As one of the witches drew a sword, Gawain took an uneasy step back and silently cursed himself. He should have known that the women had a plan that didn’t involve magic. So much for his bluff. Now it made no difference whether the royal family cared about his life. They could easily kill him with a blade, and anyone who found his body would be none the wiser. Fortunately, however, it seemed that the witches’ desire for protection outweighed their desire to run him through, as the blonde girl sheathed her sword when her apparent leader finished speaking, leaving him to make the choice to help them or not.

Gawain hesitated, weighing his options. If he didn’t offer the women shelter, they had no reason not to kill him on the spot. By refusing to help he would be practically begging to die, but, on the other hand, taking them in would be just as reckless. If Simon found out his farmhand was harboring witches, he would waste no time reporting him to the knights. The old man was just as familiar with the bounty on the magic-users’ heads as Gawain was, and he was much greedier. The farmhand glanced down at the blonde witch’s sword again. At least he had a chance with Simon; these women were poised to kill him the instant he declined their proposition. It seemed like he only had one choice.

“Fine,” Gawain sighed. “You win. I’ll let you stay on the farm.” He looked up to meet the white-haired witch’s gaze once more. “Just try not to do anything stupid—and by stupid, I mean anything magical that will get you [i]and[/i] me caught.” He turned and waved a hand for the women to follow him. “Come on, it’s this way.”