“Well?” he demanded. “You’re tight-lipped, I know, but some explanation as to how you let yourself get into this seems in order.”
“This would be better discussed in private,” said Walter, eyeing George and the two daemons.
“Why is that, Raleigh?” Hancock’s voice took on a pugnacious edge. “De Clermont has a lot to answer for. So does his witch. And those answers had best trip off her tongue. We passed a priest on the way. He was with two gentlemen who had prosperous waistlines. Based on what I heard, de Clermont’s mate will have three days—”
“At least five,” Gallowglass corrected.
“Maybe five,” Hancock said, inclining his head in his companion’s direction, “before she’s held over for trial, two days to figure out what to say to the magistrates, and less than half an hour to come up with a convincing lie for the good father. You had best start telling us the truth.”
All attention settled on Matthew, who stood mute.
“The clock will strike the quarter hour soon,” Hancock reminded him after some time had passed.
I took matters into my own hands. “Matthew protected me from my own people.”
“Diana,” Matthew growled.
“Matthew meddled in the affairs of witches?” Gallowglass’s eyes widened slightly.
I nodded. “Once the danger passed, we were mated.”
“And all this happened between noon and nightfall on Saturday?” Gallowglass shook his head. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Auntie.”
“‘Auntie’？” I turned to Matthew in shock. First Berwick, then the Congregation, and now this. “This . . . berserker is your nephew? Let me guess. He’s Baldwin’s son!” Gallowglass was almost as muscle-bound as Matthew’s copper-headed brother—and as persistent. There were other de Clermonts I knew: Godfrey, Louisa, and Hugh （who received only brief, cryptic mentions）。 Gallowglass could belong to any of them—or to someone else on Matthew’s convoluted family tree.
“Baldwin?” Gallowglass gave a delicate shiver. “Even before I became a wearh, I knew better than to let that monster near my neck. Besides, my people were úlfhéenar, not berserkers. And I’m only part Norse—the gentle part, if you must know. The rest is Scots, by way of Ireland.”
“Foul-tempered, the Scots,” Hancock added.
Gallowglass acknowledged his companion’s remark with a gentle tug on his ear. A golden ring glinted in the light, incised with the outlines of a coffin. A man was stepping free of it, and there was a motto around the edges.
“You’re knights.” I looked for a matching ring on Hancock’s finger. There it was, oddly placed on his thumb. Here at last was evidence that Matthew was involved in the business of the Order of Lazarus, too.
“We-elll,” Gallowglass drawled, sounding suddenly like the Scot he professed to be, “there’s always been a dispute about that. We’re not really the shining-armor type, are we Davy?”
“No. But the de Clermonts have deep pockets. Money like that is hard to refuse,” Hancock observed, “especially when they promise you a long life for the enjoying of it.”
“They’re fierce fighters, too.” Gallowglass rubbed the bridge of his nose again. It was flattened, as though it had been broken and never healed properly.
“Oh, aye. The bastards killed me before they saved me. Fixed my bad eye, while they were at it,” Hancock said cheerfully, pointing to his gammy lid.
“Then you’re loyal to the de Clermonts.” Sudden relief washed through me. I would prefer to have Gallowglass and Hancock as allies rather than enemies, given the disaster unfolding.
“Not always,” replied Gallowglass darkly.
“Not to Baldwin. He’s a sly bugger. And when Matthew behaves like a fool, we pay no attention to him either.” Hancock sniffed and pointed to the gingerbread, which lay forgotten on the table. “Is someone going to eat that, or can we pitch it into the fire? Between Matthew’s scent and Charles’s cooking, I feel ill.”
“Given our approaching visitors, our time would be better spent devising a course of action than talking about family history,” Walter said impatiently.
“Jesu, there’s no time to come up with a plan,” Hancock said cheerfully. “Matthew and his lordship should say a prayer instead. They’re men of God. Maybe He’s listening.”
“Perhaps the witch could fly away,” Gallowglass murmured. He held up both hands in mute surrender when Matthew glared at him.