‘Here? Tonight?’
His face was tense, watching me. ‘Si, mi querida.’
I looked about the bare cell-like room of the tower, where a cool wind was now whistling through the windows after the heat of the day. No flowers, no gown, no friends and family, no feast or dancing afterwards: just me and Alejandro speaking our vows, Richard as witness, and a priest to join us together.
Ours had never been an ordinary friendship. It seemed right that we should not marry in an ordinary way either.
‘Yes,’ I said simply.
I woke in the night with a gasp, thinking a spider had run over my leg. But it was only a piece of straw sticking through the blankets Alejandro had laid down for us on the floor when the wine was finished and night had fallen.
His arms came round me at once, warm and protective, our bodies spooned together under his cloak. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, instantly alert to danger, though I knew Alejandro had been asleep like me, both of us too tired to keep our eyes open a moment longer.
‘Nothing. The straw . . .’
‘Not a very comfortable bed for a wedding night, I know,’ he admitted with a chuckle. ‘We’ll leave at first light, which should not be far off now. And we’ll stop for the night on the road tonight. Somewhere with a proper bed. And shutters over the windows. So I can demonstrate to my new bride just how very much in love with her I am.’
‘Oh, I think you demonstrated that quite well without a comfortable bed,’ I replied, and blushed as his hand crept lower, caressing me in a way that made my toes curl up with sheer pleasure.
‘Yes, I was not very controlled. The servants are going to wonder how I broke that table,’ he muttered in my ear.
‘And the stool.’
‘I broke the stool too?’
I nodded, and wriggled against him so that he gave a quiet laugh.
‘Ah, so eager.’
I smiled secretly. ‘I’m just making sure you don’t decide to go off in the morning and become a monk after all.’
‘It is almost morning now. And you will not get rid of me that easily, my love.’ Sleepily he rubbed his cheek against my shoulder. ‘But I still have not thanked you, mi alma.’
‘For what?’
‘For forgiving me. I left you so cruelly at Hatfield. I thought it best to make you hate me.’
‘I very nearly did.’
His voice was husky. ‘I thank God you changed your mind, then. And came so far to find me. Without you, I would still be cursed. And alone.’
My hand crept down between our bodies, and I heard him catch his breath.
‘My love,’ he said deeply, ‘we have a long journey ahead. And a difficult interview with my mother and father before we leave. We need to sleep.’
I turned in his arms, nestling against his bare chest. I could feel his heart beat now, strong and steady, and longed to make it speed up again, to race as it had done last night while we were learning every inch of each other’s bodies.
‘Husbands and wives do not sleep on their wedding night,’ I informed him primly. ‘Not in England anyway.’
‘But we are in Spain, mi querida.’
‘Enlighten me, then. What do chaste Spanish brides and grooms do on their wedding night?’ I asked innocently, rolling my hips against him, and was rewarded when his heart began to beat more swiftly.
‘Oh, I imagine they pray,’ Alejandro muttered against my mouth, then kissed down my throat, leaving fire wherever his lips touched.
‘Even when the bride is a witch?’ I teased him, gasping a little as his mouth slipped lower.
‘Especially then.’
Lying in the warmth of his arms, I worked the oldest magick of all while the stars faded behind his head and the sun began to rise over Spain.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
As always, my grateful thanks to my agent Luigi Bonomi and his wife Alison at LBA, and to everyone at Random House Children’s Books, especially my lovely editor Lauren Buckland, Harriet Venn, Natalie Doherty, Bronwen Bennie, Clare Hall-Craggs and Annie Eaton. You are total stars.
Big hugs to my husband Steve, and of course my kids Kate, Becki, Bethany, Dylan, Morris and Indigo. Keep the cups of tea coming . . .
Thanks also to the veritable army of bloggers, posters and tweeps who nudge me along every day on social media, and without whom I would probably go mad. Or madder. Plus a big thank you to blogger Azahara Arenas for checking my Spanish. The friends I’ve made along this journey from first idea to final publication are all the more special for having helped shape the fictional world of my Tudor Witch Trilogy, chatting with me about my characters and ideas, often long into the night.
And lastly, thanks to Meg and Alejandro, without whom none of this would have been possible. I will miss them terribly now the trilogy is at an end. Adios!
Victoria x
About the Author
While studying Elizabethan playwrights at university, Victoria Lamb always dreamt of writing a series of novels set in Tudor England. Now a busy mother of five, she has finally achieved that ambition after many years of research. Victoria lives in Cornwall.
Also by Victoria Lamb:
Witchstruck
Witchfall
For adults
The Queen’s Secret
His Dark Lady
Her Last Assassin
WITCHRISE
AN RHCP DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 448 12023 9
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