Alys Clare - Heart of Ice

Stephen gave a faint shrug. ‘Then you had better stay here,’ he said, with a note of resignation that did not go unnoticed.

‘Where else should I go?’ Sabin asked, spreading her hands wide in appeal. ‘Should I return to Hawkenlye, dragging Grandfather with me, for us to suffer the same fate as Nicol?’

‘Perhaps you would not,’ Stephen said. ‘If you could but persuade yourself that Sir Josse d’Acquin is no threat but in fact your protector, then might returning to the place where Nicol was slain be the first step in bringing his killer to justice? There is much that you could tell the knight that would help in that worthy aim, is there not? We could arrange an escort for you to ensure your safety on the journey; have no fear on that score.’

She stared at him for some moments. Then she said, ‘Grandfather overheard you talking to the knight, Stephen. He left the little gate room and crouched just outside the door of the refectory and he didn’t miss a single word.’ Her expression chilling until the blue eyes were icy, she went on, ‘Just when, I wonder, were you going to confirm to me what, from my visit, I already suspected: that the sickness that drove Nicol to seek help is now rife at Hawkenlye Abbey?’

Sister Tiphaine and Lora had spent the night in the forest, in a compact shelter deep in its heart that the forest people occasionally used when in the vicinity. Despite the cold, Lora had contrived to make the shelter quite comfortable; she lit a small fire, prepared warm food and a hot drink and, when it was time for sleep, provided Tiphaine with a woollen cover that kept the herbalist as cosy as she usually was in her own bed back at Hawkenlye.

There had been no sign of Joanna at her hut when they went looking for her that morning. Lora had found the place without any difficulty and it was clear to both women that somebody — almost certainly Joanna — had recently been there for the dead bracken had been cut away from the clearing in which the hut was situated and the patch of earth where Joanna grew her herbs and her vegetables had been weeded and dug over ready for the spring planting. The hut itself was, Tiphaine had noticed, quite hard to spot, even when you knew quite well where it was. The undergrowth had advanced around the base of its walls and the branch of a birch tree bent low over its roof, in a gesture that was almost protective. Standing with her hands on her hips at Tiphaine’s side, Lora had observed that Joanna had learned a lot since she had first fled to hide in the Great Forest; when Tiphaine queried the remark, Lora turned to her with a wry expression and said, ‘She’s learned how to disguise her habitation so well that even I had to look twice.’

They had waited for the rest of that day. When it grew dark — and much colder — Lora had announced that they’d give it up for the day and try again tomorrow.

Now tomorrow had come.

As the two women strode through the forest, Tiphaine wondered if Joanna would be there this time when they reached the clearing. It was a strange thought, and one undoubtedly brought on by the unusual experience of sleeping out beneath the stars and the trees, but the herbalist realised that she would not be surprised at all to find that, this morning, Joanna had managed to make her hut totally invisible.

They approached the clearing and automatically slowed their fast pace. Tiphaine sensed that even Lora felt a little cowed by the force that seemed to emanate from the hut, and Lora was one of the elders of the forest people and a powerful woman herself.

Lora turned to Tiphaine with a grimace. ‘She knows we’re here,’ she said quietly. ‘Best go up to her openly; no sense skulking in the undergrowth.’

Tiphaine fell into step behind her and they strode across the clearing until they stood before Joanna’s door.

‘Joanna,’ Lora called, ‘we need to speak to you.’

No answer.

Lora raised her hand and tapped on the stout wood of the door. ‘Joanna!’ she said a little louder.

Still no answer.

Then she was standing right behind them, so close that Sister Tiphaine’s veil brushed against Joanna’s arm as the herbalist spun round.

Lora said somewhat caustically, ‘Very clever, my girl. Demonstrating your skill, is that it?’

Joanna did not speak for a moment. She stood quite still, dark eyes studying first Lora, then Tiphaine. Then she said, ‘I knew you were looking for me, Lora, and that there was another with you. Until now, I did not know the identity of the other.’

Then, with a sudden wide smile, she opened her arms and embraced the herbalist, then turned to Lora and gave her a quick bow. ‘Lora, I am glad to see you. And you, Tiphaine,’ she added in a murmur, ‘helped me when Meggie was born. I do not know why you have come’ — she had turned back to Lora — ‘but you are welcome. Come in.’

Stepping forward, she unlatched the door of the hut and led them inside. Tiphaine remembered the night of Meggie’s birth too and she noticed that the hut seemed little changed since that day. Joanna had clearly been busy since her return, for the place was spotless and smelled pleasingly of lavender; the pile of ashes in the small central hearth had been brushed up within its ring of stones, and kindling and small logs were laid ready for the day’s fire. The iron pot that stood ready beside the hearth was black with age and long use but it had recently received a good scrubbing. The beaten earth floor had been swept and the planking shelves on the far wall were dust-free, their contents neatly arranged. The steps up to the sleeping platform were in good repair and there was now a slim barrier bar on the side not protected by the wall of the hut; a low rail along the open side of the platform had also been added. On the platform were a straw mattress and several woollen blankets; among the blankets sat a very pretty child.

Tiphaine stared at the little girl whom she had helped bring into the world and the little girl stared right back, her well-shaped mouth breaking into a tentative, friendly smile. The child had smooth dark hair and her eyes were brown, although of a lighter shade than her mother’s; it was almost, thought the herbalist, as if the child had gold light in her eyes.

And those eyes quite definitely reminded Tiphaine of those of somebody else; somebody whom she knew quite well. In fact, the more she stared, the more she could see Josse in the child’s face. As if Joanna read her thought, she came up to stand beside the herbalist; ‘It’s the smile,’ she said softly and Meggie, obliging child that she was, instantly turned her shy smile into a beaming grin, laughing down at her mother and Tiphaine. Then, after a tense moment, Joanna whispered, ‘Does he know?’

Tiphaine shook her head.

‘Does anybody at Hawkenlye know?’

‘The Abbess Helewise guesses, although I have not confirmed that she guesses aright.’

‘I see.’

Tiphaine could feel Joanna’s faint distress; it felt as if someone were rubbing the fine hairs on her skin in the wrong direction. It occurred to the herbalist that if Joanna could provoke such a reaction when surely no more than mildly disturbed, what might she do when really angry?

I think, Tiphaine decided, that I prefer not to dwell on that.

Lora was standing in the doorway and now she called to Tiphaine to attract her attention. ‘You have something you wish to tell Joanna here, do you not?’ she said.

‘Er. .’ Suddenly it did not seem such a good idea.

‘Go on,’ Lora said relentlessly.

Joanna was looking enquiringly at Tiphaine. ‘What is it?’ she demanded. The anxiety in her eyes suggested she thought it might be to do with Josse and it was Tiphaine’s instant need to reassure her that Josse was quite safe that gave her the courage to speak.