A Witch's Tale (33 page)

“I
have hurt no one who didn’t wish to harm me!” she cried in her own defense.

“I
do not argue it, Madeline,” he allowed wearily and his dark eyes met hers. “I
ask you to keep this to yourself. The world fears such things.”

“You
do not,” she said hesitantly.

“I
have been on the receiving end of your gift twice now. Both were unpleasant
enough to guard my words here. What would you have me say? If I anger my wife,
must I worry she turns me into a toad?” he asked incredulously and shook his
head in obvious distress to think of it. “You can agree I am taken aback by
this skill of yours?”

“I
would never do such a thing in anger!” she informed him in outrage. “I would
never seek to harm anyone unless-,”

“Unless
you felt threatened, wife?” he asked and finished her sentence, looking at her
sadly. “When do we not all feel threatened at times? That is no recourse to you
using this thing to protect yourself. Might you have grabbed a weapon when Hugh
came at you in the tent?”

She
looked miserable at his words, telling him her magic was her greatest weapon
and they both knew it. When cornered, she need only use it to save herself.

“Now
do you see why I caution you?” he asked more gently. “Magic is not the only way
out of these situations you find yourself in. Your grandmother might have
taught you that much.”

“You
fear me now,” she said and saw the dismay in his eyes he couldn’t hide. “I
would never hurt someone deliberately.”

“How
do expect me to feel to know my wife could unman me as she did another?” he
asked harshly, and shook his head in obvious concern. “Should I trust you bear
me such affection as you did de Mortaine, who by your own admission loves you
because you put a spell upon him to do so?”

She
remained silent, considering his words. He saw her blue eyes fill with tears.
He hated these things he tossed at her, but after seeing what she could do with
a word he did fear her. He faced men who were fierce and powerful in battle,
and felt weak now, next to a woman who barely came to the middle of his chest.
It was more than enough to level his already injured pride.

“I
made a vow to do no more magic, Rohan,” she said quietly and met his gaze
without wavering. “I know it has gotten me into nothing but trouble. You are my
husband. I couldn’t keep these things from you. I understand if you wish to put
me from your life.”

Rohan
chuckled suddenly at her words then, making her frown. “I express some obvious
concerns and you assume I would banish you for them? What do you do when we
have our first quarrel, sweet witch?”

“You
think me petty enough to punish you with spells, my lord,” she pointed out with
a raised eyebrow. “It would appear you don’t trust me.”

“I
will need time to learn to accept these things you have shown me, Madeline,” he
admitted gruffly. “I encourage you to find some other means to protect yourself
in the future. Only when your life is imminently threatened or what Hugh
intended should suffice as cause.”

Madeline
smiled at him and he could see her relief. He felt a bit in awe of her still.
It would take time for him to accept it. His own mother was a charlatan. To
think his wife was the real issue was felt with a sense of childlike
excitement. He stilled those thoughts suddenly.

Lady
Blythe was not the only one who would see all Madeline could bring them. The
fear someone would seek to use her as Lady Blythe wished to, for their own
purposes, made him feel fear for her.

“I
promise not to use magic unless necessary, Rohan,” she replied dutifully,
making him smile despite his best efforts to appear stern. “Only if someone
seeks to harm me should I even think to cast.”

“That
is good, I will be sure to never seek to harm you, wife,” he allowed with a
teasing glow in his dark eyes, suddenly more aroused than ever. “Have you a
spell to make a man more…ah…appreciative of his wife?”

She
blushed and her eyes grew soft. “You have no need of those, Rohan.”

“You
will tell me when I do?” he asked with a teasing smile. “A spell like that is
one of those comfort ones you spoke of, surely?”

Madeline
approached him and her hand reached for his. She pulled him with her to the
large, inviting bed. Rohan followed with a sigh, already bewitched by his lovely
wife, feeling nothing short of wonder as she led him to the bed.

“What
other comforts do you require this night, Rohan?” she asked softly as she
pushed him to sit at the edge of the bed, helping him pull off his boots. He
grinned in delight at her seductive question.

“The
list may be a long one, my sweet witch,” he informed her with a lazy smile,
falling back on the counterpane with a sigh at its softness. “I need many, many
comforts now that I’m a poor baron with a dilapidated house and pillaged, abandoned
lands.”

“What
would be your most immediate comfort you would require, my lord?” she asked as
she came to lay next to him in the large bed, tugging up his tunic with a smile
curving her lips.

“I
need only you, Madeline,” he said and slid an arm around her neck, bringing her
to lay upon him with a sigh, looking up at her with a naughty grin. “Be gentle
with me, sweet witch.”

Jeers and
cheers ripple in the crowd,

as they
see the first licks of fire,

In the little
town of Salem,

when will
trials finally tire?

~Anonymous

The
Viscount of Lunley eyed his sister in disgust. Lady Mary was wringing her
hands, her pretty face stark with fear. He paced before the hearth in her
chambers. His elder sister was quite adept at securing court gossip through her
friends. The news today was most enlightening and disturbing.

“You’re
sure it is she?” Robert demanded and raked her with a scowl, making her bob her
head nervously.

“Lady
Bette assures me it is no coincidence. Our sister Madeline married Sir Rohan de
Warren by the king’s decree,” his sister informed him with a look of fear.

“That
creature of Satan is no sister to us, Mary!” Robert fumed and glared at her.
“Our father’s evil spawn shares no blood with us! What else does Lady Bette
say?”

Lady
Mary cleared her throat and looked down to the floor under Robert’s wrathful
gaze, cowed by his rage. Even if he was of the same height as her and small of
build; Robert never failed to terrify her. What the smaller man lacked in size,
he made up with cruelty.

“She
said Sir de Warren was given a barony at Rothford for his efforts.”

 Her
cornflower blue gaze widened to see his wrath-filled expression. While she
feared their half sister; she never hated her as Robert and Sybilla did. Mary
knew how they wronged Alessandra and her daughter long ago. Spinsterhood cured
her of the bitterness that was felt long ago to have men run in fear of her
ugliness and never returned.

“She
said the king was quite taken with our…ah…her, and gave her hand in marriage at
the tournament during the King’s Day festival,” Lady Mary muttered nervously.
“She said she bewitched both knights and they fought over her, making the king
place her as the lady of the tourney.”

Robert
was livid as he heard this, his fair head bowed as he paced, gnashing his teeth
as his elder sister finished her tale. He wanted to slap her for her continued
stammering. Daft woman was twenty and six and still unwed, despite his best
efforts.

Due
to the witch’s curse upon his sister, he could get no man to take her off his
hands, another crime he laid at Madeline’s feet. His older sister became timid
after her many suitors were sent running in horror at the sight of her still.

She began
to look in the mirror and see the ugliness their father’s foul child cursed her
to see, unable to face a man without becoming like this pathetic, stuttering
creature in front of him. He recalled the curses the girl cast upon him and
stiffened, eyes filled with hatred.

Robert
still shaved the bottoms of his feet, the palms of his hands, and the tip of
his nose. He was appalled every time he saw the dark fur covering those areas.
The itchy spots would flare up then and keep him hidden until they faded.

Sybilla’s
hair never grew back when it fell out that year Minerva came for her
granddaughter. She wore wigs whenever in public. Robert doubted even her
husband knew his wife’s golden hair was false. Sybilla despised their sister as
he did. She would be delighted to know the witch’s daughter was found. Mary
thought they needed to atone for their sins against Madeline. She believed the
curses she afflicted them with would end then.

Robert
wouldn’t apologize for treating the witch’s child as she deserved. Only when
she burned would their curses be lifted. He was as tireless as their mother had
been while alive in tracking down Minerva Farrand and her granddaughter. No
sooner did he find them, they disappeared in the night. His hireling sought to
capture them in Valmont and returned empty handed.

He
learned from his man who returned that Minerva was now dead. Her granddaughter
was carried off by a knight on his way to the coronation festival. Knowing the
foul creature used her evil to worm her way into the king’s own mind made him
seethe.

“We
shall see about these claims. I will send my man to court to find out if this
is true,” Robert muttered and glared at his sister. “I feel the spots coming on
once more or I would go myself.”

“Robert,
it has been ten years,” Mary whispered brokenly and gazed at him sadly. “What
we did to her was more than cruel. Until we atone for all; we will suffer these
curses. Don’t you see that, Brother? You invite more suffering upon yourself if
you persist in this.”

“The
witch will die!” Robert snarled and turned on his sister, raising his hand and
watching her cower with fiendish pleasure. “There is nothing to atone for! She
is the child of Satan! You heard mother proclaim it the night the witch’s child
was born.”

“Mother
found out Alessandra was father’s mistress and the child his, Robert. She said
many things you took to heart that night,” Mary said angrily and refused to
cower this time when he bore down on her. “Mother put the nightshade in
Alessandra’s tea. We knew of it, and did nothing. That is why we are all cursed
now!”

“Lies,
you say! Mother was right to poison that foul witch! You would condemn her
actions?” Robert said harshly as his fingers dug into her slender arm.

Mary
cried out in pain and pulled away from him, scooting away, fear in her eyes.
“What has this hatred ever gotten you, Robert? You still grow hair where no
hair should be. The spots come upon you as often as they ever did. I look into
a mirror and I see an ugly creature each day. Our sister’s beautiful hair will
never grow back. We have wronged her! Don’t you see that? Killing her will only
make it worse for us!”

“You
know nothing of a sort!” he snapped as he glared at her, red spots already
forming in his sallow cheeks before her eyes.

“I
made it a point of seeking those who could help us over the years, Robert. They
have all said the same thing. When you receive a curse from a witch, the only
thing to save you is forgiveness.”

Robert’s
face grew increasingly spotted now. She flinched to see it, knowing they would turn
dark and purple, painful, with green pustules that would keep him to his rooms
for weeks until they were gone.

“I
need no forgiveness to do the Lord’s work, Sister,” her brother said with a
sneer. “She will die by fire as soon as I verify these claims. The king can’t
ignore our charges or the church in this matter.”

“Then
you doom us all!” Mary cried, tears filling her gaze. “Look at how our mother
suffered before she died, Robert? It was because of what she did to Alessandra
and her daughter.”

“And
for that; the witch’s brat dies!”

“Or
we suffer far worse,” Mary said sadly and shook her head, tears falling freely.
“You are so like mother in this, Robert. She wouldn’t stop either. I remember
when she used to beat Alessandra’s daughter black and blue. Do you recall how
cruel our mother was to her then?”

Robert
looked unaffected by her words; itching his enflamed cheek absently. “It was no
more than she deserved.”

“No,
it was merely cruel, Brother. Look at what happened to our mother after the old
one came for her and saw what she did?”

Robert
flinched to recall their mother’s sudden condition after Minerva collected
Madeline and saw her many bruises, new and old.

Lady
Agnes’s suffering made them bar even the clergy from her room, fearing
reprisals for what they saw then as their mother’s punishment for poisoning
Alessandra. Lady Agnes never knew a peaceful day from that moment on; going mad
slowly from the visions the witch tormented her with.

Robert
found her when she tore her own face off with her nails, screaming and raging
that bugs crawled upon her skin. She writhed and screamed until she was drugged
to keep her quiet. The open sores she developed all over her body broke open
and spiders emerged. She laid abed a babbling, incoherent shell while her body
rotted from the inside out. It was all they could do to watch, knowing why
their mother was cursed.