Old Magic(63)
And the jam doesn’t look too bad. At least, it smells all right, no little blue bits of mould. Fresh berries would have been better, but, as we discovered last night, it’s only a few weeks to winter, so there’s little if any fresh fruit or vegetables around, only dried, preserved or far worse – heavily salted stuff that is so close to being poisonous I don’t even want to stand too close in case it spreads infection.
The jam turns out better than I thought, and I lather it on the thick bread. I have to concentrate though to block out the rough images of the others wolfing down their food, yanking off chicken legs with greasy fingers, slopping ale into wooden mugs, dripping it down their chins, which they wipe with the backs of their sleeves.
And while they eat, Lord Richard boasts about his cruelty to the villeins that work his fields. Thomas and Malcolm grin and nod, and this attitude is shared by soldiers at the other tables who think their Lord’s ugly deeds are comical. My appetite disappears altogether when they start laughing over the fate of the peasant woman who recently lost her husband in a battle to help save the keep from falling into the hands of a neighbouring Scottish Lord. He was, apparently, a hard worker. This woman is Edwina, and I wish I’d never met her now. They discuss how she’ll probably turn to a life of thievery, or begging, or prostitution to survive.
I almost gag on the food that refuses to go down my throat. Jarrod sends me a sympathetic look, but he knows, as I know, there’s nothing either of us can do about that woman and her family. I have to let it be. If only I could use a little magic, I find myself thinking.
It’s just as I think of magic that a commotion outside the Great Hall seizes everyone’s attention. It seems Lord Richard has an unannounced visitor. A tall impressive-looking man strides in, wearing all black. He bears an even more striking resemblance to Jarrod than Richard, except he’s taller and thicker set. He has Jarrod’s hair colour too, dark blond with russet tints, except this man’s eyes are jet black. And I realise with a start where that eerie pulsing energy is coming from.
So I guess who it is even before Lord Richard mentions his name. Only a powerful magician can emanate energy like this. It isn’t a warm welcome he receives either. ‘How is it, Rhauk,’ Richard’s voice is cold and hostile, ‘that you always get through my guards, without anyone ever seeing you?’
The man, Rhauk, simply smiles. Slowly. He walks straight up to Richard, giving me his profile. ‘Is that any way to treat your brother, Richard?’
‘Bah!’ Richard scoffs. ‘You are no brother of mine. My father never acknowledged your birth. Never. Not even with his dying breath.’
‘That may be, but he never denied it either. But I don’t want to get into that today,’ he replies, seemingly bored. ‘I’ve more important things to do.’
‘Well, what do you want this time?’
Ignoring Lord Richard, as if it’s beneath him to reply, Rhauk’s head shifts sideways, searching. His eyes find mine, and lock. ‘Eloise,’ he whispers. Shivers hit me in waves.
For starters, I can’t possibly look like Eloise – these people would have noticed and reacted differently when they first saw me. I don’t look anything like these people, and because they don’t travel, they’ve never seen someone who looks quite like me before. My eyes are way too oval-shaped, my hair true black.
Rhauk seems to collect himself and smiles again. This time the smile has an element of cunning. He nods at me, and it’s as if he’s acknowledging that I’m what he’s come for. ‘What an exquisite creature,’ he purrs like a feline. ‘Introduce us, Richard.’
Lord Richard is clearly uncomfortable, and coughs a little to clear his throat, I suspect, to buy himself some time. Rhauk’s reaction has him confused. ‘Er, this noblewoman is Lady Katherine. She comes a great distance to be with us. She has nothing to do with you, so keep your eyes off and stay well away.’
As the two discuss me I feel another energy pulse in the room. At first I don’t recognise it, until an almost familiar wind starts up. It quickly turns chillingly cold. It’s Jarrod. And he’s looking at Rhauk with eyes of absolute steel.
‘Easy, Jarrod,’ I say softly, suddenly seeing the huge problem in front of us. We’ve found the instigator of the curse, but Jarrod hasn’t acknowledged his gift yet and so can’t control his powers, let alone use them.
Rhauk senses another strength in the Hall too. His nostrils flare, his head comes up just a little, black eyes drawing into slits. Slowly he turns to face Jarrod. Then he smiles that slow unnerving smile again.