at since they were making up for the first sixteen months of Meggie’s life during which neither had been aware of the other’s existence.

Josse listened to Meggie’s fluting voice as she asked her mother yet another question; the ‘Why?’ game was a current favourite and could, as Josse well knew, go on for hours if the child was not distracted. Aye, he thought, his daughter was a delight and he already loved her profoundly. Regarding Joanna, he was aware that neither the situation nor his own emotions were quite so straightforward. Travelling from England in the company of Gervase and Sabin, the other couple’s presence had been a barrier to any intimacy between him and Joanna and it had seemed quite natural to treat one another politely but with the reserve of near-strangers. Joanna, indeed, had spent quite a lot of time sitting in the prow of the ship staring out at the sea, and Josse, after initially feeling slightly hurt that she should so detach herself from the rest of the company — oh, all right, from him — had finally understood that, given what he knew of her usual habits of solitude, she was probably finding the constant presence of other people quite difficult to cope with.

Then there had been last night in Dinan and that business in the inn. Josse had not liked the look of the man who had come blustering up to their table and he had felt the threatening presence of danger lurking somewhere just beneath the surface; in him, as it always did, this instinct had set his fighting response in readiness and in the aftermath, once the confrontation had been avoided, he was for quite some time left feeling jittery and jumpy. But Joanna had dismissed his anxiety, saying only that she had known the man when she lived in the area and that he had reason to hold a grudge against her. Josse was not reassured; the man had said something about his brother having gone unavenged and what was more there could be no question of mistaken identity because he had called Joanna — or the woman he had believed to be Joanna — by name.

Besides, Josse knew very well what had happened to Joanna when she had lived in the Dinan area. When they had first met, she had told him how, wed to a bully of a man many years older than herself, she had fervently wished to be rid of him and even gone so far as to insert a stone in his horse’s shoe in the hope of bringing about a fall. Josse had no idea what sort of power the brother of Joanna’s dead husband might wield locally but, even given that it was extensive, then surely he would be on very shaky ground if he went ahead with trying to brand Joanna a murderer on such slim evidence and for a crime committed so long ago?

Josse thought about that. Then the aspect that worried him more slid into his mind and he remembered how the furious man had said there was witchcraft involved.

Witchcraft.

Now it might not be feasible to prove that Joanna killed her late husband. But if anyone came at her with accusations of witchcraft, that was a different matter. She wouldn’t deny it for one thing or, if she did, she’d do so in terms that to an outsider would be equally damning.

Witchcraft.

Oh, dear God, and they were on the wrong side of the narrow seas for accusations of witchcraft. Here, if you did not obey the dictates of the church you were excommunicated and if you persisted in your heresy you were executed in one of the worst ways imaginable.

They burned witches in France.

It would only take one interested observer of that nasty little scene in the inn to pass on what he had overheard to the religious authorities and the might of the church would be on their trail.

And then. .

Biting at his lip in his anxiety, Josse felt a sudden slight flow of blood as the skin broke and he winced at the small pain.

I must stop this worrying, he thought. Look at Joanna; is she concerned? No. We’re out of the city now, we’ll have shaken off anyone who might have tried to follow us and in any case, in all likelihood the man realised he was mistaken and has given up the pursuit. Joanna and I are out in the forest, going deeper into its sanctuary with every step. Nobody can touch us here; we’re quite safe and I might as well relax and begin to enjoy myself.

When, a little later, Joanna turned in the saddle and said, ‘Meggie and I are ravenous. Let’s stop by that inviting lake up ahead and eat,’ he agreed with alacrity. And, as the three of them made a secluded and comfortable temporary camp in the shade of the sheltering trees, he gave himself up to the various profound pleasures of the moment.

It was not through any relaxation of Josse’s watchfulness that the unseen presence in the trees went unnoticed. Although he was a big man, the secret watcher was very, very careful to keep himself hidden; nobody saw him if he did not want them to and, even had Josse scoured every inch of the surrounding woodland, it would have made no difference. The man was dressed in garments of soft, muddy shades and he was accustomed to adapting his movements and his breathing to the rhythm of the natural world. In his hiding place he sat perfectly still and watched. Presently, as Josse and Joanna packed up the remains of their meal and prepared to depart — the watching man noted with approval that they were careful not to leave any sign of their presence — he leaned infinitesimally over to his right in order to see which way they set out.

Satisfied that he knew enough to be sure he would be able to follow, he sat still once more and waited until it was time to set out after them.

Josse and Joanna rode on through the long afternoon. It was less than a fortnight past the summer solstice and there would have been light enough, even in the forest, to have gone on for some time yet. But Meggie was clearly tired and, as Joanna pointed out, they were in no desperate hurry and there was therefore no need to ride beyond the endurance of any of them. So, when her searching eyes found what she was looking for — a sort of apron of land set within the loop of the meandering stream that they had been following for some miles — she suggested to Josse that they stop and make camp for the night.

He reined in his big horse and sat looking at her. She met his eyes briefly and then looked hastily down at the ground; straight away he knew the same thoughts ran in her mind as in his. He paused, took a steadying breath and then said, in what sounded remarkably close to his normal voice, ‘This looks a good place. Shelter from that stand of trees and water in the stream.’

‘Yes, and the stream loops round on three sides of us, with the thicket across the neck of the loop forming the fourth side,’ she added quickly, as if as eager as he to speak of ordinary things. ‘Anyone approaching will alert us either by splashing across the water or breaking through the brambles.’ Glancing in that direction, she said with a grin, ‘And I wouldn’t suggest that as the best way.’

He echoed her smile. Dismounting, he said, ‘What shall I do? Cut some branches or something to make a shelter?’