“Say congress, rather,” the ugly fellow pleaded, “or even a kiss, only one! If that will not thaw the chill of your heart, then leave me indeed!”
Allouette fought to conceal the revulsion that swept her at the thought of that bristly moustache against her skin and the cold moist flesh of those lips against her own. She let a little anger show. “Must I speak with cruelty, fellow? Loose my mare’s reins and let me go, for I do not wish to visit harm upon you!”
“But your steed does not recoil from me,” the ugly man pointed out. “Indeed, she welcomes my touch.” To prove it, he stroked the animal’s neck; her skin quivered. “See? She trembles with longing!”
“Or shivers with apprehension! Let go and stand off! Will you force me to be cruel?”
“You are so already, merely by denying me! O lady of beauty, O damsel of delight, pay heed! Suffer only one caress, and you shall crave more!”
“I should suffer indeed!” Allouette turned to her companions. “Ladies, will you not help me escape this importunate fellow?”
“He importunes you indeed.” Cordelia studied the scene with brooding attention. “Off with you, old man! Cease your attentions when a lady shows she does not welcome them!”
“Ah, but she will if—”
“Away with you, she said!” Quicksilver sat tense and poised, her hand on her sword hilt. “We have no wish to be hurtful, but we will suffer your attentions no longer!”
“O paragon of loveliness, bid your friends ride on without you!” the ugly man implored.
“Be off!” Quicksilver drew her sword. “Or have you as strong a taste for steel as for women?”
The polished blade flashed sunlight into the ugly man’s eyes. He cried out, covering his eyes in pain, and fell backward into the water.
“No! I will not have him die for dismissal!” Allouette kicked her horse forward toward the stream.
“Wait!” Cordelia seized her arm, pointing with the other hand. “See how he fares!”
The ugly man sank below the water. As the foam and the waves closed over his head, they could see his tunic tighten about him, saw his cross-garters dissolve and his legs fuse together, the fur leggings clinging to the flesh even as his feet broadened into the twin flukes of a tail. His thatch of grizzled hair darkened and seemed to flow downward over a skull that flowed into a powerful neck and shoulders; his mouth and nose bulged outward into a muzzle and the bushy moustache stretched into whiskers; the nubbin of nose turned black, and his arms shrank even as his hands grew and flattened into paddles. The seal shot back to the surface, balancing on its tail and turning to look back at them, calling out in one last mournful series of barks before it turned and plunged back into the roiling water, diving to twist and turn between the boulders as it raced away and shot glistening over a little waterfall, then disappeared in the foam.
“It was no true man,” Cordelia whispered, “but a selkie.”
Allouette began to tremble.
“It was a very handsome seal,” Cordelia said tentatively.
“But a very ugly man,” Quicksilver answered scornfully. “Come, ladies—let us ride.”
• • •
“Surely we should stop to rest soon,” Gregory protested. “Night is not a healthy time for travel when there are so many supernatural creatures about.”
Geoffrey was nodding in his saddle, but at his brother’s protest he shook himself back to some semblance of wakefulness. “Come, brother, what have we to fear? Whatever comes against us, surely Alain and I can hold it at bay while you disassemble it.”
“Not if it is as tightly counterspelled as that last,” Gregory said darkly.
“We have ridden the clock around,” Alain reminded Geoffrey, “and we always pitch camp before dark. Why do we push ahead after sunset now?”
“After sunset? Well after sunset! In pitch darkness!” Gregory exclaimed. “What need?”
“Our encounters have made me wary of the darkness,” Geoffrey confessed. “I wish stout walls about me this night, though I cannot say why. Only a little farther, gentlemen, and surely we shall come to a village!”
Ahead of them, a roar shook the night.
“I think a campfire would do well enough,” Gregory said nervously.
“We must face our fears!” Geoffrey was fully alert now. “Onward! We must see what made that bellow!” He kicked his horse to gallop; the exhausted beast managed a valiant trot.
Gregory sighed as he and Alain picked up their own paces, clucking to their mounts as they tried to catch up with Geoffrey. They came abreast with him only because he paused at the top of a rise as another bellow shook the ground. “Yonder!” He pointed at the dots of light that made a semicircle ahead and below.
“What manner of sight is this?” Gregory wondered.
“It is the village your brother hoped for.” Alain pointed at a tall shape glowing faintly in the moonlight. “That is a church, or I miss my guess.”
“Aye, and there are cottages around a common,” Gregory added.
Geoffrey frowned. “I see it now—and those little lights curve along one side of that circle.”
The roar shook the trees about them; several dead branches fell.
“Curiosity consumes me,” Alain confessed.
“And that roar has the sound of a monster seeking battle.” Geoffrey grinned with anticipation. “Let us ride in and discover what it is.”
They found a pathway and started down the slope. “Slowly,” Alain cautioned. “There is no need to rush into danger.”
Geoffrey’s mouth tightened; he would have loved to do just that, but he held his peace, silently acknowledging that Alain had common sense on his side.
“Do my eyes deceive me, or has that half-circle of lights grown smaller?” Gregory asked.
Geoffrey studied the scene for a second, then nodded. “Your eyes show truly, brother. If there are people holding those lights, they are moving closer together.”
“Ho! What have we here?” The prince drew his horse up.
Looking down, the brothers saw a man and a woman crouched by the roadside, one arm wrapped about each other, the others encircling a little boy and a little girl.
The roar sounded again. One of the children gave a cry of fear and the mother spoke soothing words, though her own voice trembled as twigs fell on her shoulders.
“Why hide you so far from your cottage?” Alain asked. “Be sure that if you fear for your safety, there are three swords here to guard you!”
“Swords will do little good against that monster,” the woman moaned.
“What manner of monster is this?” Gregory said with keen interest.
“It is a ghost, Sir Knight,” the man answered, “but it has taken the form of a bull.”
Gregory stared. “Why would a human ghost so disguise itself?”
“In life, Bayurg was a most wicked man,” the woman explained, and shuddered at the memory.
“He was a bully and a miser,” the husband said bitterly, “who only did two good deeds in all his life, and many, many evil ones.”
“He cozened the lord into giving him parts of the fields of each of his neighbors,” said the wife, “and traded shoddy cloth for grain.”
“And spoiled grain for good stout cloth,” the man said darkly.
“He promised marriage to six different lasses,” the woman said, “and when he had tasted their delights, he scorned each one. Four he got with child but would not give anything to their keeping. At last no woman would listen to his suit, so he went to take a seventh by force, but all the folk were watching him shrewdly by then and drove him away.”
“He lied, he cheated, he swindled,” the man said. “He stole tools and food and furniture and beat their owners if they sought to regain their goods.”
“A most evil man indeed,” Alain said, affronted. “What were the two good deeds he did?”