Origins
CHAPTER FOUR

Constance hated going to the butcher. She knew they needed to eat, but she got so attached to the pigs and they seemed so intelligent. They felt like part of the family and she gave them names. She always shed a tear when her mother led one of them off into town and knew her mother wouldn’t let her deliver the precious animal to be butchered. Agatha correctly thought Constance was more likely to let it go in the woods, living out its natural life in the wild, foraging for acorns, than allowing it to be killed. When she got home, Constance would have claimed that it had run away. So she definitely couldn’t be trusted.

Agatha had said that making Constance deal with the aftermath of the butcher’s work would harden her up. But it never seemed to get any easier.

The last time, when Constance had named the pig Eric, she couldn’t face seeing him in his butchered state. So she had collected the meat but had ‘forgotten’ to pick up his head and Agatha had to go into town to get it. This was something she didn’t like doing because, not only could she live without the children’s whimpers when they caught sight of her, but also do without the whispered comments, turned backs and open hostility that often greeted her. The inhabitants thought nothing of giving her the cold shoulder when she went about her business, as if they all needed to prove they were God-fearing people and obviously didn’t commune with witches.

She found this particularly galling. She’d told Constance the last time it had happened, as the people calling her names and making protective signs were the very townsfolk who often sought her out for her ‘services’. They wanted a healing salve for their cow, an infusion for son’s chest, a posy for protection against an unlucky spirit, or a curse against a rival. Then they were happy enough to treat her civilly.

Constance often wondered why they were so rude, particularly those who wanted a curse. After all, she thought, surely they should be worried that mother might turn her attention on them rather than their neighbour?

As she walked through the town, people whispered to one another when they saw her, but Constance paid no notice. It didn’t bother her; she was used to it. She diverted herself by taking in her surroundings and studying the people as they went about their business.

Some people she recognised and when she nodded in greeting, they responded in kind, wishing her ‘good morning’.

I obviously don’t have mother’s reputation… yet.

She was just walking out of the marketplace, and had turned to look over her shoulder at a lovely bolt of blue fabric that had caught her eye on one stall, when she walked into something solid and rebounded with a yelp.

Stunned by the impact, she lost her balance and toppled backwards, twisting her ankle as she fell.

She would have crashed to the floor had by a powerful pair of hands not grabbed her at the top of the arms.

She looked down at where they held her, then up at a man who towered over her, his face a look of horror and remorse. She inhaled deeply, but couldn’t look away, transfixed by his cobalt eyes. Her cheeks burned as he held her gaze and gently settled her back on her feet.

He let go with one hand and reached up to brush his black hair from his forehead.

“Pardon me, mademoiselle,” he apologised. “I didn’t notice you… I mean, I didn’t see you… I…” he stopped talking, and she heard him swallow.

She looked away reluctantly. “No,” she croaked. Then wet her lips. “Sorry no… I mean, I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” She glanced up.

He looked at her silently for a moment, then blinked and began again. “No. I stepped out of the doorway without due attention. The fault is all mine.” She followed the glance he’d thrown back to the tavern door.

“Ah,” she nodded.

“Ah!?” he said, his eyebrows raised with a question.

“Well, maybe it is indeed your fault.” She caught the whiff of stale beer on his breath. “After all, have you not been drinking?”

He frowned. “I beg your pardon, but I have only had one…”

“Liar,” said a man coming up and standing beside him.

“Sh! Who asked you?” he said, still staring at her.

She could resist no longer. He looked so surprised at her comment; she laughed and shook her head.

He studied her for a moment, then his face split into a knowing smile. “Ah, I see you’re joking. So, it was your fault, after all.” His eyes glinted with humour.

“Well…” she replied. “Let us just say that there was fault on both our parts, and we were both responsible. Then say our ‘adieus’ and be on our way. What do you say?”

He opened his mouth to reply, then paused. He clamped his mouth closed. “No, let us settle this matter,” he said playfully. “Let us ask for a statement from an unbiased witness who actually saw what happened.”

He turned to the other man. “Jean, please tell us, who is at fault here?” he asked.

“But sir, you said an unbiased witness. Have you not just asked your friend to decide…?”

“Friend… no, never seen him before in my life,” he protested.

She laughed. “Well, sir, I’m not sure he is able to decide,” she leant towards him. “I think he’s been drinking,” she whispered, conspiratorially.

He turned to the man. “Jean, is this true? Have you been drinking?”

“Guilty as charged, sire,” Jean replied, and bowed low.

The man shook his head. “Well then, there is no alternative. As a gentleman, I must insist that it was… your fault.”

She laughed again. “In that case, sir. I must apologise for not paying due attention. And if you will release me,” she looked down at where his left hand still held her, “I will curtsy as recompense, and be on my way.”

She watched as he debated with himself, trying to think of something to say, and then reluctantly released his grip. “Very well, mademoiselle. If you will?”

She bobbed in a curtsy and stepped away, only to put weight on her right foot and for it to collapse under her. “Arghh!” she screamed as pain tore through her ankle, and she found herself supported by the man once more.

“So I can’t seem to get away from you.” She smiled.

“It would appear not,” he grinned, and supported her to the bench in front of the tavern.

“But I can’t sit here,” she began. “I have my reputation to think of, and I can’t be seen to be cavorting with strange men in taverns.”

He stared at her until she laughed at him again. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“I don’t think I can trust a word that you say…” he began. “You don’t seem able to be serious about anything,” he protested.

Jean strolled over. “Well, Hugh. I had better be going. Things to get on with. I will leave you. Mademoiselle,” he nodded. “Au revoir.”

“Au revoir,” Constance replied.

“Forgive me,” the man said. “We have not been formally introduced. I am Hugh Mal…” he stopped.

“Well, Hugh Mal…” she smiled, “you can just call me Constance.”

“Can I just call you Constance, or is that really your name?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Yes, what…?”

“Just yes.”

He studied her with narrowed blue eyes, his head on one side, then sighed.

“Well, look… Constance…” he began, “it doesn’t look as if you will be walking anywhere soon. So how far is it to your house?”

“It’s the cottage by the grand wood. The one with the well.”

It was her turn to study him as she saw him try to work out which one she meant. Not that there were many others to choose from, she thought.

“It is the one right next to the wood…” she prompted and saw his eyes widen.

“Not that witch’s cottage?” he blurted incredulously.

She smiled and nodded.

“But why are you there? What has she done to you?” He jumped up from the bench and stood over her protectively. “Has she trapped you with a spell or curse? I have heard that she… What?” he asked when he saw her smiling and shaking her head. “Why are you looking like that?”

She raised her eyebrows and smiled. “She’s my mother.”

“No!” he exclaimed. “You’re Agatha’s daughter!”

“So it would appear…”

“But are you sure… maybe she’s trapped you and confused you to think so, but…” he struggled to find the words he needed.

“No, I’m sure.”

“Oh!” he said and collapsed on the bench next to her again.

He stared into the middle distance. “Oh!” he said again.

“Yes, well,” Constance said brightly and brushed down her skirts. “I guess I’d better be on my way then.” She went to stand, but as soon as she put weight on her ankle, she cried out and collapsed, landing on Hugh’s lap.

“Sorry.” She grimaced. “I guess I might wait here for longer after all,” she said and slid off onto the bench.

Hugh sat forward and put his elbows on his knees. His hair hung down and hid his face and she admired his broad shoulders and back, which strained the fabric of his shirt.

She shook herself.

He sat back up and looked at her. “Well look, you can’t walk on that ankle, so why don’t I get my horse and take you home? It’s too far for me to support or carry you, so it seems like the sensible choice.”

“Even though my mother is Agatha the witch…?”

“Look, I’m sorry. That was rude of me, but I have heard the rumours and well…” he trailed off with embarrassment.

She smiled. “It’s fine… it’s nothing I haven’t heard before. After all, it goes with the territory.” She leant towards him and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I mean, look,” she nodded at a group of four women standing on the corner opposite.

Hugh looked up and watched the women, their heads together, obviously gossiping and casting the occasional glance in their direction. He could hear them tutting.

“You’d better be careful, Hugh Malet. You might develop a reputation for fraternising with witches,” she said, and nudged his arm.

“But how did you know who I am?” he asked.

“Oh, come now. I know I don’t live in town, but really, give me some credit. After all, even us country folk know who you and your family are.” She paused. “So I perfectly understand if you wish to leave me to it. You have been very kind, but I don’t want to cause you any embarrassment…”

“Nonsense. I don’t care about fishwives and their gossip. And besides, I am the reason you’re in this condition, so I feel accountable and have a duty to ensure that you get safely home.”

She stared at him. “Well, if you’re sure…”

He nodded. “Positive. Now wait here - not that you could get very far if you tried to run away. I’ll be back shortly.”

With that, he leapt to his feet and headed off in the direction of the Keep.

Constance sat on the bench and waited, smiling benevolently at the women, until they noticed and drifted away, casting glances over their shoulders as they departed in a gaggle.

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