He pulled the door closed behind himself with a snap.
"What happened?" Eada asked. Hugh turned to find her examining the girl.
"She said she took too much potion." There was no denying the accusation in his tone or his eyes as he glared at the old woman. She ignored him as she worked. Hugh allowed her to disregard him, waiting impatiently as she lifted Willa's eyelids, poked at her skin, looked inside her mouth.
"She will not wake up," he said at last when his patience had about run out. "She took too much of your potion."
"The potion was to relax her," the old witch told him calmly. " 'Twas to ease yer first night together."
"Aye. Well, as you can see, it worked. Too well. She is too relaxed."
"Nay," the witch said harshly. "She isn't relaxed. She's dying."
"What?" Hugh bellowed in shock. Ignoring him, Eada turned to peer about the room, then zeroed in on the pitcher and mugs by the fire. Hugh settled on the bed and half-lifted Willa to lean against him again as the crone crossed the room. He watched her pick up the used mug, sniff it briefly, then set it down and sniff the half empty pitcher. She stiffened then, her eyes shooting to him. "Did you drink any of this?"
"Nay. Why?"
" 'Tis poison."
"What?" His arms tightened convulsively around Willa. "She said she had taken too much of your potion."
"Aye." The witch picked up the empty pouch. " 'Tis probably what saved her. I told her to use it sparingly. A little would have relaxed her. The whole pouch is what made her purge the poison."
"Will she be alright?" Hugh asked, peering down at Willa's pale face with concern.
Eada's response was to set down the pouch, walk over to collect the empty chamber pot and carry it back to the bed.
"Lay her on her stomach with her head hanging off the bed," Eada instructed, removing the basin Hugh had fetched for her earlier. He shifted her around at once, then held Willa with one hand at her back, the other at her forehead to keep her head from falling forward. He watched curiously as the witch set the chamber pot on the floor beneath her and tugged a feather from a small bag she'd brought with her. She opened Willa's mouth and stuck the feather inside.
"What are you - " Hugh began, then cursed and tightened his hold on Willa as she began to shudder and convulse, tossing up some more of whatever mixture she had in her stomach. "Dear God, has she not suffered enough? Would you make her - "
"We have to make her purge all of the poison if she's to live," the witch interrupted calmly. She waited until Willa's fit ended then forced the feather down her throat to start another round of retching. She did not stop until Willa was bringing nothing more up. Hugh winced as her body spasmed over and over again without satisfaction.
"That should be enough," the witch announced. He watched affection move across her features as she looked at the limp woman he held; then her expression closed and she stood abruptly. "She will feel like death when she wakes up. Hungry, too, no doubt, but she probably won't be able to keep anything down."
"Why did you not see this coming?" Hugh couldn't keep his irritation out of his voice as he eased his bride around to lie on her back. When he glanced at the witch, however, she shrugged with unconcern.
"I don't see everything," she said simply.
"So much for my twins." The witch actually cracked a smile at his complaint as Hugh covered Willa. He wasn't amused, however, and let her know as much.
"I do not see what is so funny. This all just proves that you are an old fraud. You said I would plant twins in her tonight. Somehow I do not see that as much of a possibility. Do you?"
"I said ye would plant twins in her the first time ye released yer seed. I never said 'twould be tonight."
Hugh let the matter drop. He was too weary to argue. Besides, he was beginning to see that there was no sense in disputing the crone; she always seemed to have an answer. But then, what woman didn't? He watched her leave, then glanced down at Willa. She was still pale, but not alarmingly so as she'd been earlier. And even pale, she was amazingly beautiful. He brushed some hair back from her face, his fingers caressing the petal soft skin of her cheek. She was such a lovely creature. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad being married to her, even if he did have to deal with the hag.
That thought had barely entered his head when his sweet bride's eyes suddenly popped open. She lunged into a sitting position, threw up in his lap again, then promptly fell back on the bed, unconscious.
Chapter Ten
She was being roasted alive. Overwhelming heat awoke Willa. It forced her to rouse enough to strip away several of the furs causing her discomfort. By the time she'd removed all but one, she was wide awake and not pleased at the waking. She felt terrible. Horrendous. Her mouth was dry and filled with the most unpleasant taste. Her whole body seemed to ache. For the first several moments, Willa lay grimacing over her discomfort, then a grunt and a movement drew her head sharply around.
For a moment she stared blankly at the shifting mound of furs beside her; then Willa's memory kicked in. She was married now. The mass under the furs must be her husband. Last night had been her wedding night.
Of course, the rest of the memories quickly followed. Yesterday's ceremony. The feast. Hugh sending her above stairs to prepare for the bedding. That was where her memories got a bit fuzzy. Willa remembered mixing the herbs Eada had given her in the ale that had been set out. She remembered pinching her nose and downing the concoction. She remembered being suddenly dizzy and tired and realizing that she'd taken too much of the potion. She had a vague image of her husband leaning over her.
Willa glanced down at herself sharply. If Eada were right - and Willa had never known the woman to be wrong - he'd planted twins in her belly last night. Grimacing as she ran her hand over her stomach, Willa decided that was a good possibility. Her stomach was hard and cramping this morning. She'd never heard that planting babies hurt the woman's belly, but it was as good an explanation as any for her pain and discomfort. The consummation must have been quite energetic. Actually, considering the fact that she felt as though she'd been trampled by a horse, Willa decided that she was rather grateful she'd overdosed herself with Eada's potion. If this was how she felt afterwards, she wasn't all that eager to experience the act itself.
Grimacing at the thought, she slid carefully from the bed, doing her best not to jostle her new husband. Much to her relief, Hugh didn't even stir at her slight movements. Keeping one eye on him, Willa began to tiptoe around the room in search of clothes. There was no sign of the lovely gown she'd worn the day before. The only nice gown she had. She did come across the bed linens. That gave her pause. They were rolled up in a ball and lay in a corner of the room. Eada had told her that there was blood the first time, that the blood would prove her innocence. Now she stared at the wadded linens and thought with some horror that surely there had not been so much blood? But what other reason was there for her husband to have stripped the bed?
She turned away from the linens and found the small chest holding her belongings. The mourning gown Eada was making for her wasn't finished yet. The gown she'd worn yesterday was the only fine garment she possessed, but Willa had other ones, less fine, that she'd brought with her. She dragged one out, donned it, then made her way out of the room.
It had been a long time since Willa had lived in a castle, not since she was a child. But in her memories the castle had always been a busy, bustling place. At least Claymorgan had been. The silence that met her in the hallway was a bit disturbing. Ignoring the shakiness of her legs and the cramping in her stomach, she made her way to the top of the stairs. Her gaze slid around the great hall as she started down. One glance was enough to explain the unnaturally quiet castle. Most of the inhabitants were sprawled about the hall, snoring. No doubt the celebration had gone on well into the early hours of morning. The castle's inhabitants were still sleeping off their drink. She imagined most of them would be suffering the ale passion when they woke. Their sore heads would make them useless for the better part of the morning.
Willa was just stepping off the stairs when one of the figures at the table shifted and stood. Willa smiled widely. "Good morn, Eada."
"Good morn." Eada patted her back gently as Willa embraced her, then studied her face. "How do you feel?"
"Horrid," Willa admitted with a groan and the old woman nodded.
"I expected as much. Come along. Some dry bread and fresh air will make you feel better." She led Willa through the sleeping servants to the kitchens.
While the rest of the castle almost appeared to be caught in the grip of a sleeping spell, the kitchens showed some life, though it was sluggish. Alsneta and several servants were stumbling about baking bread and other pastries. Eada ignored the fresh bread cooling on the table and sought out some day-old bread instead. Handing it to Willa, she moved off to find her something to drink. She rejoined Willa a moment later, with a mug of meade in hand, then herded her back out into the hall. She led her along the table to a clear spot where the two of them could sit. She then made Willa eat some of the bread and drink some of the meade, watching her closely the whole while.
Willa wasn't hungry, but dutifully she ate and drank, knowing that Eada would not be satisfied until she did. She was halfway through the small hunk of bread Eada had given her when the woman suddenly stood and moved off toward the kitchens again. Willa watched her go, then glanced around. Spying one of the castle dogs eyeing her hopefully, she broke off a good portion of the bread and held it out to him. The animal was at her side at once. Willa watched him gulp down the bread, then glanced toward the kitchen and started to eat the last of her bread as Eada returned. The old woman glanced sharply from Willa to the dog and back, but merely held out the small sack she carried.
"What is this?" Willa asked curiously, accepting the sack.
"For Wolfy and Fen. They must have followed us to the castle yester morn. I heard them out baying at the moon last night. 'Twas a mournful sound. They're missing ye. Besides, the fresh air and walk will do ye good."
Concern filled Willa's eyes. "I did not hear them."
"Nay. Well, I'm not surprised. Ye were otherwise occupied."
Willa blushed slightly at those words, took a sip of the meade, then stood. "I will go find them."
"Ye do that."
Hugh awoke with a groan. Most of the night had been spent fretting over his wife. She had not slept well. Even once she'd finished vomiting up the poison, she'd tossed and turned fitfully for hours. It was only once her struggles had ceased that Hugh had allowed himself to doze off. That had been near dawn.
His gaze slid to the bright sunlight slipping around the covering in front of the window. By his guess, he'd had only a couple of hours' sleep. It hadn't been nearly enough. His chest felt as if a great cow were sitting on it, his eyes were scratchy and his head was splitting.
Ah, married life, he thought dryly. At this rate, the old witch's prediction that he would die ere the next full moon was likely to come true despite his crawling through the mud to Willa. A burst of coughing wracked his body and Hugh quickly covered his mouth, attempting to muffle the sound to keep from waking his wife. Willa would be weak and in need of much rest after last night's ordeal, he was sure.
That thought made him glance toward her, but she was buried under a mound of furs. Hugh sniffled and eased onto his side. He winced at the pain shooting through his derriere, a reminder of the sore he had there. All that rushing about and getting up and down last night to tend his wife had done his butt little good. He was exhausted and suffering a head cold and a pain in the arse. Aye, he was a mess, Hugh conceded as he began gently lifting aside the furs. He had perhaps overdone it with the furs, but winter was coming and the nights were cool. Now he lifted skin after skin away in search of his wife, only to discover that she was gone.
Hugh ignored his complaining backside and tossed aside the furs covering him. Willa had left the chamber. He couldn't believe she'd had the strength after the ordeal she'd been through. He couldn't believe she'd had the nerve after what she'd put him through. Hugh had seen a lot of blood and gore over the years. A man could not go to war and come back with innocent eyes, but dear God, he'd never seen the likes of last night. Give him blood and guts any day over a vomiting woman.
Cursing, he reached for the clothes he'd worn the night before, started to lift them from where they lay on the linens, then remembered why they were bundled there. They, along with Willa's gown and the linens, were soiled.
Tossing the soiled clothing aside, he gritted his teeth against the pain in his arse and stomped to the chest that held his things. He dug through it until he came up with some fresh braies and a tunic. Hugh donned the tunic as he walked to the door, then hopped from foot to foot as he pulled on the braies. Tugging the door open, he let it hit the wall with a satisfying crash, then continued to the stairs and down to the great hall. The crash of the bedchamber door had acted like a rooster's crow to those loafing in the hall. Most of them were awakened by it. Others were startled awake by the activity of their companions. They were all milling and stumbling about by the time Hugh reached the bottom step, but he ignored every last one of them. His gaze settled on the hag who sat, patiently waiting, at the table. He immediately started in her direction.
"Where is she?" he asked without preamble, pausing at her side.
"She went for a walk."
"Alone?" There was no mistaking the fury and fear mingled in his voice.
"She is safe enough," the hag assured him calmly. "She's safer with Wolfy and Fen than she is anywhere else in this world."
Hugh didn't miss the rebuke in her words. He'd allowed Willa to be poisoned. She'd been put in his care and he'd failed her. Cursing, he turned away, then paused and glanced back. "Is she on foot or on that horse of hers?"