Page 48 of Wed By Proxy

Guy considered her eager expression. “You’re cold,” he objected. “I need to get you back in front of a warm fire.”

“Old Helga has a fire.”

Guy’s resolve faltered. “This would please you?” She nodded. “Very well then.” If he wasn’t careful he’d be dancing to her tune like a lovesick fool. Why was he not more bothered by the notion? Unaware of his thoughts, she smiled at him, and their horses picked their way through the trees toward the cottage. For a moment, Guy could have sworn the place looked abandoned, despite the glimpse of chimney smoke.

“You say you met her previously—?” he started, when suddenly a large raven croaked in his ear, spooking his horse. When he had Bayard once more under control, he turned and found Mathilde dismounting.

“Good day to you Helga!” she called and, turning his head, Guy was surprised to find the old woman stood in her doorway.

“The traveler returns, I see,” Helga responded, looking not one whit different to when Guy had last seen her, some seven or eight years ago. Her back still ramrod straight, her long hair still plentiful and iron gray, her eyes sharp. “How goes your quest?”

Guy did not catch Mathilde’s response, for she had walked over to the woman, and they had clasped hands. Surprised to see them on terms of such familiarity, Guy swung down from his horse and approached. “Mistress Helga,” he greeted her guardedly. He never was sure how you addressed witches. With extreme caution, his father had always recommended. Guy saw no reason to ignore the advice.

“Well met, my Lord Martindale,” Helga responded, her beady eyes alighting on him keenly.

“It has been many a year,” he ventured. “Since last our paths crossed.”

“Indeed,” she squinted her pale eyes. “I see they have treated you kindly, in the main.”

A few weeks ago, Guy would have found fault with these words, but now he was surprised to find, not so much. He grunted in agreement. “And you,” he added belatedly. She hardly seemed to have aged a day, although in truth, it had always been hard to determine her years.

“I see the Yule-Father has brought ye a fine gift this year, my lord,” she added slyly, her eyes cutting to Mathilde.

Guy flushed, and shot an uneasy glance at Mathilde. She stood politely listening with an alert, interested expression. He cleared his throat. “You could say so,” he agreed.

Helga laughed, a throaty chuckle. “Will you come in and sit a while before my fire?” She led the way inside, not waiting for their reply. Mathilde followed at once, so Guy was forced to do likewise. Helga sat upon a low stool and gestured to a spread fur for them to sit upon.

“Have you no … ” he floundered a moment for the right word. “Follower to help you keep house, Mistress Helga?” he asked, staring around the gloom of the room. There was barely a stick of furniture about the place, though animals milled around and a straw mattress lay against the far wall.

“Follower?” Helga repeated with a dry crack of laughter. “Chance would be a fine thing. Girls nowadays,” she tutted. “All they want is babies and husbands. No, no,” she said briskly. “I’m better off with my animal companions.” She glanced at the wicked looking raven that sat upon her shoulder.

“Why not a male apprentice?” suggested Mathilde cheekily. Guy glanced at her in alarm, but mercifully Old Helga answered this with a wheezy chuckle.

“Why not, indeed?” she cogitated. “Maybe I’ll give it some thought, Mistress Impertinence. By the by, how’s that young friend of yours? The cat thief.”

“Oh, Robin’s well,” Mathilde answered looking unperturbed. “He didn’t really steal her, you know. She followed us home.”

“Hmmm,” she shrugged. “She always was a willful hussy, that one. But maybe she has learnt her lesson.”

“Robin insists she possesses uncommon intelligence.”

Helga snorted. “She’s so sharp, she’d cut herself.”

“We did try to find our way back but somehow, before today, we could not find the way.”

Helga glanced back at her bird. “Is that so?” she said. “The cat could find her way back if she chose to.”

“I was not sure,” Guy put in, feeling he needed to uphold his part in the conversation, “that you still lived here.”

“Oh yes,” Helga muttered. “I can still be found here. When the occasion demands it.”

Which was a funny way of putting it, Guy thought, but then again, what else could you expect from her kind.

She pushed a basket of nuts before them, by way of hospitality. Mathilde took a walnut and cracked it neatly, fishing out the two halves. “My friend Will taught me how to do it that way,” she confided. “It was his father’s steward that taught him the trick.”

Guy frowned over the mention again of these male acquaintances of Mathilde’s. When she had spoken of them playing at cards with her, he had thought them perhaps manservants or retainers. But if this Will had a father with a steward, then perhaps that was not the case? He shifted his position uneasily. A dry crack of laughter startled him from his thoughts, and he found the old witch’s piercing gaze resting on him with evident glee.

“A penny for them,” she suggested softly, a glint in her eye. “Whatever they are, they are turning your blue eyes quite green.”