Angeline nodded and waved her away. "You may walk from now on. Crawling will soon become too difficult."
Elizabeth returned to their room, dressing absently in her riding habit. She drew up the long side, buttoning it at her hip. The garment wouldn't fit her for much longer, but she wouldn't be able to ride anyway. The thought left her unaccountably saddened as she gathered her cloak and gloves to brave the blustery weather on her way to the stable. The rain had stopped, but the day was quite cloudy and dismal with the damp.
She felt at peace there. It was the one place she could go where she could think without distraction. The scents of horse and leather never failed to soothe her, and she entered the stable, breathing deeply of those comforting odors.
Roland didn't make an appearance, and she grabbed a brush before slipping quietly into Storm's stall. She was glad they'd finally been able to coax him inside. His winter coat was rough under her fingers as she tended to him, her brush pulling loose hair from the spots she knew would be itchy with his coming shed. "I'm sorry, pretty boy. I've neglected you, haven't I?"
He turned his head, nipping at her cloak as if to chide her for her inattention. She leaned into him, enjoying his comforting presence. "What should I do?"
She didn't feel at all uncomfortable speaking to him. He didn't answer, of course, yet his warm understanding encouraged her to share her worries.
"I'm so afraid. Will my loves discard me when I become too heavy with child to serve them properly? The thought terrifies me, but I'm wonderfully happy to be carrying Richard's babe."
She rested her head on the stall door, noting that the wind had died while she'd brushed the horse. She straightened, turning to grin at him. "We'll go for one last ride, you and I."
She saddled him quickly, promising herself she wouldn't misbehave and take reckless chances with her body and the life of the child resting beneath her heart. Leading him to the block in the yard, she got herself into the saddle and trotted away. Clouds parted, revealing a warm sun that seemed to approve of her decision.
They hacked slowly through winter-browned fields, and she breathed deeply of the chilled air, her mind clear as she reached the stone wall marking the border of the property. Her eyes narrowed at odd bundles of twigs tied to the wall. She slowed and dismounted, dropping the reins to move warily toward the objects.
A spark of agony lanced through her head, and she dropped to her knees with a pained cry. Ignored for too long, the tiny voice in her head shouted at her, reminding her of her purpose. She was not a pet! She engaged in sin! She allowed herself to be beaten for someone else's pleasure!
She allowed… No, she encouraged her husband to fuck another woman in her presence. The babe in her belly deserved better than a whore for a mother! She retched, disgorging her breakfast under the bundles of twigs. Something moved up her throat and she gagged, expelling a gelatinous black mass to the dirt in front of her.
The size of a rat, it grew larger and steamed in the morning chill, making her scramble backward in terror as inky tendrils reached for her. As she watched, horror filling her veins, it expanded, and with a shrieking groan, exploded into mist.
The pain in her head flashed away and she felt as if a thousand pounds of weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Her mind cleared as she crouched on the frozen ground, and she remembered seeing the hag’s true appearance on that January morning. Her belly roiled at the thought of enjoying congress with such a foul creature and she spat bile.
She was no one's pet and no one's slave. If Richard wanted to play his games, he could find himself another wife. She would tolerate such things no longer! The first thing to go would be that doxy, Angeline.
Standing, she moved closer to the wall, examining the bundles of twigs. They'd repelled her at first, yet she sensed no harm from them and could touch them without discomfort. What were they? And what was that awful black thing, she’d expelled? She sighed and trudged back to her horse. She would find no answers here.
Yet she resisted returning to the stable, turning the gelding away to follow the wall once she'd climbed back into the saddle. She needed time to think.
Decisions escaped her as she continued on. Slow hoof beats sounded behind her, and she twitched the reins to halt the gelding. The figure of Roland on his old cob resolved itself in the mist as he drew near.
"Good morning, my lady."
His low voice was comforting, and she was reminded of the companionable hours they'd spent discussing horses and husbandry. "It is, indeed," she murmured.
"I saw you expel the geas." His voice didn't change. It was as if he discussed the weather.
"I don't understand. What is a geas? And do you know what all these bundles of twigs are?"
"You rid yourself of the spell the witch Angeline had over you. It was a geas to ensure your compliance, but it's gone now." He gestured to the fence, a proud smile on his face. "As for the bundles, they are just a bit of magic my daughter made to offer some small protection."
"There's no such thing as witches or spells." She chirped, her heel touching Storm's side to move him forward.
He arched an eyebrow as he plodded next to her. "As you wish, my lady. But I hope you think about it. I hope you consider how you changed from an independent, sharply clever young woman into a creature who takes a man into her mouth under a dining table after she eats off the floor."
Turning his cob toward the barn, he nodded and trotted away.
"Wait!" She set her heel to the horse's flank and raced after him, cutting in front of his cob and pulling her horse to a sliding stop in front of him. Storm snorted and reared, but she steadied him with a firm leg and gentle hands.
"Tell me everything you know." His words had hurt, but were painfully true. She'd done it after nearly every meal, counting herself lucky if Richard didn't make her clean his spend from the floor. And she'd been despondent when he'd given it to Angeline instead. She ignored the stab of embarrassment and faced Roland, drawing every inch of nobility she could around herself.
Roland nodded, his blinding grin flashing in the sunlight. "It's about damned time. Follow me."
He led her through the woods to a fairy circle. Magnificent oaks, bare of leaves, surrounded the clearing. There was a tidy ring of brightly colored toadstools, at odds with the late winter landscape. "What is this place?" she asked.
"It's a place with natural magic. The witch won't come here, so we can speak freely." He dismounted and tied his horse to a tree before helping her down from her gelding.
"What do you know of her?" she demanded.
"Only that she's a witch. We chase them away as best we can, but they're like rats. No matter how many cats there are, one or two always manage to escape to cause trouble."
"How do I get rid of it?"
"You don't," he replied, his voice flat and weary. "You simply endure until she gets what she wants and leaves. The spell she placed on you, the geas, was intended to force your cooperation. Your husband labors under its weight as well."
"You just said you can chase them away!"
"A whole tribe of Roma working together can drive one off. A single gadji cannot."
Her heart sank to her boots. How could she get rid of the doxy with no one to help her? It would be a daunting task, and she had no idea where to start. "Do you know what she wants?"
His face fell and he gazed at her, sadness in his eyes. "No."
She wondered if he lied and thought to accuse him, but she needed answers instead of an argument. "This isn't helpful. How can I get rid of her if I don't know what she wants?" Elizabeth sank to the ground, clutching her knees to her chest. "I don't know what to do."
"Give her what she wants. She'll leave, taking her unholy spells with her."
"What if it's something I can't give?"
He stretched out a hand, helping her to her feet. "Everything has a price, my lady. The only advice I have for you is to go on as you have. Don't let her know that her spell on you is gone. You don't want
her to replace it."
Nodding once, he mounted his cob and disappeared into the woods, leaving her alone as she considered how she could make her submission believable. All she wanted to do was cry, knowing the things her husband and his wicked mistress would demand of her.
∞∞∞
Stripping out of her habit and donning that vile chemise was the hardest thing she'd ever had to do. She loosened the child's braids tucked into a knot at the base of her skull, allowing them to fall over her shoulders as Angeline liked.
It was nearly time for tea, and she would be there as the witch had bidden. In some ways, it was easier to obey now. She understood the consequences and knew what manner of creature held her submission.
Yet it was far more difficult when she didn't know what price the witch would demand. She'd spent the ride back to the stable wondering if Roland had led her down the garden path, yet too much of what he said made horrifyingly perfect sense despite her disbelief in any sort of fanciful tales.
As Hamlet had said to Horatio, there are more things in heaven and earth. Aristotle had postulated the earth to be round, yet the idea was heresy and magic until firmly proven true by Magellan.
She found it interesting that she more readily believed truth from long-deceased philosophers and explorers than she did from her own experiences. Perhaps it was a failing of the self-educated. The truth of magic slapped her in the face, yet she believed only reluctantly.
She lifted her chin and ignored her reflection in the mirror as she passed by, the bells at her breasts and cunt tinkling merrily. Wretched things. She wanted to yank them from her body. Instead, she composed herself, like she'd once done when her father had summoned her for another of his diatribes, castigating her for not being a boy, or for not being pretty or brainless enough to marry.
Someday she would have to thank her sire for the coping skills he'd taught her. She laughed under her breath as she strode toward the orangery where Angeline always took her tea. He would not be pleased to know that he'd given her anything of value. She ought to write him and tell him so. If nothing else, it would please her to torment another as she was plagued.
Despite knowing Angeline waited for her, she stopped at the door, inhaling the fragrance of dark earth and verdant growth. She loved the orangery. It was like bottled spring, and despite the company, the place soothed her.
Huffing out an irritable breath, she moved deeper into the abundant foliage as she cleared her face of expression and pasted the expected vapid smile upon her lips before allowing herself to be seen.
"You're a bit early, pet." Angeline waved a languid hand at her as she fussed with a potted plant.
Elizabeth wanted to sneer at the sight. Everything the woman touched turned black and died within a scant few days. "Forgive me, my lady. Would you like me to return later?"
"No. It's perfectly fine. I should reward you for being attentive to your duties."
"Thank you." She allowed her lips to part, catching the lower one between her teeth in false anticipation as she knelt on the cushion next to Angeline's chair. The genteel conversation and polite words were an expected part of this dance.
Angeline shook her head and pointed to the chair Richard normally used. "Sit in the chair, pet. A woman in a delicate state shouldn't be on the floor."
Elizabeth rose to her feet, her knees protesting at the sudden movement. She didn't trust the newly solicitous treatment for a moment. In her state of spelled bliss, she might have been despondent, thinking that Angeline intended to set her aside. With her mind clear of the unholy mass she'd regurgitated into winter grass, she wondered what the hag planned.
Angeline watched her pour the tea, her expression speculative. "Did you have an enjoyable time outside, pet?"
"Yes, my lady. Thank you for allowing it."
"You won't be permitted to ride again, you know."
"I know. I'll soon be too far along." She poured a thin dollop of cream into the witch's cup and stirred it before setting it on the table in front of her. "I will be able to ride again after the birth, I hope."
She pasted another smile on her face and lowered her eyes in false submission, making Angeline smile.
"Of course, pet. After you give birth."
Elizabeth poured for herself and sipped the black brew. She took no cream or sugar; the bitterness suited her disposition. There was a tome in the library about Lucrezia Borgia, that infamous woman, reviled yet somehow admired. She resolved to read it and learn about that beautiful Italian and hope she wasn't simply a product of her licentious environment who had done what she must to survive. Even if that was all she did, Lucrezia's life might provide answers to her own problems.
She needed to stay alive and protect her unborn child. Perhaps she should spread her attention to her husband, yet if she did so, she would be dividing her forces. Such an act spelled defeat in chess and in battle. No, she would leave her husband to his own fate. She quite liked the idea of being a wealthy dowager, and he’d done nothing to earn her kind regard.
Though she knew he was a victim of the witch’s spells, she felt no guilt over her decision. He had his unwholesome desires and greed to blame for his predicament.
"You seem very pensive, my dear."
Elizabeth glanced up briefly into Angeline's sharp eyes, lowering her head almost immediately. "Forgive me, my lady."
Dear lord, she could say those words in her sleep. How many times had she said them over the course of weeks spent in slavery? "I suppose I'm tired from my exertions. Another cup of tea will set me to rights."
Surprisingly, Angeline's face softened. "Go rest until supper, pet. I'll send someone to wake you."
"Yes, my lady." Elizabeth rose to her feet and fled the orangery. Veiled eyes watched her as she passed. She shuddered, but knew the servants wouldn't touch her or even say an unkind word. Angeline cowed them far more than she ever did.
When she reached the lord's chambers, she closed the door and scowled down at the mass of blankets upon which they expected her to sleep. She snorted. It was a better place than sharing their bed. How had she ever considered sleeping at their feet to be the height of indulgence?
Unsure whether to be angrier at herself for being such an idiot or at her husband for being so depraved, she strode toward the carafe of wine left abandoned on the table from a previous meal. She drank straight from the vessel, relishing the sweet fluid as it soothed her throat.
She'd wanted to dive into the library for Lucrezia’s biography, yet she'd lied herself into a corner when she'd claimed exhaustion. Hating the waste of precious time, she sat down on the plush chaise longue contemplating her choices. She wondered if she should delve into her mother's journals. She might find some wisdom in the pages, but the likelihood of her mother having an answer to her problems was laughable.
She knelt in front of the chest containing her mother's papers. The scent of aged vellum and leather met her nose as she opened it. She pulled one of the bound volumes from the pile. Seating herself in the overstuffed chair by the window, she opened it and began to read.
June 20, 1867
James asks every day if I have bled, even going so far to push his hand between my legs to check. He wants a child desperately, though I cannot fathom why. He spends most of his time with his mistress, Angela. I know her because he calls me by her name when he visits my chambers.
Despite my mother's adamant words that such things do not happen, James visits me many times a day when he isn't with Angela, and I cannot help but think such bliss is surely a sin. He exhausts me, my husband. I fall into dreamless slumber quickly, so tired from his demands that I cannot help but sleep as if I was dead. I wake often with wetness on the bedding and my thighs, evidence that he's taken me while I've been unaware.
He does such things to me. Things I dare not say even in the privacy of my own thoughts. He is feral and gives me such pleasure that surely must be a sin. Yet each time I reach my delight, I ache knowing that I get only the part that
his mistress leaves behind.
I've seen her once, though he doesn't know it. She is lovely, a courtesan of the highest order with her hourglass figure, blonde hair, and violet eyes. I don't know how to tell him that I suspect I already carry a babe. He seems so desperate for it, but I'm frightened, and I don't understand why. I only know that I must make a decision before my condition becomes apparent.
Elizabeth closed the volume with a snap as her face flamed. She could not read such things about her parents and remain unmoved. She had to wonder about the similarity between the physical descriptions and the names of her father's mistress and her husband's. Did Richard share the same desperation for a child? She flipped forward several pages, hoping to avoid her mother's shameless commentary, but the few passages she glimpsed were accounts of mundane household matters.
January 10, 1868
I can feel the babe. He's dropped low in my belly as if he strains to be free of the confines of my womb. I want him to stay safe inside, but he ignores my wishes entirely.
As his father often does.
I do not know why I think this child is a son. Perhaps it is simply because the child seems as intractable as its father. I suppose I will find out in due time if my assumptions are correct.
James is gone to be with Angela while I wait for the babe to make his appearance. My round form disgusts him, I think. His regard ceased the minute my belly grew large enough to show under my dresses. Yet I take heart that I can give him what Angela cannot. I'm also glad for the opportunity to rest. I miss his amorous attention, yet it is a blessing now that I'm so large and uncomfortable.
He said he would return when the babe is born. I know he won't stay.
Elizabeth's heart broke for the mother she'd never really known, and she wondered about the child she'd carried years before she herself had been born. Neither of her parents had ever mentioned that she'd had a sibling, leading her to believe the babe had died in infancy.
She thumbed through the volume in her hand but found only a few pages listing tasks her mother had wanted to complete before the birth. She knelt once more in front of the chest. Surely, there was something else to find. She doubted the names were simply coincidence.
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