Witch & Curse by Nancy Holder, Debbie Viguié Page A

the coven, the master took the virgins first, you know.”
    â€œ
Oui, mon père
, and as I recall, leadership of the Circle was achieved through combat to the death.” He slid a sly, somewhat challenging glance at his father.
    â€œTouché.”
Laurent threw back his head and laughed, clearly amused by and unafraid of his son’smild challenge. The Duke was a lion; Jean knew it would be years before he could hope to inherit the titles, both of their House and of the coven. The prospect did not bother him; his father was a good leader, and Jean profited well from his guidance.
    â€œIt’s a grand day for us, boy. The Cahors dowry makes us the richest noble family in all of France.” His eyes glittered at the thought. “Get Isabeau with child tonight, and I’ll make him king by the time he’s twelve.”
    â€œAs you wish, Father,” Jean said, sweeping his arm downward like a gallant. His blood stirred at the thought of bedding Isabeau. “I shall do my best.”
    â€œWith all the spells we’ve cast, we’ll have a boy by Beltane.”
    â€œ
Certainement
, the Green Man will reward our generosity.” Jean jerked his head in the direction of the animals they had already slaughtered. “We’re giving him plenty to eat. And soon we’ll give him plenty more.”
    The two smiled at each other. Laurent made a magical motion with his hand and winked at his son. Almost simultaneously with the gesture, a flusher dressed in Deveraux green and scarlet emerged from the thick copses of chestnut trees and shouted, “The first of the prized flesh!”
    â€œOyez, oyez, the first of the prized flesh!” shouted Compte Alain DuBruque, the Marshal of the Hunt. “This bounty is reserved,
mes seigneurs
, for the bridegroom!”
    A roar of approval rose from the lines of the mounted huntsmen. The drums thundered; the hounds bayed and lurched. Jean let go of his reins and held both hands above his head, receiving the approbation of the gathering as his due. Cockerel pranced in a circle and chuffed and Fantasme capered above his head, crying with bloodlust. Jean put his heels to Cockerel’s hot, solid flanks, and the fantastic stallion reared majestically. Fantasme landed on his head, riding the horse like its master.
    â€œRelease the dogs!” Jean commanded.
    Trumpets flared. From the rear of the hunting company, a brace of dogs, made savage from near-starvation, were loosed. Shrieking and baying, they dashed through the ranks of human hunters, dodging horse hooves as they hurtled themselves toward the shadows of the forest. Jean joined the race, Cockerel’s mighty hooves narrowly missing the eager curs.
    Then the quarry emerged, forced into the open by the threshers. A tall peasant of perhaps sixteen, he was. Jean was pleased; the quarry was a young, vigorous man, capable of many more years of life. It was a goodsign; the Green Man would be appreciative of such a fine gift, and surely requite his acolyte’s efforts with a male child. The firstborn of the Cahors and Deveraux must be an heir. Laurent and Jean had no idea how long the alliance between them would last; who knew if it would be long enough for him to get a second child on his new wife?
    Galloping ahead of the dogs, Jean reached the man, who, seeing him, turned tail and fled. Fantasme screamed with eagerness and flew after him.
    Fool
, Jean thought with a vicious thrill;
this horse outran a thousand infidels in Jerusalem; does he think an underfed serf can achieve what hardened warriors could not?
    To shouts of encouragement from his men, Jean urged Cockerel forward; then, coming abreast of the man, he drew his sword, let go of the reins, and arced downward at an angle. At that moment, the young serf looked fearfully over his shoulder. He saw the sword headed for him and opened his mouth to shriek. Too late; Jean’s sword sliced off his head, very cleanly and neatly. The