Dangerous Magic (9 page)

"It is my feeling that this is a powerful witch," he said to the crowd of men, who began to murmur to one another.

"It is not safe for any of you to deal with her. Only a man of God, one strong enough to resist temptation should expose himself to such a creature."

With one motion he swept Lark into his arms. The men moved back as he did, clearing the way. "I shall bear her back to the church now and extract what I predict will be a full confession of allegiance to the devil," he said. "I ask for your patience. And your prayers."

Somewhere, through her fog, Lark felt the sensation of being lifted and heard the words he had spoken.

"It's a dream," she said. "It must be a dream. But even as she gave in to the darkness once more she knew it was real, and dreaded when she would next be forced to open her eyes."

Chapter Seven

Lark Willoughby opened her eyes and winced slightly at her first view of light. Dim though it was, it made her head pound and she blinked hard, willing herself to focus. The light was coming from several dripping candles sitting in sconces affixed to a dark, stone wall. As her eyes adjusted, Lark perceived the outline of a bookshelf stuffed with dusty, leather-bound volumes and a low table up on which sat more books and a quill pen and inkwell. And then movement from the corner caught her attention and she saw him - the man whose black garb and cloak had made him blend in until this moment. Now he stepped forward, his pale face glowing in the light above the cross that hung just below his collar. The expression on it was not kind, but stern and judgmental. Reverend Fervor's lip curled in a slight sneer, and Lark was instantly reminded of how the snarling wolf in her dream had lifted it lip in a similar fashion. A feeling of panic surged through her and she made to flee, but realized as she did that she could not move; her hands and feet were bound to the chair upon which she sat.

"Well, well, well." Reverend Fervor crossed his arms slowly and began walking around her, his eyes locking with hers once he'd come full circle. "Lark Willoughby, the village witch." He paused. "There's no need to deny it."

"I never intended to." She glared at him, defiant and he rushed forward, gripping her arms as his face hovered just inches from hers.

"So you admit you are the devil's consort?" he snarled.

"I never said that," Lark replied coldly. "I simply admitted to being a witch, although that is the name you would attach to what I do. I consider myself a healer. As for which of us is the devil's consort, I could just as easily make the claim about you."

Reverend Fervor's black eyes narrowed in rage. "Hold you tongue, woman, lest I be tempted to cut if from your mouth."

The words chilled Lark to the bone. The man did not look or sound as if he were making an idle threat.

He stood then and began pacing back and forth in front of her, as if contemplating what to do. "It is most unusual to have a young woman admit to the crime of witchcraft," he said. "Usually they do so only after some persuasion."

"If by persuasion, you mean torture, then yes, I suppose they do," said Lark. "But given that it seems your mind was made up before you even took me from the road, it would be folly for me to allow you to brutalize me for hours simply to extract what I can give you without the use of duress."

She stared at him boldly. From the time she'd laid eyes on the Reverend Maximilian Fervor, she'd known that everything Colin had warned her about was true. He would do horrible things to her until she admitted who she was. She'd be sentenced to death, if she even made it that far. She was not ashamed of who she was or what she believed. Admitting it would buy her more time to figure out a way to escape before ultimate judgment was passed. And if it was, she would go to her fate with dignity. Unlike the villagers, Lark was not afraid of what lay beyond this life. She did not believe in the eternal torment that frightened the faithful into blind compliance. She knew no sooner would her soul leave the body than it would be back as someone - or something - else. Existence, in her belief system, was one endless loop of birth and rebirth, lessons and learning.

She was studying his face now, and knew by the reverend's disappointed expression that he'd expected a fight. Lark looked down, trying to keep him from seeing the look of triumph in her eyes. But it was too late.

Reverend Fervor stood and glowered down at her. For a moment he said nothing. And then his soft, deep voice broke the silence. "I'm not entirely convinced you are telling me the truth."

Lark looked up at him, wondering at this change of tact.

Fervor began pacing again, thoughtfully tapping the side of his angular face with one finger. "The devil loves nothing more than to corrupt innocent souls, and delights in playing games that lead to the damnation of the righteous. In light of your ready confession, child, it occurs to me that he might be afoot this very game with you. For after all, what could be more pleasing than to see a young woman of faith die with the unpardonable confession of witchcraft on her lips?"

He walked back over to Lark and cupped her face in his large, cool hands, tipping her chin up so that she was forced to look at him. "If the devil is in you, child, the surest way to drive him away is to beat him out."

"No..." Lark shook her head as the comprehension of his words sunk in and felt her terror deepen. Her now-obvious fear prompted not mercy in the face of the preacher, but a self-satisfied smirk.

"No, please..." She hated to beg, but could not bring herself to stop as Fervor began deftly untying the knots that bound her. When the last one was loosed, she attempted to spring from her chair, only to have him grab her about the waist and hold her fast.

"Surely you don't think such a slip of a thing as yourself can outmatch me?" he said.. When a sob caught in her throat, he reached out and stroked her face, his fingers tracing the path of a newly fallen tear. "Save your tears, child," he quietly into her ear. "You will need them for what is to come."

His pulled her to the table then and pushed her back on it. Lark struggled as his hand began unlacing her bodice and cried out in frustration when it became apparent that she would not be able to free herself. Closing her eyes, she silently invoked the gods and goddesses of old for protection, and hopefully opened her eyes when Fervor halted in his efforts to remove her clothing. But her relief was short-lived. The preacher was clutching the talisman she'd put around her neck for protection. With a jerk, he snapped the leather string holding it and held the dangling talisman before Lark's face.

"Made for protection, no doubt?" he asked with a smirk.

"Is it no less than you expect," she asked. "You condemned me before you even spoke with me."

"If you were a witch then where are your gods?" Fervor asked.

Lark wondered that herself. Never before had she felt so alone, so abandoned. All her life she'd been faithful to the old ways, never expecting anything in return. True, she'd asked for boons, but when they weren't granted she understood and when they were she'd expressed her gratitude whether through a heartfelt poem written in honor of her divine benefactors or a little bowl of milk left out for the fairy spirits who'd assisted her in some way. Never before had she questioned the ancient ones. Never. Until now.

"It is required for me to have witnesses," Reverend Fervor said, his voice resentful. "So you shall remain here and ponder your sins while I fetch godly elders of this church to preside over what must be done, and to attest to my fairness with you."

"I offer my services!"

Reverend Fervor spun around to see Colin standing in the doorway. The larger man's face was a cloud of anger. His fist curled at his side. The pale preacher blanched even paler.

"You," he said, eyeing Colin as the magistrate walked in behind him. "Are you not supposed to be interred for the crime of assisting a witch?"

"Is she to be condemned already?" Colin asked. The preacher pressed his thin lips shut, angry that he'd tripped himself by his own tongue.

"She's confessed!" Fervor sputtered.

"Not to your charges!" Lark spat. Fervor turned to her, his face angry but Colin was at her side now, brushing the preacher out of the way.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

He touched her face. "Yes," he said. "Now that I've explained the situation to the magistrate. He did not know that you recently agreed to accept my hand in marriage, which puts you under my authority and protection..."

Colin raised his eyebrows at her, indicating that it would be in Lark's best interest to go along with the lie he was telling.

"Please, Lark," he silently prayed. "This is not the time to be stubborn."

But he did not have to say the words out loud. Lark read them in his eyes, and knew that to reveal Colin's lie would not only condemn her, but him as well.

She looked at the magistrate. "I live quietly, treating people who need it. You know this. It should not be a surprise that I did not make news of my betrothal known."

"It is a lie!" Fervor jumped to his feet. "Tis a trick to remove her from my righteous charge!"

The magistrate stepped forward. "I've known Colin since he was nae high," the man said, putting his hand to just above his beltline. "I've never known him to be false. If he says he is betrothed to the accused then so he is."

The pale face of the preacher turned slightly pink with anger. "If that is so," he spat, "then let him marry her now!"

Lark was about to protest, but Colin - sensing it - stepped forward.

"If that is what is required to prove my claim true," he said, but Lark shook her head.

"It should not be..."

"Being wed to him will increase his protection of you," the magistrate said.

And Lark knew from the man's expression that she should not protest. The magistrate, who had himself come to her seeking help for his mother's cough, was in a difficult position. While he did not agree with what the church as doing, he could only exert his authority so far against them. Lark doubted that he even believed the claim of betrothal, but realized that the magistrate knew the benefits of what he suggested. It would throw up another obstacle to Rev. Fervor - an obstacle the man clearly did not want.

"Bring the preacher," Colin said.

Lark bit her tongue. She knew Colin fancied her, knew since childhood that he'd wanted to marry her. Now she was torn between resentfulness for his trickery and gratitude that what he was doing may save her life.

"I can perform the ceremony," said Rev. Fervor, his eyes cagey.

"No," said Lark. "I would not have such wretched carrion bind me to this man."

The minister's eyes turned hard as steel, but this time when he spoke he addressed not Lark, but Colin.

"Your 'betrothed' is willful," he said. "I hope as a dutiful husband you will apply the lash until she begs for your mercy. That is the only way to assure obedience in a woman."

"And what would a lonely, bitter man know of matrimony?" asked Lark.

"Lark, mind your tongue," Colin said, sensing that she was not yet out of danger and knowing that her needling of the minister was not helping. He could protect her, but only to an extent. She was not out of danger yet.

"Don't tell me to mind my tongue," Lark said. "This bitter creature is the one who should exercise caution. Not me..."

"Is that a threat, witch?" Colin asked.

"Convicting me again, you scurrilous dog?" she asked. "Is this your godly justice, then?"

The magistrate stepped between them now. "Listen to your betrothed, now, lass," he said. "Best the two of you remove yourselves now and marry. This matter will yet be resolved, hopefully when cooler heads prevail."

"Indeed it will," said Reverend Fervor, icily. As Colin hurried Lark out she turned to see a new and hungry determination in Fervor's eyes. She did not like the look of it; not at all.

* * *

"I don't want to wait another minute." Lester Hatch stood and lumbered towards the window and stared out at the direction of the church. "By now she's bound to have confessed."

He turned to his mother. "I'll not take Lark a wife if she's all scarred," he said in what he hoped was a decisive tone.

From her rocking chair, Gertrude Hatch looked up from her needlepoint and glared. "Shut your mouth, Lester," she said. "You'll take the wife I pick for you, no matter how she looks." She drove the needle down through the cloth, pulling a red thread behind it. Then she looked towards the window. "It is odd, though. I'd have thought I heard screams. Perhaps the godly light of Reverend Fervor was enough to make her confess, although it would do my heart good to know she suffered a bit first.

"Mother," he said. "It is not kind to wish such things."

Gertrude Hatch scowled Lester. She did not like being admonished by anyone.

"Remember, my handsome son. This is the woman whose public rejection made you the brunt of three day worth of jokes. Later, when she's safely married to you, I will tell her that I orchestrated all of this. I want her experience with Rev. Fervor to be burned forever into her mind, so when she learns who is to blame for that memory she will never doubt the power I have to destroy her"

Lester frowned. She'd be his wife, he thought petulantly. He should have that power. But he didn't say so.

"I heard that man killed some women who wouldn't confess," Lester said, looking back towards the church. "What if she dies?" He looked up at his mother with the look of a child worried about whether a playmate might break a cherished toy.

"She's a strong lass, if not a wayward one," his mother replied. "Patience my son. Patience."

Lester sat back in his chair, sulking. He was eager to put the plan into action. At the appointed time he and his mother would go to the church, where they would personally appeal to Rev. Pratt and Rev. Fervor to let them have a word with the girl. Once alone, Gertrude would offer her the chance to extricate herself from her predicament by proving her allegiance to church and community through holy matrimony to her son. She smiled at the thought. She'd allow Lester to have his first night with Lark in her home while she stayed at and searched her daughter-in-law's cottage. Once married, what was once Lark's would now be Lester's, which meant by association it would be Gertrude's. She was sure there were items of value squirreled away in the little house and once she found them she'd sell them for whatever price could be had. Then the second order of business would be to hire men to dig up every inch of property under and around the house until the gold was discovered.