Fair Maiden

by Cheri Schmidt

  Tessa giggled.

  After adding the finishing touch to her hair—a matching feathered bonnet, Tabitha ushered her toward the stairs. She could smell the stimulating aromas of breakfast from there.

  It seemed the witch did not particularly like it when she began rushing down the curved staircase. But she could not understand any of what the woman muttered on the way down behind her.

  Obviously Christian could hear her noisy approach as well, for when she entered the dining chamber he was already standing with one hand on a chair which had been slid from beneath the table. She curtsied and he sketched a welcoming bow before she scurried around to the waiting seat.

  Tabitha gathered her own food and took a chair situated along the middle edge of the dining table.

  Christian dished up her repast this time and when he placed it before her, one of his hands settled onto her shoulder. The heat of his touch had not ceased to surprise her as the scalding sensation drifted trough velvet and linen. But when he spoke into her ear, his breath feathering against her exposed flesh wrenched a shudder from her. She was certain he’d felt it, but he made no mention of it as he spoke. “I quite like this dress on you, too.”

  “Thank you,” she replied at the same time a choking sound traveled from the place where Tabitha sat.

  “Are you all right, mistress Tuttlepot?” asked Christian. “Has a bit of kipper lodged itself in you throat?”

  The frail woman swallowed a gulp of tea and coughed once. “I’m fine. Thank you very much for your concern.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Again Contessa could not help but wonder what was going on between the two of them. It seemed to her they did not like one another much. She puzzled over it as his hand moved from her shoulder, leaving it feeling chilled.

  After settling back into his own seat, Christian tucked back into his steaming breakfast with fork and knife.

  The menu consisted of the same items as the day before. Upon her plate sat a wide selection of meats along with cooked mushrooms and a slice of roasted tomato.

  But first, she reached for the bread and slathered butter and jam onto it. Once she’d finished that, she reached for her fork and knife.

  Christian said nothing about it, but she knew he watched as she adjusted to using a fork instead of her fingers whilst eating. She knew there had been very strict manners about dining in her time, but as she thought about it, it almost seemed barbaric to not eat with a fork after having done so at her past few meals in this era.

  “Are you ready to return to Krestly Castle?” Christian asked as he finished off his second helping of bacon, and cleaned off his face and fingers with his napkin.

  “Yes,” she said, though the word felt like a lie. She’d enjoyed the city….

  “Everything is packed and loaded upon the coach, my lord,” said Jackson from the doorway.

  The carriage ride was not only uncomfortable physically, but a thick tension between the witch and the earl made it almost stifling inside the cramped quarters. Once they arrived, Contessa was near desperate to escape to the quiet countryside and the castle residing there.

  Her attention settled and held onto the enchanting strength of Christian as he took her about the waist and helped her from the carriage, then escorted her inside.

  Unfortunately, the moment her feet passed over the threshold all sensation left.

  “No!” yelled Christian as he looked upon her phantom form in utter disbelief. He expelled a number of low oaths before speaking her name over and over again, all the while attempting to touch her. But he could not, because even as he bellowed “Contessa” for the twentieth time, nothing changed.

  She peered down, and groaned at the sight of her old wedding gown adorning her ghostly body. Her feet hovered just above the floor and she felt so cold inside that she began to weep.

  “I feared this would happen,” said Tabitha.

  Christian took on a threatening stance. “Why didn’t you say anything? I wouldn’t have brought her back here!”

  “I suspect it would not have mattered.”

  “How do you know that?” He stalked closer, forcing the witch to crane her neck to keep eye contact. Amazingly, the fragile-looking woman did not cower. “Tell me everything you know, Tabitha, or I swear I’ll—”

  “Sit down!”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said sit down,” she repeated slowly, as though speaking to an incompetent youth.

  When he maintained a dangerous-looking frown, and settled his arms across his chest, the witch did not falter and continued, “Please, my lord, let us settle into the parlor and I will explain what I suspect, though it isn’t much.”

  “This had better be something, Tabitha, or I will not pay you a single shilling.”

  Appearing undaunted by his threats, Tabitha settled into a pale-green overstuffed chair situated against a wall covered in turquoise silk. In fact every wall had been upholstered in the same manner. Contessa had passed through this chamber before, but had not lingered to examine the décor. Her weeping continued because she wanted more than anything to touch every luxurious surface.

  Christian motioned for her to be seated upon the settee next to him.

  Whimpering, she went and hovered there.

  “Shh, darling, please do not cry. We’ll figure this out. We’ll bring you back.” He stabbed the witch with his eyes. “We will be able to bring her back, won’t we?”

  “I fear so.”

  “How! You must tell me this instant!”

  “Would you like tea, my lord?” interrupted Jackson.

  “No!” shouted Christian.

  “Yes, please,” said Tabitha.

  I wish, thought Contessa.

  “Tabitha, you’d best tell me how to bring her back. Now,” he finished, his tone getting more threatening with each minute. The muscles along his jaw pulsed, the veins on his neck bulged, and Tessa realized she’d never seen him so angry.

  She felt flattered he wanted her back so badly that he’d turned into this bellowing beast. Although, she feared all the wrath in the entire world would not restore her to the living. She was dead and the past week had simply been a magical dream.

  Tabitha went on, and her tone remained pleasant, “I fear that a complex incantation is at work here. A very powerful one.”

  “A spell. She was murdered with magic?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  “What the devil do you mean by that?” Christian’s knuckles were bone white, and Tessa got the impression he wanted to hit something, namely a small witch who was likely more capable of defending herself than she appeared to be.

  Continuing to explain in her odd way, Tabitha said, “By speaking her name you have fractured it.”

  “Start making sense, woman, before…before…I lock you up in the dungeon!”

  At that, the little witch snickered.

  Christian’s black gaze narrowed with not a little menace. “Do not doubt my words, witch, this castle is quite old enough.”

  “Oh, I do not doubt this musty demesne has one. But…”

  Jackson entered with tea for two, and when she realized he had not prepared a cup for her, a sob broke from Tessa’s throat before she began weeping noisily again.

  The sound drew Christian’s attention and the wrath slid from his expression. “Hush, princess. I will take care of everything.” He reached out to pat her fingers, only to have his hand pass right through her lap.

  The china upon the platter began to rattle more than usual in Jackson’s aging fingers and that’s when she realized how distressed he was about this whole scenario too.

  “Jackson,” Christian said gently, as he too, took note of the elderly gentleman’s emotional state. “Sit. Please. You may have my tea. I’m not in the mood for it.”

  Jackson collapsed into a leather chair. “Thank you, Son.”

  With anger returning to his brow, Christian set piercing eyes onto Tabitha. “As you were saying…”<
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  Tabitha nodded and stirred sugar into her cup of tea, taking her time in answering. “I sense a spell surrounding her, and this castle and her name are part of the magic holding it together.”

  “How can that be?”

  “That much, I do not know. It is not the kind of magic I practice. I use potions and spells from a book that has been in my family for centuries. But this is different. This is fashioned with words in a language I do not know.”

  “So you cannot break it.”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Did the prince murder her with magic?”

  “Someone did.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  Jackson ran a shaky hand through the snow white cloud about his head masking as hair. It wasn’t the first time he’d done so, and Tessa began to worry the man would finish the day bald.

  The butler scowled at Christian and spoke, sounding more like an uncle than a servant, “Christian, your mouth is a slippery place. I suggest you watch your tongue.”

  Christian began rubbing his nape again, but with more aggression in the movement. “Yes, sir. I apologize.” After shifting in his seat, he said, “Who could do such a thing? Who could kill with magic?”

  “Anyone who wields it, I suppose.”

  “Could you?”

  “There are such incantations…certainly a witch or warlock could do it, but the victim would not be imprisoned as a ghost.”

  “Who else?”

  “Faeries do have a great deal of magic.”

  “They exist then?” asked Christian.

  “Oh, most certainly.”

  “And they could kill?”

  “I’m certain that too is possible, if they’d been provoked.”

  She knew Christian would not believe her capable of provoking a wee sprite. And so the mystery remained. Had the prince truly done it, as she’d believed before? Was he a warlock? That seemed possible. And thinking back upon her dream, she knew there was nothing about him that even remotely resembled the faeries depicted in Christian’s book. Therefore, he most certainly was not a faerie.

  “Well,” began Christian, scratching his arm, “what do we do now? What can be done to correct…to bring her back?”

  The witch gulped down the remainder of her tea, did not answer, and began pouring a refill. Once her cup was full, she set it aside and reached for her tapestry bag. After fumbling around long enough to have both men fidgeting like a couple of boys, she tugged out a leather-bound tome that looked too heavy for the woman to handle by herself. Yet somehow she managed it.

  After perusing a number of pages, she finally lifted her head. “I see no spells that I think will help. I’m sorry. However, I suggest you continue doing what you’ve done before. Continue speaking her name.”

  “Even though you had warned against that before?”

  “The damage to the spell has been done. I also do not know for what reason it was put into place or even if it is what killed her. In my opinion, it does not matter if you continue. Either way the magic is falling apart.” The witch fidgeted as though the fluffy chair she was seated in had suddenly sprouted rocks. “But, my lord, how can you take this risk? What if we make this worse? What if she truly is at risk? What if my impression about her is accurate?”

  It was quite clear Christian was not comfortable with that. He kept casting sidelong glances her way, and attempting to touch her with desperate hope written upon his face. Hope that she would soon be tangible to him again. “Tabitha,” he began, a hint of weariness tainting his voice, “I must have her back.”

  “Even if it could mean her death a second time?”

  “How can she be in danger from something that happened hundreds of years ago? The villain would be dead.”

  “With magic involved—”

  “I’ll keep her safe. I vow it.”

  “As a mere mortal man, you may not be able to—”

  His eyes met with hers as he addressed her, “Contessa, do you want to live again? Do you wish to take this risk?”

  “Yes,” said Tessa. She did not need any time to think that through.

  “I could try the seer stones another time,” offered Tabitha.

  “Would you, please?” asked Christian.

  The witch dug around in her bag again and removed the rounded rocks. She stood, chanted a series of foreign words over them, tossed them into the air, and then bent over them as they thumped to the floor.

  This time she did not bother collecting them, but sank back into her seat. Her thin fingers worked the fabric on her sleeve into a twist. “I fear she is still in danger.”

  Christian’s face fell, and she was certain her heart did too. “From what?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Can you protect her?”

  Tabitha seemed quite surprised Christian had acknowledged that perhaps he could not keep her safe on his own.

  “I do believe, that between the two of us, we can avoid peril to her life,” was what Tabitha said, but her eyes conveyed a different message.

  Tessa noticed the contradiction, as did Christian, and he questioned it. “Tabitha, you must not hold back in this.” His hand settled over hers again, and she knew he could feel the heat he’d experienced before. “What are we up against?”

  Looking truly frustrated now, the witch said, “I’m deeply sorry, my lord, I do not know. The stones don’t work like that.” She stood and hunched back over the rocks, pointing. “This one here, the spider, is a warning of danger, perhaps a trap of some kind. And this one, depicting wind confirms it by the way it has fallen next to the spider. And in this case, the stone could be a warning for both of you.”

  “Me?” asked Christian. “How so?”

  “Again, there is nothing here that depicts what the danger is; only that it is there. And you are part of it, my lord.”

  He bent over and curled fists into his wavy hair. “Well,” he said, slowly, “there is nothing to be done to change that. We will continue as we have, but with caution.”

  “I see no other option,” agreed Tabitha.

  Christian stood and offered his arm to Tessa. She looked at it, frowning with the knowledge that she could not take it.

  “Come, Contessa, I will escort you to your chamber.”

  Reluctantly she rose and turned ghostly fingers around his bicep, then glanced at the witch.

  “It is all right for now, my sweet, you don’t need a chaperone in this state.”

  That comment started up a return of her tears.

  Chapter 20

  House Guests

  His molars just may crack if he keeps clenching them with such intensity. And, he may be ill. Quite ill. Sick all over the floor, in fact.

  Muriel had arrived with her mother. Tessa was still a ghost and had only stopped weeping for short bouts here and there since they’d returned. He wanted to cry right along with her. Because his own mother had paid a visit at the same time, hoping to get to know Lady Contessa better, hoping he’d fulfill her wish for him to marry. And if it didn’t work out with her, then he knew she had her eyes set upon Muriel. Why? He’d never understand.

  This was a nightmare….

  “My lord?”

  “What?” snarled Christian, then when he noted the frown on Jackson’s face, he straightened his spine and corrected his tone. “Sorry, w hat is it?”

  “Are you quite finished?”

  Christian looked down at his dessert plate. It had been one of Margaret’s best sticky puddings ever, and he’d only eaten half of it. Not wanting to offend his cook, he forked up two large bites cleaning off the dish.

  Jackson then added his to the other plates he’d gathered, and shuffled from the dining room.

  Along with Muriel, Lady Spencer, and his mother, although unseen, Contessa was there as well. She sat, looking utterly glum with her little chin propped on her palm as she lingered above an empty seat. He knew he should be more careful. It was obvious his mother had noticed his gaze, which had shifted to
that empty chair repeatedly during the entire meal, because she’d followed the line of his sight each time.

  Even so, he could not stop himself as he kept thinking, my poor, poor Tessa. She’d had to watch course after course of fine food be served to all but her. The longing in those big green eyes of hers nearly broke his heart. She would have loved that pudding, he thought, his teeth clenching. He’d wanted to tell her to leave, to not torture herself by watching the others dine in front of her, but if he did that, they would have heard him and would wonder if he’d lost his mind. Internally he growled. He had to fix this! But how?

  “Christian?” his mother said, drawing him from his thoughts, “where is Lady Contessa?”

  This certainly got Muriel’s attention. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed her chin notch up in that stubborn way of hers.

  Again he rose from his morose slouch. “She’s with her parents, but I expect her to arrive soon,” he said, hoping his words weren’t simply a mouthful of wishful thinking.

  Jackson and one of the maids returned with tea after the meal.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” replied his mother.

  His “Me, too” coincided with Tessa’s “Please, please, please”. But he was the only one who heard her.

  Muriel nearly broke her teacup as she angrily tossed cubes of sugar into it.

  He felt his mouth twitch as he stifled the laugh wanting to burst out of him.

  Why wouldn’t she just give up and leave already? He’d been the most horrible gentleman, avoiding her as subtly as he could without his mother noticing. Of course he’d pretended to be civil, but he also knew he’d come across quite aloof. Based on the tight line of her mouth, his actions were pricking at the spoiled chit’s mood, an outcome he was quite pleased with. Not to mention how any comment about Tessa seemed to amplify her level of vexation. What else could he say to irritate her just a little more…?

  “Christian?” He really wished she would stop calling him that.

  His response was to raise an eyebrow at her as though she were an insect buzzing about the room. Alas, it did not seem like she caught the message. His shoulders sank back into their slump.