“Why are you looking at me like that?” Njål asks eventually.
“Like what?”
“I’m afraid to say, in case it’s not true.”
I prop my chin on my hand, hiding a smile in my palm. “Then hold on to that impression until you’re confident enough to be sure.”
He makes a thin gruel without help from me, the type of porridge we often eat in the village, so I down it without savor. At least it’s hot and serves to drive away hunger. Wearily I stretch, watching Njål drink his from a cup, like it’s medicine.
“You’re done in,” he says tenderly.
And before I can respond, he lifts me in his arms and, oh, I’ve seen this hold before, usually a princess in a storybook being carried off by the charming knight who rescued her. Brewer’s assistants don’t get cradled like this and neither do witches, and it seems that I’m both. Of course, Njål more resembles the beast that the knight must best to win his lady love, so we’ve turned this fable entirely on its head.
As I wrap my arms about his neck, I can’t claim that I mind. “Will you stay?”
In answer, he tucks me beneath the covers and tends the fire, then he joins me, spooning up against my back so that I feel completely sheltered. The keep has quieted in my mind, evidently saving its whispers for when I’m more able to comprehend them. I hear the goats clattering about the kitchen, and I’ll probably regret letting them remain indoors when I’m scrubbing up the mess, but I’m currently too tired to care.
I drop into sleep like I’m diving into deep water, and I emerge on the other side of time. Damn it, I have to stop dream-traveling. How am I supposed to recover when I expend energy asleep and awake?
From the look of the keep, the party is over. This must be the next morning because the staff are still tidying up in the great hall and removing decorations. The floor is sticky with spilled wine and splattered food; I wonder how wild the revels got after Njål fled. Before, I had no control over where I went, but this time, I appear to be free.
Nobody takes note of me, affirming my status as a time-ghost. I search for Njål, but instead of finding him, I arrive in the west tower, where the baroness holds her sewing circles. Five women occupy the space at present, and if it wasn’t for the terrifying monster holding court, it would be quite a pleasant room. Oriel windows let in the light, diffused by the leaded glass panes, and there are cushioned benches in addition to luxuriously upholstered chairs. All the baroness’s guests seem nervous, pricking their fingers about as much as they manage to embellish the embroidery in their laps.
“It’s such a pity you can’t have children,” a young lady says in a breathless voice.
The others flash her looks of such horror and dismay that the temperature drops inside the room, despite the fire crackling merrily in the brazier. One lady drops her sewing and takes an inordinately long time in collecting it.
“Gilda!” An older woman presses the younger one’s arm, but she seems unwilling or unable to heed the warning.
She chatters on, “You’re so lucky to have the baron. Most men would set aside a barren wife or at least choose a leman to provide him with a natural heir.”
“You do not hesitate to speak your mind,” the baroness responds in an icy tone.
“Not in the slightest! My mother despairs of me in that regard but it seems a great waste of time, never saying what one is truly thinking. For instance . . .” The girl locks eyes with the baroness, and I immediately reevaluate what’s happening here. “Did you know he came to my room last night?”
A collective intake of breath, and the rest of the women mumble excuses, gathering their embroidery, and then they flee like rabbits scenting wolves in the wind. Soon, only the baroness and this young challenger remain. She is, I admit, a beautiful girl, with ebony ringlets and sparkling eyes, and I admire her boldness even as I fear for her.
She must be flattered by the attention, but I guarantee it won’t end as she expects.
“You were saying?” the baroness prompts.
“I finished my statement. You didn’t answer.”
“As to whether I knew that my husband came to your private chambers?” The baroness smiles, and it’s the most chilling expression I’ve ever seen, all teeth and no joy, a dead hollow behind her eyes. “Of course I did, my dear. I’m the one who selected you.”
That isn’t what Gilda expected to hear. Her fingers tighten on the cushion cover in her lap. “You . . . you’re lying.”
“Why would I bother? I suspect you’d go quite mad if you knew the truth, so I’ll only share a piece of it. The baron does nothing without my permission. I studied all the options carefully last night and I determined that you would do. Then I informed him and he availed himself of your . . . amenities. A trial, if you will. He reported that you were most satisfactory, and that I should find myself most comfortable in your environs.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying at all! You . . . told him to—”
“Yes, dear. He came to your bed with my blessing. That’s all you’re capable of grasping. Run along now, but don’t quit the keep in a fit of pique. You’ll fulfill the rest of your purpose soon enough.”
Horror creeps over me. With what Njål has told me, I understand even if the girl doesn’t. This will be the baroness’s next body. I hurry after Gilda, but before I take more than two steps, the baroness speaks. “I sense you. I cannot see you, but I know you’re here. Mark
