to kill him,' Ma said in the same calm tone in which she might have announced that Elena had gone to fetch a pail of water.
Raffe felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. He was certain he must have misheard her.
'The cunning woman from your village came here to see Elena,' Ma said.
'Gytha?'
'That's the one. Apparently, some months ago back in the village, Gytha gave Elena a mandrake and now she's come looking for payment. Evidently there's bad blood between Osborn's family and hers. Osborn's father falsely accused Gytha's grandmother of poisoning his wife, then had her executed. Not unreasonably, she cursed him and his descendants. Now Gytha wants Elena to kill Osborn to avenge her grandmother.' Ma smiled. "You needn't look so horrified, my darling, Elena will do it all right. After all, she's killed two men before. She's the strength and resolve of a dozen men when her blood is up.'
'But she hasn't killed anyone!' Raffe put his head in his hands and groaned. 'I've proof that she didn't murder Raoul or Hugh. She's no more capable of killing a man than a sparrow is of killing a hawk. You've sent a girl... a child . . . after a battle-hardened knight. At the very least, he'll recognize her. What the hell have you done, you malicious old hag?'
He lunged at Ma, but Talbot stepped between them. His great fist slammed into Raffe's jaw. Raffe staggered backwards, crashing into one of the benches, and fell, sprawling across it.
His head reeling from the blow, he was only dimly aware of the clanging of the bell. Ma hurried across the room.
'Get him upstairs to my chamber, Talbot, and keep him quiet. Knock him out cold if you have to.'
As she pulled some steps into place so that she could peer out of the grid in the door, Talbot heaved Raffe to his feet. And Raffe, feeling the floor tilting alarmingly beneath his feet, allowed himself to be half dragged towards the staircase to Ma's room.
Elena let go of the bell rope and pounded on the door. It seemed as if she had been standing there for a lifetime before the shutter finally opened and Ma's face peered out.
'Ma, please, please let me in,' she begged.
'I'm coming.' The firmness in Ma's voice sounded strangely comforting.
Elena pressed herself against the door in an agony of waiting as she heard Ma loosening the bar and clambering down off the steps. When the door finally swung open she almost fell over the tiny woman in her haste to get inside. Her teeth were chattering uncontrollably. Her legs suddenly refused to move and she knew that if she attempted even a single step she would fall over. She stood swaying in the room, her arms wrapped tightly round herself.
Ma pulled at her hand. Her fingers felt scalding hot against Elena's icy skin.
Elena's breath came in shallow, jerky little gulps. 'Why couldn't I kill him, Ma? Why couldn't I? I killed Raoul and Hugh. But he wouldn't die. I thought... if I just... pushed the dagger in, it would be over. There was blood, but. . . but he pulled the dagger out and came after me . . . Why couldn't I kill him, Ma? Why was it so easy with the others? They died like they were supposed to but he wouldn't ... he just kept coming. . .'
'So he's wounded?' Ma gnawed at her lip. 'Did he recognize you?'
Elena jerked her head in the semblance of a nod.
Ma took a deep breath. 'Raffe's right, we have to get you both away from here, tonight.'
'Master Raffaele. Is he ...?'
'He's here, my darling, come to take you away. Now, you go and sit with him awhile, get your breath back, you'll be needing it. Talbot and I've got work to do.'
Without even being aware of how she got there, Elena found herself sitting in Ma's chamber clutching a beaker of wine in her trembling fingers. Raffaele was sitting on a stool at her feet. She had allowed him to wash Osborn's blood gently from her hands in a bowl of water. She'd stared in uncomprehending wonder as the water turned pink, then scarlet. The candle flames danced, and she thought she was back in a cottage in Gastmere watching Gytha's blood falling drop by drop, swirling around and around. She shivered. She couldn't seem to get warm.
Raffaele reached out and touched the bruise where Hugh had struck her, as tenderly as any father