Witch from the Sea

“Did I not tell you that you would have a quiverful? Give me another boy. When we have half a dozen of them we’ll think about a girl or two.”

I retorted: “I do not propose to spend my life in a continual state of pregnancy.”

“Do you not?” he retorted. “I thought that was a wifely duty.”

“To provide a few children yes, but she needs a little respite.”

“Not my wife,” he said, and he lifted me in his arms and looked at me with love.

I was happy. Gloomy thoughts had gone. I visualized a future—Colum and I grown older, more sedate, and our children playing about us.

As soon as I knew I was to have another child my desire to discover receded. I was happy. I wanted to go on in my contentment. There were times when he went away for several days at a stretch. I used to wonder where. He was not very communicative about his affairs; and one thing I had discovered was that he hated to be questioned. When I had asked he had answered me vaguely but I had seen the danger signals in his eyes. I had seen his sudden anger flare up against some servant and I had always been afraid of arousing it. At one time I wondered whether he visited a mistress. I did not think this was so because when he went away he took a retinue of servants with him.

Again I learned a little through Jennet. She was supposed to sleep in the servants’ quarters in the Crows’ Tower but I knew she slipped out to Seaward to join her lover there. One night I discovered that she was not going to Seaward Tower.

Colum had told me that he would be leaving early the next morning. He was going on some business and would be gone before I was up.

I remembered then that Jennet had not gone to the Seaward Tower on another occasion when Colum had been going away. I decided to question as discreetly as I could, because I was growing more and more interested in Colum’s journeys.

When I awoke the next morning I sent for Jennet. I said: “I gathered you spent the night on your lonely pallet, Jennet.”

She blushed in that manner which had sometimes irritated my mother but which I could not help finding rather endearing.

“Orders,” she said. “I was not to go to Seaward last night.”

“There should be such orders every night, Jennet,” I said.

“Yes, Mistress,” she answered. “’Tis always so,” she volunteered, “the night before he do go on his journey. He be busy preparing, like, late into the night and sets off with the dawn.”

“Does he tell you where he is going?”

“He never will say, Mistress. Shuts up tight when I ask. He’s a mild man but he gets angry if I as much as mention it. ‘Keep thy mouth shut, woman,’ he says, ‘or that’ll be the end ’twixt you and me.’ Yet he be a mild man in all other matters.”

It certainly was strange. I wondered why there had to be this secrecy. Colum was not a man to make an effort to keep anything quiet. His implication was that if people did not like what he did, he cared not a jot. Yet he was quiet about this business of his.

When he returned from a journey he was invariably in good spirits and glad to be back with me. It was June and the warm sunshine filled the castle. It was three months since my child had been conceived and I had recovered from the first uncomfortable stages of pregnancy and had not yet reached the cumbersome one. I felt well and energetic and Colum and I rode out together. We should be away for the night, he told me, as he had some business to transact.

I was delighted because I thought at last he was taking me into his confidence. I was actually going with him on a business venture; I was making the most of my riding too, because I knew that very soon I should be forbidden to ride.

This is the loveliest of all months, or perhaps it seemed so to me because I was so happy. The sky was cobalt blue with only the faintest hint of wispy white cloud. The choughs and the seagulls swooped and rose above the water and as we rode away from the sea into the lanes I was enchanted by the countryside. The white chervil on the banks reminded me of lace and the grass was spattered with blue forget-me-nots and red ragged robin.

The sun was warm and I was happy. I felt well and strong, and glad as I was to be riding with Colum I knew I should be just as delighted to go back and see my son. He was in good hands. The care of children was one thing Jennet could really be trusted with.

Colum sang as we rode along—it was the old hunting song which was such a favourite with him.

I did not recognize the road until we were almost at the inn. And there it was before us: The Traveller’s Rest, and there was the host who had been in such a quandary on that other night. Now he was beaming with delight, hands crossed on his chest.

Colum leaped from his horse and lifted me down. Grooms ran to take our horses.

“The Oak Room, host,” cried Colum.

“At your service, my master,” replied the host.