The Green Witch

Chapter Sixteen

     There was no way to decline that wouldn't have made him immediately suspicious. The Knights were celebrities and every young woman dreamed of dancing with one. The older Knights were holding themselves aloof, watching the cavorting of the young villagers with disdainful superiority, but this one was younger. Barely older than Dougal by the look of him. Other young women were staring enviously at her, clearly wondering what made her so lucky. She had no choice but to accept his offer.

     "I would be delighted," she said therefore. The Knight grinned and reached out his hand. She took it and he led her into the dancing space while the band started playing The Swans of Calotte; a slow, romantic tune that was normally kept until much later in the evening. Tala looked at them curiously and saw every member of the band staring at her with grins on their faces.

     "My name is Gareth," said the Knight as he held her close, her head on his shoulder; the correct position for this dance. He smelled of perfumed soap, which told Tala he'd bathed for the occasion. He'd come here looking for romance. "Gareth Mallory."

     "Tala Viddyr," Tala replied. She didn't know the steps to this dance and so she kept her eyes on his feet, moving hers to match his. She could feel his breath in her hair, which was rather distracting. "Just a simple farmer's daughter." Hopefully he'd lose interest in her and choose someone else to dance with.

     Instead, his arms tightened around her. He pulled her closer against him until she could feel the sharp roughness of his chain mail through the cotton of her dress. "You're Tala?" he said. "The one whose cottage burned down?"

     Tala's heart beat faster with trepidation. What else had the villagers told him about her? The villagers had no idea she was a witch, of course, but perhaps there were clues that a Knight would recognise and piece together. Even such a young Knight must have been tought about the people they were hunting. There would have been seminars, briefings. He would have been told about the subtle signs to look out for.

     "That's right," she said, trying to sound calm and nonchalant. "Drisco Tanner and his family took me in. I'm their adopted daughter."

     "They must be good people," Gareth said as he guided her through the slow moves of the dance. His hand moved to the nape of her neck and then to the back of her ear where his fingers began to gently stroke her skin, slowly and seductively.

     "I have a sweetheart," she said carefully. "I am betrothed to Dougal, the son of Drisco Tanner."

     "Of course," he said, and there was a touch of disappointment in his voice. His hand moved away from her neck to rest between her shoulder blades. "A woman as beautiful as you obviously must have a sweetheart."

     "I'm not that beautiful," Tala replied. She immediately cursed herself. Now he would think she was fishing for compliments. He would be encouraged.

     "Funny how the most beautiful women never think they're beautiful," said Gareth. His hand moved up a fraction. Not quite back to her neck but right at the top of her dress. It made her whole body tremble nervously, which he would probably interpret as excitement.

     "And yet," he added, "your cottage only burned down a few days ago, before which you lived alone, hardly interacting with anyone. Am I right in thinking that your betrothal to Dougal only happened after you moved into his house?"

     "Do you know everyone in this part of the world as well as you seem to know me?"

     "It's part of our job to interview people. To look for people who stand out. Who are a little bit different. That's one of the ways we spot witches, you see."