A Lady Under Siege(20)
Sylvanne, silent all this time, turned and glared at him with such a fiery rage in her green eyes that he feared she might be a witch, or a demon. As if spooked by her seething emotions, her stallion reared up and shook his mane furiously. Kent leant over to take the reins, calling out calming words to soothe his favourite mount, but the horse was in a lather and wouldn’t be pacified. “This is quite out of character,” he said. “Perhaps he needs a feed. Next stream we cross we’ll stop for water and grazing.”
“Thank the Lord for that,” said Gwynn, shifting uncomfortably in the cart. “I fear the sores of my feet have been replanted on my poor arse.”
11
Meghan was at her desk in her little cubicle on the eleventh floor, scrolling through the font choices of a new design software, when Jan stepped in and asked, “How are you doing?”
“Not great.”
“Poor thing. How’s Betsy?”
“I haven’t told her about Seth and baby on the way, if that’s what you mean. One thing at a time. I think she’s got a crush on our neighbour.”
“Your neighbour. The drunk?”
“The same.”
“I saw him once, the day you moved in. He waved over the fence. I thought he was kind of cute. Shaggy and cute.”
“In the daylight he can be charming, it’s at night he’s trouble.” She told Jan all about the picnic table incident, and couldn’t help but laugh, describing how she’d watched two drunken lovers zipped in their sleeping bag tumble off the table into the dirt. “They were rolling around on the ground like cats in a sack, going ouch ouch ouch, but in a silly, giggly way, and then they wriggled out, and I swear to God, steam was coming off their bodies.”
“They were naked?”
“Of course they were naked. And then they just ran in the house, laughing their heads off like fools.”
“Wow.” Just picturing it put a big grin on Jan’s face.
“I know. Happy, carefree, drunken fools. I actually felt a bit jealous. She looked so beautiful by moonlight. Like out of a fairy tale. A nymph from a fairy tale.”
“Speaking of which, how’s your Lady under siege doing?”
Jan was her closest confidante, the only friend with whom Meghan had shared the whole story of her dreams of Sylvanne and the siege. Jan’s reaction had been more amusement than concern—she treated it like a soap opera, eager for each new plot twist. “Come on, out with it. Something’s happened,” Jan cajoled her.
“She’s left the castle. Gerald is dead,” Meghan blurted out. And suddenly a surge of grief welled within her, Sylvanne’s genuine grief at the loss of her husband, and she began to cry uncontrollably, sitting there at her desk. Through her tears she managed to say, “This is crazy.”
To her relief Jan was supportive. “It’s getting serious,” she said. She dabbed Meghan’s eyes with a tissue and then stood behind her chair, rubbing her shoulders until the sobs subsided. “Maybe you need some help. I do know a therapist— someone who’d be perfect, and I can help get you in,” Jan suggested.
“I’d like that, I think,” Meghan said. “I’d like some answers. Or even just to talk.
“Good. Her name is Anne Billings. She’s my brother’s ex-wife but I’ve always liked her, a lot more than my brother actually, and she and I stayed friends after they split. You’ll like her too, she’s super smart but very down to earth. She has a private practice but she’s also a professor at the university, and these dreams of yours sound right up her alley—her PhD was all about Wicca, or witchcraft—apparently in academic circles she’s made a name for herself that way, using psychology to study mysticism and the paranormal. She’s at least sympathetic to stuff like that—if any psychologist is going to take a real interest, it’ll be her. I’ll call her for you, see what I can do.”
12
Betsy kissed her mother goodbye and locked the door behind her, then headed up to the computer. She had only two friends she was allowed to chat with, Sam and Brittany, and neither of them was online. Saturday afternoon. Brittany might have gone out of town for the weekend, and Sam was probably at ballet. Now what? She was instantly bored. This was the second time she’d been truly alone in her life, the second time in less than a week. The first time she’d felt only excitement, this time she felt abandoned. She wandered back downstairs and turned the television to a music channel her mother didn’t like her watching. The video showed a singer who looked to be about fifty under his pancake makeup and there were devils in it with blood coming out of their mouths. She watched until it ended and then turned it off. Now what? What she really wanted to do was go outside and jump on the trampoline, but her mother had laid down the law: no jumping without a grown-up watching you. What about Derek, she had asked. Her mother had made a pained face and said, Derek is on the wrong side of the fence, and Derek is to stay there. No jumping on the trampoline until I get home.