to press an affectionate kiss on the cheek of the old hag. Then she straightened. Her limpid gray eyes turned to him and his attention shifted, taking in their pale color and bold expression. His gaze dropped to the smile on her luscious lips and he found himself swallowing.
“You must be my betrothed.”
Those words stopped Hugh cold. His admiration of her beauty became instead a grim perusal of the plain and patched gown she wore. The garment hung on her like a sack. She looked like a village girl, a pretty village girl perhaps, but a village girl just the same, whereas he was a lord, above being bound to a simple female of such uncertain parentage. Marrying her was out of the question, though she would make a fetching mistress.
“Gold is gold whether buried deep in the mud or adorning a king’s crown,” the crone said.
Hugh frowned at the comment, annoyed at the suggestion that she’d known what he was thinking. He was even more annoyed at the meaning of her words, since he was positive they didn’t apply here.
When he remained silent, the witch tilted her head to the side, considering him. She then reached up to clasp the hand at her shoulder, drawing the girl’s attention. “We will need more garlic, child. For the trip.”
Nodding, the chit collected a basket and left the cottage without making a sound.
“Ye’ll marry her.” It was a simple statement of fact.
Hugh turned sharply on the witch, but froze, eyes widening when he saw that she now held his empty mug. She was squinting at the dregs that had been left behind when he’d finished the drink. That knowledge sent a frisson of something akin to fear arcing up his spine. This woman was said to see the future in those dregs. In these uncertain times, Hugh did not think he wished to know what was yet to be. But whether he wished it or not, the woman read on.
“Ye’ll marry her for yer people, but she’ll quickly come to claim yer heart.”
He sneered at this possibility, but the woman paid him little heed as she continued to stare into the tankard. “The future holds much joy, happiness and children aplenty . . . if ye solve the riddle.”
“What riddle?” Lucan asked breathlessly and Hugh sneered at his being taking in by this trickery. When the woman merely raised dark eyes to stare at the other knight, he shifted and asked, “Well then, what if he does not solve the riddle?”
“Death awaits.”
Hugh saw the conviction in her eyes and swallowed nervously. Then she sat back and waved an impatient hand. “Begone. I am weary and your presence annoys me.”
The two men were more than happy to comply. They removed themselves from the dim cottage, and stepped out into the sunlight with relief.
“Well?” Lucan queried as they returned to their mounts.
Grim-faced, Hugh waited until he was back atop his mount to ask, “Well what?”
“Do you return on the morrow for her or no?”
“He’ll return.”
Head snapping around, Hugh glared at the old woman for eavesdropping, then angrily tugged on his reins, drawing his horse around before spurring him into a canter that left Lucan scrambling to mount and catch up to him.
Hugh had to slow down once he hit the trees; there was no true path to or from this cottage, which had made finding it an adventure. His decreased speed allowed Lucan to catch up to him. The moment he did, he again asked whether Hugh would marry the girl.
Hugh scowled at the question. His visit with Lord Wynekyn and the solicitor had been short. Once he had heard the bit about his being expected to marry some by-blow named Willa, he had worked himself into a fine temper. After bellowing and stomping about a bit, he had headed for Hillcrest. Hugh had no desire to marry the girl. But he wasn’t sure how he could get himself out of it. The way the solicitor had phrased it, he had to marry her in order to gain his inheritance. “I do not wish it, but fear I may have no choice if I want Hillcrest.”
“Surely you cannot be denied Hillcrest,” Lucan argued. “ ’Tis yours by law of primogeniture. You are next in line. Whether you marry the girl or not, Hillcrest cannot be refused you.”
Hugh perked up at this comment. “Aye. You are right.”
“Aye. So what will you do with her?” Lucan asked and Hugh’s posture deflated, along with his mood. “I