For a long time Circe stayed in the cottage, staring straight ahead, trying to sort out everything that had happened in the past few days. She stumbled out into the morning sun and took a deep breath of fresh air. It was filled with the scent of wildflowers. Closing her eyes, she listened to the birdsong, and gradually, the peace of the Great Marsh took over. It was a beautiful late spring day, and she was back in the place she loved. Slowly, she walked around the clearing, appreciating it all again, tree by tree, bush by bush. Each one was familiar to her. Here is the old oak where the Derwydds hung food for her aunt, the raspberry bush that produced so many tarts and the olive green leaves of the beautiful Mayflower. The poplars were still thick with sparrows and warblers, and she could see the silent, blue waters of the marsh and the mudflats beyond. She knew cranes would be strutting there and gulls flying overhead.
“We should probably eat and then make some decisions,” she heard Dante say. He was leaning against the house and had been watching her.
Circe nodded.
They caught fish, fried them for breakfast and had bread leftover from their packs. The chores kept them busy but there was a stiff silence between them. When they finished eating, Dante asked, “Shall we discuss what to do?”
Circe sighed and rubbed her head. “I’m sorry, Dante, that I have been so difficult. There has been so much to absorb. It also plagues me that I am so close to Bullfrog and have yet to see him. After Ruith’s death−”
“Ruith’s death?” Dante’s brow furrowed.
Circe stared at him. “Dante…I…so much has happened. There was no time to--” she stammered. “She died in childbirth.”
His jaw dropped, and he slumped back in his chair while Circe wrung her hands. At last, he murmured, “She was my first friend here. Did she suffer?”
“No.”
“A healthy child?”
“Yes, a boy.”
“We must go and see Bullfrog.”
After cleaning up breakfast, Circe put on her freshly laundered gown and in her haste did not pin her hair up.
“I’d like to take this at a leisurely pace today,” Dante said as he picked up the oars. “I could use a rest.”
“I agree,” Circe answered, running her hand through the water. “The serenity of the marsh will be a balm for us.”
They glided along peacefully, the sun warming their skin. Mallards bobbed in the water, diving and surfacing as plovers pecked along the flats. Every so often, Dante would stop rowing and watch the eagles soaring overhead.
Before they arrived at Bullfrog’s landing, Circe asked him to row through the cranberry bogs to shore. “I want to take the path instead. The day is so grand that I would like to enjoy it a moment longer.”
He tied the skiff and followed her down the trail into the woods. They stepped out, at last, into a meadow filled with scarlet wildflowers.
“Stop,” Dante said.
Circe turned to look at him.
“They are the color of your hair,” he said and gestured to the blossoms. Looking back at her, he murmured, “How very fine you are, Circe Swinburne.”
He pulled her close before she could reply. “Can’t you see? We never found the Grand Portal that day last summer. That flood of rapture we felt was us, not some magical place. It came from us. We were in love. We are in love,” and he kissed her.
The sensation Circe had experienced that summer day by the lake swept over her once more. It enveloped them both, surging and building. Dante scooped her up and laid her down on the grass. He clutched her so tightly she could barely breathe. He kissed her lips, forehead, cheeks, and ears. Feverishly, he nibbled her neck and ran his lips down to her breasts.
Feeling the heat from his mouth on her tender skin ignited Circe with desire. At that moment, she gave up the fight and allowed the love she felt for him to flood her.
“I understand now,” she said breathlessly. “This whirlwind of euphoria is driven by the love we have between us.”
Dante nodded and stroked her cheek. “And it has been here all along.”
Chapter 22
Bullfrog looked like a sleepwalker when Circe and Dante arrived. He stopped chopping wood and stared at them as if they were an apparition.
“Bullfrog?” Circe said uncertainly.
There were dark rings under his eyes and he had lost weight. He did not respond.
“Bullfrog, it’s Circe.”
“Circe?” he repeated uncertainly. “Circe!” he exclaimed at last, hugging her. “I thought I was dreaming.”
“How are you, my old friend?” she asked, touching his cheek.
His smile dropped. “I—it has been,” he stammered. “I am lonely for the first time in my life.”
“I am too, Bullfrog.”
He looked at Dante. “Welcome, Mr. De la Rosa.”
When they walked inside, Saffir was kneading bread at the kitchen table. An infant sling was around her chest. Her face was careworn and her eyes lackluster.
“Circe! Dante!” she exclaimed. Wiping her hands on her apron, she embraced them.
Circe looked around the cottage, swallowing hard. There was a fire in the hearth with the baby’s cradle in front of it, a pallet with a down comforter for Saffir and a colorful new quilt on Bullfrog’s bed. Even though the room was warm, clean and cozy, it seemed empty,
She folded back the fabric on the sling strapped to Saffir to look at the baby. The newborn was sleeping peacefully swaddled in a piece of white linen she had woven. He had dark hair and his little face was red and pinched. “Welcome to the world, little Terrwyn,” she murmured.
“A fine lad,” Dante said.
“I feared that he would favor me,” Bullfrog replied with a chuckle. “But he is his mother completely.”
There was a tender look on his face Circe had never seen.
“No longer just the birds to keep you company,” she said.
“Aye, and they will learn to love the boy too.” He put his massive hand next to the baby and exclaimed, “Look, he is not much bigger than my hand.”
“Bullfrog is learning quickly,” Saffir said. “He is a good father.”
“I will live in Glendower while the boy is young. We will return to the Great Marsh when he is old enough.”
Circe appreciated his sacrifice. Living in the village would be taxing for Bullfrog, but she knew he would do it without question. “Ruith would be proud of you.”
“It is what I want to do.”
Circe held the baby while Saffir prepared a meal. She couldn’t believe this tiny creature was the child of her two best friends. When Terrwyn opened his eyes, Circe could see the reflection of Ruith. He began to fuss and Saffir handed Circe a feeding horn filled with warm milk. Moments later, he was asleep again.
Over supper, Circe and Dante shared everything that had transpired over the past few days. Saffir sat for a long time too stunned to speak. At last, she said, “So in the end, Cedric is every bit as malevolent as his wife - perhaps more so because he has a mouthful of sugarplums.”
Circe nodded. “I believe his deceit is far more dangerous.”
“So the true Grand Portal is yet to be found?” Bullfrog asked, tearing off a piece of venison.
“Its location still remains a mystery,” Dante replied. “It turns out Circe and I were mistaken.”
Saffir looked at them. “I don’t understand. Were you not witness to its power?”
Dante flashed a sly smile at Circe. “That is a story for another time.”
Terrwyn became fussy again halfway through the meal, so Bullfrog scooped him up while he finished eating.
Circe laughed. “I never thought I would see the day, Bullfrog.”
“Nor I.”
Dante frowned suddenly and leaned forward. “Circe, I just realized something. Did you say Cedric told you we should flee to Glendower?”
“Yes, why?”
“I think we should take heed. If he wants to do business with high ranking officials in the colony, then
he cannot have anyone knowing his true identity.”
A sick feeling washed over Circe. “He intends to slaughter us.”
“And the entire community as well.”
“Would he tell the Witchfinder about Glendower?” Bullfrog asked.
“Indeed, he would,” Dante replied, jumping to his feet.
“The children!” Saffir cried. “Rhun!”
“We must warn the village at once,” Dante said.
“I’m coming too,” Bullfrog exclaimed, handing the baby to Saffir. “I know the fastest overland route.”
“Good,” Dante said. He handed Circe one of his knives after loading his pistol. “Don’t hesitate to use it.”
She nodded.
Bullfrog yanked his bow and quiver of arrows from the wall; they were off. They traveled through the marsh by the light of the moon, moving inland while running across fields and down wooded deer trails until they reached the outskirts of Glendower. They completed a journey that should have taken two hours within half the time.
It was dark when they arrived and most of the villagers were inside for the night. Their first stop was the Swinburne cottage, but it was empty. “Where do you think they are?” Dante asked Circe.
There was a sharp rap on the door before she could answer. It was Levi and the courier, young Robert Davies.
“We’ve only just arrived,” Levi said, panting. He was dirty, and his clothes were spattered with mud. “They refused to let us leave Boston.”
Davies continued, “But we slipped past the sentries.”
“Why did they want to keep you?” Dante asked.
“For our own safety. The Nipmucks are raiding hamlets.”
“Glendower must be evacuated, Mistress Swinburne,” Levi stated. “But it is not the Indians who threaten us here. It is the Witchfinder. He is bringing a militia of forty men. They intend to burn it to the ground. And they are right behind us.”
“The Great Purge has begun,” Dante said. “And we have the Arch Derwydd to thank for it.”
Levi stared at him, confused.
“Bullfrog,” Circe said, grabbing his arms. “Ring the town bell. The villagers have instructions to flee to the Great Marsh when they hear it. Most will take skiffs but whoever is left escort on foot.” Turning to Levi and Robert, she said, “Go with Bullfrog, but first, do you know where my father is?”
“In the oak grove conducting the mistletoe ritual,” Davies said.
Circe and Dante rushed out of the house and into the woods. They could hear Bullfrog ringing the bell as they ran.
When the villagers heard the alarm, they threw open their doors and gathered on the green clutching their children. They were frightened and looking for answers. Bullfrog informed them of the danger as Levi and Robert ran from cottage to cottage, banging on doors telling everyone to flee to the Great Marsh. Men picked up torches and grabbed guns, pitchforks and cudgels - any weapon they could find. They began barking orders to their families to head for the skiffs.
Circe and Dante ran down the path toward the sacred oak grove. Circe’s heart jumped into her throat as they arrived. Joseph Duncan was face-to-face with her father. He towered over everyone in his long black coat and dark hat, holding a Bible in one hand. Forty men from the Boston militia, and ten regulars in helmets and corselets, stood behind the Witchfinder General. They all held muskets and swords, gleaming in the firelight.
Rhun was standing tall and proud. His red hair was around his shoulders, a single braid along his determined face. Three Derwydds dressed in snow white robes were behind him and three female Derwydds, including Mistress Charles, stood rigidly watching from a platform in the trees where they had been gathering mistletoe.
Circe and Dante ran toward them.
“Stay where you are!” one of the officers barked.
They stopped and looked at Rhun. He gave them a reassuring nod and turned back to Duncan. Something caught Circe’s eye. It was Cedric, watching from afar, on horseback.
The Witchfinder General looked at the Derwydd women on the platform and said, “I command these harlots of Satan to descend. They must face the punishment of the righteous.”
“They will not,” Rhun replied.
Duncan’s eyes grew wide. They were as fiery as the flames of the bonfire. “You have bound yourselves to the devil and are blasphemers of the highest order. In the name of the Lord, I now purge this province!” He gestured for a soldier to set the brittle wood of the platform ablaze.
The man walked over with his torch, bent down and put it to the wood. But before the platform caught fire, an arrow lodged in his wrist. He bellowed.
Stunned, everyone turned to see who had shot. It was Bullfrog. He was sitting in a tree taking aim again. But an arrow came from another direction before he could release, lodging in the soldier’s back. And then another arrow flew and another. It was a Nipmuc raiding party and with whoops, they burst into the clearing with spears and war clubs heading for the militia. With no time to fire, the soldiers defended themselves with the butts of their guns and with knives. Many fell. It was pandemonium as the Nipmucks smashed clubs into heads, and the militia slashed with swords. There were screams of agony and fear.
Duncan and Cedric fled into the forest.
Dante yanked Circe behind him and stood guard as Rhun helped the women down the ladder. When a warrior ran toward him with a club Dante raised his firearm, shooting him in the chest. The Indian kicked back to the ground, killed instantly.
The Derwydds bolted for the woods with everyone off the platform.
“Your families are waiting for you in the marsh!” Dante roared, and they scattered. Rhun, Circe, and Dante ran to the river. “Father,” Circe said, panting. “Cedric has betrayed us. Saffir knows everything and waits for you at Bullfrog’s home.”
“Go with him, Circe,” Dante barked. “I am returning to Boston to put an end to this madness.”
“Father, go quickly. Dante will take care of me.”
She stopped him when Dante opened his mouth to argue. “I am going with you.”
“Bring her back to me, my boy,” Rhun said, clutching his arm.
He nodded, took Circe’s elbow and they dashed off, disappearing into the night.
* * *
They arrived in Boston several days later - exhausted, dirty and hungry. Circe knew Cheeseborough would be watching for her return, so they waited until dark to enter the weaving shop. They tried to settle in for the night, dropping the curtains and lighting only one candle.
Someone had searched the building, so Circe checked under the floorboard for her treasures. Nothing was missing, so she placed the items, including the mask, in a pocket that she strapped around her waist.
It was not safe to build a fire, so they ate salted meat and dry bread from the larder.
“I am guessing Cedric and Duncan will strike again soon,” Dante said after gulping some mead. “They will want to clean out the other communities.”
“Will they not wait until the Indian raids subside?”
“They care not for loss of life. They are doing the work of the Almighty,” and he shook his head. “Come now. Let’s rest. We will sleep during the daylight hours.”
“Very well.”
Their sleep was fitful, and it was dark when they awoke in the evening. Their muscles ached, and their eyes burned.
“Is there anything left to eat?” Dante asked, rummaging through their packs.
Circe stood up and walked stiffly into the larder. “Less than a half a loaf of bread.”
“Very well,” he said, putting on his coat and pulling his hat low over his face. “I will get us something at The Crown and Peacock and bring it back.”
“Someone will recognize you in there.”
“I’ll hire a boy to go in and get the food.”
Circe stepped up and put her arms around him. “I feel cheated, Dante. Our happiness was so brief.”
He stroked her hair. “It is far from over. We will have it again,
little one. Do you remember a long time ago when I said that I would protect you?”
She nodded.
“That is what I intend to do. Tell me you love me and kiss me, Circe Swinburne.”
Granting his wish, she then walked him to the door and locked it. But the door was standing open when Dante returned a short time later; Circe was gone.
Chapter 23
Circe could barely breathe. She was gagged and bound so tightly in the back of the wagon. The tarp the man had thrown over her was so thick and heavy that it made the air stifling. Drenched in perspiration, she tried to calm herself, knowing she could lose consciousness if she became too agitated. It was hard to curb the terror, though. Was he taking her somewhere to kill her? But why didn’t he kill her at once? How could I have been so careless opening that door? It had all happened so fast. There was a knock on the door moments after Dante left for food. Circe thought that he had forgotten something, so she turned the lock. In a flash, the burly stranger pushed his way in and clapped his hand over her mouth. He slammed her to the floor, quickly lashing her arms and legs.
Cedric is behind this. It most certainly is not the Witchfinder General; he loves an audience. Stealth and deceit is more characteristic of Cedric.
The cart bumped along the dirt road, jostling Circe. Several times she cracked her head on the floor. The ride was so rough, and the man was traveling so quickly. She could tell it was a busy thoroughfare because she could hear people talking and wagons rattling. The journey seemed endless, but eventually, it grew quieter; she could hear crickets. The man yanked off the tarp once they stopped and there stood Cedric. He was dressed in the dark suit of a gentleman and was holding a lantern. “Bring her to the cellar,” he instructed.
Circe did not struggle or try to scream. She knew it was futile.
The man took her to the side of the house, lifted the cellar door and pushed her down the steps into a dark, musty dugout. It was filled with barrels, crates, piles of potatoes and turnips. Cedric handed him a pouch, dismissed him and sat down on the steps with the lantern.
The Firefly Witch (Bold Women of the 17th Century Series, Book 1) Page 23