Eternal Love: The Immortal Witch Series Page 10

  “Then I’m glad your neck is intact,” he said softly, and there was an apology in his eyes. One I refused to acknowledge. More softly, he whispered, “Very glad.”

  No. I would not feel this way for him. I would not.

  Yet my knees were weak as I strode out of the church. And my heart, a quivering puddle.

  * * * *

  ‘Twas midway through the afternoon when I drove our wagon over the worn path along the shore. My aunt prattled on about the sermon and the food and town gossip and such, but I paid little attention. I could think only of Duncan, the way he’d touched me. The look in his eyes. His promise that he would not betray me. I told myself I was angry with him for implying that my being a witch could somehow damn his standing with his creator. And yet, I longed for the time when I might see him again. Certainly, my habit of skipping Sunday services was a thing of the past.

  We were nearly home when I saw a woman in the road. Small and fair, with golden hair cut scandalously short, she was down on one knee, bending as if to tie the lace of her shoe. I drew the wagon to a halt before I spotted the pendant dangling from her neck, as she had no doubt intended me to see it. A pentacle, very like the one I wore.

  As I caught my breath, I noticed the dagger that lay on the road beside her. And this was not only like my own, but identical to it.

  The woman was a witch. An immortal High Witch like me. I’d known ‘twas only a matter of time before another one came for me. I’d known I should prepare myself for this day. But I wasn’t prepared. Not at all.

  When the woman’s soft brown eyes met mine, I shivered. Perhaps I would not escape this time. Perhaps this day would be the last one I was to see. I was not willing to die. Not now, when I’d only just found Duncan again.

  I was even less willing, however, to risk my aunt’s safety. So, holding this strange woman’s gaze, I handed the reins to Aunt Eleanor. “Go on to the cabin,” I told her. I’ll be along soon.”

  “But, Raven...my goodness, girl, what’s the matter? You’ve gone as pale as a wraith!”

  “Nothing. I’m fine. I simply wish to speak with...an old acquaintance.”

  And the woman on the road straightened, gathering her dagger and slipping it into the sheath at her hip as she stepped off the track to allow the wagon to pass. She wore breeches, as a man would wear, and white stockings. Her shirt was white, with laces up the front, and she wore no cap upon her short, golden locks.

  “You know this person?” Aunt Eleanor asked in surprise.

  “I will tell you all about it later,” I promised. “Please, Aunt Eleanor, go on without me.”

  My aunt rolled her eyes and shook her head to make sure I knew of her displeasure, but after I stepped down, she did as I asked, snapping the reins. Ebony drew her away from me, away from this strange woman, home to safety.

  The witch took a step forward, and I took an equal step back. And then she smiled, though only very slightly.

  “You’re right to be afraid, Raven St. James. But not of me.”

  “No?” I lifted my skirts to pull the dagger from its place at my thigh. “You’ll understand if I choose caution over trust.” I held the weapon in my hands, though they trembled.

  The woman looked at it, then at me. For a very long time she stared at me, as if taking my measure. There was something else in her eyes. “You don’t know me at all, do you, Raven?”

  Narrowing my eyes on her, I said nothing, and it seemed for a moment a great sadness clouded her face. But she quickly dismissed whatever troubled her, chased it away to some dark corner, and lifted her chin once more. And then she drew her blade from its sheath, and I went rigid with fear.

  But she simply tossed it. It landed at my feet, its blade embedded in the rich black earth. I looked down at it, blinking in surprise. Was this a trick?

  “I am not one of the Dark Ones, Raven,” she said. “I’ve not come for your heart.”

  “Then...then what do you want of me?”

  She shrugged. “Would friendship be too much to ask?”

  Still, I was hesitant.

  Shaking her head, she untied the string that held her breeches, and as I gasped, wide eyed, she tugged them low over her right hip, revealing the crescent mark blazed on the skin there. “Now will you believe I mean you no harm?” she asked, righting the breeches and looking not the least embarrassed.

  “That proves nothing. We all have the crescent mark.”

  “My Lord and Lady, you really are as ignorant as a babe, aren’t you?”

  I said nothing, only waited for her to clarify.

  “The Dark Ones bear the mark on their left flank, Raven. And the moon faces the opposite way. Did you not know even that much?”

  Finally I lowered my dagger. “No,” I said. “I am afraid I did not.”

  “Then I was right to come to you.”

  I met her eyes, so strangely like the eyes of a doe. Innocent and liquid, while somehow dangerous at the same time. “I do not understand.”

  She sighed deeply. “I shall begin at the beginning, then. I am Arianna Sinclair, and I am nearly two hundred years old.” I gasped in surprise, and maybe disbelief, but she only went on. “Several months ago I heard rumors of a lovely witch hanged in a village in England, who’d been seen by some sailors alive and well only days later. And I thought to myself, she must truly be young if she took so few precautions to disguise her identity. So I set about the task of finding you, and here I am.” She picked up her dagger, wiped its blade clean of dirt, and sheathed it at her side.

  I shook my head slowly. “I still do not understand,” I told her, no longer backing away in fear, relaxing my defenses. “Why would you want to find me?”

  “The hanging...it was your first death, wasn’t it, Raven?”

  I nodded.

  “Then you’ve much to learn. You see, young one, if I heard the rumors, if I could so easily track you down, then you must believe others will do the same. I’m here to help you, Raven. To teach you.”

  I stood before her now, my hands at my sides. She offered her hand, in friendship, I thought, and I took it.

  And suddenly found myself twisted backward and held in small arms that had no business being so strong. I felt a sizzling flash of heat tear through my body at her first touch, as if lightning had struck me. And then my own dagger was wrenched from my hand and held to my heart, and I cried out, certain my life was about to end.

  Her face close to my ear, she whispered, “First lesson, Raven. Trust no one.”

  I shuddered at the familiarity of those words, the way they echoed what my mother had written to me. And then she released me and gently pressed my weapon back into my hand as my heart thundered against my ribs. I was breathing heavily from fear, pressing one hand to my breast as if to calm my racing heart.

  “I would say, Raven, that it is a very good thing I was the first to find you.”

  “You weren’t,” I told her. And she crooked a golden brow. “Another one...a man, attacked me before I left England.”

  “And you defeated him?” Her tawny brown eyes were wide now with disbelief.

  Ashamed, I lowered my head. “I escaped him. Barely.”

  “You survived,” she told me. “There’s no shame in living to fight another day, Raven. Come now, and take me to your home. I’ll be needing a place to stay, and I suppose a silly dress so I can pass as one of them.”

  She expected my hospitality? After what she’d just done?

  Smiling, she glanced at my dagger. “You can put that away. It will do you little good, anyway, until I’ve taught you to use it properly.”

  “I believe I’ll hold on to it a bit longer,” I responded.

  And her smile grew wider as she nodded her approval. “Very good, Raven. You’re a fast learner. You always were.”

  “And how would you know that?” I asked, studying her closely.

  She laughed at herself, shrugging. “Oh, don’t mind my cryptic comments. I’m a bit of a psychic, you know. I can
read people. It’s just something I picked up on. Besides, after what you’ve been through, having to flee for your life, start over, you’d almost have to be a fast learner, wouldn’t you?”

  She turned and began walking the road toward my home, glancing now and again at the tracks the wagon wheels had left in the dirt.

  I had little choice but to follow her.

  Chapter 7

  Duncan paced the length of the spartan cabin he’d been given as shelter, turned, and paced back again. The fire snapped and popped loudly, drawing his gaze, and he found himself going still, staring into the flames, remembering.

  The trapdoors dropping. The girl falling, the entire weight of her body hurtling toward the ground and then stopping short at the end of that rope. The way she’d jerked at the bottom. The way her head snapped. And then the way it had fallen upon his shoulder when he cut her down, as if her neck were boneless, or made of water.

  Steel collar. There had been no steel collar.

  The flames leaped and danced, and he thought of the fire he’d seen dancing in Raven’s onyx eyes. Hellfire? he wondered. Or something else?

  If he were truly a man of God, he wouldd tell what he knew. He closed his eyes and lowered his head. Nay. If he spoke out, she’d be arrested. Harmed. Killed, perhaps. He could not believe that to be God’s will, no matter what she was.

  Had she done something to him? Put some spell on him? Willed him to feel these things for her? Was such a thing even possible?

  Heavy steps sounded outside, and he opened the door before old Elias Stanton could announce his presence. The man’s face, whiskered jowls and all, seemed grim. And he said, “We have to talk. There’s...something you need to be made aware of.”

  “Come in,” Duncan said. And he wondered why he was irritated at the interruption. He ought to be glad to be distracted from thinking about her. To think of her was too confusing. Seeing her again—God, his preoccupation with the woman was bordering on obsession now that he’d seen her. ‘Twas all he could do to keep himself from going to her. Right now, tonight.

  “I had not intended to trouble you with this, Reverend Wallace, but upon seeing you in the church with Mistress St. James this morning, I felt it necessary.”

  This concerns Mistress St. James, then?”

  Elias nodded and, clasping his hands behind him, began pacing much as Duncan had been doing only moments ago. “Reverend...I fear the woman is trouble,” he said. “You recall our conversation at the Boar’s Head, do you not?”

  Duncan nodded, and instantly knew what Stanton would say next.

  “The temptress I spoke of is none other than Mistress St. James herself.”

  A cold hand seemed to clutch Duncan’s heart when Elias’s words confirmed what he had already guessed. He lowered his head, hoping to hide the flare of alarm that widened his eyes. Nay. Not again.

  “I fear, my friend, she may be more than just a temptress. Much more.”

  “Say what you mean, Elias. I dislike guessing games.”

  Elias shrugged. “Surely ‘tis obvious. The woman could easily be a practitioner of the black arts...a witch.”

  The hairs on the back of Duncan’s neck bristled, and he found himself instinctively defending her, not even giving his words thought before speaking them. “Dinna be ridiculous, Elias. Why would you think such a thing?”

  Elias turned slowly, his eyes narrow. “She’s unnaturally beautiful, is she not?”

  Holding that gaze, Duncan nodded. “Incredibly beautiful,” he said. “But why do you say ‘tis unnatural?”

  “Because of the way she flaunts it before the men of this congregation. I’ll wager not a one has escaped her wiles. All of them lusting after her, I tell you, no matter how God-fearing they be. And that’s her plan, Duncan. To lure us all into sin, and damn us before she moves on to the next God-loving congregation.”

  Duncan felt his lips pull into a grimace of distaste. The man was a fool. “Aye, no doubt the ruination of mankind is all the lass lives for.”

  He’d meant it as sarcastic and biting. Elias only nodded in enthusiastic agreement, which made Duncan sigh, and try another approach with the thick-skulled man. “You said before that even you have felt this witchly allure she exudes,” he said.

  Lowering his head, Elias said, “Yes. Though it shames me to admit it.”

  “An’ you dinna believe it could simply be the natural feelin’ of attraction any man might feel when he sees a woman of such exceptional beauty?”

  “Never,” Elias denied flatly. “‘Tis witchery, I tell you. I be above desires of the flesh. Or was, ‘til she worked her devilish wiles on me.”

  Nodding, Duncan said, “I’m glad you’ve come to me with this, Elias.” And he was. Glad, because in seeing how ridiculous the things Elias believed of Raven were, he could see more clearly how foolish he himself had been, only moments ago. Spells, indeed. He was drawn to the woman and had been since he’d first set eyes on her. And ‘twas no more due to witchery than was the sunrise or the changing phases of the moon. He desired her. And maybe more than that. Maybe much more than that.

  He searched Elias’s face as he concocted his lies. And it occurred to him that he’d rarely lied in his lifetime, had always made an effort at utter honesty. But for her, for Raven, he lied without pause. Without the slightest hesitation.

  He thought he’d likely be willing to do far more for her. Die for her, should the need arise.

  “I’ve seen many witches durin’ my time in England,” Duncan said. “An’ I can tell you beyond any doubt, Raven St. James isna one.”

  Elias’s face fell, eyes widening. “How can you be so sure?”

  Duncan tilted his head “Have you never seen a witch?”

  “No,” Elias admitted. “But I was sure I had the day she arrived.”

  Searching for a plausible lie, then latching on to the first one he thought of, Duncan said, “The eyes of a witch are two different colors. The left is green, and the right is blue.”

  “The hell you say!”

  “Aye, Elias, ‘tis true. And the forefinger of a witch’s hand is longer than the middle one.”

  Elias’s eyes narrowed, and Duncan was certain he’d pushed it too far. Damn, he’d had the man believing him for a moment.

  “But a skilled witch,” Elias speculated, “could likely disguise those things. Don’t you see, Duncan? Something is not right with the woman! Her crops, her wealth. ‘Tis not by natural means she succeeds at everything she sets her pretty hands to. All without a man to aid her!”

  “Could it be that she is simply wise an’ strong, an’ perhaps a hard worker?” Duncan put forth.

  “I want you to go out there, Duncan. Mistress Foxgrove claims they’ve taken in another strange young woman, and I tell you, she’s likely another of their coven.”

  “Their coven? Really, Elias, I believe your imagination—”

  “Go out there tonight, Duncan. They liked you, the both of them. Pretend to be making a social call. And see what sorts of things they keep about that cabin. See how they behave when they’re alone and not in the public eye.”

  “You want me to spy on them?” Duncan asked, already formulating the firmest refusal he could concoct.

  “Yes. And if you won’t, Duncan, I'll do it myself. However, I’m loath to get that close to her. I fear she’d bewitch me even further. You’re a man of God, Duncan, surely you’d be far safer than I?”

  Closing his eyes slowly, shaking his head, Duncan recalled the distaste he’d seen in Raven’s eyes when this man had touched her. She would not like him snooping around. And suppose Elias should find something?

  He hadn’t admitted it, even to himself, at least not consciously, but Duncan knew there must be something to find. Some truth to Elias’s suspicions. Raven was magic. Everything about her was mystical and potent. She’d cured him of whatever illness he’d been suffering aboard the Sea Witch. He did not doubt these things.

  But she wasn’t evil. No matter what els
e she was, she wasn’t that.

  And even if there were nothing for Elias to find in Raven’s cabin, almost anything could be construed by his suspicious, fearful mind as evidence. At least if Duncan went himself, he could return with a favorable report.

  “All right, Elias,” he said softly. “I shall go. But meanwhile, do one thing for me?”

  “Of course, Reverend.”

  “Tell no one else of your suspicions. Should you be wrong about Mistress St. James, you could easily destroy her good name with such gossip. And you wouldna wish to do that should she be innocent, would you, now?”

  He grunted and huffed, saying clearly that he could not believe her innocent, would not be proved wrong.

  “Please,” Duncan urged. “‘Twould only send the town into panic.”

  Elias’s face softened then. “All right, I shall keep my suspicions to myself. For now. Except for....” He narrowed his eyes on Duncan. “Never mind.”

  “Except for what?” Duncan asked, and he felt a cold foreboding in his heart. “Have you already spoken these suspicions, Elias?”

  Elias averted his eyes. ‘Tis of no concern to you,” he said. “You’ll report back to me upon your return?”

  Shaking his fears away, Duncan faced the man. “Aye, I’ll report to you, but on the morrow, Elias. ‘Tis a long walk, an’ I’ll no doubt prefer sleep to conversation when I return.”

  “Tomorrow then,” Elias said, and touching the brim of his hat, he backed out the door.

  * * * *

  He wasn’t going to her so he could spy on her, as Elias wished him to do. He was going to warn her. Duncan was certain she could have no clue what Elias suspected of her, or she’d have fled this place by now.

  For just a moment, as he followed the road that led along the southern edge of the peninsula, overlooking the sea, he paused to wonder at the irony of what he was doing. Raven St. James had been convicted of witchery and sentenced to death. He’d seen her die with his own eyes, only to find her alive and well, and again suspected of witchcraft. And yet, he, a man of God, was about to warn her.