The Wolf of Harrow Hall (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms Book 7) (17 page)

I was so lost in these grim visions that I startled when Phelan entered the chamber, then barely contained a gasp of shock. For this — this could not be my husband, this man whose face was white as death, and whose eyes glittered like two pieces of faceted jet. He paused by the hearth, holding his hands out to the fire, and would not look at me.

“My love, what is it?” I exclaimed. “Has the castle suffered another catastrophe?”

“No,” he replied. His voice was a harsh rasp, and still he kept his face toward the hearth, so I could see only his profile. “I am — ” He broke off then, his hands knotting into fists at his sides. “I am…not well, but it is nothing you need concern yourself with.”

“‘Nothing I need concern myself with’?” I echoed, disbelief clear in my voice. “I am your wife. If you are ill, then you must let me take care of you.”

“No.” He pulled in a breath, and even from where I stood I could hear the way it rattled in his breast. “You are my wife, but you are not a healer. Master Merryk will look after me. And,” he went on, still with his gaze averted, “I think it best if you would return to the chamber that was yours before we were wed.”

This suggestion was so preposterous that I could not prevent myself from moving forward and laying a hand on his arm. “What are you saying, Phelan? What kind of wife would I be, to abandon you when you have need of me?”

A shudder ran through his body, and then he flinched, pulling away from me so I could no longer touch him. “You will be a wife who obeys me! Take your things and go. I would never forgive myself if — if I were to make you ill as well.”

None of what he was saying made any sense. If he was truly so ill that he could infect anyone around him, then it was already too late for me. But although his appearance was altered, and he certainly looked as if some fell disease had taken hold of him, I could not quite believe that he was as sick as he wanted me to think. Otherwise, he would not have had the strength to stand there, let alone tear his arm from my grasp with a suddenness that made the tips of my fingers sting as they scraped across the wool of his doublet.

The hateful words, driven by my worry, tumbled from my lips before I could stop them. “Or would you rather say that you are already weary of me, and no longer wish to have me in your presence?”

Perhaps it was only a reflection of the firelight, but I could have sworn I saw that same strange golden flash in his eyes, the one I had detected when we first touched. Voice almost a growl, he snapped, “If that is what you wish to believe, then yes. I cannot think with you underfoot. Go now!”

Never before had I been spoken to in such a manner. I could not believe it was Phelan who addressed me thusly, the man who had praised my beauty, had told me I was the only woman in the world for him. And yet I saw danger in those strangely gleaming eyes of his, and knew I should go if I did not wish to provoke him further. A man who wore an expression such as that might be capable of anything.

So I did what any rational person would do. I fled, without stopping to gather any of my things. As I hurried out the door, I noticed Linsi and Doxen cowering in a corner. Never before had I seen them react to their master’s return with anything but outright joy, and the sight of their fear chilled me more than anything else.

But I had come to love those dogs, and I did not wish them to come to any harm. After flicking a quick glance to the door of the bedchamber and noting that Phelan had made no move to pursue me, I called softly to them. “Doxen! Linsi! Come!”

Relief evident in the looks they gave me, they bounded out of the corner where they had been hiding and followed me out to the hallway. I did not quite run, but my pace could not have been considered decorous by anyone who might have observed it. Not that I cared. I only wished to put some distance between my strangely altered husband and me.

However, I would not hide in the bedchamber that had once been mine. After I had let the dogs in, and petted them and promised them some treats when I returned, I went back out into the corridor. There had to be some reason for Phelan’s behavior, something he would not tell me.

So I went in search of the only person who might.

A
group
of Phelan’s men-at-arms were loitering in front of the fire in the hall. They startled at my entrance, for I had spent most of the time since my marriage to their lord in the upper levels of the castle, and our paths had not had much reason to cross. But at least they did show the proper respect for the lady of the castle, standing up as soon as they spotted me.

“Master Merryk,” I said. “Where is he?”

Had I ever sounded so commanding? Truly, I had not been born to a station much given to command. But it seemed something of my urgency communicated itself to the men who stood there before me. One of them stepped forward, and I thought I recognized him. Lewyn, the older man with the grey-flecked hair and bright blue eyes.

Expression not unkind, he asked, “Is something wrong, my lady?”

“N-no,” I replied. Of course I would not reveal anything to these men of what had passed between their lord and me. “But I do need to speak with the steward.”

“He’s in the kitchen, my lady, taking stock of our stores.”

At another time, I might have applauded such behavior, for it meant Master Merryk was keeping a careful eye on our supplies. In that moment, however, I could only feel a flash of angry impatience. How dare he be occupied with something so mundane when his master was so terribly altered, so strange?

“Thank you, Lewyn,” I said, and I saw a flicker of surprise, followed by gratitude, pass over the man-at-arm’s face. Clearly, he had not expected me to recall who he was. “Can you point out the way to me?”

“Through that door” — he gestured with one hand toward a doorway to the left of the great hearth, which roared with flame — “and then on to the end of the hallway. There’ll be set of double doors.”

I thanked him, then gathered up my skirts and hurried in the direction he had pointed. As I went, I did my best to keep my chin up and my gaze fixed forward. My haste was not all that seemly, but I wanted to appear as in control as possible.

Once I had gone through the doorway Lewyn had indicated and had passed out of sight, I dropped all pretense and ran forward, skirts lifted high above my ankles so I might move more quickly. When I flung open the right-hand door at the end of the hallway and looked inside, I saw a large rectangular room with a cook fire at one end, and long tables lining the walls. Off to one side, a door stood open, revealing a dim space within. From that smaller chamber, which I guessed must be one of the larders, I heard the sound of men’s voices — Master Merryk, and someone I did not recognize, who I supposed was probably the cook.

I went in that direction, then paused outside the doorway to the larder. “Master Merryk!”

To my relief, he appeared right away. If he was surprised at my appearing so unexpectedly in the cook’s domain, he showed no sign of it. “My lady?”

“I must speak with you,” I said. “It is quite urgent.”

He did not precisely sigh, but I heard him let out a breath. In that moment, he suddenly looked very tired. “Is it his lordship?”

“Yes,” I replied. “He is — he is quite altered, and — ”

“Not here,” he broke in. “Come, let me take you to my chambers so we might speak.”

“But — ”

“Please, your ladyship.”

What could I say to that? I nodded, and, after calling out a brief farewell to the cook, the steward guided me out of the kitchen and through another short hallway. At the end of that corridor was a single door of scarred oak.

He ushered me inside, to a smallish chamber furnished with simple pieces that would not have been out of place in my grandmother’s cottage: a plain square table, equally unadorned chairs. Through a curtained alcove, I spied a narrow bed.

But a fire crackled away in the hearth, and the room was warm enough, especially compared to the chilly corridors outside. Master Merryk pulled out one of the chairs, saying, “Please sit, my lady.”

I did as he asked, settling myself on the hard wooden seat. As I did so, he went to a cabinet and pulled out a squat bottle of smoky-colored glass and two small silver cups. He set them down on the table and poured a small measure of pale gold liquid into each cup. The fumes were strong enough to make my eyes water and my nose wrinkle.

“
Cherbeg?
” I asked, surprised that he would offer such a thing to me.

“I think you will have need of it before we are done.” He took the chair opposite mine. “His lordship and I had prayed this day would not come, that you would be the cure he sought, but it seems that is not the case.”

Ignoring the liquor Master Merryk had set before me, I said, “Cure? So he is ill?”

“It is…a peculiar illness.”

My stomach lurched. Could it be that I would lose my husband before I had had the chance to fully know him? I said, voice strained, “Please explain.”

For a long moment, the steward did not respond, but took the cup of
cherbeg
and held it before him, not drinking. Perhaps the strength of its fumes was enough to provide something of the effect he desired. When he spoke, his words were measured, heavy. “What I have to speak of to you is a fantastical tale, one you might find difficult to believe. But it is all true. I have witnessed these things, may the gods help me. And I have done what I could to keep my master safe, although you may find that ‘safe’ is a relative term.”

“What is it?” I asked, for the steward’s words had already chilled me, even though I had no real idea of what he was trying to explain. “Is it like some brain sicknesses I have heard of, when a person might seem quite well for weeks or even months, and then have a terrible fit of madness?”

“I would that it were so easy to explain.” Master Merryk took a healthy swallow of his
cherbeg,
then added, “You would do well to have some of that, my lady, so you may hear what I have to say to you.”

Mystified, I raised the cup to my lips and tipped barely a swallow over my tongue. Even that was enough to bring stinging tears to my eyes. I fought back the urge to cough. But then I felt a surge of heat moving down my throat and into my stomach, warming me. For some reason, that heat in the center of my body seemed to give me strength, to give me the will to hear what the steward wished to tell me.

“All right,” I said. “Tell me now, Master Merryk. What is it that ails my husband?”

A long pause. Master Merryk looked up from the cup he held and faced me squarely. In his expression, I saw worry…but also a strange kind of resignation, as if he had already confronted the reality of what he was about to say, and had long ago come to terms with it. When he spoke, however, the words were not anything I had expected to hear.

“I suppose, my lady, you have heard of the
corraghar?
”

“Of course,” I replied at once, wondering why on earth he had asked me that question. Everyone in North Eredor knew something of the
corraghar,
the wild tribe that lived in the hills to the south and east of the forest of Sarisfell. They had lived separate from us for time out of mind, great hunters and trackers. Indeed, the father of the current Mark had been one of the
corraghar,
although so far it did not seem as if his mixed heritage had done much to bring those wild men into North Eredor’s everyday society. I had never seen one of the
corraghar,
however. “They call themselves the people of the wolf, do they not?”

A shadow passed over Master Merryk’s face, but he nodded. “Yes, that is what ‘
corraghar
’ means in their tongue.”

“So what have they to do with Phelan? His lordship, that is,” I amended quickly, thinking the steward might not like me to be quite so familiar with his master’s name.

“More than you might think.” Master Merryk drained the rest of the
cherbeg
from his cup, then set it down. “As it turned out, his lordship’s mother was half
corraghar,
a heritage of which she was entirely unaware. The man who had raised her as his own was not her natural father, and she did not look like one of the hill people at all.”

“Do they look so very different from us?” For I had heard nothing about their appearance. It was not a topic that held much importance in Kerolton, since the village was located many leagues from the hills the
corraghar
called their own.

“Their eyes are golden,” the steward replied. “Otherwise, they appear much like those of us of the north, save perhaps to be swarthier, and possibly somewhat taller and broader.”

Golden eyes. I recalled then those strange flashes of gold within Phelan’s own eyes, and guessed they must be something he had inherited from his mother. “I still do not see what the problem is, for our own Mark carries
corraghar
blood within his veins, and it has not seemed to have affected him adversely.”

“No, that is true.” Master Merryk laid his hands flat on the age-darkened wood of the tabletop, staring at the raised pattern of the veins in his flesh as if he could somehow divine the future therein. “But because of his lordship’s…affliction…I made it my mission to learn much more of the
corraghar
. I have lived among them, witnessed their customs, their behaviors.”

Affliction? Truly, Phelan had seemed very much afflicted, albeit by something I could not describe. Frowning, I said, “He told me that you would care for him, but if he is truly so ill, should you not be attending to him now?”

The steward offered me a weary smile. “In truth, there is little I can do to help him, except make sure that all the other members of the household are safely out of the way until the…illness…runs its course. I am sure he told you I would look after him so you would not offer to do so. For of course he would never risk hurting you.”

“Hurting me? What vile affliction is this, that it would lead to him causing me harm?” I demanded, no longer caring for courtesy, or whether I should allow Master Merryk to speak his piece in his own time.

“‘Vile affliction’ is a very good way to describe it.” He paused, clearly contemplating his next words. “As I said, I lived among the
corraghar
for a time, since I had my suspicions that his lordship’s condition was directly related to the strain of
corraghar
blood he carried within him. And so it was that I learned that among the
corraghar
are those they call the
corraghel,
or brothers of the wolf.”

“And what has that to do with Phelan?”

“Everything, I fear.” The steward ran a finger around the lip of his cup, as if to catch any stray moisture which might remain there. “Tell me, my lady, how much of an open mind do you possess?”

What a question! If it had been posed to me even a few weeks earlier, I might have replied that my mind was as open as that of the next person. Now, though, after spending time in this castle of secrets, of hearing hints about strange powers and dark forces that should have died out long ago, I was beginning to realize that the world contained many things which had never been part of my experience. “Open enough,” I said frankly. “Tell me the truth, Master Merryk, no matter how strange it might sound.”

He gave me a nod, one that appeared almost approving. “Thank you, my lady. Then I will tell you that the
corraghel
are shape-changers, men who can take on the aspect of a wolf and run with the packs as they would with their own brothers. Hence the name.”

“They — they
become
wolves?” Despite assuring the steward that I wished to hear the truth, no matter how odd it might be, I could not keep the incredulity from my tone. I had never heard of such madness. It must be impossible. And yet….

“Yes. It is nothing to them, a power they can control at will. It is a gift passed from generation to generation. But….” The steward hesitated then, his brows drawing together. “The problem is when a
corraghel
has a child with a woman who is not of the
corraghar
. If that child is female, then there is still no problem, for a woman cannot be
corraghel
. But if that child is a son….”

“Even when he has only a fourth that blood?” I asked, my voice faint.

“Even then, I fear. If that happens, then he cannot control the change. And that is what has happened to Phelan.”

“He becomes a wolf.” The words came out flat, because in that moment I was not sure what to believe.

“Yes. Each month when Taleron, the larger moon, is full.”

“Why a full moon? And why that one, and not small Callendir?”

“I am not sure. I know the
corraghar
perform their rituals to honor the spirits of their ancestors when Taleron is full. So perhaps that tradition also carries on in their blood.”

I was silent then, pondering what Master Merryk had just told me. “And there is no way of controlling the transformation?”

“Not really. It is…worse…when there are women about. The change can come on his lordship several days before the moon is full, if he senses their blood.”

My cheeks heated at that revelation, but I merely nodded. My moon-blood had come and gone a week before this blizzard descended, and so I had not experienced my courses while residing within the confines of Harrow Hall. “So that is why you have no female servants here.”

“Yes. It was easier that way. We could have had older women, those who no longer have their monthly courses, but in the end, we decided it was simpler to not have any women at all.”

I supposed I could see the logic of that, so I did not bother to question the situation further. Instead, I ventured, “Then I came here. I suppose he is experiencing the change early, because of my presence.”

“No, that is the odd thing.” Master Merryk’s dark eyes fastened on me, as if he was attempting to probe the very depths of my soul. “The full moon will be tonight, even though we shall not be able to see it, thanks to this unending storm. The change is coming on Lord Phelan at the appointed time, despite you being here. There is something very different about you.”

“Is that why he thought I would be the one to break the curse?” I asked, then realized how foolish it was of me to say such a thing. Those words had been contained in a private conversation, one I should never have overheard.