The Atlantic swelled and glittered in the sunlight. The wind changed, and buffeted them from the west.
An eagle circled above.
“I’ll build you a summer house here,” he said, “since you love it so much.”
She shook her head, torn between laughter and irritation. “I’m not a prostitute, sir. How many times must I explain that to you?”
He pulled her to a stop and faced her. He held her cheeks, forcing her to meet his relentless stare. “You will marry me, Lilith.” His frown was a fearsome thing.
“Why do you keep talking this way? I’m nobody. Your da—”
“Is a factor, and I’m a factor’s son. That’s all.” The wind picked up his hair and blew it wildly. “Shall we force his hand? If your belly has his grandson in it, he’ll agree. I know him.”
He was bending toward her again.
“I’m going to marry Daniel,” she reminded him, though softly, to lessen the sting. She realized she cared more now, about his feelings, about hurting him. The day spent together had changed her.
His mouth thinned, betraying his anger. He straightened. “Go ahead then,” he shouted. “Marry him. Give up everything I’m offering you. Bear a child every year who never stops howling from hunger.”
He turned and stalked away.
She wanted to call to him, to stop him, to tell him she didn’t mean to hurt him, and that she was sorry. But she forced herself to stand still and silent, and let him go.
Greyson’s Orders
* * * *
1845
XIII.
An ominous rumble of thunder split the heavens and vibrated through the boat rail under Aodhàn’s hands as Lilith and Faith hurried away from the pier at Castlebay. The rain, which had thankfully held off during their tumultuous voyage back to Barra, unleashed all at once, with stinging ferocity, from low, greenish-black clouds.
The torrent immediately swallowed the two women behind a murky curtain.
When the messenger brought the news of Daniel’s worsening illness to Mingulay, Lilith had insisted on going back. Faith had agreed, and Aodhàn decided to escort them, leaving Sarah, Euan, and Kenneth on Mingulay.
The wind intensified long before they reached Barra. Lilith and Faith had to bend over and hold their bonnets on their heads as they raced off toward their cottage.
Sheets of hail joined the rain as Aodhàn struggled towards Bishop House. Within moments, a layer of ice slicked the ground as far as he could see. He was shivering by the time he reached the manor house, and glad to find a fire in the drawing room.
Greyson came forward quickly and helped Aodhàn remove his sodden coat. “I was afraid you would come back as soon as you received my message,” he said. “I’m relieved you made it safely, my lord. Are storms like this routine here?”
“Damned if I know,” Aodhàn said roughly. “I’m freezing.”
“Come stand by the fire. I’ll ring for tea.”
The one local woman left to cook and care for the house while the family was gone soon brought a tray. Greyson poured, and Aodhàn began to feel warmer. When they were alone, he said, “Well? Tell me. What’s happened? Did you do as I asked?”
“Yes, my lord.” Greyson sighed deeply and studied the fire. A lump of coal dropped out through the grate. He swept it up and slid it back in. “He died a few hours ago.”
“He’s dead? The messenger said he was ill.”
“Yes, when I sent notice, he was alive. Barely.”
Aodhàn paused as a fresh shiver, not caused by the weather, ran through him.
Daniel was dead.
Menoetius. The king of Idómeneus’s beloved bastard son. A handsome boy, until the lioness got hold of him.
Another uncontrollable chill ran over Aodhàn. He turned quickly, sure someone had come in and was watching them, but there was no one. No one but Greyson, who remained by the fireplace, his shoulders slumped. Yet the feeling persisted.
“How did you do it?”
“Arsenic,” Greyson said, so low Aodhàn almost didn’t hear him. “They’ll all think it cholera— I hope.”
“How? How did you— what did you— did he drink it? Eat it?”
“Cora, the girl who brought your tea just now? She’s been feeding Daniel as well as me, since he came every day to care for the horses. I mixed it in his porridge.”
Greyson studied him, his expression morose, almost accusing.
There had been no other way. Lilith’s loyalty would never allow her to succumb to Aodhàn’s advances, no matter how much she wanted to. Once upon a time, Queen Aridela of Crete had carried more loyalty in a single strand of hair than any man he’d known. She might look different and sound different now, but Aridela lived on inside Lilith, influencing her in ways she couldn’t imagine.
Only he suffered the raw, unfiltered memories of every life— Alexiare as well, though the old man had to have his memories forced back in. Now, as Aodhàn sat in the drawing room hearing the news of Daniel’s death, he realized he was free to pursue and win the only woman he could ever want. Yet he shivered a third time.
He looked at Greyson, poor old Alexiare, seeing the fear and regret in the man’s eyes. As the two men stared at each other, Aodhàn thought he heard an echoing, shrill cry, like the sound a hunting eagle made.
The sound promised a reckoning, and brought back, vividly, the things that had been done to him in other lives.
At that moment, he would have given anything to go back, to reverse his demand, to find another way.
But it was too late.
* * * *
Someone pounded on the front door. Cora, drying her hands on a towel, ran from the kitchen to open it. The commotion brought Aodhàn and Greyson out of the parlor.
It was Faith, and one of the local men. Both were wet through. Faith looked miserable, blue with cold.
“Come in,” Aodhàn said, and closed the door behind them, shutting out the wind and rain.
“Is she here?” Faith asked, not bothering with greetings. Water ran over her face. Even her voice trembled.
“She? Who?” Aodhàn guided them both into the warmer parlor.
“The girl. Lilith,” the local man said.
“No.” Aodhàn’s earlier unease intensified into fear. “Isn’t she with you?”
Faith shook her head. “Peter Bateson was waiting for us at the cottage. Daniel is dead. Lilith— when Lilith saw him, she… she—”
The man she’d come with put his arm around her shoulders, but she shrugged him off.
“She ran out,” he said. “Screamed and ran out. My sons and I have been searching, and a few others, but she’s just… gone. We thought she might have come here.”
Aodhàn felt dizzy, faint, as though all the blood had run out of his head. Lilith, out, alone, in this? Greyson put a steadying hand on his arm and drew him away.
“My lord,” he whispered, next to Aodhàn’s ear, “I’ve been watching her a long time. I know the places she goes.”
Aodhàn followed him into the corridor. As he shrugged into a dry coat, Greyson shared what he knew.
Faith and the others were still talking as Aodhàn slipped out through the kitchen.
* * * *
She stood as still as a standing stone. But for the flash of lightning, Aodhàn never would have seen her at all. Shouting, “Lilith!” he ran through the downpour to her side. Another lightning bolt illuminated her face. Her lips were dark, her eyes no more than black shadows.
He grabbed her, since she never even glanced at him. He shook her, but she went on staring into the darkness, toward the sea. He heard the waves crashing brutally.
She hadn’t thrown herself in.
For the first time, he realized that’s what he’d expected. He’d thought that would be his punishment. But she was here, alive. He nearly sobbed in relief.
He threw his arms around her, yanked her against him. He managed to open up his coat and wrap it around her as far as it would go. “Lilith,” he wh
ispered.
She didn’t respond. Her silence and stillness reminded him of a mortally wounded animal.
“We must get you warm.” He pulled her away from the bluff, back towards Bishop House.
* * * *
The windows were illuminated and the front door wide open. Aodhàn saw men and women crowded in the foyer. One look and Aodhàn knew he didn’t want to take her in there, no matter how troubled her mother was, or anyone else for that matter. He couldn’t subject her to that. He pressed her icy cold face against his shoulder.
Bypassing the house, he guided her around to the stables. It would be dry in there, at least.
He lit a lantern and led her to an empty stall. There he stripped off her coat, tossing it into the corner, then her sodden dress and corset. He rubbed her arms, her shoulders. He knelt and rubbed her legs.
Through it all, she simply stared, frowning. The anguish in her expression tore at him. He’d done this; by doing it, had he lost any chance of having her, ever, in this life? What if she never recovered?
He rose. “Lilith? Lilith?” He held her cheeks in his hands and turned her face up. She was still so horribly cold.
Suddenly, she blinked. Her eyes narrowed. Widened. She saw him.
“Aodhàn,” she whispered. She looked to the right, then to the left. “The stables.”
He realized then what a terrible mistake he’d made, bringing her here, to Daniel’s domain.
She put her hand to her throat. Her gaze rose to his again. Her eyes were wide and black. Catching her lower lip under her teeth, she lifted her hand and touched his mouth. A low, sobbing moan slipped from her.
Then she kissed him. She pressed against him, hard, seizing the back of his head then grabbing fistfuls of his hair with both hands, as though afraid he would shy away.
But he would never do that. Not even when he should.
XIV.
She came up through a thousand fathoms of water, to the warm scent and rustle of straw, and horses, nickering.
Where was she?
With a sigh, she sat up, rubbing her eyes.
The storm had blown itself out, or away. Sunlight crept in through cracks in the walls, making dust particles glitter like flurries of miniature stars. She was lying on straw, a thick, soft pile of it.
Daniel’s stables.
Daniel.
She’d torn the blanket off him. She’d called Peter Bateson a wicked liar.
But Daniel didn’t respond to her entreaties. He didn’t take her hand. He didn’t do anything but lie there, colorless. His eyes remained closed. He refused to come back to her, even when she begged.
“Daniel,” she whispered. Saying it sucked the air clear out of her lungs. She pressed her face onto her knees. “My Daniel.”
Aodhàn half woke and pulled her in, caressing her shoulder.
She closed her eyes and imagined it was Daniel’s hand. It felt like putting something cold and numbing on a hot, throbbing tooth.
“Lilith,” Aodhàn said softly.
She kept her eyes closed. “Thank you,” she said. “I— I’m sorry.”
“You’re apologizing?”
“I wanted Daniel.”
He paused, then said, “I know.” He stroked back her hair. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
She was sore. But she shook her head and put her face against his neck. He was warm, his pulse steady, comforting. They lay in a rustling cocoon, where she could imagine nothing awful had happened. That it had been a dream.
Wait— there had been a dream. She’d dreamed of Daniel. Of his voice, anyway.
I will wait for you, he’d said.
Before she could examine the dream, perhaps expand on it, there was a crash. The big stable door bounced off the wall, letting in a flood of bright light.
Both of them jerked. Aodhàn put himself between Lilith and the two men staring at them.
“S-sir?” one said. “Is that— is that the missing girl? Lilith Kelso?”
Aodhàn jumped to his feet. “Get out of here!” he shouted.
They did, quickly.
Lilith found her corset and dress, but both were still as wet as when Aodhàn had removed them.
“Wait here,” he said, pulling on his wet trousers. “I’ll fetch you something dry. You’re moving into Bishop House, Lilith. Today.”
Acceptance
* * * *
August, 1845
XV.
For the next month, the residents of Barra suffered blind terror at every rising mist. Rumor claimed a sickly fog had enveloped Faith’s cottage the day before Daniel fell ill, and when no one else succumbed, the church reverberated with prayers of thanks.
While many praised Aodhàn Mackinnon for bringing Faith and Lilith into Bishop House to protect them from the miasma, a simultaneous undercurrent of something else traveled with greater speed across the island.
Peter and Gavin caught them together— naked.
Do you think Aodhàn Mackinnon killed Daniel?
It was miasma, wasn’t it?
Maybe. Awfully nice timing, though. The same day the factor returned from a month-long holiday… with her.
And what about her? Lying with another man the same day Daniel died… and they were betrothed!
She was always odd. Never cared about folk at all.
I knew she would turn out a whore. It was there in those eyes that look right through a body. I saw it. There’s no Christian modesty in that chit. Nor a soul, I’d wager.
The talk veered then into how Lilith never attended church, and how God caused Daniel to die as a punishment, since he never went either.
But she and Faith had the powerful protection of the son of the factor, so the gossip was quiet, and carefully kept from the ears of those who worked in the big house.
* * * *
A baby boy was born to one of the village women. Aodhàn ordered a basket of food and other appropriate gifts sent to the family.
Could it be Menoetius, returning? He would wonder every time a child was born for the rest of his life, no doubt. As the keeper of all the memories, he’d come to understand that Goddess Athene’s chosen threesome wasn’t always reborn immediately. For instance, when his memories returned here, the first time he saw Lilith, he realized that centuries had passed since his previous life, and the world was very different from what he remembered.
Sometimes when his memories returned, he would marvel at the way humans clung to their old ways and resisted change. Other times he hardly recognized anything, so great were the changes.
Menoetius could be reborn within hours of his previous death… or it might be hundreds of years before he was brought back. Only the bitch goddess knew for certain.
He studied the infant as it was baptized, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He would not be able to tell anything anyway, not until it grew old enough for the tingling and aura to develop.
As time passed and Daniel’s death appeared to be forgotten in favor of more immediate concerns, like the odd reduction in the usually massive schools of herring so many Barra fishermen relied upon, he breathed more easily, and allowed himself to hope.
Lilith was resisting him. She withdrew after their night of passion, and refused to lie with him again. He knew why she’d done it; it wasn’t for love or even attraction that she’d given him her body. Her grief had been too agonizing to bear. She’d used him as a lifeline, a means to simply survive the next few moments. The only victory he could award himself was that he’d managed to distract her for hours.
He’d known her motive and he hadn’t challenged it, but now, after four months, he felt as though a thousand pins were piercing him every instant of the day and night. He wanted her, needed her. He had to do something, and soon. He’d taken drastic measures to open the way— now he wanted things to happen quickly. He was tired of waiting, and, deep inside, he constantly feared punishment.
Waking one morning in late August, his need so intense he wasn’t certain he could bear it
another day, he went down to the kitchen in search of her.
Faith was kneading bread dough. “She’s out on the bluffs. She goes out every morning and stands by the water. I think if I didn’t allow it, she’d fade away and vanish. She talks to Daniel out there.” She sent him a dark, accusing glance. “You need to do something. You’re losing her. I’m losing her. You told me you intend to make her your wife. Well, there’s no Daniel in your way now. What are you waiting for?”
“What d’you want me to do? I can’t force her to marry me.”
“If you got her pregnant, she would.”
“Are you telling me to rape her?”
“If that’s what it takes. I want to see her get on with life. This mourning is beyond what’s normal.”
Faith was a cold woman, no doubt about it. Yet she would term it mere practicality. There was worry under her blunt words.
He went off to the hills, not knowing what he would do.
XVI.
Lilith lay on her back, surrounded by dozens of different wildflowers. Eyes closed against the sunlight, she listened to the wash of the tide and remembered the first time she ever saw Daniel.
She’d been playing with the kit. Something had sent her body tingling, like she’d swallowed live sparks from a fire. She’d looked up, and had seen the silhouettes of Daniel and her mother coming towards her from the direction of the sea. The colors around him had been intense in those first moments, with the sunlight behind him. She remembered blinking, thinking there was something wrong with her eyes, but no. His figure had been outlined in a dark blue halo.
She’d believed him a creature from the sea. Her mam must have caught him in a net, had brought him home to be her playmate.
At first he’d been hurt, like the kit. But she’d healed him. Gradually, his eyes had lost that sea-look. He’d become a real human boy.
The Moon Casts a Spell Page 6