The Winter Witch (32 page)

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I wake to the sound of rain beating upon the roof of the little barn. It is not yet dawn, and all hint of moonlight has been obliterated by the weight of water in the clouds above us. I am unable to see so much as an outline of Cai, so complete is the blackness. But I feel his heart beneath my ear as I lay my head on his warm chest. I smell the sweet saltiness of him mixed with the hay we crush under us. I hear the faint sigh his breathing makes as he sleeps. I taste, still, his mouth upon my mouth, his tongue upon my tongue, his skin upon mine. The memory of our lovemaking stirs me now, hurries my blood through my veins, causes my head to spin and my body to soften and yield at the very thought of him. That such sensations could exist! I feel I have lived in a dream all my life until now, until discovering what the passion between a man and a woman can mean. He was at once so gentle and so fervent. Did I please him? He told me that I did, said I was his bliss, his heart, his everything. Do all men say such things when they are enraptured, I wonder. I want it to be true, now, more than anything, I want him to feel for me what I am feeling toward him.

Oh, within me there is such a struggle twixt sorrow and joy. The deep pit of loss where my mother once stood. The shocking recollection of Dai’s terrible death. The fear that I will not be believed, but always held to blame. And now the uplifting, light-filled delight of this powerful loving. How strange are the ways life seeks to test us.

Cai stirs and I pull away, not wishing to restrict his movements as he sleeps. Instinctively he draws me back to him. I luxuriate in his embrace. Never have I felt myself so safe, so accepted. My fingers find his mouth in the darkness and I place a kiss on his lips. He is not, it seems, as deeply asleep as first I thought. He returns my kiss twofold, slipping his hands down my spine, stroking my flesh, sending flashes of heat through me. Desire charges my blood once more and though I should be tired I am filled with such an energy, such a longing and a need, that I forget my fatigue, forget what might be seemly or proper, and follow only what my heart and body bid me do.

Cai murmurs into my hair, “Well, my wild one, seems I never knew how fitting that name was when I gave it you.” There is laughter in his voice, as well as something hungry that thrills me.

I need little by way of encouragement to show him how happy I am to be his lover. No one can weaken the bonds we have formed. We are truly husband and wife now. Let any who care to try to take him from me or send me from him—I will not surrender him to anyone, nor suffer to be parted from him, ever!

Later the drove continues at a steady if somber march. The company is downcast at the loss of Dai, weary from the colder, wetter weather, and generally fatigued by weeks of travel and camping. I confess I find my own demeanor at odds with the mood of my fellow travelers. ’Tis true, I still grieve, and carry with me the dull ache of loss, but the joy my love for Cai brings me makes me want to dance. He feels the same, I know it. For not only has he told me so, often and with, I believe, sincerity, but it is there in the tender glances he gives me as we move the herd; in the way he touches my hand, however briefly, whenever he can; in the snatched kisses we exchange when chance allows.

There is something, alas, which continues to trouble me. I sense a growing distrust among the other drovers. Despite Cai’s insistence that I was not to blame for what happened to Dai, and that it was Edwyn who must accept responsibility for what he did, they are not convinced. After all, why should they side with a newcomer? Most of them have known Edwyn all his life, watched him grow into a fine young man, a hard worker, and a skilled assistant to the farrier. Why should they take my word over his? My silent word. For therein, I fear, lies the basis of their mistrust. Yet again I am set apart, I am different, and in that difference people see something frightening, if they allow themselves. And I know, if I am to face the truth of it, that my silence alone would not be sufficient to kindle such suspicion. They have all, now, watched the result of my anger released upon another. They were all present when Edwyn was knocked from his feet by the maelstrom caused by my fury. They saw him skittered on his backside across the yard and slammed against the gate. They tasted the dust in their own mouths as it swirled about them in spiraling clouds. They were able to discern for themselves the origin of this phenomenon. They know that it came from me. What will they be calling me now? Conjurer? Sorceress? Witch? Of course, not one of them has stepped forward to voice their opinion, neither to myself nor to Cai. They hide behind their frowning looks and nervous watching to whisper in corners. But I know what they are thinking. I have seen such behavior before, though both Dada and Mam did their utmost to protect me from it. The gossip lessened a little after my father left. Perhaps I was deemed less of a threat on my own, for had I not obtained my magic blood from him? For a while I was better tolerated. But, as I grew from small child to girl to young woman, so their anxiety grew. The schoolmaster did his bit to fan the flames of their fear. The rent collector was one of the most outspoken, claiming I had visited a curse upon him after he pressed my mother for overdue rent. Ha! I had never heard of the acquiring of rent involving pinning a woman to the floor of her own home and demanding her affections before. I was but twelve years old, else he might have fared worse. I interrupted his attempts at
collection
by rushing into the room and beating him about the head with a besom. It wasn’t until a full day later that the boils began to appear. First on his face, then his back, then his stomach, until his whole filthy body was covered in them.

Mam always knew it would be hard to find me a husband who lived local.

How many times she had to explain away my behavior, defend my innocence, convince the people of the parish that all was circumstance and coincidence and nothing more, I will never know. But she was a clever woman, and resourceful. She was driven to protect the one she loved most in the world, and I see how that drives a person to overcome all variety of difficulties and obstacles. And now I see that she chose well for me when she trusted me to Cai. How hard it must have been for her, to send me away, knowing as she did, that she had not long to continue her footfalls on this earth. Knowing so little about the man, seeing only a heartbroken drover with a kind smile and a need for a wife. Or did she see more? Did she detect something in the way in which he regarded me, something in his manner, perhaps, that gave her to believe he would care for me? If I ever have a child, could I be so selfless, I wonder. How I wish she were alive now, so that I might tell her she was right, that I am able to love this man, and that I am so well loved in return.

And now I must fight for my reputation in my new home. And what an unfair fight it is. For beyond the injustice of not being believed, beyond the villagers’ instinctive fear of what they do not understand, there is Isolda, and her determination to see me damned. She warned me she would see to it I will not be welcome in Tregaron by the time the drove is over. This was clearly no idle threat. For I saw her moving through Edwyn. It is evident to me she pulls his strings as a puppet master works a marionette. It was her evil ambition that lay behind Edwyn’s actions, both at the river, and in untying that gate. But none other than me can see her for what she is. They are either charmed by her, or under her spell in a more frightening way. In either case, the effect is the same. No one will hear a word against. Least of all the silent word of a girl who can whip up the wind. A girl who, many will soon believe, was responsible for the death of Dai the Forge.

Five more days bring us at last to the fattening fields. The herds are put into three large enclosures, each with grazing aplenty and shady trees. The rain has stopped at last, but summer has gone away. Everyone is wrapped against the chill autumn winds, and already the beasts show signs of growing their warmer coats. Cai is leaning on the wooden gate into the cattle field, considering the condition of the stock. They look well, and he is pleased. I come to stand beside him and he smiles at me. He takes my hand in his to slip it into the pocket of his long coat to warm it along with his own.

“We did well, Morgana,” says he. “Better than I could have hoped. Look. Look at them. All those miles, and they are still sound and sleek and have meat on their bones. They will fatten quickly here. You and I will bide a week with them. Watson will stay with his flock. I will pay the others and send them home. No one has the heart to linger without Dai…” He pauses, the name catching in his throat. “Come Friday next we will be ready to meet the dealer. They should fetch a fair price.” He catches me turning my head in the direction of the ponies and squeezes my hand. “The ponies will go the same day,” he tells me, and I cannot meet his gaze. He knows how hard it will be for me to part with them, and if I look at him now I will see my struggle reflected in the blue of his eyes. “We will have a new beginning on our return, my wild one. All will be well, see?”

I nod and lean against him, letting him slip an arm around my shoulders, drawing comfort from the warmth and strength of him.

After being paid, Meredith leaves without saying good-bye, disappearing to wherever it is he goes between droves. Before she leaves, Sara exchanges a few words with Cai but for me she has only a sidelong glance. Watson will stay on a smallholding on the far side of the pastures and not bother us. When we are alone I feel a weight lifting from me, and only now do I realize how heavy was their opinion of me, and how that heaviness dragged me downward. Now it is just the two of us, passing the few days that remain with the herd, waiting with hope and a little anxiety to see if all our efforts will prove sufficient.

I am on my guard for Isolda. At the moment her malevolent presence seems less strong than at other times, though I can discern no pattern to her menace, save that it continues, and that Angel can act as a conduit for her. I make a point of tethering the ill-tempered horse as far as possible from where we sleep. I will not have its mistress sully our nights together with her sour aura. What will happen when we return to Ffynnon Las? Will she see how close Cai and I have grown and accept defeat? No, she is incapable of such a course of action. If she insists on pursuing him, persists in her demands that I leave, I will have to face her. I must stand my ground. Cai is all and everything to me now. What life could I live without him?

We could be accommodated in the Merchant’s Arms, a busy inn, the owner of which also has the tenancy of the fattening fields. The food is of good quality, if a little pricey, and the rooms comfortable, but we would scarcely be in it, for it would be folly to leave the stock unattended. Instead we sleep in an old shepherding hut placed in the pasture for the very purpose of keeping watch over visiting herds. It is snug and dry, and affords privacy if not comfort. We pass the days checking the stock and doing our best to instill some manners into the ponies. The youngsters, in particular, are in need of some instruction. The more biddable, the calmer, the easier to handle, the better price they will fetch. It is a joy to be able to spend time with them, uninterrupted by the demands of domesticity, and without the bother of society. Would that I could ban all callers from our own home to make it such a haven! Imagine, no tedious taking tea with the Cadwaladrs. No unwelcome visitations from Isolda under the guise of friendship. I would be inclined to allow Mrs. Jones to continue coming to Ffynnon Las, however. Despite her tireless patience, I am still not much of a cook.

There is no one to disturb us here, and nights in our little wheeled room are blissfully peaceful and intimate. Strangely, I have not seen Isolda for some days now. At first I thought we might have traveled beyond her reach, farther than she herself is able to witchwalk. But I have come to another notion. It cannot be coincidence that her visitations ceased the first night Cai made love to me. Is there, then, a power in our intimacy, in our loving connection, that shields us in some small way? It comforts me to believe so, but I cannot allow this to make me complacent. She is too powerful, too determined, to let such a thing stand in her way for long. When we are returned home, when she can have a physical presence between us once more, well, then I fear things will be different.

Perhaps it is the Gypsy in me that so enjoys sleeping beneath the stars, listening to the creatures of the night, lulled to slumber by the noises of nocturnal hunters and foragers. More likely, I will admit, it is my newfound delight at the pleasure I share with Cai. I wish, now, that we had no home. That we could travel as Dada once did, roaming the world, just the two of us, all of our lives.

But such freedom as we have lasts only a few short days. On the last Thursday of the drove Cai leaves me to journey into London alone. Here he will attend to the matters of business entrusted to him by the people of Tregaron. There will be transactions regarding sales of property, contracts of work, and letters of betrothal, as well as wills and testaments, and various bonds and investments, all to be safely delivered. I bide the time he is absent in further training the youngsters. I keep a weather eye on Angel, and wonder if Isolda’s watching of us extends only to where her familiar is present. I sense her nearby, so it may be that, whilst I have no respite from her all-seeing eye, Cai at least will be rid of her for a few hours. When he returns we sit by the campfire and he tells me of the noise and bustle and vastness of the city and all that he has seen there, and I am heartily glad I do not have to set foot in the place.

And now Friday is upon us and the dealers arrive from London. The red-faced, portly man who comes to buy the cattle does so with little preamble. It is clear to any who care to look that the herd is in excellent condition. Cai stands confidently among his beasts and swiftly conducts the business of arriving at a good price. The transaction is sealed with a spit and a handshake and the two disappear into the inn to exchange money and a bill of sale.