“There you are. You gave us a fright, disappearing without leaving word,” the blond man said mildly, drawing to a stop and sheathing his long, exceedingly sharp sword.
Walter and Henry, too, withdrew their weapons. They recognized the men. “Gallowglass. Why are you here?” Matthew asked the blond warrior with a note of wary confusion.
“We’re looking for you, of course. Hancock and I were with you on Saturday.” Gallowglass’s chilly blue eyes narrowed when he didn’t receive a reply. He looked like a Viking on the brink of a killing spree. “In Chester.”
“Chester.” Matthew’s expression turned to dawning horror. “Chester!”
“Aye. Chester,” repeated the redheaded Hancock. He glowered and peeled sodden leather gauntlets from his arms, tossing them onto the floor near the fireplace. “When you didn’t meet up with us as planned on Sunday, we made inquiries. The innkeeper told us you’d left, which came as something of a surprise, and not only because you hadn’t settled the bill.”
“He said you were sitting by the fire drinking wine one moment and gone the next,” Gallowglass reported. “The maid—the little one with the black hair who couldn’t take her eyes off you—caused quite a stir. She insisted you were taken by ghosts.”
I closed my eyes in sudden understanding. The Matthew Roydon who had been in sixteenth-century Chester vanished because he was displaced by the Matthew who’d traveled here from modern-day Oxfordshire. When we left, the sixteenth-century Matthew, presumably, would reappear. Time wouldn’t allow both Matthews to be in the same place at the same moment. We had already altered history without intending to do so.
“It was All Hallows’ Eve, so her story made a certain sort of sense,” Hancock conceded, turning his attention to his cloak. He shook the water from its folds and flung it over a nearby chair, releasing the scent of spring grass into the winter air.
“Who are these men, Matthew?” I moved closer to get a better look at the pair. He turned and settled his hands on my upper arms, keeping me where I was.
“They’re friends,” Matthew said, but his obvious effort to regroup made me wonder if he was telling the truth.
“Well, well. She’s no ghost.” Hancock peered over Matthew’s shoulder, and my flesh turned to ice.
Of course Hancock and Gallowglass were vampires. What other creatures could be that big and bloody-looking?
“Nor is she from Chester,” Gallowglass said thoughtfully. “Does she always have such a bright glaem about her?”
The word might be unfamiliar, but its meaning was clear enough. I was shimmering again. It sometimes happened when I was angry, or concentrating on a problem. It was another familiar manifestation of a witch’s power, and vampires could detect the pale glow with their preternaturally sharp eyes. Feeling conspicuous, I stepped back into Matthew’s shadow.
“That’s not going to help, lady. Our ears are as sharp as our eyes. Your witch’s blood is trilling like a bird.” Hancock’s bushy red brows rose as he looked sourly at his companion. “Trouble always travels in the company of women.”
“Trouble is no fool. Given the choice, I’d rather travel with a woman than with you.” The blond warrior addressed Matthew. “It’s been a long day, Hancock’s arse is sore, and he’s hungry. If you don’t tell him why there’s a witch in your house, and quickly, I don’t have high hopes for her continued safety.”
“It must have to do with Berwick,” Hancock declared. “Bloody witches. Always causing trouble.”
“Berwick?” My pulse kicked up a notch. I recognized the name. One of the most notorious witch trials in the British Isles was connected to it. I searched my memory for the dates. Surely it had happened well before or after 1590, or Matthew wouldn’t have selected this moment for our timewalk. But Hancock’s next words drove all thoughts of chronology and history from my mind.
“That, or some new Congregation business that Matthew will want us to sort out for him.”
“The Congregation?” Marlowe’s eyes narrowed, and he looked at Matthew appraisingly. “Is this true? Are you one of the mysterious members?”
“Of course it’s true! How do you imagine he’s kept you from the noose, young Marlowe?” Hancock searched the room. “Is there something to drink other than wine? I hate these French pretensions of yours, de Clermont. What’s wrong with ale?”