Hermione practices changing her features with magic. It is a difficult feat, but one she manages to master by dawn.

Changing her clothing as well, she adopts the mien of a waiting-woman and crosses the castle, seeking the nursery. It is a challenge to maintain her clever disguise, requiring concentration. When, at last, she is allowed to pass into the children's wing, it is a struggle not to rush to her son's side. There are other women about, however, and so she must not lose her game yet.

She passes by the room devoted to Louis, appalled by the smell coming from his open doorway, and determined to discover the reason upon her way back. For the moment, she must find her son, for to ken if he is alive or dead is what has driven her into this dangerous scheme. She will return for Louis anon.

Her son has been given a room at the end, far from his half-brother. He is being nursed by a village woman, and the sight of her son's dark-auburn head, already thickening with curls, bent to another breast is like a hunter's arrow to Hermione's heart. It takes all her will not to fall upon the woman and rip the babe from her, to cradle that tiny head to her own nipple and to be mother at long last.

She escapes with murmured excuse, ducking into an empty chamber. There, she allows her tears to flow in muffled silence behind her hand.

William Hugo is alive and being well-cared for by a healthy woman. It is enough to know that for now.

Later, when she is once again composed, Hermione slips free of her hidden place and heads back to check on Louis. The moment she opens the door, the sweet-rotten stench of death greets her, and she knows with a single look at the reeking chamber pot beneath his still, swaddled body hanging from its peg that the child has been vanquished by the flux.

With reverence and a mother's sorrow, she removes the tiny body and tends to its cleaning. She then lays it out in its crib and covers it with a sheet. There is nothing more she can do without risking her discovery, and so leaves the child with a prayer for its soul to find Heaven and Hecate's breast.

As she makes her way back towards her apartments, Hermione feels fury again stew within her heart. William, obviously, had no care for his son's health, and now the innocent, sweet child is gone, a victim of his father's lack of empathy.

The man will pay for this sin, too.

~.~.~.~.~

When Hermione descends the stairs to the Great Hall that noontide, it is to find William and his brothers seated a-table, speaking sparsely, stuffing their mouths. Hermione comes in her nightingale cloak, a creation of her own magical making. The sumptuous fur of her cloak is a mink sable so dark, it seems to reflect eternity and radiates heat. Her chemise and bodice are a plain woollen design, but drawn tight to accentuate her curves.

The Lord of Cranmere pauses in drinking from his tankard to take her in. There is a wolf's heat in his gaze. It is the first such look he has levelled her way in many moons.

Charles, ever the chivalrous one, stands and approaches Hermione. He bows at the waist in greeting and offers her his arm. She gives him a gentle smile and a graceful curtsy before placing her palm upon his extended forearm and allowing him to guide her to the table. As she is not a wife, nor even a woman of title, she is relegated to sitting at the end, away from the head. However, Charles breaks tradition and seats next to her so she may not be lonely. She thanks him for his kindness.

When she glances back down towards the lead of the table, William is glaring at her and his brother. She ignores him, and lowers her head in prayer for breaking the fast. Secretly, she prays not to God, but to her Goddess for strength.

There is a several moment of silence, and then Frederick explodes, slamming his palm down upon the wooden table. "Where is my bride, brother?" he demands, snarling like an animal. "I'll not let you keep her, too. Angelina is my wife!"

A wolf's craftiness slides through William's gaze, and a placating smile appears on his lips. "She is well, brother mine. You may see to her as soon as she awakens. My personal servants are caretaking her this morn. She had a decidedly…long eve."

O' how his tongue is barbed like a snake's, his bite venomous!

Frederick's fists clench and he trembles with rage. It requires his twin, George, to calm him with whispered words and a slight touch to his arm.

There is again a moment of quiet before Hermione decides it is time to make her first move.

"My son," she says, putting the wroth of the angels into her voice. "I want him, William. We are returning to the village."

His blue eyes shift to her, and the gold of the wild flashes in them at her defiance. "Do not be tedious, my lady. We have discussed this. The boy stays. Hugo is my heir apparent, should anything happen to Louis."

"Aye, until Angelina breeds for you," George snarls, indignant for his twin. "Then will the babe suffer the same fate as Louis—forgotten when the next child comes?"

"Or Ronald," Charles adds, his strong sword hand resting lightly, but with an ominous warning upon the table. "Dead in a fortunately timed 'accident'?"

But Louis is already dead. His demise has yet to be announced by the waiting-women above in the nursery. They are, most likely, covering up their incompetence. Either that, or they have not yet discovered the cold body, their neglect knowing no bounds.

There is silence in the hall after Charles' implication. Only the snapping of the fire in the roaring hearth breaks through the stillness.

Late in the eve the night afore, before her experiments in changing her features had begun, Hermione had slunk down to the Great Hall and found the other brothers gathered around the hearth. For a two hour, she'd comforted Frederick with words and plied him with ale as he'd shed tears of frustration and fury. She'd also warned the other brothers of William's treachery and her suspicions, and had explained to them some of her plans. Their own misgivings as to the fate of their youngest brother and the changes in William since his return from Crusade had agreed with her thoughts on the matter, and it had been then that they had come to an accord as to the handling of the Baron Cranmere, and as to her flight from the lord's captivity.

This confrontation was to be the beginning of it.

She divides up the food on her plate, forcibly keeping calm, standing to her inner script. "The babe and I are leaving, m'lord. Follow if you dare."

His lip curls like a dog's. "Step outside these castle walls, and I will have you locked in a much colder place than your rooms."

"Do you threaten your brother's widow?" Percival asks, clearly appalled at the very notion.

"Have a care, brother," William warns his challenger. The grip he maintains on his dagger and silver is white-knuckled, and there is a hiss to his words that betrays a hint of the wild restrained within.

Hermione decides it is time to withdraw. She has declared her intentions and set her trap.

Setting aside her plate, she gives a small bow and issues thanks to the brothers for their many kindnesses towards her, especially Charles. She allows her gaze to linger upon the second eldest Weasley son a mite longer than is proper, and then she leaves the hall without her lord's permission.

She feels his jealous and angry eyes upon her, and knows he will be visiting her chamber tonight after all.

She prays Angelina will hasten from the castle with Frederick while she buys them this chance. That way, there can be no accusations of witchcraft hurled at the woman in the afters.

~.~.~.~.~

"You push too far, wench."

William's irritation with her has been simmering for hours. He is a possessive man, and she knows he did not enjoy her flirtations with Charles at today's luncheon, nor at tonight's dinner. His temper is riled and his need to reassert his dominance is what has led him here to her rooms this night. He is so like the creature that lurks under his skin…the one she sees clearly now that she uses Hecate's touch to enhance her vision of the world.

"You are trouble to me and mine. I should toss you from the walls and be done with you," he threatens in a low growl.

"Have I truly been such a burden to you, my lord? I do beg your mercy."

Gloriously naked and stretched out upon her furs, Hermione parts her knees and allows William a broad sweeping look into her delights. She has oiled her breasts and her plump, pink lips, as he has taught her, and she wears his golden slave chains and attached heavy jewellery to the rings to clamp the flow of her milk from her nipples. Her energia has allowed her to perfect her body as well. There are only smooth curves and golden skin, and high breasts that are heavy with temptation. No marks of child-bearing ruin her perfection. With her magic, she has tamed her curly hair, allowing it to flow in a soft cascade across her shoulder.

She is Venus rising from the pearl, a perfect enchantress of his making.

He reaches for his belt, unleashes it and lets it fall heavily to his feet. "I will ruin you for your impertinence, mate." His clothing falls away, quickly, until he is magnificently nude like young Adam in the garden. "You will learn your place."

She channels the strong women of her history: Mathilda and Boadicea, Cartimandua and Eleanor. She holds her arms out to him and opens her mouth, letting them speak.

"Then come, teach me tonight's lesson."

He is upon her and inside her with a single, hard thrust. His satisfied groan is loud in her ear.

"Did you enjoy your shy virgin?" she boldly asks, enticing him by moving her hips.

"She was adequate to the task," he returns, stroking in and out of her slowly, prolonging her torture. "Her maidenhead was a wonder to breach—valiantly fought over, yet taken with ease."

He is as all men of his rank, arrogant and cock-strutting. Hermione lets her nails sink deep into his shoulders in punishment for his foul boasting. She lets him believe it is done out of jealousy.

He laughs in the face of the pain she gives him.

Their ride is hard, their passion burns, and Hermione revels in her power to seduce her lordly lover into a wild frenzy. When he at last finishes, he falls into the gentle arms of Pasithea, nestling under the furs for warmth.

Hermione waits until the deep sounds of his rest reverberate through the chamber, and then she is on her feet, redressing. She hurries to enact her plan, setting out bowls of Black Lotus she had stolen from his rooms earlier in the day to burn here now, to assure William will be unable to rise a' soon. She then slips into the disguise of a waiting-woman again and steals off to the nursery. There, she retrieves Louis' body, undisturbed from where she'd left it that morn, and hurries away, concealing herself and the child with Hecate's help.

She heads to the kitchen, adopting the face of a cook's wench, finding the fires cold and the help already abed. Laying the child out, she uses precious energia to restoke the hearth's flames, and sets her heart for the gruesome, necessary task ahead.

TO BE CONCLUDED...

Author's Notes:

Revenge is a dish best served cold, yes?

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