Dangerous Magic (11 page)

"Y-yes," he said. "And more than once. She came to me in dreams and I....I woke up to find myself naked in her bed."

"Liar!" Lark cried, and launched herself at Gertrude and her son. But Colin grabbed her before she could raise her hand and cast the spell he felt brewing in her.

"Silence!" Reverend Fervor stepped between them, his finger pointed at Lark. "It is not for a woman to speak in the house of God."

Lark started to point out that he'd allowed one to lie, but Colin squeezed her as a warning and she bit her tongue.

"This is a lie," Colin said. "What trickery is this, you foul carrion?"

Gertrude smirked. "Call me what you will, but my son as already taken this woman's maidenhead. And under God's law he should take your place by her side for these vows."

"I have never lain with your ugly son," Lark shot back. "And I will never take vows with him." Her voice grew cold now and a flash of lightning lit the sky up outside. "Never."

The crowd began to murmur nervously. Had the witch caused the storm that now sent rain in angry sheets to hammer the chapel? Or was it merely the warning of an angry God to respect his house? Someone here was lying, but who dared defile this place of worship with deceit? The villagers looked from one couple to the other and nearly all thought the same thing. Lark, despite the accusations, had healed them when they were ill. When they could pay no more than a chicken or a loaf of bread she'd accepted it graciously. The Pratts on the other hand were never generous with their meat. Families who'd been good customers for years were cut off if a hard winter found them unable to pay. And Gertrude's penchant for gossip was well known; the women of the village were confidants and victims of her tongue by turns. Only her position in the church and community saved her from the derision she deserved.

"There is only one way to settle this," the magistrate said. "We must have a trial to determine who is rightfully able to claim this woman."

"I am not a horse," Lark said.

"No," Colin said. "But he has made a claim and it is the law."

"The trial will be in two days time," the magistrate said.

"And until then?" asked Colin. "I will keep her with me."

"No." The magistrate was gentle but kind in tone. "She still faces the matter of being charged as a witch and that must be determined after she is wed. She cannot stay with you if this man here has laid a claim to her. She must be imprisoned until such time as her innocence or guilt can be proven in this manner."

"Her guilt will be proven," Gertrude hissed. "And already my gracious son has agreed that he will wed her and make her a proper Christian woman fit to be a member of this community."

Reverend Fervor stepped forward. "And admirable offer, methinks," he said. "But neither man needs put too much hope in wedding with this woman should she be convicted of luring a man to her bed through the dark arts. These are serious charges..."

"Yes!" Gertrude said, trying to lighten her tone now. "But we are good Christians and would rather see her converted than burned. Would you not want the same, my good Reverend?"

Reverend Fervor was no fool. He knew exactly what Gertrude Pratt wanted, and he was not about to become a pawn in her game.

"Ultimately, it will be for me to decide," he said, his eyes scanning the room and then falling back on the Pratts. "And should anyone defy my decision then it will be the same as defying God himself."

Gertrude fell silent, swallowing hard as she did so. This was not the outcome she had predicted. It had not gotten Lester married to Lark, and she was no closer to finding the treasure she was sure lay on the witch's property. She knew if she were braver she would go and search for it herself with her son, but she was sure a protection curse lay over the land and that the only way to lift that protection was to force Lark to do it. And that could only happen once she and her son were wed and he was able to beat her into full submission.

But at least they had succeeded in keeping Colin from marrying Lark, and as the two were parted it was clear that both were concerned one for the other. Colin's eyes followed her as the magistrate led her away and she looked back at him, blinking back tears.

"Be brave, Lark!" he called. "Truth will out!"

"Yes it will." The air next to him was cold and Colin turned to see Reverend Fervor at his shoulder.

"You know this is a lie," Colin said.

"I know nothing of the sort," Reverend Fervor said. "Witches are known to bewitch men into carnal trysts. She tried the same thing on me when I was interrogating her, but I was not about to let her lustful tricks prevail, even though I could tell she wanted to couple with me."

For Colin, this was the last straw. Reverend Fervor was taller, but he was younger, broader and far stronger. He grabbed the reverend by the lapels of his long black jacket and slammed him against the wall.

"You are no man of God," he said. "And there will be a reckoning for you. Mark me."

Reverend Fervor laughed. "I could have you imprisoned for this," he said. "But why would I do that when the better delight would come in seeing you watch the woman you love punished for witchcraft. Perhaps I will spare her and marry her off to that bloody mule and wretched crone he calls a mother. Or you mark me now. She will be found revealed for what she is and you will never hold her again."

The door to the church opened and for the first time Colin realized he was alone with Reverend Fervor. The magistrate was standing at the entrance to the church.

"Unhand him, Colin," he said.

Colin let him go.

"No need to bring charges," the reverend said even though the magistrate had not offered to do so. The young man is merely shaken that his betrothed was revealed to be playing the harlot. He was overwrought, and took hold of me to seek my counsel."

He smiled meanly at Colin. "I advised him to let the matter play out, that everything was in God's hands now. And God will see all put to right."

Chapter Nine

Lark sat in the darkened cell wondering why she had resisted Colin. As she was being pulled away from him, the pain in his eyes had been acute. The man did love her and she realized that she loved him, too. She always had. A rare tear ran down her cheek; Lark was not one for crying but the pain of losing him forever filled her with despair.

She heard the click of a door and looked up, half hoping that she would see him coming down the corridor. But the figure that approached was tall and lank with shoulder-length black hair and a pale, angular face.

"Be brave," she told herself. "Do not show him your fear. It is what he wants."

Reverend Fervor stood in front of her cell for several long minutes, saying nothing. He merely studied Lark, who kept her eyes to the side and refused to acknowledge him.

"What? No curses? No spells?" His voice was soft, but mocking. "I know you're tempted, but I know you also realize I am more powerful than you. And you are afraid."

Lark wanted to tell him that he was the one who should be afraid, but she bit her tongue instead.

"An outside magistrate is being brought in," Fervor said. "I insisted on it. The laws of this province are unique and I would have them followed without....bias. I suspect you have bewitched him with your beauty. But your evil sorcery will not work on me."

She smirked at this, and her expression combined with an obvious refusal to engage him infuriated the reverend, who curled his lips in a snarl of anger.

"Better to marry than to burn, the Bible says. But in your case it will be the reverse."

"Reverend Fervor!" The magistrate's voice sounded from the hallway and he approached. Lark was grateful to see disdain in the lawman's eyes.

"Ms. Willoughby is tired," he said. "And it is improper for you to visit her without a chaperone."

Fervor's eyes grew dark with anger. "Are you suggesting that I would do anything untoward? Even if I were inclined, what could I do that this harlot has not already done?"

"Perhaps I have forgotten some of my scripture, but did not Christ himself urge us not to judge, Reverend?" The magistrate cast a reassuring glance at Lark.

"The Bible also says 'suffer not a witch to live.' I am here to determine if she is a witch."

"And since it has not been determined, you should leave her to my care until her guilt her innocence in all matters has been determined," the magistrate replied. "Now go."

The reverend stood for a moment more. He was a head taller than the magistrate and fixed him with a menacing glance. But the magistrate returned it.

"The church will not be pleased to hear of how I'm being treated," Fervor said, and then turned to go. Only when Lark heard the door close behind him did she speak.

"Thank you," she said. "That was very brave. I know he has everyone frightened. I can feel their fear; it is thick in the air."

"I'm less afraid of him than I was when he arrived, Lark," the magistrate said. "Something of the man bothers me." He looked at her. "How are you?"

"Angry," Lark answered honestly. "You don't believe the Hatchs, do you?"

The magistrate shook his head. "Of course not. I've seen how Lester looks at you, and his mother, too. She claims that you are a sinner but she seems unusually keen for you to wed her son. Do you have any idea why?"

Lark shook her head and sighed. "I do not, but I would die before I would be forced to take vows with that swine. As for the charge, I've never had a need to force a man to my bed and if I did it would not be some oaf who smells of piss and tallow."

The magistrate laughed, but shook his head as he did. "You will have to temper your manner of speaking, Lark," he advised. "You're too forward, especially for a woman. They will use it against you come the hearing."

Lark gave a sad smile. "Maybe I should just let them burn me. Sometimes I think it would be preferable to living under the weight of these restrictions. You have daughters, and they are bright. Tell me, does it not trouble you that they will always be encouraged to withhold their thoughts, to stifle their intellect?"

The magistrate shifted uncomfortably. "Marian and I have not raised them to stand on equal footing with men, but to be helpmeets. Does that mean sacrificing gifts they've been given? It does. Does it please me? No. But they will be provided for by men who want proper and meek brides. That will be enough."

He opened the door and offered her a basket. "My wife sent you dinner. Salt pork, biscuits, a bit of butter."

Lark dropped the subject as she reached for the basket. "Your wife is a good woman."

The magistrate smiled. "So are you, Lark. Regardless of what other say. I will pray for you. I will pray that you escape this nonsense.

"Thank you."

He left her and she sat back down on the straw floor and slowly ate her dinner as she watched the moon rise in the sky through the bars of the jailhouse window. She could see the tops of the trees, the clouds floating past the silver orb. Her moon tugged at her spirit.

"I want to be free of this cell," she said, and laid her head back against the wall. "I want to be free....I want to be free....I want to be free...."

She closed her eyes and visualized herself walking out of the cell and out of the jail, hidden from view by magic. She imagined herself walking through the dark wood; the superstitious and fearful villagers lived in terror of what they imagined lurked there even though Lark knew that behind every noise was some gentle woodland creature active by night. She imagined herself watching the deer move with silent grace through the trees, imagined seeing the owl lift from the branch of a tree and glide soundlessly - a white phantom - over the fields. She imagined walking into her cottage, touching her familiar things, finding her cat and holding his warm body against hers. The longing in her grew stronger until it was pulsing against the walls of her body like a force. She could feel it moving through and out of her, living will manifested into force. It surged and she gasped and opened her eyes.

A mist was curling itself through the bars of the prison window. The moonlight gave it a silver, smoky look. She turned and looked at the door. Could it be? Lark stood and walked over. It was open. Not much, but just a little. She realized now that when the magistrate had handed her the basket, he'd not closed the door. She'd not heard a click.

"I will pray that you escape this nonsense," he'd said. But surely he did not mean for her to leave. Or did he? Lark stood there, pondering the door. It stood between her and freedom; she wanted it so bad and could feel her will working, plying. Her will was a gift; it was what made her magic effective. If she escaped, it would be better for everyone. Fervor would look for her, but despite what Colin thought she knew she could disappear. As for Colin...her heart lurched a bit at the thought of him. She did love him and realized in the cell that she could marry him. But not like this. Not under duress.

She looked at the window again. The mist was thicker. Fingers of it were in her cell, reaching, pointing towards the door. A sign. A definitive sign. "Go, a voice in her head said. "Go!"

Lark obeyed. She slipped out the door of the jailhouse like smoke, edging along the side of the building as silent as a cat. Around her the lights in the village windows shown with a golden glow. Dogs padded towards her but laid down in silence when she laid a finger to her lips. She reached the well in the center of the village and stopped. Removing her cloak, she cast it in. Tomorrow they would find it and think she'd drowned herself; they'd waste valuable time plumbing the depths of the well to look for her body.

She ran, slipping past the houses and into the safety of the woods. The mist followed her like a friend, shrouding her movement. An owl hooted encouragement to her left and she could see the eyes of animals watching her as she went.

It was cold but she did not care. Lark felt exhilarated to be free. When she reached her cabin, she was tempted to light a fire but did not. She was grateful that the moonlight was sufficient to illuminate her familiar surroundings. She inhaled the scent of dried herbs, ran her fingers over the runes she'd carved into the wall beams. Her throat was choked with emotion. Her home. She'd not let herself dwell on how much she'd missed it until that moment.