Chapter Nine
Witches
Brew
Talon
Talon turned the roan, an easygoing
gelding he used as a secondary saddle and pack horse, off the road
onto the path that led past the windbreak of chestnut trees
bordering Lara’s and Sophie’s property. He’d passed the property
daily on his rides around the valley but had never ridden onto it.
Lara was generally private about her personal life, and he’d
respected those boundaries until now. There were questions he
wanted answers to and figured Sophie could answer them. Whether she
would, he was about to find out.
He pulled the roan up at the end of
the path, where a raven cawed loudly as it swooped over and past
him. Talon leaned back and shaded his eyes as the bird landed on
the roof of the house. Swaying in his saddle, he gripped the pommel
and grit his teeth until his blurring vision cleared and he was
able to take in the property. The two-story house, though small,
was built of stone and wood with a thatched roof and faced west
into the open yard and river beyond rather than east toward the
road. Vining roses heavy with blooms of red, pink, yellow, and
white covered the southern facing, and he breathed in their heady
perfume that also seemed to carry Lara’s spicy sweet
fragrance.
A large bed of purple-flowered
rosemary and lavender bushes ran along the southern border of the
yard with various herbs growing around and between them. West of
the herb garden, sunflowers stood as tall as a man with squash
vines climbing their stalks, the yellow and gold flowers buzzing
with bees. A small orchard ripe with peaches and plums and summer
apples bordered the river, where a wooden deck had been built into
the bank, a well-worn path leading from it to the house. To the
north side of the orchard, a small barn with a fenced paddock homed
Lara’s leggy chestnut mare and Sophie’s sturdy little dun, both of
whom grazed contentedly amongst a small herd of goats as a flock of
chickens scratched and pecked the ground around their hooves. The
mares lifted their heads and Talon followed the direction of their
gazes to the house, where Sophie stood in the open doorway, a
ginger tabby rubbing against her skirts.
“Welcome, Captain,” she
called out.
Talon inclined his head to her.
Welcome was a good start. He dismounted and tied the roan off to a
post when Wolf came lumbering out of the barn. Talon slapped his
thigh, and the wolf-dog went to him, his tongue lolling as Talon
patted his head and rubbed his ears.
“You’ve tamed the wolf, I
see,” Sophie said, “if not the wildcat.”
Talon snapped his head up and grimaced
as he swayed back on his heels. His head stopped spinning, if not
aching, as Sophie waved him toward the house and then disappeared
through the open door. Wolf loped back toward the barn, where Talon
assumed Lara was, as the dog was never far from her
side.
“Come in.” She beckoned
from inside the house as he stood in the doorway, then took in his
bandaged head and swollen eye and lifted her chin at a table and
four chairs. “Sit.” She pushed sprigs of cut lavender and rosemary
to one side of the table. Talon took the seat facing the open door.
“I’ll get us both a cup of cool cider.”
Talon looked around the tidy house,
every corner of which was put to use for one thing or another. A
rocking chair sat by the hearth, a pot hanging on the frame over
the firepit, unlit in the heat of the day. A spinning wheel and
several baskets full of spun wool took up the corner between the
hearth and the west-facing window for light, and shelves stacked
with tubs of liniments, vials of tinctures, and baskets full of
dried herbs and bandages lined the east-facing wall. The rafters
were hung with bunches of drying herbs and flowers, and the south
wall had a worktable pushed up against it, a bowl of knives and
ladles on top, and pots and pans hanging from hooks over it. A
ladder led to an upstairs loft, which he assumed was the women’s
bedchamber.
“I can give you something
for your head.” Sophie set a cup of cider down in front of him.
“Your neck and eye as well.”
“Thank you. I’d appreciate
that.” Talon took a long drink of the cider, letting it slake his
parched throat as Sophie took a seat opposite. The fact that she
hadn’t asked him how he injured his head meant Lara had already
told her. Lara, whom he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of since he’d
ridden up, and who he’d wager coin was hiding from him in the barn.
Which was perfect for his purposes. “It was one of your potions I
came to inquire about,” he told Sophie. “Your love potion. My men
have been offered these potions from the women in the valley almost
from the day we arrived. I want to know what it is. What it’s made
of.”
“The women in this valley
have been giving men this same sweet libation for a score of years,
Captain. Your men will suffer no ill effects.”
“While that’s good to
know, it’s not what I asked.” He sat back and crossed his arms,
waiting for her answer. He was a captain of battle-hardened
soldiers, a courier who had traveled much of the known world and
conversed with kings. He was used to asking a direct question and
getting a straight answer. He wasn’t going to let Sophie get away
with her vague seer’s riddles, as Lara had called them.
Sophie held his gaze with her own for
a long moment, and then crinkled her eyes as she chuckled. “It’s
rose hips for vigor, lavender for verve, honey for sweetness and
energy, a dash of wild mustard seed for fire, and a drop of
peppermint oil for soothing calm.”
“That’s all?”
“As I said, your men
should suffer no ill effects from it.” Her gaze narrowed on his. “I
do expect you to keep this knowledge to yourself. You are one of
only a few who know.”
“Why is that?”
“Few ask. And I answer
even fewer.”
“What about a
wildcat?”
Sophie tilted her head at him with a
puzzled expression. “Of course, she knows.”
“No, what I meant was
would she drink this potion?”
Sophie tilted her head in the opposite
direction. “It would take a neat trick to get it past her nose.
She’s been lapping it up since she was a kitten.”
Talon nodded and glanced down at his
scarred palm. “The trick for me would be to get it anywhere near
her nose without being shredded.”
Sophie chuckled. “Patience,” she
advised. “Patience and perseverance, they will get you closest to
the wildcat without further bloodshed.”
Talon was listening, but he wasn’t
convinced, which must have shown.
“I’ve known her since her
first mewling hiss,” Sophie said. “If she’s got her fur up, back
away, give her space, let her come to you.”
Sophie’s advice made sense. It was how
Talon would approach an unbroken horse he was trying to tame.
Though truth be told, he wasn’t sure he wanted to tame Lara. Her
sharp points were part of what made her so intriguing, although he
could do without her thorns constantly pricking him.
“Taming a wildcat has
repercussions for both the man brave enough to try as well as for
the wildcat,” Sophie said as if reading his thoughts. “In truth, if
you weren’t a king’s soldier, always away at war or court, I might
encourage it.” She paused and looked deep into his eyes, into his
soul. “However, you are what you are, and she is what and where she
is, and I would not have her left alone with a belly full of
bastard kittens.”
Talon sat back, chastened by her cold,
hard honesty. “Nor would I.”
Sophie pressed her lips together and
nodded. “I believe you. Which is why it’s better to leave her
untamed.”
Talon chuffed. “And so I remain cursed
on sight and damned by oath.”
“The curse I know of. I’ve
seen it on you since day one. But the oath?”
Talon held Sophie’s piercing gaze that
told him she expected him to be as honest with her as she’d been
with him. “It’s the oath I pledged outside my tent the night of
Mallus while listening to you two talking inside. My oath to give
her the protection you made her swear to stay under.”
“Ah, I see.”
“I’m glad you do.” Talon
tapped a finger on his cup of cider. “Because I don’t. I understand
you wanting her under her master’s protection while she’s a
lidi, but what’s the
advantage you see in my protection specifically?”
Sophie sat back and pursed her lips.
“Count Nithard fears me. But his son, Ranulf, does not. Despite his
foolish bragging, he does fear you, the strength of your sword.
That is the advantage I see in your protection.”
“What’s the cause of the
trouble between Lara and Ranulf?” He dreaded the answer. “Was it a
love affair gone wrong?”
“Love?” Sophie barked.
“Ranulf doesn’t know how to love anything or anybody but himself,
just like his father.”
She stood and rummaged through her
baskets, leaving him as unsatisfied with her answer as he was with
his own imaginings over what Lara and Ranulf’s relationship had
been. He drained his cider, and Sophie set a vial of love potion on
the table along with several packets of dried herbs.
“Measure out a spoonful of
herbs for each cup of boiling water, then stew it until it cools
enough to drink.” She pushed the packets over. “Most men I would
tell to drink a cup before retiring, but you, you should drink two.
And soak in a hot bath each night, as hot as you can stand
it.”
Talon picked up a packet and sniffed
it. “What’s in it?”
Sophie laughed. “Do you never imbibe
anything you don’t know the contents of?”
“Not if I can help
it.”
“It’s feverfew for the
ache in your head and neck, nettle and dandelion to reduce the
swelling, spearmint for the palate, and valerian and calendula to
invite slumber.”
Talon pocketed the herbs and eyed the
vial of love potion as if it were poison. He stood, and Wolf
trotted back into the house and looked up at Talon, his tongue
lolling. But still no Lara. Why wouldn’t she even come out to greet
him, a guest in her house?
“Wolf,” he asked the
hound, “where’s Lara?”
The dog walked over to the cellar
door, which creaked and then squeaked as he stood next to it, tail
wagging. Talon gave Sophie an accusing glare and then picked up the
vial of potion and stuffed it into his pocket. “Madam,” he said
with a stiff bow of his head. “I do thank you.”
***