TITLE: The Witch Hunter
AUTHOR: Annette Gisby
EMAIL: penguin2@cableinet.co.uk
KEYWORDS: MSR, Alternate Universe/Past life
RATED: R
ARCHIVE: gossamer, ephemeral, anywhere my email and name stay attached.

THE WITCH HUNTER

She knew what awaited her when she woke was no dream, and so she tried
to seek the solace of sleep for just a little longer. Tried to
remain in the dream where none of this was real and she was safe
at home with her father.

The dream where her father was still alive.

It was no use, the pain in her shoulders woke her before she was
ready and she stifled a gasp. She didn't want the other prisoners to
know how hurt she was. She still had her pride, even if nothing else.

They'd come for her in the night, Sir Alexander and his men, the moon
glinting off their armour. She closed her eyes as she remembered
the humiliation she suffered at their hands, being stripped right
down to her shift and being tied up like an animal. Led through the
streets like a commoner, with insults coming from all sides.
Insults from people she thought were her friends, people she'd helped.

Worse than the insults, were the accusations.

Witch.

Sorceress.

What did they know of witchcraft? They were just superstitious.

Now Sir Alexander had every excuse to take her land, which was what
he wanted when he came to woo her, two days after the funeral.
Two days! It wouldn't matter. There was no way she would marry the
cruel knight, and she refused to give her body to a man she didn't
love.

She would rather die as a witch than live to see Sir Alexander maul
her. For a while she tried praying, but gave up when she realised that
God was not going to help her. No-one was going to help her.

She glanced up as she heard the key rattle in the lock. Was this the
day they were going to come for her? Was this the day she was going to
die? A wizened hand threw in a crust of stale bread whereupon the two
other prisoners dived for it and fought over the food. They were little
more than children and she often wondered what they had done to offend
Sir Alexander.

The two girls were filthy, dressed in rags, which barely covered them.
Modesty was useless in this dungeon. There was a slop bucket in the
corner, which they all had to use. She had been mortified at first,
but gradually even the shock of having to do her business in public
wore off.

The owner of the wizened hand, a withered old woman, came in and deftly
removed the manacles which had been placed on her arms. Katherine
rubbed her wrists, but voiced no protest. She had been chained at
night, every night for the past se'ennight, but she refused to let
them know how much this, this *shame* was affecting her. To be tied
up like an animal, to be treated this way was almost more than she
could bear.

But bear it she would. She would not shame the memories of her father
and brothers. Brave men who lost their lives in the service of the
king. Sir Alexander may have expected her to turn into a snivelling
wreck by keeping her in the dungeon, wondering about her fate, but
he would find her as proud as when she went in. It would take more
than a rat-infested floor to break her.

Her shoulders ached from being held in one place all night and she let
them drop with a sigh of relief. The old woman pointed at her, to
indicate that she was to get up. Katherine obeyed, her face calm,
but inwardly she was terrified. Two soldiers entered the dungeon and
tied her hands in front of her with rough rope. The hessian rubbed
at her already chafed wrists and she bit back tears of pain.

"The master wants to see you," said the first one, roughly pushing her
out the door. She stumbled and fell flat on the floor, the rough
stone tearing at her cheek. She was dragged upright by the soldiers,
she thought she felt one of them touch her breast, but it was such
a fleeting touch, she wasn't sure. There was no mistaking the way they
leered at her, though.

She'd heard the rumours, of course. Everyone had. That Sir Alexander
had to force women to lie with him, because he was so cruel that no-
one would love him willingly. There were stories aplenty of girls
from the surrounding villages who had just disappeared, although she
had yet to meet anyone who actually *knew* any of the girls, it was
always the sister or daughter of friend of a friend of a friend.

They wound their way up the narrow stone stairs to the top of one
of the towers. A large oak door blocked any further progress, she
had to wait perched precariously on the edge of the step while one of
the guards knocked on the door with his fist. The door swung open
after a few seconds and she realised that someone on the other side
had been expecting them. The thought did not give her comfort.

A serving girl stood behind the door, and opened it wider to allow the
soldiers and their charge to enter. The room was bigger than she
expected and full of people. All eyes turned to her and she felt
herself flush under their scrutiny. Only one man refused to look
away from her. Father Walter, the parish priest.

"What is she doing here?" he demanded of no-one in particular. "We
have no use for witchcraft and sorcery here!"

A four poster bed graced the centre of the room, the group of people
were huddled around it, so all which was visible was the canopy above
it, a heavy red silk with gold embroidery on the edges.

"I sent for her," groaned a voice from the bed and she had to stifle
a shudder. That voice sent a shiver of fear down her spine and it
lodged in her heart. Sir Alexander, her captor and one time suitor.

"Lady Katherine," he rasped, and the group around the bed dispersed.

One of the soldiers pushed her forward, but did not untie her bonds.
Sir Alexander was lying on top of the blue velvet coverlet, his face
the colour of porridge. His hair was plastered to his scalp with sweat,
and as she got closer, she could smell the stench of the rotting
sickness on him.

"Help me," he pleaded, and there was genuine fear in his dark eyes.
She didn't think she'd ever seen him afraid before. "My arm."

Katherine could see the arm for herself. The sleeve of his robe had
been torn asunder and she could see the grey green colours of the
rotting sickness, almost to the elbow.

"There's nothing to be done," said Father Walter. "Once the rotting
sickness sets in, nothing can save him except prayer and God's will."

"It is not God's will that my brother should die!" wailed a voice from
the crowd. Katherine scanned the faces to see who had spoken. A
noblewoman dressed in a silk gown, her head covered as was proper,
broke free from a man who was trying to hold her back. Seeing the
silk, Katherine was only made more aware of her own dishevelment and
she wished at least for a head covering.

But even without suitable garments, Katherine knew that she had some-
thing that no-one else in the room had, not even the priest. She had
power. She had the power over this man's life or death.

"I am the Lady Diana, Alexander's sister. Can you save him?"

"How did it happen?" she asked.

"His horse threw him, and then fell on his arm. Please, can you save
him?" pleaded Diana.

Oh, yes, she could save the knight. But did she want to?

*******

The crowd was hushed while they waited for her answer, and she made
them wait for quite some time. The last rays of the sun were just
filtering through the window embrasures before she finally gave in.

"I can save him, but not his arm."

"NO!" shrieked Alexander from the bed. "I will not be cut! There must
be another way!"

"Sorcery, you mean?" said Father Walter with contempt. His tonsured
head glistened with sweat, and every so often he would look at her
and cross himself. She wondered if he thought that she would suddenly
sprout horns and a forked tail. And would crossing himself have saved
him if she did?

"I am a healer," said Katherine quietly. "And I can save this man, but
not by sorcery. He must lose the arm. If the arm is not amputated, the
poison will spread throughout his body and no-one will be able to save
him then."

Alexander groaned and Diana went to the bed to comfort him, laying a
gloved hand on his forehead.

"It must be done. Is there a way you can make it less painful?" she
asked Katherine hopefully.

"I will need to gather some herbs," replied Katherine and raised her
tied hands so that all the room could see how well the knight had
treated his *guest*.

"Yes, of course." Diana blushed before going to her and untying the
bonds, but her face registered neither shock nor surprise that her
brother could have treated a woman of noble birth in this way.
Katherine guessed she must have been used to it.

"Father Walter, you will accompany her. And you," Diana motioned to
two soldiers to come forward. As the four of them headed for the door,
Diana whispered quietly to her so that no-one else could overhear.

"If he dies, so do you."

*****

Once the relevant herbs were gathered under the watchful eye of Father
Walter, who Katherine guessed was there to prevent any sorcery, she
made them up into a hot drink for Lord Alexander to swallow. He grimaced
at the bitter taste, but Katherine made him swallow every mouthful.
She had measured it well.

After a few moments his eyelids drooped and he began to snore.

"Has anyone sent for the barber?" she asked the room, but no answer
was forthcoming. The barber was well known for his love of drink, but
he was the best surgeon for miles. It hadn't occurred to anyone to
send for him and Katherine realised that they expected her to do the
surgery.

She was a healer, yes, she had cured many ailments with her knowledge
of herb lore, but she had never needed to cut before. It was considered
a man's domain, and she knew that her reputation was beyond repair
when they expected her to do the surgery. She was no longer considered
a lady.

It didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was the patient on the bed
before her. The crowd of onlookers ceased to exist as she instructed
a young serving boy to get her what she needed. Now all she could do
was wait and hope.

*****

The operation was a success, Sir Alexander recovered. He was still in
a lot of pain, but the poison had been removed and he was glad of
Katherine's pain killing potions. For three days she was allowed out
of her cell while she tended the recuperating knight and sometimes she
even dared hope that she might be released back to her own estates.

It was on the fourth day that she was to learn of her fate. Not ever
having bothered to learn his letters himself, Sir Alexander's scribe
was reading to him as she approached the chamber door. She hung back,
not wanting to interrupt, and also curious as to what was being said.
Especially when she heard her name mentioned.

"I will come on the morrow to supervise the trial by ordeal of the
woman accused of witchcraft. You may have needs thank her for your
life, but if she is a witch we must know.

Lord Fox."

Katherine sank to her knees outside the chamber door and whimpered.
Lord Fox, the most notorious witch hunter in the land. She was as good
as dead. The vial of painkiller dropped from her hands, the bottle
breaking on the stone floor. Its contents splashed onto her shift, but
she barely noticed. All she was aware of was the fact that tomorrow
she would die.

She tried to race down the stairs to escape, but two burly soldiers
caught her midway and dragged her back to the chamber. Sir Alexander
laughed when he heard of her futile attempt at escape.

"Now, now, Lady Katherine. There is no need for that. Lord Fox is a
fair man. You will go through the trial by ordeal. If you aren't a
witch, you have nothing to fear except death. And what would a good
Christian woman have to fear in death?"

Katherine struggled against the men holding her, but it was no use.
She was weak from her imprisonment and could not escape their grip.

"Take her back to her cell," said Sir Alexander. "Oh, and although
I'm in no fit state to have my pleasure, I won't deny my men theirs!"
He laughed then, loud and long. Katherine felt sick to the pit of her
stomach. She knew what he meant.

The guards manhandled her between them and forced her down the stairs.
But they didn't take her back to the dungeon, they took her to the
guardroom first.

There were three more guards there, playing a game of knucklebones
on the scarred wooden table. Swords stood against the wall, helmets
on the floor beside them. A rushlight torch gave the only light in
the room, there was no window opening at all. Even the dungeon had
a small slit in the top to let some daylight in, but not here.

"Our lord and master has sent us a gift," said one of the guards who
was holding her. He pushed her into the room, where one of the
other three guards caught her. He whirled her round as though he was
dancing with her.

"And what a pretty little thing!" he beamed in pleasure. Katherine
kicked him hard on the shin with her bare feet. She was rewarded by
hearing him yelp in pain like a dog. That's all these men were.
Animals. Worse than animals.

"You bitch!" He slapped her hard across the face. She felt two of them
grab her arms and then suddenly she was being laid down across the
table. Realising her predicament, she tried to wriggle away, but there
were five of them against one of her and she knew she would never
escape that way.

AS the first guard lowered his breeches, she didn't look away in shame,
as any high born lady would have done. She stared straight at his face.

"I can curse you," she said quietly. But he heard. "If I'm a witch,
I can curse you. Make your manhood useless. How would you like that?"

"I don't believe you are a witch," he said, but gave her the sign
against the evil eye all the same.

"So why aren't you up to the job, then?" asked Katherine and gave his
manhood a withering look. It was as limp as soggy lettuce.

"What have you done to me?" he wailed, pulling his trousers back up
and hunkering down in the corner.

"Don't worry about him," said the next soldier who stood at the foot
of the table. "You need a real man, not a boy."

But he too had the same trouble. No matter what he did, his member
remained flaccid. The other three tried as well, but no-one was in
a fit state to ravish anyone.

"Take her back to her cell. The witch dies on the morrow. After that
her curse will be lifted," the first soldier ordered. "And we will
all be there to watch her die."

*****

Sleep did not come at all that night. Death by drowning. It was a fear
she had always had. Was it some sort of premonition? Did she somehow
know that this was to be her fate?

The trial by ordeal was considered fair when it came to suspected
witches. First she would be asked to confess her witchery and be
welcomed back into the bosom of the Church, having renounced all ties
with the devil. If she confessed, she would be assured a quick death
by hanging, but she would die in God's grace.

If she refused to confess, then would come the ordeal. For some strange
reason, people believed that witches would float in water, after
having been weighted down with stones. If she floated, she would be
considered a witch and then would be hanged, but not in God's grace
unless she then confessed.

If she didn't float and sunk to the bottom like the stones she was
weighted down with, she wasn't a witch. But by then it wouldn't matter,
because either way she would die, witch or no. She thought she would
have been more frightened than she actually was. Where was the deep
soul terror she should be feeling? Maybe she didn't really believe
that she was going to die. Maybe in her heart she hoped for some
sort of miracle.

But what sort of miracle could she expect while she was stuck in a
dungeon?

She even smiled at the old woman who brought her breakfast. As it was
her final meal, no expense had been spared. There was even meat, as
well as the eggs and bread. A jug of mead was offered to wash it all
down with. Katherine wasn't hungry, but she downed the jug of mead in
two large gulps. Maybe Death wouldn't be so bad if she was drunk when
she faced it. On her empty stomach, the heady brew went straight to
her head and she wobbled like a newborn fawn as she followed the
woman out the door.

She was untied this time, but on the way to the Great Hall, she saw
the soldiers everywhere and she knew it was futile to try and escape.
The servants in the Hall were busy preparing for the start of the new
day, laying fires, cleaning last night's food from the long trestle
table and replacing the rushes on the floor. They went about their
business, as if they didn't notice Katherine in their midst and didn't
care about her fate. Either that or they were as good as some of the
players who had frequented her father's castle when he was alive.

On a dais at one end of the room, Sir Alexander was seated on an
ornately carved wooden chair. She recognised the design of birds
and flowers. Until recently it had sat in her father's Hall, a wedding
gift from his wife, Katherine's mother. It looked like Sir Alexander
didn't even have the decency to wait until she was dead before he
claimed his plunder.

The Lady Diana was standing behind him, her right hand resting atop
of the chair next to his. This was a plainer wooden chair, but the man
sitting in it had more presence than Sir Alexander could ever have,
no matter how many silks he wore, or how many carved chairs he sat on.

The man was dressed all in black, a black tunic which came to mid-
thigh over a black breeches, which in turn were tucked into black
boots. The only ornament was a silver buckle on the belt of his tunic.
The outfit was plain compared to Alexander's gaudy effort of purple
and green silk, but Katherine's experienced eye could see that it
was good quality cloth and fitted him perfectly. The man could afford
a good tailor.

But it was his eyes which would stay in her memory forever. Hazel,
they seemed to change colour even as she watched. Blue, grey, brown,
green, amber. So many colours. So many colours confined in such a
small space as an eye.

"Here is the witch, my lord," said Diana, placing her hand on his
shoulder, as if he was used to it. As if she had some claim on him.
On seeing it, Katherine felt a sharp pain in her abdomen and she
gasped in shock. She recognised him. From where from when, she didn't
know. But she knew him. She knew him.

Lord Fox stood up and strode towards her, his boots grating on the
floor.

"Have you no shame, woman?" he demanded. "To appear here today in
you undergarments? Are you a harlot as well as a witch?" He walked
a circle round her, as though she were a slave he was contemplating
buying.

"My clothes were taken from me, my lord," she said. "By his men," she
pointed an accusing finger at Sir Alexander. Lord Fox turned to Sir
Alexander.

"Is this true?" he asked quietly, but with menace.

"My Lord - I - I - you know what soldiers are like."

"Unfortunately I do. But that is no excuse. Lady Diana, bring her
one of your gowns. She cannot stand trial in her shift."

"But my Lord..."

"Do it," he commanded and the lady Diana hastened to obey. He turned
once again to Katherine. "Are you a maid?"

"I am no servant, my lord," replied Katherine haughtily. "My father
was Sir William of Ravensdale. Killed while in the king's service."

"I know who you are, Lady Katherine," he said quietly. Oh, so she
was a lady now, was she? "That is not what I meant. Are you a maiden?
Did the soldiers deprive you of anything other than your garments?"

"No, my lord. I am still a virgin. They did not dishonour me, although
they did try."

"They tried? But didn't succeed? Why?"

"She cursed us, my lord," interrupted one of the soldiers who had
tried to rape her the day before. "Took away our desire."

"Is this true? Did you curse these men?"

"They say I did."

Further questioning was postponed when Lady Diana arrived back with
a green velvet gown. Two serving women accompanied her as they tried
to dress Katherine in it, in front of everyone in the Hall. Diana was
a lot taller than her, so the dress did not fit. The sleeves hung
well below her hands and she knew if she tried to walk in it, she
would trip over the hem.

"Do you wish to confess to witchcraft and sorcery? Shall I send for
Father Walter so that you can die shriven?"

"I have nothing to confess," she said stubbornly. "I wish to be tested.
Then you will all see how wrong you are," Katherine held up her chin
defiantly. She hoped they couldn't see how scared she was.

Lord Fox nodded his head, as though he hadn't expected her to agree
to anything else.

"Well, then, there's nothing more I can do. Take her to the river."

*****

She shivered as they bound up her hands and feet, attaching stones
to each rope. Whether the shaking was from fear or from cold, no-one
knew. She was already stripped to her shift once again, the Lady Diana
did not want her gown lost in the river. The large crowd who had
gathered demanded that she be naked before being thrown in, but Lord
Fox refused to allow that. They only wanted to leer at her, it had
nothing to do with seeing justice served.

"Even a witch is entitled to modesty," he said to the mob. At his
signal, two soldiers came forward and hefted Katherine between them,
as though she was a sack of potatoes. There was a splash as they
threw her into the river. The mob roared its approval. After a few
minutes, nothing happened. Katherine had sunk.

"The witch is dead," said Sir Alexander, slapping his one hand against
his thigh.

"According to the test, she wasn't a witch," said Lord Fox.

"My dear Lord Fox. Haven't you realised it yet? All women are
witches."

*****

Katherine was wrong. Dying was easy. Coming back was the hard part.

*****

Something was on her chest, crushing her. There was a voice trying
to rouse her. Slowly her eyes flickered open and she was staring
straight into the eyes of Lord Fox, her murderer.

Was this Hell, then? To see his face for all eternity? She tried to
scream, but once she opened her mouth, brackish river water flowed
from her lips and she gagged instead. So she wasn't dead, after all.
But Lord Fox was still there, so it could be considered a kind of
Hell.

He was still pressing on her chest with his hands, and this time she
did find her voice.

"Unhand me at once!" she shrieked at him. "Murderer!" She twisted in
his arms and he finally let go of her.

"Thank God you're all right."

Katherine pushed herself up, she had been lying on the bank of the
river downstream from where she went in. She was cold, wet and covered
in mud. She was alive, but for how long? Lord Fox was still watching
her warily. She knew she was weak after her sojourn in the river, but
she tried to make a run for it all the same.

As Lord Fox turned away, towards the river, she made a dash for the
trees lining the bank. Maybe if she managed to hide in the forest for
a while, he would give up and she would be free.

But she wasn't nimble enough on her feet. She had only gotten about
twenty yards when she felt him running through the trees after her.
Katherine turned to she how far behind he was. That was her mistake.
She didn't see the fallen log until it was too late and she tripped
over it, spraining her ankle as she lay sprawled on the ground, with
nothing to do but wait for her fate.

"Lady Katherine!" he called, sounding close by. Katherine tried to
remain as silent as possible, but she couldn't help the faint moan of
pain caused by her swollen ankle.

"There you are," he thrust aside a branch of leaves and his eyes
widened as he looked at her. "You're hurt." It wasn't a question.
He sounded - no - it couldn't be. He sounded concerned for her.

"Why did you run?" he asked, as if he was genuinely unsure of the
answer.

"You're going to kill me! You're here to finish what the river
started. Go on, then. Do it." She closed her eyes to wait for the
killing blow. It never came.

"I'm not here to kill you, Kate."

Her eyes snapped open, only her family had ever called her that.

"Don't you recognise me? Don't you remember the day I taught you how
to ride?"

She stared at him, trying to remove the layers of time until she was
confronted with the younger version of him. The fifteen year old
friend of her brother. The boy who would condescend to talk to her,
a mere ten years old. He didn't tease her like her brothers did, and
she had such a crush on him that she cried herself to sleep every
night for two weeks when she heard that he had been betrothed.

"Will?" she gasped. "Is that you?"

"At your service, my lady," he stood up and gave her a sweeping bow.

"You're Lord Fox? You killed all those girls? And yet you would
save me. What gave you the right to decide who lives or dies? Why
save me and not them?"

"You still don't understand, do you Katherine?" He shook his head
sadly and sat back down. "Do you really think that of me? Do you
think I would do that?"

She didn't know what to think. She didn't want to believe it of him,
but if he was indeed Lord Fox, then yes, he had killed those other
girls accused of being witches. And just because he had saved her,
she could not so easily forgive the deaths of the others.

As a horse whinnied nearby, he left her, returning with the animal.
It was a large black stallion, its coat glossy with health. Two
panniers on either side of the saddle were bulging with whatever
goods they held.

"I thought you might need some dry clothes," he said, opening one of
the saddle bags and holding out a plain woollen dress in an earthy
brown tone. Katherine made no move to accept it and he sighed.

"Do you want to catch your death of cold?" he asked angrily.

"What's it to you? You would have seen me dead this morning."

"Katherine, Kate, I never killed anyone. I don't want to kill anyone.
Do you remember my sister?"

"Vaguely. Wasn't she supposed to marry Sir Alexander a few years ago?"

"Supposed to, yes. She never married anyone, she died."

"Oh, Will. I'm sorry. I didn't know." Katherine hung her head.

"She was accused of being a witch. They drowned her when I was
sixteen years old. I vowed then that no other person would ever die
like that, not if I had anything to do with it. But what could I
do? No-one would listen to reason, so I became Lord Fox. I promoted
myself as a witch hunter, so that people would always send for me
when they had someone accused of witchcraft.

"My reputation grew, that I was harsh, but fair. The people I rescued,
they never told anyone. They led new lives, under new names, no-one
knows that I rescue people."

"And you expect me to believe that?" she asked bitterly.

"Believe what you like, Katherine. But I would get out of those
wet clothes if I was you." He walked off to tend to the horse, leaving
Katherine feeling strangely bereft. The brown dress was sitting on
the grass. All she had to do was wear it. But once she accepted the
dress, what sort of payment would he demand of her? She had no doubt
that the garment would have a price.

But was it one she was willing to pay?

She lifted the dress up, feeling how soft it was. It was a gown of
fine quality, there was no doubt about that. It also looked like it
was something a nun would wear, it was shapeless, no chance for
anyone to get a glimpse of her curves. Maybe Will wasn't interested
in her like that. She was surprised to feel a pang of disappointment.

She was still holding the dress when Will returned, and he looked
angry, if the throbbing vein on his temple was anything to go by.

"The horse has thrown a shoe. I'm going to have to go back to the
village to see the smith. You'd better stay here, there's a chance
you would be recognised back there. I'm not sure I should leave you
on your own, though."

"I'll be fine," said Katherine stubbornly.

"I should be back before dark, but if I'm not, I'll leave the supplies
so at least you won't go hungry. We can camp here for tonight and
we can travel to the castle in the morning. And with me gone, you can
change out of those wet clothes with your modesty still intact, can't
you?" he smiled at her, but Katherine turned her head away and didn't
turn round until she was sure he was gone.

Her face was a blaze of colour, she had thought that her feelings
were those of a child, a silly crush on her brother's friend, but
the way he looked at her now, she was afraid. She was afraid of the
desire he inspired in her. There was an aching, burning feeling in
that secret place between her legs when she noticed him looking at her.

But how could she want him to touch her there? Something so shameful,
so sinful according to all the priests? Her breasts felt heavy from
want of a touch, his touch and she had to bite down on her lip to
stop herself from moaning out loud.

After making sure that no-one was around, Katherine stripped off her
sodden shift and dived into the river. She was hoping it would cool
her off, she couldn't keep thinking like this. She would go mad.

The current was sluggish in this part of the river and she felt her-
self being rocked gently by the small waves. The water did nothing
to quench the fire in her body that Will had inadvertently lit by
staring at her with those deep brooding eyes of his.

Instead the water felt more like a caress and she imagined the waves
as his fingers, his hands, smoothing over her body. What would it
feel like, she wondered? What would it feel like to really have his
hands on her body? Would he be rough, or tender?

She imagined for a while longer, but her skin was getting wrinkled.
Katherine waded towards the bank, her hair trailing like a curtain
of weeds behind her. It was just beginning to get dark, the sun an
orange streak on the horizon and she hoped Will would be back soon.

She rummaged in the saddle bags to find a towel to dry herself off.
She managed to dry her body, but the towel was too small and thin to
dry her hair properly. Already she felt chilled as the damp hair
rested on the back of the woollen dress.

But Will had thought of everything. There was kindling for a fire in
the second bag. After arranging a circle of small pebbles to contain
the fire, she lit it and sat as close as she could. Every sound
seemed louder in the dark, and she was feeling afraid. It wasn't
like her and she wished again that he would hurry.

She heard the horse first, and got up, hobbling towards him and flung
herself into his arms, sobbing softly. He stroked her hair gently.

"Katherine?" he asked. "What is it?"

"I was worried. What if you never came back?"

"I would never leave you like that."

She was aware of how close their bodies were, and she walked away
from him, feeling a flush to her cheeks. She should never have greeted
him like that, so improper. What would he think of her now?

Katherine sat down by the fire again and began to braid her hair, but
it was hopeless. Without the help of a looking glass, she was useless
at the task and flung her hair behind her with a grunt of frustration.

She watched Will tether the horse to a nearby tree, before giving the
horse some water and hay. Her stomach growled and she realised she
hadn't eaten all day. Will offered her a chunk of bread and some
ham, which she wolfed down gratefully. He wasn't eating himself.

"Aren't you hungry?" she asked thorough a mouthful of bread.

"I've eaten at the smith's."

"Oh."

"Would you like me to braid your hair?" asked Will, after she had
eaten her fill of bread and meat. He handed her a wooden beaker filled
with water.

"Thanks," she said, all the while thinking of his offer.

It was a strange request, but she knew that she was unable to do
her hair by herself and if it wasn't braided, it would be full of
tangles in the morning.

"If you like," she mumbled quietly and set down her beaker beside
the fire. She was sitting with her knees against her chest, Will got
up and knelt behind her.

She was trembling when she felt him first touch her hair. Only her
maid had ever touched her hair. Will was gentle, stroking a comb
through it as though it was made from the finest silk. He was a lot
more gentle than her maid had ever been.

"You have beautiful hair," he said, close to her ear. She swallowed.

Although they weren't doing anything untoward, she felt that Will
doing her hair was one of the most intimate things they could do and
she sighed in expectation.

As he divided her hair to make the braids, his bare hands brushed
her neck and she shivered. She shouldn't be feeling like this. It
was wrong, it was sinful, but oh, how she wanted it. How she wanted
his hands on her.

"You're trembling, Katherine. Are you cold?"

"No," she squeaked, surprised at how hot she was.

When he had finished, Will leant forward and kissed the back of her
neck. A moan escaped her and from that moment, she knew she was lost.

*****

He lay as far away from her as he could, on the other side of the
fire, while she lay sobbing. She had been prepared to yield to him,
to allow him his pleasure, and what had happened? He had rejected
her, telling her she was upset and she would regret it in the
morning.

How would he know what she would regret?

"Is it because you are married?" she asked at last, feeling that all
the tears in the world would not do her any good.

"Married? Who told you I was married?"

"You're not married?" she asked, hope re-surfacing.

"No. I was betrothed once, but she married someone else instead."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Had he lost the love of his life and would never
love another?

"Don't be. We never even met. It was all arranged by our parents, but
she was determined to marry for love."

"Then what's wrong?" she persisted.

"Oh, Katherine. Nothing's wrong. I just feel that you think you have
to repay me for rescuing you, and I would never forgive myself for
taking advantage of you. You should wait until you're with the man
you love."

"I am with the man I love," she said quietly.

"What did you say?"

"You know what I said."

"Please, say it again," he moved closer to her and reached out for
her hand. "You love me?"

"Didn't you know? I've been in love with you forever. When I heard
that you were betrothed, I was distraught. I never thought I'd get
over it."

"I had no idea. I always had a soft spot for you, but you were so
young then."

"I'm not so young now. Old enough to get married, old enough to get
executed."

"Don't talk of that. That's in the past. We have the future to look
forward to."

"Does that future include both of us?"

"It does, Kate. It does."

He looked into her eyes, she could see the reflection of the firelight
glimmer in his and she felt her heart falter. Will leaned over her,
pressing his lips fiercely to hers and she sank down onto the ground,
feeling as if she was floating.

The kiss was long and deep, mouths claiming mouths, a clash of
teeth and skin. Katherine didn't want it to end, but Will pulled
away from her.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked softly.

"Yes, I'm sure," said Katherine and pulled him towards her once more.

They didn't talk again until dawn.

*****

EPILOGUE

"Please, my lady, you have to push. The baby cannot be borne on its
own."

The midwife mopped her brow with the dampened flannel once again,
but Katherine barely felt it. All she could feel was pain, pain
which wouldn't go away. She knew what would help, if only she could
remember her potions, but the pain had been playing tricks with her
memory.

"Here, drink this," said the midwife, handing her a goblet filled
with a bittersweet liquid. "It will ease the pains."

Katherine downed the drink in one gulp and looked in surprise at
the elderly midwife. She recognised the taste, it was one of her
own brews.

"How did you ...?"

"Ssh," replied the midwife. "You must speak of this to no-one."

Katherine nodded meekly. She knew what would happen if she mentioned
that the midwife had actually helped with the pain of childbirth.
According to so many priests, the pain of childbirth was a woman's
punishment for the sin of Eve. It wasn't meant to be easy.

Katherine felt sleepy after the potion and would gladly have drifted
off, if it wasn't for the exciting shouts of the midwife.

"I can see the head! One more push, that's the girl!"

Katherine obeyed, spurred on by shouted encouragement by the midwife
and by the thought that soon she would see their daughter.

"It's a girl," said the midwife, before stooping to cut the cord which
bound the child to her.

"I know," said Katherine, smiling. "I knew it was a girl."

The midwife gave the child a perfunctory clean, before wrapping her
in the swaddling clothes, and handed the baby to her mother.

Katherine smiled down at the small red-headed bundle in her arms and
felt her heart swell with love for this little being which was so
dependant on her. The baby began to cry.

"She's probably hungry," said the midwife. "Shall I send for the
wet-nurse?"

"No," said Katherine. "I shall feed her myself."

"As you wish, my lady," replied the midwife, but Katherine could tell
by the sound of her voice that she thought it highly improper.

"Can you send my husband in?" asked Katherine.

"Of course."

Katherine unlaced her gown and set the child to suckle. She took
to the nipple straight away, and Katherine again felt the love for
the child.

"Katherine! What are you doing?" demanded Will when he came in.

"I'm feeding her."

"Cover yourself at once! How could you do anything so improper?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Will. I'm her mother and I am going to feed
her myself. There's nothing wrong with it."

"But what will people think?"

"I don't care what people think, and neither should you."

"I'm sorry. It's just so unusual. I'll just have to get used to it.
I'm afraid I have to go way again."

"Again?" sighed Katherine. "I hardly ever see you. Don't you want to
see your daughter grow up?"

"You know I do. But would you rather those girls on trial died?"

"Of course not, but you can't save the whole world."

"No, but I can try."

He kissed her on the forehead, looking in awe at the baby.

"Have you decided on a name?" he asked.

"I thought Margaret, after my mother."

"It suits her," said Will before taking his leave of them.

Katherine rocked the baby against her chest. Her wish had been granted.
She had a daughter. Now she could pass on the knowledge gained
from her mother, and her mother before that. She smiled to the empty
room.

Margaret would make a very fine witch.

THE END

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