When Matthew turned to me, his face was resolute. He helped me into the saddle before swinging effortlessly onto the back of his horse.
“Khaire, Father,” Matthew said, eyes gleaming.
“Khairete, Matthaios kai Diana.” Philippe replied.
For Matthew there was no turning for a last glimpse of his father and no softening of the stiffness in his back. He kept his eyes on the road ahead, facing the future rather than the past.
I turned once, when a flash of movement caught my eye. It was Philippe, riding along a neighboring ridge, determined not to let go of his son until it was necessary.
“Good-bye, Philippe,” I whispered into the wind, hoping that he would hear.
Chapter Fourteen
“Of course.” Ysabeau was bending back the covers on a priceless old book and shaking it upside down.
Emily Mather looked at Ysabeau doubtfully. The library was in a state of utter chaos. The rest of the chateau was neat as a pin, but this room looked as if a tornado had blown through it. Books were strewn everywhere. Someone had pulled them off the shelves and flung them onto every other available surface.
“It must be here. He would have known that the children were together.” Ysabeau flung the book aside and reached for another. It pained Emily to her librarian’s soul to see books mistreated like this.
“I don’t understand. What are you looking for?” She picked up the discarded volume and closed it gently.
“Matthew and Diana were going to 1590. I was not at home then, but in Trier. Philippe would have known about Matthew’s new wife. He would have left me word.” Ysabeau’s hair hung down around her face and flowed nearly to her waist. Impatiently she took it in her hands and twisted it out of her way. After examining the spine and pages of her latest victim, she sliced open the end paper with the sharp nail of her index finger. Finding nothing hidden there, she growled with frustration.
“But these are books, not letters,” Emily said carefully. She didn’t know Ysabeau well, but Emily was well acquainted with the more gruesome legends about Matthew’s mother and what she had done in Trier and other places. The matriarch of the de Clermont family was no friend to witches, and even though Diana trusted the woman, Emily was still not sure.
“I am not looking for a letter. We hid little notes to each other in the pages of books. I searched through every volume in the library when he died, wanting to have every last piece of him. But I must have missed something.”
“Maybe it wasn’t there to be found—not then.” A dry voice spoke from the shadows by the door. Sarah Bishop’s red hair was wild and her face white with worry and lack of sleep. “Marthe is going to have a fit when she sees this. And it’s a good thing Diana isn’t around. She’d give you a lecture on book preservation that would bore you stupid.” Tabitha, who accompanied Sarah everywhere, shot from between the witch’s legs, mesmerized by the swinging strands of Ysabeau’s hair.
It was Ysabeau’s turn to be confused. “What do you mean, Sarah?”
“Time is tricky. Even if everything went according to plan and Diana took Matthew back to the first day of November in 1590, it may still be too soon to look for a message from your husband. And you wouldn’t have found a message before, because Philippe hadn’t met my niece yet.” Sarah paused. “I think Tabitha’s eating that book.”
Tabitha, delighted to be in a house with an ample supply of mice and plenty of dark corners for hiding, had recently taken to climbing the furniture and the drapes. She was perched on one of the library shelves, gnawing on the corner of a leather-bound volume.
“Kakó gati!” Ysabeau cried, rushing over to the shelves. “That is one of Diana’s favorites.”
Tabitha, who had never backed down from a confrontation with another predator with the exception of Miriam, swiped at the book so that it fell to the floor. She jumped down after it, hovering over her prize like a lion guarding a particularly desirable treat.
“It’s one of those alchemy books with pictures in it,” Sarah said, liberating the book from her cat and flipping through the pages. She gave the cover a sniff. “Well, no wonder Tabitha wants to chew on it. It smells of mint and leather, just like her favorite toy.”
A square of paper, folded and folded and folded again, fluttered to the floor. Deprived of the book, Tabitha picked up the paper between her sharp teeth and stalked toward the door.
Ysabeau was waiting for her. She picked Tabitha up by the scruff of the neck and pried the paper from the cat’s mouth. Then she kissed the surprised feline on the nose. “Clever cat. You will have fish for supper.”