"What fate could that be?" he asked in total innocence. Exasperated, she almost told him—but instead, she snapped, "Spinsterhood!" Then she spun on her heel and sped through the door, leaving Alain to gape after her, not understanding at all.
Cordelia splashed water on her face, then turned away to find a beautiful afternoon dress of green and yellow laid out on the bed for her. She stared, amazed, then took it up reluctantly. Surely it could not be Delilah's! The lady was too small for any of her clothing to fit Cordelia. Her sister's, perhaps? Certainly the style, though outdated, was not old enough for the dress to have belonged to her mother. Cordelia wavered for a moment, but the gown was very pretty, and her own russet travelling dress was rather dusty. With a sudden decision, she unfastened the dress, letting it drop to the floor, then wriggled out of her shift, took the washcloth, and gave herself a quick sponge bath. When she was done, she waved her arms and hands, fanning herself, to dry, and slipped into the clean shift that had been laid out for her. She delighted at its smoothness—not silk, perhaps, but very fine linen. And yes, it did fit.
Then she took up the green-and-yellow gown and slipped it over her head. She fastened the kirtle around her waist and wished for a cheval glass to regard herself in, but of course there was none; her brother would have to do in its place. She projected a thought on their family's encrypted mode:
Geoffrey.
Aye, Cordelia. He answered so quickly that she might have thought he was waiting for her call.
Let us walk in the garden. Her tone was peremptory. Geoffrey didn't disagree for a moment, though. In truth, a stroll among the flowers should be most pleasant. Let us walk, sweet sister.
Lightfooted, she stepped out through the door and ran to the garden, feeling much more presentable.
Geoffrey was there, though he too had changed garments. Strange that they had clothing to fit him so wellalthough, coming closer, Cordelia could see that his doublet was of an old-fashioned cut. No doubt it was one that had belonged to Sir Julian in his youth.
"Why, Geoffrey," she began, to compliment him, but before she could, he grinned broadly.
"Cordelia! Why, how lovely! I would never have thought green and yellow to be your colors, but they are most becoming!"
"Why, thank you, sir." Suddenly, Cordelia felt even better. She smoothed her gown, feeling more than a match for anything Delilah might bring on.
Then she became solemn; it was time to compare notes. "There is one chamber in this house that is shielded from thought, brother."
"There is indeed," Geoffrey agreed. "Either there is some telepath who is given full-time to its warding, or..." Cordelia nodded. "There is a machine of some sort hidden within it that cloaks it from all human thought."
"Let us assume it to be the latter," Geoffrey said, "and that our hosts know something of advanced technology. But why would they give themselves away in this fashion? They must know that any telepath who chances upon them will know at once what they do!"
"Even so," Cordelia said, "as surely Delilah must have known that we should know her for a witch, simply for the excellence with which she has shielded her mind."
Geoffrey lifted his head suddenly. "The shielding is gone."
Cordelia tested the room with her own mind, and nodded. "Mayhap it is only an esper who wards there." Geoffrey asked, "You were not greatly surprised to learn that Delilah was a witch, were you?"
"Nay, surely," Cordelia smiled. "And it did not take telepathy to read my mind in that regard, brother."
"Well, then, we deal with witchfolk," Geoffrey said. "Do we deal with aught more?"
"If the dream we shared last night was true," Geoffrey said slowly, "we deal with a woman who has command of men, though she would have it seem that she does not, and who could order this house prepared for her use simply to deceive us."
Cordelia nodded. "But such a house, Geoffrey! Have you ever seen its like?"
"A few," Geoffrey said slowly. "They are rare, but they do exist."
"Nonetheless, there is something about it that strikes me as anomalous."
"Anomalous indeed," Geoffrey agreed. "There is too much of good planning here, of the well-coordinated. We must consider, sister, that we deal with our old enemies from the future, who may move against us in some such way as they have before. Of course, I suppose this could be the work of a native telepath..."
"Not so," Cordelia said, "if the telepath knew no more of machines, or the universe outside our world, than the folk who are born here. She could not have expected that two who have such knowledge might visit."
Geoffrey gave her a cynical smile. "Come, sister! Do you truly think we have deceived her any more than she has deceived us?"
That gave Cordelia pause. "No," she said slowly, "from what you have said thus far, she must know, must she not? Are we not therefore in peril?"
"We must believe so," said Geoffrey, "if we are not to be taken by surprise."
Cordelia felt a touch of fear. "Then we must be on our guard night and day, brother."
"You may take the day," he said at once. "I shall take the night."
"To be on guard, Geoffrey." Cordelia glared at him. "I have seen the way in which you look upon the Lady Delilah."
Geoffrey shrugged carelessly. "I can be on guard whiles I do other things, Cordelia."
"Oh, surely," she said, with a withering glance. "Yet bear in mind, brother—you are only human."
Geoffrey grinned. "Well, that is so—there are some weaknesses built into us."
Neither of them said a word about leaving. In fact, Cordelia felt a stab of fear, and was amazed to realize that she was more frightened for Alain than for herself.
"Truly," Geoffrey said, "you do not think they would dare attempt to assassinate the heir to the throne?" Cordelia shrugged impatiently. "We do very poorly at disguising ourselves, do we not, brother? For who is there in this land who does not know of the High Warlock and the names of his children? Nay, especially among witchfolk, who does not know of us?"
"True," Geoffrey agreed, "and who does not know that the Crown Prince is named Alain, nor that he is the friend of the children of the High Warlock? Nay, you have the right of it, sister—we must be prepared for anything, even murder. Yet there is this." He spread his hands. "Why have they not already struck?"
"There is that," Cordelia said slowly. "We may yet have some time. Still, brother, ought we not leave tomorrow, or as soon as we may?"
"We should leave now, but Alain would never agree to it," Geoffrey said. "He would see it as a breach of courtesy."
Cordelia wondered if that was the only reason.
"No, we must stay at least the night—and study the situation. It may be that we can strike a blow now that will save us a hundred in the future. We can always call for help, if we need it—but let us first see what this pleasant nest of traitors does intend."
"Aye," said Cordelia. "But guard the Prince, my brother. Ward him well. Although perhaps I should do that—and stay close by him."
"Oh, you need not," said Geoffrey quickly.
Cordelia smiled. "Why, brother—could you fear for my honor?"
Geoffrey took a second, and answered as delicately as he could. "Let us say, my sister, that I know how fragile a thing honor may be, and I would not wish to lay more stress on it than needs be. But come—our host will be expecting us for dinner soon enough, and we must not disappoint him."
"As you say, brother." Cordelia took Geoffrey's arm, and they went back toward the manor house arm in arm.