The House Of Gaian

His eyes widened. “Are you one of them?”
    “Them?”
    “A— One of the Mother’s Daughters.”
    She was more hedge witch than witch, and wouldn’t have been called one of the Mother’s Daughters around them , but her grandmother had been a witch and that counted for something, didn’t it? “It is best not to mention such things,” she said coyly, looking up at him through her lashes. “As you pointed out, these are dangerous times.”
    “Of course.” He smiled. “If being seen in such a humble cart would not offend you, may I offer you a ride?”
    “You are very kind.”
    He extended a hand to indicate the cart. “The daylight is waning, mistress. We should be on our way.”
    “Yes. You’re right,” Jean replied, walking toward the cart. She lowered her head and smiled. He seemed nervous. And the way he kept looking around, as if to reassure himself that there was no one who could see them, he was probably hoping to coax her into giving him a kiss or two. And maybe she’d let him since he was nice looking.
    As he placed one hand on her arm to help her into the cart, she noticed him reaching inside the leather vest he wore over an un-pressed shirt. Was he going to offer her a present in the hopes of getting more than a kiss?
    Then the hand on her arm yanked her off balance. As she teetered on the edge of falling backward, his other hand whipped out of the vest, and something soft yet heavy struck her on the head.
    As he lowered her to the ground and her vision dimmed, the look on his face made her very afraid.
    He looked back at the bundles in his cart, then grinned as he slapped the reins over the horse’s back.
    He’d done it! Succeeded beyond expectation. He’d no longer have to work at the charity house where he’d grown up, receiving nothing more than lodgings and a few copper coins each month. When he returned to Master Adolfo’s camp, he’d receive the promised reward of an apprenticeship. He’d be trained to be an Inquisitor, a man of power, a man who was somebody .
    Never again would the squire who was his grandfather look past him if they saw each other in the village.
    Never again would he have to pretend he didn’t recognize his mother when he saw her shopping with her proper children. Never again would he lie awake at night remembering the arguments between his mother and grandfather before he’d been taken to the charity house.
    My son’s father is a Fae Lord!
    Convenient to say that, daughter, when no man is here to say yay or nae.
     
    He went back to Tir Alainn!
    And hasn’t made even a token effort to provide for his child? No, daughter. No. I never asked who fathered the boy, and I won’t ask now. But you have a chance to marry, and no gentry man is going to want to raise his own sons with a groom’s or footman’s leavings.
    A Fae Lord!
    Enough! You can cut yourself off from a good life for yourself, and condemn the boy into the bargain, or you can let him go now while he’s still young enough to forget and let him make a life for himself. Make your choice, daughter — and live with it .
    She made her choice. And the squire made his choice. But the boy had been old enough to remember, and grieve, the life that had ended when the squire’s servants left him at the charity house. And the boy had felt the weight of being a nobody for years—until Master Adolfo had stopped and visited the charity house. Had stopped even though he had an army to command and important work to do in the world.
    Master Adolfo had known the boy was special. He’d given the boy a chance to prove he was worthy of the training that would make him a powerful man one day—a man so powerful that even the old squire wouldn’t dare ignore him.
    And he’d succeeded. Almost within sight of the enemy, he’d succeeded. The Inquisitors had given him the horse and a cart filled with small sacks of flour, sugar, and tea. They’d told him to take the supplies to the more isolated farms and offer them to the females as thanks for the other provisions the army was taking from the surrounding farms.
    The females had accepted the supplies with delight, had offered him small glasses of ale and fresh-baked bread. They had given him time to be eyes and ears for the Witch’s Hammer. And they had given him time to obtain the special creatures Master Adolfo needed for the coming fight.
    The Master had been specific. Find one or two of the special creatures, then get back to the army that was marching