There was nothing else for it, I would simply have to court my bride and prove to her father that I was the right man for the job. I could do this, I’d been the victor in more difficult negotiationsthan this. Until the deal was sealed and our marriage finalised, I would be the perfect son-in-law and husband-to-be.
A memory of the dark-haired stall owner at the market flickered in my mind, unbidden. The fire and passion in those hazel eyes, the rose-red flush of her pale cheeks. She’d been so alive, where Lady Gwyn could have been carved from ice—an elegant sculpture, or an oil painting. Untouchable. Something to look at, appreciate, but nothing more. I shook off the thought and focused my attention on the conversation.
“What’s the latest report on the rebels?” Prince John asked a broad-shouldered man further down the table.
Rebels? I hadn’t been made aware of any rebellion when I’d accepted the prince’s job offer.
The man glugged from a tankard of ale and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before answering. “They’ve been quiet recently, my lord. Small jobs, nothing of value stolen. We believe they may be planning something, sir. Building up their resources. Biding their time.”
A red-haired serving girl set a large plate of food in front of Prince John and he picked up his eating irons without thanking her. If he replied to the large man, I didn’t hear it.
When my own food arrived, I had to fight to not wrinkle my nose. Mashed potato and root vegetables with a slice of what I believed to be beef but could have been horse meat. All swimming in a sea of brown, watery liquid.
I fantasised about the exquisite meals I’d been served back in Sicily—ribbons of pasta with cream and brandy sauce, pork medallions with apricot and spring greens. I closed my eyes and took a bite of the meat and potatoes. It wasn’t bad, I had to admit. It certainly tasted better than it looked.
I washed it down with a swig of wine and turned to the prince. “What sort of rebellion, Your Highness?”
Prince John swallowed a mouthful of carrot and turnip, gesturing to me with his knife. “Just an irksome bunch of no marks trying to rally the people against the Crown. It’ll be quashed in no time, won’t it Graham? Nothing for you to worry about, Stefano.”
I frowned, chewing slowly on my food. I swallowed and said, “What if we didn’t quash this little rebellion?”
Prince John paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, a piece of carrot falling back onto his plate and splattering the table with gravy. “What do you mean? Let the rebels run amok, unchecked?”
I shook my head. “Quite the opposite, my lord. We control the rebellion instead of putting an end to it. We could even get a man inside, disrupt the organisation from within.”
I could see the idea rattling around behind the prince’s eyes. He hummed. “It’s certainly an interesting thought.”
All it would take was one more prod and the line of dominoes would topple. I sipped my wine, giving Prince John a moment more to consider my suggestion, then added, “If there’s one thing my father taught me, sir, it’s that nothing unites a people quite like a common enemy. If we give the villagers a reason to hate the rebels as much as they fear the witches, they will be eating right out of our hands.”
A slow, venomous smile spread across Prince John’s face as he absorbed my words. A low chuckle slipped from between his thin lips, growing louder as his shoulders shook and wine sloshed out of his goblet onto the wooden table. He jabbed a finger at me, grinning broadly. “See, that is exactly why I hired you! Very good, Sheriff, very good indeed.”
My chest swelled with pride and satisfaction, the smile that threatened to take over my whole face felt reminiscent of a cat with a dish of cream. I imagined the look on that stall owner’sface; she’d show me the respect I deserved the next time I saw her.
Something niggled at the back of my mind as I chewed on a mouthful of meat and potatoes. Why couldn’t I get that woman out of my head? All evening, my mind had kept returning to her, conjuring her face at the most inopportune moments.
Could it be that she had bewitched me, body and soul? Why else would I have given that peasant woman a second thought? It simply didn’t make sense. I was engaged to marry a princess—or an almost-princess, at least. What interest would I have in a poor village woman who sold rabbits’ feet at market?
The lucky rabbit’s foot. My heart thundered in my chest, heat rising up my neck; prickly and uncomfortable. That had to be it. I had inadvertently purchased some kind of talisman and she had put a spell on me. Likely, every item on her table had been cursed or enchanted in some fashion, and I had been caught completely unawares.
But there was no need to panic or rush into anything. I just needed to get through the banquet, and in the morning I would make a plan. I would simply have her arrested on suspicion of witchcraft and questioned in the castle dungeons. Edward and Peter could patrol the market, keeping an eye out for her. And in the meantime, I would burn the rabbit’s foot. That ought to do it.
I speared another piece of meat with my fork and ate it, feeling my heart rate slow as I chewed. This confounding preoccupation would be over soon.
I caught the look on Lady Gwyn’s face before she hurriedly turned away, and felt something twist in my stomach. Her carefully schooled features couldn’t hide the curiosity in her eyes.
Wooing my bride would have to wait. I had a witch to catch.
6
MORGAINE
The only good witch is a dead witch?That was what the evil cockroach of a man had said.
I had heard enough. I’d flown through the night, my mind running through everything I needed to do. I had to warn Lavender and Sal, help them to pack up the cottage, hide the Book of Enchantments and get Rosemary somewhere safe—far away from the Royal Forests.
Or perhaps they would be safer staying put, hiding out in the cottage, if I left? I could lead the sheriff and his men away, give the coven a chance.
A white-hot rage bubbled in my veins, and not for the first time. Why could my kind never live in peace? All we had done was cure their ills, bring their children safely into the world, protect their livestock from sickness, and give them a little help finding love and luck. Why were we always the first port of call when the commonfolk needed someone to blame for their misfortune?
