It was the first time I could remember ever having used his name.
Alejandro closed the lantern with a soft click and trod silently towards me, his face unreadable as ever. ‘Meg,’ he remarked quietly, looking away from me as though the would-be priest could not bear even this single moment of intimacy between us. ‘I’m flattered by this invitation to share your bed, truly I am.’
‘No, indeed I—’
He hushed my breathless denial, holding up a hand. ‘You and I had a difficult beginning, Meg. When we first met, I considered you an unsuitable companion for the Lady Elizabeth. You seemed so wild, headstrong, opinionated, even immoral. But I’ve come to understand you better over the past few months, and I realize now . . .’ Slowly his gaze rose from the muck-strewn stable floor to my face. ‘I realize you would never offer such a thing lightly.’
The longer he spoke, the redder I became. By the time he had finished his speech, my cheeks were so hot I could probably have outshone the lantern. Hurriedly, I tried to back out of the noose I had so provocatively thrust my head into.
‘I just meant you could sleep here too,’ I stammered. ‘As in sleep. It wasn’t meant to be an invitation to do something else.’
He had come so close now, we were almost touching. His body blocked out the light from the lantern. My heart hammered in my chest. I stared up at him, suddenly unsure. What did I want here? To beckon him on, and risk both his rejection and his disgust? Or to say no, and live with this turmoil in my heart?
Alejandro had stopped. He looked at my face for a long moment without speaking, perhaps seeing some shadow of my pain there. Then his hand came up slowly, as though approaching a wild animal, and stroked the loose hair back from my face, tucking it under my cap.
‘Of course not,’ he murmured. ‘Pray accept my deepest apologies. I mistook your meaning.’
Far from reassuring me, this confused me even further. His touch sent my poor nerves skittering. I caught my lower lip between my teeth, and saw his gaze narrow on the movement. I was acutely aware that we were alone in the stable. There was no one else here to see or know if we kissed each other, to run and tell my father.
Nor even if we chose to . . . to go further.
With great daring, I placed one hand flat on his chest, next to the silver cross which hung there. I remembered making its silver burn his hand. Tonight it was cool.
Alejandro stiffened at my touch, but did not draw away. I cocked my head to one side and listened to the erratic thud of his heart under my fingertips. His heart was beating as fast as my own. Perhaps faster.
Alejandro might be a Catholic priest in training. But he was still a man, and he wanted me.
I looked up into his eyes. ‘Alejandro.’
He made an odd sound under his breath, and his hand came up to cover mine. In the chill darkness of the stable, the warmth seemed to beat off him in waves. Then slowly, with deliberate care, Alejandro unpeeled my fingers from his chest, one by one, and lowered my hand back to my side.
My cheeks flared with shame. How could I have been so wrong twice? He did not want me, and my touch had embarrassed and offended him.
The cruel hurt of his rejection was like a punch to the stomach. Biting my lip hard, I turned my head away. I did not want Alejandro to see my expression. He must not know the pain I was in, thanks to my idiotic mistake.
He was to be a priest!
How could I have forgotten that?
‘I’m sorry,’ I muttered, risking a quick glance at his face.
His face was twisted in a grimace, his brows drawn together as though in pain. ‘No, it is I who should be sorry. I told your father you would be safe in my company. Instead, I have allowed an unacceptable intimacy to take place. Now you ought to get some sleep. It’s very late and we’ll be leaving at first light.’
I stumbled as I turned away. What had I been thinking?
Alejandro caught my arm. ‘No, wait. Let me explain.’ His voice sounded tortured. I turned, staring up into his face. ‘You do not understand, and why should you? It is not merely that I will become a priest soon, for members of my order are permitted to marry, so long as they marry under the strict rules of chastity handed down to us in the Order of Santiago, where a husband may only spend a few nights of the year with his wife. But . . .’
I touched his cheek, unable to bear his pain. ‘But you cannot be with a witch?’
Again, with the utmost gentleness, Alejandro removed my hand from his face and lowered it to my side.
‘If it is a witch who does no harm to any living person and works only good magick, never killing nor conjuring the spirits of the dead—’
‘I have always followed that path,’ I interrupted him. ‘And my aunt too. It is the path of white magick, the path of the hearth fire.’
‘Hush,’ he said, and shook his head. There was pain in his face. ‘No, I could not be even with the purest of witches, a woman who works both magick and God’s will. For you do not know my past. You do not know what I have done.’
‘Then tell me,’ I urged him, not understanding.
‘When I was a young boy, about seven years old, I knew a woman named Julia. She was one of my father’s servants. One day, I was walking in the woods near our country home, and I saw Julia . . .’ Alejandro hesitated, then frowned. ‘I saw her working magick, casting some kind of spell over a fire and making incantations. I realized then that Julia was a witch. A servant from our own household . . . a witch!’
My blood ran cold. ‘What did you do?’ I whispered.
‘I ran straight home and told my father. Even at that young age, I knew witchcraft was evil. But I swear I had no idea how severe her punishment would be. There was a trial, at which I gave evidence of what I had seen that day, and Julia was condemned to burn as a witch.’
He stopped, and I saw a damp sheen over his eyes. Was Alejandro crying?
‘It was a warm bright spring, all the new buds opening on the trees in the square. My father made me stand and watch her execution. I remember the smell of the smoke, the priests’ faces, her cries for mercy . . .’ His voice became low. ‘There is one more thing to tell. Just before she died, Julia cursed me. She swore by all the demons in Hell that if I ever fell in love, the woman I loved would die in childbirth. And my baby son with her.’
I stared up at him, horrified, my skin creeping.
‘So you see,’ Alejandro finished, ‘I can never allow myself to get too close to any woman. For death is the fate that would await both her and my unborn child.’ He dropped my hand at last and took a step backwards. His gaze lingered on the makeshift bed I had made. ‘Now you must get some rest. I will wake you just before dawn.’
‘Thank you,’ I managed, and could not believe how steady my voice sounded. As a child in Spain, Alejandro had informed on a witch and been the unwitting instrument of her death. I tried to hide my shudder. Would he do the same to me one day?
‘Don’t fret about this night’s delay. We will get the princess’s letter back even if we have to sail to the Low Countries to find it.’ Alejandro gave me a sombre smile which I guessed was intended to reassure me, then turned away. ‘Sleep well, Meg Lytton.’
SEVENTEEN
The Gift
I WAS WOKEN by the sound of Juan’s voice at the stable door, and sat up at once, still tired after a troubled night. Alejandro and his servant were conversing in low voices, though even if they had spoken more clearly I could not have understood, for they were speaking in Spanish. I climbed out of the blankets, shook out my crumpled skirts and did my best to make myself presentable.
The sky was still dark, though flushed with a glowing light along the far horizon. I stood at the door, hoping I did not still have straw in my hair.
Alejandro turned and saw me. He came towards me at once, his gaze searching my face. ‘Did you sleep well?’
I nodded, and glanced at Juan over his shoulder. ‘Are we ready to go? It’s a long journey to the coast.’
‘We’r
e not going to the coast.’
‘What?’
‘Juan says your father was mistaken. Your cousin Malcolm has not gone directly to the coast.’ Alejandro indicated his servant, who was busy saddling the stallion, and Juan gave me his odd, lopsided grin. ‘Apparently he spent last night not far from here, at the home of one Tom Dorville.’ He saw my instinctive reaction. ‘What is it? You know this man?’
I remembered the quiet young man I had met here at the Bull in my brother’s company, and whose watchful gaze I had mistrusted. His name had been Tom.
‘I think so, yes,’ I agreed. ‘One of my brother’s friends from Oxford. Where did Juan hear this?’
Juan grinned again, said something incomprehensible and pointed to the upstairs windows of the Bull Inn.
Alejandro hesitated. ‘From Anne, the serving woman he was with last night. She heard your cousin talking to this Tom Dorville in the taproom. He was trying to persuade the young man to lend him a faster horse than his own.’
‘That sounds like Malcolm,’ I said drily.
‘Anne has given us directions to Dorville’s house,’ Alejandro told her.
‘Then let us waste no more time, but go there at once. All I need is a moment to freshen myself, then I will be ready.’
Abruptly, Alejandro nodded to his servant to fetch the cart. He had a stubborn look about his eyes. ‘You should stay here while we follow him. I fear there may be trouble, and it will be safer for you to wait here. Anne has offered you her chamber if you wish to rest and take your breakfast away from prying eyes. It is only a small room, Juan says, but private.’
I realized with a shock that he meant to leave me behind, to take no further part in this chase. ‘But he’s my cousin. It’s my fault the letter was written in the first place, and that it was stolen.’
‘No, I was mad to let you come this far. It is too dangerous for a woman. You must go back to Woodstock Palace and wait with the Lady Elizabeth. That is where your place is now, not riding about the countryside in search of spies and renegades.’
‘And what if I refuse to go back to Woodstock without the letter?’
‘You have no choice. I will not take you with me, and that is final.’
‘Then I will go alone,’ I said obstinately. ‘On foot, if needs be.’
‘Don’t be a fool!’ His face tightened in anger. ‘Do you not see how impossible it is for me to take you along? You could have been killed yesterday. I will not have your death on my conscience too.’
‘Too?’ I echoed, not understanding, then saw his expression, the despair behind his anger.
‘Like the woman I betrayed when I was young,’ he muttered.
‘You were only a boy, Alejandro. You made a terrible mistake and a woman died for it. That does not make her death your fault.’ I drew a sharp breath, determined not to give way. ‘Whatever happens today, you will not be to blame. I go with you of my own free will.’
‘I can’t allow—’ he began raggedly, but I interrupted.
‘It’s done, I’m coming,’ I insisted, my chin held high, and hurried back inside to fetch my cloak before Alejandro could leave without me.
I ignored the little voice at the back of my mind that told me I was growing too close to Alejandro, and he was right to be so cautious.
Alejandro was cursed. He had freely admitted that he had no intention of ever falling in love with a woman – let alone a suspected witch like myself. And I was not foolish enough to look too deep into the eyes of a would-be priest. So what danger could there be?
It was less than an hour later when we reached Tom Dorville’s house, which lay not far from the Bull Inn in the next valley. The narrow road clung to the river for a while, crossing it occasionally, then moved back into heavy woodland. The house stood back from the road, only reached by a shady track which we almost passed without seeing.
Alejandro reined in his stallion and sat a moment with his hand raised, listening. Juan pulled the cart in behind him and waited patiently.
It was still early. The sun had slowly risen, bringing a gentle mist to the dew-damp grasslands and verges. The morning was quiet, only birdsong above us and the gurgling rush of water from the nearby river. Nonetheless, Alejandro seemed to have heard something out of the ordinary.
‘Horses,’ he said, with quiet authority, and pointed down the track. ‘We’re in time. They haven’t left yet.’
The hairs rose on the back of my neck and my stomach pitched, queasy with nerves. It had been one thing to talk of confronting my cousin and demanding the return of Elizabeth’s letter, but now that we were here, I was suddenly unsure. Alejandro had warned me there might be trouble, that this could be dangerous. Was I ready to see Alejandro fight my cousin over this?
But I was here for a purpose, I reminded myself sternly. I was not some helpless girl, an onlooker with no real power. I did not want to see either Malcolm or Alejandro hurt. But if using my gift meant risking my cousin’s life, then so be it. He had made his choice when he accepted the stolen letter from my father and agreed to carry it to the Queen’s enemies in the Low Countries.
Juan scrambled down from the cart and ran, half crouching, along the track towards Tom Dorville’s house.
He returned a few minutes later and went straight to his master, clutching Alejandro’s stirrup as he whispered hoarsely up at him, ‘Four men. The two younger getting ready to mount up, the others remaining behind.’
Alejandro nodded. ‘We can’t take them here then,’ he mused. ‘Not with those odds.’
‘An ambush, further along the road?’
‘Yes,’ Alejandro agreed. He glanced thoughtfully at the sheep in the field opposite. ‘Unless we have mistaken their purpose, they will be taking the road south. If you drive on ahead, as fast as you can, and set your cart across the road at some narrow point, I will endeavour to slow them up. Then I will follow cross-country and hope to rejoin the road behind you.’
‘What are you going to do?’ I asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of my voice.
‘What all good country boys know should never on any account be done,’ he told me, and grinned, turning his reluctant horse towards the field. ‘I’m going to drive that herd of sheep across the road. That ought to give you five minutes at least.’
Before I could make any answer to this, Juan had leaped up on the cart beside me and lashed the whip several times over the horse’s flanks, shouting in Spanish.
It may not have understood his words, but the tone of urgency and the whip being laid repeatedly about its sides left the animal in no doubt. The horse reared up in the shafts, then pitched forward at speed. The cart jolted along behind it, the high ruts in the lane shaking us violently from side to side.
I could not glance back for fear of losing my seat, but clung on grimly.
We continued at that pace for nearly a mile. The road there snaked down a sharp incline towards the rocky river bed, almost a stream at that point, and crossed through the water in a ford. In flood time, I guessed the road must be all but impassable here. But the weather had been so dry in recent weeks, the river had shrunk to a quiet current, little more than ankle-high to enter and reaching to the knee in the centre.
Juan lashed the horse through the ford, water spraying out from the cart wheels. I clutched at the skirts of my gown, drawing them close as we reached the middle of the ford, but we were safe enough up on the seat. The ground rose up there, taking us onto the other side, and that was where Juan drew the cart round.
He threw the reins to me and jumped down to drag on the horse’s bridle. ‘Hai! Hai!’ he shouted, and clucked his tongue strongly, urging the beast across the road.
Soon the cart was across the lane, completely blocking the exit from the ford. The horse whinnied and plunged restlessly, unhappy with its position, but Juan stroked its muzzle and muttered in its ear until the animal stopped rolling its eyes and quietened down.
In the sudden stillness, I caught a distant thud of hooves behind us on the
track.
Juan grinned up at me, apparently unconcerned by the realization that we were about to have company. ‘Down, señorita,’ he ordered in his thick Spanish accent, and gestured me to climb down from the cart. He glanced about, then pointed me towards a sunlit break in the trees along the high-banked verge. ‘You hide now, yes?’
I did not bother to argue, though I was determined not to stand idly by when Malcolm and his friend came thundering down into the waters of the ford, as I knew they must do at any moment.
Clambering up the bank, I bent under the low gnarled branches of a hazel and waited there, almost in a crouch, the soft brownish catkins dangling against my cheek and throat. I felt some sympathy for the horse as it stamped and sweated, shivering its flanks to brush off the flies as they landed. I too was restless and full of nervous energy, unwilling to stand passive in the face of approaching danger.
Two riders appeared on the bend, cloaked as though for a long journey and bent low over their horses’ necks at the gallop.
As both riders came down the hill, they hauled on the reins to slow their pace, no doubt seeing the unexpected obstruction that blocked the road beyond the ford, and reached the water’s edge at a cautious walk.
I stared hard at Malcolm through the green shade of leaves and catkins.
Did he have the princess’s letter?
Malcolm stiffened at the sight of Juan and his cart drawn across the road. He reined in his horse and glanced sideways at Tom, who was also eyeing the swarthy old Spaniard with suspicion and distrust.
‘What do you think?’ he asked Tom, probably because his friend knew this area so well.
‘Never seen him before. He’s a stranger.’
My cousin nodded, his face tense. He flicked back his cloak to reach the hilt of his sword, though he did not draw it but merely loosened it in the scabbard.
‘You there!’ he shouted across the sunlit water. ‘Why don’t you move the cart? It’s blocking the lane. What’s wrong?’
Witchstruck Page 19