Witchrise

by Victoria Lamb

  I went hot and cold at the same time, and my belly clenched like a fist within me.

  ‘Oh,’ I said faintly, and looked down at myself. My apron was soiled with dust, my hair too no doubt, for my cap was askew, and I was wearing my worst workaday gown, with rips at the hem and a torn sleeve.

  Richard came limping round from the stables, his gaze also fixed on the approaching horseman.

  ‘Oh, the Spaniard again.’ He turned to study me, noting my flushed cheeks. ‘Come back to claim your hand in marriage, has he? Better make yourself look presentable then, or he might ride on.’

  I met his eyes, and a shiver ran down my back at the bitter intensity of that look. ‘Don’t,’ I muttered, then dragged off my apron and thrust it into the servant’s hand. I tidied my dusty cap and hair, but had no time to do much else but pinch my cheeks and hope I did not look like a complete scarecrow.

  Alejandro spurred on his mount, seeing me ahead, and swung out of the saddle while the horse was still moving.

  I stood watching as he strode towards me. I was suddenly unable to move, light-headed, my breathing shallow. I had forgotten how his presence alone was enough to make my heart beat faster. What did that mean, if not that I was in love with him?

  He looked tired, yet his gaze was as dark and intense as ever, meeting mine with a shock that left me speechless.

  ‘Meg,’ he said deeply, and dropped to both knees before me, raising my hand to his lips as though I was a princess. ‘Meg, mi alma, how I have missed you.’ He rested his forehead against the back of my hand, muttered something in Spanish that sounded like a brief prayer, then stood and bowed more formally. ‘I bear an urgent letter from la princesa and am instructed to return to Hatfield with you at once.’

  Richard, standing just behind me, expressed my own feelings of shock when he swore lengthily under his breath. ‘What did you say, priest?’

  Shooting him a look of acute dislike, Alejandro did not repeat his message but turned instead towards my father, who had appeared in the doorway with William, both of them looking perplexed.

  ‘Sir,’ Alejandro greeted my father, bowing rather stiffly, feathered cap in hand.

  ‘Señor de Castillo?’ My father was his usual unfriendly self, frowning at our visitor from within the shade of the doorway. Even the ancient gargoyle peering over the stone lintel above his head looked more welcoming with its crude squat face and protruding tongue. ‘What brings you back to Lytton Park?’

  ‘Forgive my intrusion, sir. I have returned on the orders of the Lady Elizabeth.’ He unfastened his leather pouch, drew out a crumpled-looking scroll of paper and handed it to me. ‘Read it.’

  He stepped back into sunlight, seemed to stumble over a deep rut in the path, and almost fell.

  ‘Alejandro,’ I cried, and reached for him, but he held me off with a stern hand.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he said shortly, and straightened again, though with an effort. His jaw was clenched, the skin of his face stretched taut, a hollow look in his eyes.

  ‘Are you unwell?’

  ‘Please.’ Alejandro drew a sharp breath, nodding to the letter in my hand. ‘Meg, read what la princesa has written. The sooner you read it, the sooner we can start back to Hatfield.’

  ‘Will you not at least come inside and take a cup of wine? You look weary from the long ride . . .’

  ‘Read it!’ he insisted, and I did not dare argue any longer, for though his face was grey, his eyes burned into me so fiercely I could only wonder what might be in the letter.

  I broke the princess’s seal, unrolled the paper and read her brief message:

  M, you will return to me at once in the company of Señor de Castillo and the boy Richard, if he is still with you. Do not refuse to come or it will prove my undoing. I am in the gravest state imaginable and only you can help me. E.

  I stared at Alejandro, my head reeling. ‘Her ladyship bids me come at once. That if I do not . . .’ After the curt and abrupt manner of my dismissal from Hatfield, I was shocked by this strange summons and could not quite believe it. ‘But what is the matter? Is the princess sick?’

  ‘I cannot tell you.’

  Richard stepped between us, his lip twisted in a snarl. ‘Cannot, or will not?’

  Rounding on him, Alejandro took a swift pace towards Richard, half drawing his sword from its sheath. ‘Speak to me again, conjuror’s boy, and it will be the last word you ever say.’

  ‘Alejandro, no! Richard is our ally.’

  At my protest, Alejandro hesitated, his face still hard, then seemed to recollect himself. He slammed the sword back into its scabbard, drew an arm across his forehead as though to wipe away sweat, then stumbled again as he stepped backwards, only righting himself with difficulty.

  ‘Forgive me, sir,’ he muttered, turning to address my father. ‘I did not come here to start a brawl. I shall walk my horse round to the stables and await your daughter there. Though if you could lend me a fresh horse for the return journey, I would be grateful. This poor beast is done and must rest.’

  ‘It is you who must rest,’ I told him sharply. ‘When did you leave Hatfield?’

  ‘I am not weary, I—’ But his face became suddenly pale and he crumpled, leaving the rest unsaid. I caught him as he fell, and with Richard’s help lowered him to the ground. He lay like one dead, his eyelids closed, lips slightly parted, his body still as stone.

  ‘Alejandro.’ I spoke urgently into his ear, kneeling at his side. ‘What is it? Are you hurt?’

  ‘Your priest is in a swoon and cannot hear you,’ Richard said, frowning down at Alejandro. Abruptly he tugged the folds of the cloak aside, revealing a dark stain on the left side of Alejandro’s black doublet. With swift practised fingers, he unfastened the doublet and lifted that too. Beneath it, Alejandro’s shirt was sticky with blood. ‘And this is why.’

  ‘Alejandro!’ I exclaimed in horror, and clapped a shaking hand to my mouth.

  For a moment I was filled with unthinking panic, watching as Richard began to uncover Alejandro’s wound. Then I saw one of the servant girls peering out past my father to see the handsome Spaniard returned, and my good sense came back to me.

  ‘Quick now, Susan,’ I called out to the girl, and was astonished that my voice did not quake the way my insides were doing. ‘Hurry away and fetch warm water and clean strips of cloth. Tear up one of the old linen sheets if you must. And have a bed prepared for Señor de Castillo.’

  Her eyes widening, the serving girl stared first at me, then at Alejandro, before scurrying away on her errand.

  With exquisite care, Richard lifted the shirt away from the bloodied skin, and we both stared down at the terrible gash in his side.

  Richard considered it coolly. ‘A sword thrust, I’d say. Or a long knife blade. Another few inches higher and it would have pierced a lung. I saw that happen once in a street fight. A bad death, to drown in your own blood.’ His mouth tightened. ‘Your priest is lucky to be alive.’

  Alejandro did not stir, still lying unconscious on the cold earth. I wondered he had been able to sit a horse with such a wound, let alone ride such a long distance. His wound did not look freshly got, even to my inexperienced eyes. So he had been attacked soon after leaving Hatfield.

  But who could have stabbed him, and why?

  There was so much blood . . .

  ‘We must get him inside,’ I said curtly.

  ‘William, help me carry him,’ Richard said, glancing up at my brother.

  Together they eased him up off the ground and bore him past my father into the shadowy house.

  ‘Careful, go slowly now.’ Richard turned his head, waiting for me. ‘Up the stairs?’

  I thought quickly. ‘Yes, take him upstairs. He can lie in my bedchamber.’

  My father, watching this, made some noise of protest as Alejandro was carried upstairs but I ignored him.

  ‘You and William are already sharing, so there’s no space in your chamber. I would never expect my father to share wi
th a wounded man, and Alejandro cannot sleep on the floor like one of the servants.’ I ran ahead of them up the stairs and threw open the door to my chamber. ‘This is the best place for him. Lay him on my bed and I will tend his wound.’

  William shook his head. ‘Meg, it’s not right to take him into your bedchamber.’

  I rounded on my brother. ‘Peace, I pray you,’ I hissed as Alejandro stirred at the sound of voices. ‘Do as I bid you, and stop arguing.’

  Once they had laid Alejandro on my bed, I made him as comfortable as I could, removing his boots with William’s help, then placed a bolster beneath his neck to cradle his head. I stood over him while Richard took a knife and slit his shirt open, exposing the gaping wound in his side, and tried not to swoon myself at the sight.

  ‘God’s blood. I do not wonder at his fainting now. He must have been in agony,’ I whispered.

  Richard nodded, thrusting his knife back into his belt. ‘Unless he is made of stone, yes. It is a serious wound.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘And it looks like we are not the first here. Someone has attempted to cauterize this with some kind of hot metal. Very clumsily too.’

  A tentative knocking at the chamber door made me turn, startled. ‘Mistress Lytton?’ Susan stood in the doorway with a copper bowl of steaming water in her hands, coarse linen strips draped over her arm.

  ‘Thank you.’ I dredged up a smile for her. ‘Put them on the table, then go down to the stables and make sure the señor’s horse is well cared for.’

  When we were alone again, I turned to William and Richard. ‘Forgive me, but I need to do this alone.’

  Richard nodded, seeming to understand, and went straight to the door. William, however, hesitated, glancing dubiously at the unconscious man on the bed.

  ‘But if he should awake while you are tending his wound . . .’

  ‘I will call you if I need you to restrain him,’ I told my brother firmly, and pushed him out of the room after Richard. ‘Why do you not go and pack your bags, unless you would rather stay here with our father? The princess has summoned me back to Hatfield House as quickly as may be, so I will be leaving as soon as Alejandro recovers enough to ride and I suspect you may wish to accompany us.’ I could not help a little smile as I thought how eager William would surely be to see his Alice once more.

  ‘If he recovers,’ Richard murmured, but slipped hurriedly away, no doubt reading the threat in my eyes.

  I closed the door and leaned my forehead against the wood, half afraid to find myself alone with Alejandro, wounded and unconscious.

  Then I remembered how he had prayed over my dead body at Hatfield, not knowing my death was a magickal one and therefore reversible. Alejandro had been brave beyond imagining that night, putting aside his pain to light the candles and perform the last rites for the dead. And though his wound looked grave, he was not yet dead. There were still things to be done for him, and quickly. Magick to be worked that might save his life. I was scared, yes, but his courage must inspire mine.

  I turned to find him looking at me. He must have woken from his swoon when they laid him on the bed.

  ‘Alejandro,’ I choked.

  He managed a faint smile, struggling to sit up.

  ‘No, don’t move.’ Hurrying, I knelt beside him, rubbing my cheek against his hand. His skin was so cold it terrified me. ‘You are badly hurt.’

  ‘It looks worse than it feels,’ he whispered.

  ‘Oh, Alejandro, you fool.’ I stared at him accusingly. ‘Why did you not admit at once that you were wounded?’

  ‘A mere scratch . . .’

  ‘A scratch that could kill you. What happened? No, do not tell me yet.’ I stood to fetch the steaming copper bowl, tossing a handful of linen strips onto the bed beside him. ‘Let me tend the wound first. You will need your strength for that.’

  I wetted a cloth and pressed it gently against his wound, heard Alejandro suck in his breath, and looked up to see his jaw clenched, his eyes dark with pain.

  ‘Forgive me,’ I muttered. ‘I know it will be painful, but the wound must be cleaned.’ Nonetheless I worked more carefully, dabbing at the ragged edges of his wound. ‘Who did this to you, Alejandro?’

  ‘Two men. Hooded. I did not recognize them. They must have followed me from Hatfield.’

  His breath hissed again as I reapplied the cloth, then he continued his tale more slowly.

  ‘We fought on horseback, then on foot. It was an ugly fight. They had daggers and cudgels; I had only my sword to keep them at arms’ length. I sorely wounded the villain who gave me this’ – he indicated the wound, his mouth twisting with satisfaction – ‘then the other man dragged him up onto his saddle and both rode away, leaving me for dead.’ He saw my look and managed a laugh. ‘Not so surprising. I was face-down in the dirt, there was blood everywhere . . . They must have thought my wound mortal.’

  ‘I cannot believe you continued into Oxfordshire, wounded so badly.’

  ‘An old shepherd came across me a short while later. Like the Good Samaritan that he was, the old man helped me to his hut, fed me ale, and pressed hot iron against the wound.’ He managed a grin at my expression. ‘I know, it hurt worse than taking another blade in my side. But it stopped the bleeding long enough to let me ride on.’

  ‘Well, you are bleeding again now. And if I do not heal you, you may die from it.’

  ‘Heal me?’ His dark eyes narrowed on mine. ‘With magick, you mean?’

  ‘Of course. There is a spell for staunching blood.’ I wrung out the bloodied cloth, trying not to look at the water turning slowly scarlet in the bowl. His wound had reopened as they carried him upstairs, and was now bleeding profusely. ‘My aunt taught me. I have never used it for a wound as deep as this, but if I change the wording a little—’

  ‘No magick.’

  ‘Alejandro, it must be done.’

  He shook his head, a stubborn look on his face. ‘This is not your choice, but mine. I got this wound through my own carelessness. If it is the Lord’s will that I should be healed, then so be it. But I need no help from the dark arts.’

  ‘Healing charms are not the dark arts,’ I pointed out as patiently as I could, for he was serious.

  ‘To be healed by a charm is not natural.’

  ‘And bleeding to death is?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ There was a grim humour in his voice. ‘If God wishes for my death, then so be it.’

  ‘Then I am to do nothing?’ I demanded, helpless and frustrated. ‘You rode here on my account, Alejandro. Now you tell me I must sit idly by and watch you bleed out your heart’s blood when I could save you with a word.’

  ‘You are afraid, Meg, and I do not hold that a fault,’ he said, watching me. ‘I was afraid too, that time at Hatfield when I thought you were dead. I would have done anything to see you restored to life. And perhaps God heard my prayer that night rather than it being my talisman that saved you. Have you considered that?’

  ‘No,’ I replied flatly.

  He sighed. ‘You must see that I cannot allow you to change the will of God with magick. You might well succeed; I do not say you would fail. But no good would come of my survival, not at such a perilous cost to both of us.’

  ‘Then what can I do?’

  ‘Promise me you will not interfere,’ Alejandro said, leaning back against his pillow as though exhausted, a frown in his eyes. ‘That you will work no magick to heal me.’

  ‘Alejandro, I cannot promise that.’

  ‘Then you had better leave,’ he muttered, and watched me go reluctantly to the door. I could see pain in his eyes, and knew it was not merely physical. ‘I wish you had more faith in me, Meg.’

  Hurt and confused by this pointless refusal to be healed, I left the bedchamber without further argument. I wish you had more faith in me, I said silently to the closed door, then ran down the stairs.

  SEVEN

  Work No Magick

  To my relief there was no one in the shadowy hall below, its corners chill with gath
ering dusk. My hands trembling, I did not stop to think but fumbled for a new candle and kindled it from the low-burning fire in my father’s empty study. Then I knelt by the hearth, called on the four directions, and began the spell without even bothering to cast a circle. I needed certain herbs, but the spell would work as well with the few pinches of herb-dust I kept in my belt pouch.

  Seeing Alejandro so badly hurt had made me realize how much I loved him. I had still been right to send him away, for we could never be happy together while he hoped I would give up magick after our marriage. But the thought of his death, the imminent possibility of that horror, had left me destroyed.

  I could not stand by without acting and allow him to die. His decision was akin to self-slaughter.

  Had sending him away given Alejandro this death-wish?

  Sprinkling the dust over the candle flame, I closed my eyes and whispered the first words: ‘Bind the bones, slow the blood, knit the skin, heal Alejandro.’

  I thought of how the enemy’s steel must have plunged inside him, splitting his skin, cutting him deep, then envisaged the blade pulling out again, the bloodied edges of his skin knitting together in its wake, healed and whole again. I spoke the charm thrice through, only this time my voice faltered as I came to the place where his name should fall in the spell.

  Promise me you will not interfere. That you will work no magick to heal me.

  I buried my face in my hands.

  Suddenly I heard a familiar sound outside the door. Pinching out the candle flame between finger and thumb, I stood and brushed the hearth dust from my gown. Then I went to the door and opened it.

  ‘Richard?’

  Dee’s apprentice was standing at the foot of the stairs. He turned and stiffened, no doubt reading the horror and fear in my face. He came towards me at once, taking my hands, rubbing my cold skin.

  ‘What is it?’ His eyes met mine. ‘Has he worsened?’

  ‘Alejandro will not let me heal him,’ I whispered. ‘He says I must not use magick, but let God heal him.’

  His mouth tightened. ‘Your Spaniard may have glanced at magick for your sake, but he still intends to be a priest. What else did you expect?’