Underbelly (23 page)

“
What use is half? For that I would only injure him and then he becomes a greater burden to you.”

“
Please. We’ve been tempted to do it ourselves, but some folk know that we’re together and would suspect us.”

“
My methods would leave you both free and alive. No one could suspect you if he was seen walking down the street and stone from a house landed on his skull. That would be considered an accidental death that no one would be blamed for. You’d be a widow, a victim, who would gain sympathy rather than condemnation and people would understand when you married again. The way I see it you have three choices: kill him yourself and be broken at the wheel, wait for him to die, though he might outlive you and your lover, or pay me the sum I ask,” she said persuasively.

“
We can’t afford it. Please, I beg you,” she said, tears welling in her eyes as she stared at Ella (as Laura called herself at this time), who remained impassive, even when the woman knelt on the floor and kissed her feet. She found it strange how many people expected her to kill out of pity, failing to realise that the fact that she could kill so remorselessly was because she had very little pity.

“
I’ll be back in these parts in a year’s time. That should give you a chance to raise the rest of the money,” Ella said coolly.

“
No, I can’t live with him for another year. I’ll just have to take a chance and hope they don't arrest me,” she said desperately.

Ella realised that she was losing a customer and she instantly changed policy. Business had been very quiet and she decided to do it this once on the cheap – she needed the money and she hoped it might further her reputation.

“
You know they would. I’ll do it for half then, just to save you from being killed. Tell your friends about me though – not that I killed your husband, just spread my name about and allude to what I can do.”

“
I will, I promise,” she said, hugging Ella’s legs gratefully.

While Laura accepted that she bore a great amount of guilt for the deaths that she caused, she felt that those that paid her were more responsible, they were the hateful ones who sentenced another to death. Laura found that she felt just as bad for another spell she didn’t perform for a man who came out with the classic ‘I want good fortune’, a much repeated, nigh on impossible request. She could provide children, healing damaged wombs, making men more potent, but prosperity was much harder, especially as he insisted that he did not want his rivals eliminated. The man who made the request was harmless but a fool, already possessing a fortune, which wasn’t enough for him; he wanted to live like a king. He had heard of her and knew that she was real and offered all of his money to her if she could make him as rich as a monarch. The amount that he was offering her was so vast that she repeatedly offered to kill some of his contemporaries, whose deaths would have proved propitious to him, but he refused, not wanting to hurt others, only desiring great wealth. She promised him she’d make him as rich as a king, took his money and left Wessex for several decades. He died an abject pauper a few years later, the sorry affair not one of the proudest moments of her past.

Considering her long life, which she found herself prone to reflecting over of late – it seemed everyone else was fascinated by it so she might as well share the interest – there seemed to be little to be proud of. She’d gained a fantastic amount of power, though her prowess developed over time, and was learned through endless practice. She’d made a conscious effort never to be recorded in the annuls of history, making no attempts at conquest and shying away from becoming a public figure. She strove to become a goddess while appearing insignificant. Perhaps Inge had been right; perhaps her career had been more glittering by comparison. One thing that Laura was proud of, something which she felt the church didn’t know about, was her marriage, those years the happiest of her life, a part of her past she thought about daily.

McKinley arrived home late as usual, his work overrunning plus he had stopped off at the tavern (a good two-mile walk out of his way) for a few drinks with the boys, his apprentices. Labouring was hard graft and most days they finished the day this way, prepared to walk more than two miles for a swig. McKinley did not roll in drunk, able to hold his liquor, but ‘Lorna’ knew fine well where he had been and gave him a knowing look and a slight grin. She had not married a teetotaller or gentleman and she had known that before the ceremony. No, she had married him, a 52 year old builder four years ago, a man who looked to be twice her age, a craggy man whose weathered face and body showed signs that he had lived, not quite a drunkard, but a man who caroused often and always relished lowsin time. The small cottage (built by McKinley, and not up to his usual standards as he demanded less for his own abode than his clients) was not particularly tidy, Lorna having been busy herself in the day but McKinley did not comment. Lorna did the housekeeping and she knew her husband was not a stickler for cleanliness, in fact quite the opposite. Polished houses were not his thing; he believed in houses that were for real, not show, and liked his home to show signs of habitation. He found it warming and on the cold night he needed a different kind of warming and he sat down on a stool close to the raging fire which Lorna had maintained all day, McKinley starting it away in the morning. He kicked his boots off and warmed his hands as Lorna brought him his food over, a basic broth which he guzzled, glancing at her appreciatively without saying a word, Lorna sitting facing him, scrutinising him and knitting him a jumper, alternating her gaze from him to the garment.

After finishing and licking his bowl McKinley asked, “Ye eittin, Lorna?”

“
I had my meal long ago, McKinley. If I’m hungry you know I don’t wait for you.” She needled him slightly for although she did not care about his late arrivals she sometimes made out otherwise. He did not take her banter seriously, well aware what the witch was like. He merely smiled at her and proceeded to tell her of his day, routine as it was but he talked vividly, able to turn minor details of how his building was progressing into functional conversation, talking to Lorna as if she understood the processes of bricklaying and thatching. After he had gone on for a quarter of an hour she yawned and said, “Enough, McKinley, I’m not ready for bed yet.”

He shrugged off her slight as he always did and said, “Mores the peety becaus I am, lassie. I’ve ane even langer day to come becaus the boss wants the work feenisht by the morns nicht or we don’t get peyed.”

“
He can’t do that,” Lorna said, her eyes aflame. She picked on her man but it was in jest and fun and he could take it easily in his stride but she adored him and hearing of this injustice rankled her.

“
He can and will but me and the boys will be duin. Old banes and young wirk well thegither and I’ve promised them a rewaird if they wirk haird. I dinnae know what yet but I’ll think of something,” he said good-naturedly as though it were no problem, now downplaying the monumental task that awaited them. “A few drams will please thaim lads. They’re a good bunch, none of them afeart of swink and swet.”

“
If he doesn’t pay you I’ll talk to him,” Lorna said aggressively, determined her husband deserved to be paid for all of the hours and slog he had put into that renovation.

“
Nay, nay,” McKinley said leaning across and clasping both of her hands in his. “A strang lassie like ye would fleg the man to death and we’d ne’er get our wages. I’ve known ye years and I’m terrifeid of yer ire and I grew up on teuch streets, no’ in nurseries and schuills. Ye’re too teuch for the people, Lorna, let alone the cuitered gentry. He’ll pay us, I’m shuir,” he said genially. He knew of his wife’s powers but lived in no fear of her though they both pretended otherwise in their banter and play.

“
Hmm,” Lorna mumbled, thinking it over as his warm eyes persuaded her as he slowly shook his head.

“
Sunday I’m all yers, Lor, and ye’ll get the housekeeping and a lot more forby. I thocht we micht gae doun the Loch for the day.” Getting no response he added, “Or I can send ye to sleep in the morning and git dronke all day.” This was a comeback to her comment about him boring her, his retort, and delivered as such.

“
I’ve barely seen you all week so don’t think you’ll be getting rid of me, John. If you don’t have a bath by then I’ll be pushing you in the Loch.” He had not bathed for several days and was beginning to develop a musty odour, McKinley usually bathing once every two days but with the hours he had been working it had been five days without.

“
Och, ye’ve got it the wrong way round, lass. I’ll be douking ye in so ye can see all of yer old friends at the bottom of the loch. Be juist like old times for ye,” he joked, referring to the past persecution of Lorna‘s kind.

“
Keep a civil tongue in your head, McKinley. I know plenty of spells where the tongue of a fool is a vital ingredient,” she warned imperiously as one who must be obeyed, overweening and pompous but, fortuitously he realised, also playful. This side of her had put off other men but he liked it, loving that she did not take herself too seriously. She was too damned convincing that many men had been intimidated by this side of her but never him, not even in the old days when she had meant her insults when he was working on her property.

“
Ye’d be depriving yersel if ye daed that. Ye’d be better off thratening my membre becaus that seems to do less for ye,” he said self-denigrating himself.

“
Already dealt with by another witch. I’m assuming you’ve been cursed and that’s why it’s so shrivelled up,” she countered with a devilish full smile wanting to see how he’d respond to that.

He nodded vigorously. “A fine wee girl she war. I wis too much for her to handle so she left me with this pittance.”

“
I like the sound of her,” Lorna said smiling, amused by his flannel.

“
O, she wis just a smaw quean. She wis no fine figure of a woman like ye Lorna, no mete on her banes. That’s why ye’ve never heard of her til now. Forgettable wee thing. Kind tho, sparin all women the pain my girth would hiv wrought thaim,” he said sounding deadly serious.

“
What was this sprite’s name?” Lorna said, playing along.

“
Inge, I think,” he said remembering the name of Lorna’s enemy and only adding this to continue the game in answer to her question. He had not meant to say her name and had not planned to until the question and he answered instinctively without thinking it through. Lorna got the joke, which was cruel on a par with some of her comments about him but was harsher than anything he had said before, talking of this woman who had nearly killed her, as a lover.

Lorna emitted a fake laugh, no reply forthcoming, her quick wit temporarily stalling as she conceded verbal defeat for once. McKinley did not enjoy his triumph and immediately apologised profusely.

“
Blame that on the whisky please, my luve,” he said softly, kneeling at her feet, holding onto her thighs. “If that doxy came within a mile of ye I’d fucking kill her.” His rage was evident, directed mainly at himself but his protective love for Lorna made this still, placid man hate the concept of Inge.

“
No, McKinley, she’d kill you,” Lorna said stroking his thin, grey receding hair, nurturing him. “I don’t want her hurting you, that’s my privilege.”

“
Ye’re enteetled the nicht,” he said penitently.

“
I’m entitled every night,” Lorna said smiling wickedly again to McKinley’s relief. He began to undress her, feeling her soft skin with his callused hands, kneading her flesh across her square back. There was an amplitude of flesh for him to touch and he never grew tired of exploring her, wishing she were even bigger so that there would be more of her for him to enjoy. She enjoyed his caresses and undressed him as best as she could flat on her back by the raging flames. Once naked they did not make love at once, McKinley still exploring her body by touch, with his stubby fingers, toes and tongue, his stubble rubbing against her creating a pleasant sensation. Lorna lay flat but was by no means passive, her hands holding onto his forehead and neck, occasionally directing him to where she wanted him to go but also giving him the free rein to go where he chose. As he crawled lower she wrapped her thighs around his entrapped head and McKinley responded with his tongue, giving her what he knew she wanted for a long satisfying time. She was satiated and she knew her man likely was too as he loved doing this for her but she determined to give him more pleasure and had him kneel astride her face as she returned the favour, swallowing as she always did, McKinley reaching behind him as she did this, tweaking and rubbing her large nipples. After he was done he stood up and helped Lorna to her feet and he began kissing her and worshipping her body anew from a vertical perspective. He backed her against a wall and raised her legs so that she was resting her legs above his buttocks and they began a primal, vigorous form of penetration, both grunting like animals, McKinley nuzzling his head down in her hair, breast and neck as he strove for the big orgasm for them both. When he was done he carried her to their bed in an adjoining room, staggering with her robust body, her weight comparable to his own, and he laid her down gently, showing signs of the strain on his face as he lay down next to her.