His fingers were still entwined with mine. I could feel the heat of his palm, and was struck by the way we were kneeling so close, facing each other, our gazes locked together.
His eyes became smoky with darkness, his need for me coiling and flaring inside each velvety black pupil. ‘I am glad to hear it. For I could not live in this world knowing I had failed to protect you.’
A cold fear gripped my heart at this frank admission.
‘What are you saying?’ I demanded, and my voice rose in anger. ‘Alejandro de Castillo, you are not such a coward as that. I could not love you if I thought even for one moment that you . . . Speak to me, Alejandro! Tell me you did not mean that?’
There was a long silence.
His dark gaze seared into me, despair on his taut features.
‘Forgive me,’ he managed at last. His eyes dropped from mine as though in shame. ‘I did not mean it.’
‘I should think not.’
Suddenly Alejandro jerked my hand to his chest. My hood fell back and my eyes widened on his face, startled. He placed my hand over his heart where I felt the deep thud-thudding of an erratic beat beneath his shirt.
‘But you are my heart, Meg Lytton. I wish I could freeze time so that we would never be apart. To return to Hatfield without you is unthinkable, and it will destroy me to spend even one day away from you.’
‘Think of your duty, then. I have let the Lady Elizabeth down – she cannot have a suspected witch in her household. Do not make me the cause of her losing a further protector as well.’
‘My duty is to you, mi alma,’ he growled. ‘You are my betrothed. We are to be married one day.’
It felt as though there was broken glass in my throat. ‘You forget, I have not given you my final answer yet.’
He stilled. ‘You mean to refuse me?’
I drew an unsteady breath. ‘When we wed, will you ask me to put witchcraft aside?’
‘No.’
‘But you could not marry me otherwise.’ I looked at him tenderly. ‘Admit it, Alejandro. Your Holy Order permits marriage. But not to a suspected witch.’
His jaw was clenched hard. ‘It could be difficult for us if you refused to give up the craft, yes.’
‘You already know that I would refuse to do so.’
‘Meg, I love you. You are the boldest, most exciting woman I have ever met. You are as brave as any man, and although you often act rashly, your instinct is always to attack. You think and act like a soldier, and you are willing to die for what you believe in. I want you for my wife, Meg Lytton, and would never ask you to give up your power. That is a decision that must come from you, not me.’ He paused, meeting my gaze, then continued more slowly. ‘But there would be danger for us both if you practised witchcraft after our marriage, I cannot deny that. Especially if I took you back to Spain to meet my family.’
‘To meet your family?’ I shook my head, feeling as though I were living in a nightmare.
‘Of course.’ Alejandro frowned. ‘My father can be very strict in the way he lives, it is true, and sometimes his view of the world is narrow. But no more so than any other high-ranking Spanish noble. My family are not ogres. If I took you home, they would embrace you as my chosen wife. At least, my mother would.’
I felt his hesitancy. ‘Are you sure?’
‘No,’ he admitted reluctantly. ‘But you will be my wife, and I would defend you to the death.’
My heart hurt. ‘I know you would. And that’s the problem. Because, oddly enough, I would rather not be the cause of your death.’ I sighed, picking my next words carefully. ‘There is no hurry to make this decision, Alejandro. Let us put the thought of marriage away for now, and let our lives unfold as they should. There is no shame in service to a noble cause. I will serve the Lady Elizabeth by staying away from her, and you will serve her by returning to Hatfield. And perhaps that is our destiny.’
My hand was still lying on his chest. He took a shuddering breath, then pressed it deeper against his warmth, his fingers covering mine.
‘Mi querida,’ he said hoarsely, and looked deep into my eyes. ‘If I do what you ask, if I return to the princess at Hatfield, promise me you will not work magick while I am no longer here to protect you.’
‘I will not be alone,’ I said tersely. ‘My brother William is good with a sword. And Richard has power. He will guard my back.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘So long as that is all he does.’
‘Jealous?’ I forced myself to sound amused, desperate to lighten the darkening mood between us. ‘Of Richard?’
‘That boy loves you.’
Heat flared in my cheeks. ‘Alejandro, don’t.’
‘You do not believe me, Meg? Or do you not wish to hear the truth?’ His eyes were very dark. ‘I saw Richard’s face the night you died at Hatfield and he carried your dead body back to the house. He looked like a man with nothing left to live for. I recognized his agony, what it meant. For it was on my face too that night, and stamped on my heart like a brand. I shall never shake it loose.’
‘Whatever you think you saw, you are wrong. I feel nothing for Richard.’
‘De verdad?’ he asked grimly, and I knew he did not believe me.
‘Come on, we should head back to the house before my father misses me and comes looking,’ I murmured.
It was the most painful thing in the world to part from him, but I had little choice. For the more I knew Alejandro, the deeper I fell in love with him, the more I realized we were not suited to each other.
I tried to wriggle my fingers out from under his. ‘Please, Alejandro. You know how little my father likes you. I do not wish to offend him further by being caught alone in your company.’
But to my chagrin he did not move away. Instead, with incredible gentleness, like a butterfly’s wings brushing my skin, he leaned forward and put his lips against mine.
My breath hissed in. Then my fingers raked through his hair, jerking him forward, clutching him to me. He made a rough sound under his breath, and suddenly he was kissing me in earnest, his arm about my waist, dragging me closer.
My heart stuttered violently. Alejandro wanted me as much as I wanted him. He was lost to reason, his eyes closed, his mouth slanting over mine, possessing me.
I was almost lost myself, yielding to the sweetness of his lips against mine. But part of me knew we had to stop. I had just hinted to Alejandro that we could never marry. All this kiss would achieve was confusion.
Confusion and an aching heart.
I had promised my father I would not work magick here at Lytton Park. But I had to distract Alejandro.
I broke off the kiss. ‘Look,’ I whispered.
His eyes opened slowly. The dark smoky pupils of his eyes had blurred with desire. ‘What is it, mi alma?’
‘The snow . . .’
He lifted his head, following the line of my pointing finger. All around us, in a cold and silent pocket, the snow had ceased to fall – in mid-air. Beyond our protected circle, snowflakes were still fluttering and shifting on the slight breeze, falling as nature decreed. But here, the snow had stopped in mid-fall and hung suspended about us, tiny white crystals that seemed to sparkle as they spun gracefully in the air.
Staring at the motionless snowflakes mere inches from his face, he muttered, ‘How is it possible?’
‘You said you wished you could freeze time,’ I reminded him softly. ‘I cannot quite manage that. But here in this space, the snow will not fall until I allow it.’
He turned his head back to me, his eyes questing for mine. I saw astonishment there. ‘Meg, you never cease to amaze me,’ he muttered. He put out an experimental finger: a suspended snowflake melted on his fingertip, and he smiled. ‘A perfect distraction.’
My little ruse had not fooled him for one second. But it had worked. We were no longer kissing. The mood had shifted.
‘Meg!’
Our heads both turned at the shout, which had come from the direction of the big house, its high
brick chimneys hidden behind the trees.
Richard, I thought ruefully.
My concentration snapped and the snow began to fall around us again, icy and ethereal, slowly blurring my vision.
‘We should head back,’ Alejandro said.
I did not argue, and he stood, helping me up. My body had healed since the terrifying fall from Dent’s cursed tower, thanks to Richard’s skill as a healer. But I was still a little stiff at times, and I had a suspicion my arm would never be strong again, despite my attempts to break my fall magickally.
Richard came into view, followed by my brother William, who looked quite wise and dependable, though he was only a few years my elder. Both young men had spades over their shoulders.
Alejandro frowned, staring.
‘Your father is busy with his yearly accounts,’ Richard told me cheerfully, and threw his spade at Alejandro, who caught it one-handed. ‘Time for a little digging, don’t you agree?’
‘Sounds like the perfect time.’ I grinned at my brother, whom I was steadily growing to trust. He might have made some poor decisions in the past, but he seemed intent on making up for them now. ‘You in on this madness too, Will?’
William shrugged. ‘If the ghost of our mother said to dig under the old pigsty at Home Farm, then that’s where we’ll dig. What are we expecting to find there, by the way?’
‘Nothing, probably,’ I admitted. ‘Except perhaps a mouldy old book.’
My brother’s smile was crooked. ‘Lovely.’
FOUR
Grimoire
‘So what do you think might be in there?’ William asked again, his arms folded across his chest. ‘Something dangerous? It’s too heavy just to contain a single book, however magickal.’
Kneeling before the locked casket, my fingers drumming restlessly on the damp wooden lid, I shrugged.
‘I doubt Mother would have sent me to dig up this box if what was inside could hurt us.’ I took a cloth and brushed the last stubborn smudge of dirt from the box. ‘But let’s see, shall we?’
We were downstairs in my father’s house, in the narrow, low-ceilinged room that had once been used by my aunt for weaving, but now had some purpose as a storeroom. It was far enough from my father’s study and the servants’ quarters to allow us some privacy, though we had to keep our voices down, for the window overlooked the old herb garden, its formal beds kept in good order while my aunt was alive, though now a mass of straggling and woody plants which nobody had cut back after the summer’s growth.
I looked around at their intent faces, trying to gauge the mood of our little band. Alejandro, standing above me, his eyes wary. My brother William, loyal to me now, but who had never felt quite comfortable with the knowledge that his mother, aunt and sister were all witches. And leaning forward in his seat by the fire, fists clenched as though in anticipation of some dread revelation, John Dee’s apprentice, Richard.
‘Come on, Meg,’ Alejandro urged me softly. ‘Before your father comes back from his meeting with the steward.’
Tentatively I tried the lid once more. It was locked, of course, the key lost long ago. But I knew a spell that would open it. Muttering ‘Aperi!’ under my breath, I heard the muffled internal click of the lock.
The rusting hinges sat slightly askew, and I had to lay the lid back carefully so it would not break.
Gazing down, I scanned the dusty contents of the box. There was a smaller box with a painted lid, a black-handled knife like my aunt’s athame, some ancient candle stumps, dried herbs, and a large book of loose papers sewn together into a manuscript . . . This last I removed, very gingerly, fearing it might fall apart in my hands. But it seemed strongly bound, and the writing, though stained with damp in places, was still legible.
‘Our mother’s hand?’ I whispered, and passed the damp manuscript carefully to William. ‘This must be her grimoire.’
‘What is a grimoire?’ he asked.
Richard had risen and was looking at the manuscript over William’s shoulder. ‘A grimoire is a book of spells,’ he muttered, ‘intended for magickal ephebes to study.’
‘Magickal whats?’
‘Novices in the art of magick. Those still learning the craft.’ Richard frowned. ‘Though this manuscript bears all the marks of a Book of Shadows, as your mother suggested. This may have been a record of her spells and magickal encounters with spirits. You see there?’
Richard pointed to one of the pages. William stopped flicking through and studied it more closely.
‘There is the date and time of her spell. And these small marginal drawings indicate the plants she used, and their effect.’ Richard nodded, glancing down at me thoughtfully. ‘You could learn much from this book. Perhaps more than my master could teach you, for he is not privy to women’s magick.’
I nodded, glad that Richard was on hand while I explored the contents of this box. For he had been trained by the conjuror John Dee and was the only other one here with any skilled knowledge of magick. Indeed, Richard was everything Alejandro was not. With his dark brooding looks, surly manner and his limp, he was every inch the Devil’s child his father had cruelly called him.
I secretly thought Richard rather handsome, but I had seen the servants crossing themselves when he entered a room, and knew they would be glad to see him gone.
Alejandro was also eyeing Richard with dislike. ‘Are you not privy to women’s magick, then? I would have thought you well suited to womanly spells.’
‘It is not my domain,’ Richard replied coldly, looking Alejandro up and down as though contemptuous of the stylish Spanish-made clothes he was wearing. ‘Any more than magick is yours, priest!’
I sighed, and reached down into the box again. At least they were not constantly at each other’s throats here, as they had been at Hatfield. Though if Alejandro stayed much longer, they would undoubtedly come to blows. I knew the two were only civil to each other when I was in the room, for they usually knew better than to prick my sharp temper by arguing in my hearing.
I drew out the small painted box next.
‘So what is in here?’
I lifted the lid, and my breath stuck in my throat at the beautiful jewellery nestled within: a fine gold necklace ending in a large single pearl encased in gold; some slim gold rings, two bracelets decorated with precious stones, a brooch of seed pearls and what appeared to be a diamond; and a strange, red-gold, double-coiled ring, which I held up to the light.
‘I have never seen its like before,’ I murmured, then slipped it onto my finger.
‘Wait!’ Alejandro grabbed at my hand, removing the ring. He shook his head, his eyes very dark. ‘Do not put it on again, mi querida. You have no idea what may happen.’
Richard stirred. ‘For once I agree with your Spaniard. It could be dangerous to be too free with any of your mother’s possessions, in case there are malignant effects.’ He held out his hand.
Reluctantly, his jaw tight, Alejandro dropped the red-gold ring into Richard’s palm.
The young apprentice examined it carefully, eyes narrowed. ‘I will write and describe this ring to Master Dee. He may know its use.’
‘Don’t be a fool,’ Alejandro growled. ‘You could put the entire household in danger by committing such information to a letter.’
‘I shall write my letter in code, as always.’ Richard was bristling with irritation, as so often when Alejandro was around. He handed me back the red-gold ring before turning to face Alejandro. ‘Very well, let us have this out. You have been spoiling for a fight for days. What is your problem, priest?’
‘You are my problem, apprentice.’
‘Oh, for pity’s sake, be quiet, both of you, before one of the servants comes to see what the noise is.’ I crouched again to the box, replacing the ring where I had found it, then hunting deeper inside. ‘I need help from you, not childish squabbling.’ I paused. ‘Look at this now, it must have been my mother’s athame.’
The sacred athame was the ceremonial knife of the wi
tch. This one was older than Aunt Jane’s, the handle cracked and worn. It must have belonged to another witch before my mother, I realized. Perhaps my grandmother? My father had indicated that she too had been a witch, just as Aunt Jane had told me.
The blade looked wicked, glinting as I turned the knife over in the wintry sunlight. I felt the weight of it in my hand, then laid it aside to be examined later.
‘A knife I can understand. But what is that?’ William asked in surprise, peering into the box.
Poking out from under a roll of coarse black linen was a small metal bowl. I picked it up, frowning. The outside was dented and blackened as though by fire, but the inside was smooth and clear except for a few scratch marks which might have been made by a blade.
‘A cauldron,’ Richard informed him coolly.
‘So small?’
‘Easier to hide or carry. Hard to explain keeping a vast pan in your possession, unless you are travelling. This bowl would do for a simple spell, and rouse little suspicion if found on your person. Many witches use whatever is to hand in their own kitchens, I believe.’
Richard looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded silently, the hairs rising on the back of my neck as I cradled my mother’s cauldron in my arms, smoothing my hand over its dark, battered exterior. How strange and yet somehow comforting it would be to use magickal instruments which had once belonged to her, my long-dead mother.
Would my mother be there at my side while I scratched out the circle with her knife and incanted the sacred words over her bubbling cauldron? There was only one way to find out. I made a solemn vow that I would bring these forgotten objects back to their proper use at the first possible opportunity.
‘The same pot a woman uses for a stew will do as well for a cauldron,’ Richard continued, ‘and her sacred knife may be whatever is kept for boning meat. The spells will work as well, if not better, for the witch being so familiar with her instruments.’ He hesitated. ‘May I look?’ He was gesturing towards my mother’s casket.
‘There’s nothing much left,’ I told him, but moved aside. ‘Some sachets of dried herbs, almost turned to dust. Oh, and this must be a mandragora root!’ I lifted it out, a wizened cloven root, blackened with age, mostly used for dark magick or divination. Then I glanced back down. ‘What’s that?’
Witchrise Page 4