Dangerous Magic (2 page)

A clattering noise came from outside and a split second later a back door opened and Lester Hatch burst in, huffing and puffing. In his hand was the limp body of a freshly-plucked chicken. "What? What?" he asked his mother. Lark looked away, trying not to smile. He reminded her of a very slow, slightly confused troll from one of her grandmother's fairy stories.

Gretrude Hatch's smile tightened as she jerked her head towards the other side of the counter. "I was calling because Miss Willoughby is here, asking after you."

"No, I wasn't ---" Lark began, holding aloft her list, but Lester interrupted her.

"Miss Willoughby, you're looking well," Lester said, openly leering at her as his face split into an unattractive, gap-toothed grin. "I'm glad you came by. You saved me the trouble of walking out to your place with my gift."

"Gift?" Lark shook her head, puzzled.

"Aye," he said, tossing the chicken aside and wiping his blood-and-feather coated hand on his apron front. From a nearby corner he pulled out a dirty burlap bag and thrust it at her, still grinning stupidly. "Down feathers. A whole bag of them." Lester looked at his mother, as if seeking her approval. She smiled and nodded at him and then looked at Lark, gauging her reaction.

"I --well, thank you. But really, I cannot accept your gift, sir."

The door opened and Greta Pratt, the minister's wife walked in along with Constance Bell. Lark let out a sigh of relief, hoping that the arrival of other customers would divert the mother-and-son initiative, but Gertrude seemed not to notice.

"What?" she asked indignantly. "A man offers you a gift --a fine batch of feather to stuff your bed and you turn him down? Let me remind you, Miss, that any number of women in this village would love to have his attention. And the feathers. So you should --"

"Then let them have both!" Lark had not meant to raise her voice, but she was at her wits end with Gertrude Hatch's endless manipulations. Blushing a bit, she lowered her voice. But her tone was just as firm when she emphasized her final point. "I am not interested in your son, madam." Turning to Lester, she nodded. "I apologize if you are affronted by this, sir, but it is my stated intention to remain unattached. When and if I do decide to take a husband, it will be one of my own choosing, and not one that is shoved upon me."

Everyone in the shop was looking at her now, none so intently as Constance Bell, who - in addition to being friends with the pastor's wife - was also the village gossip. Lark suddenly regretted speaking in front of her, and felt an urgent desire to leave.

"I would like a chicken and a bit of kidney if you have them available," she said to Lester.

"We don't --" Gertrude Hatch began, but Lester was already wrapping the requested purchases in paper, his face nearly as red as the blood that stained his apron. Behind her, Lark could feel the delighted gaze of Constance Bell burning into her back.

She dropped the money onto the counter and took the packages as Lester slid them over. For a moment their eyes met and in them she saw not embarrassment, but the same cold fury that she'd seen reflected in his mother's eyes. A chill suddenly blew the front door open, and Lark shuddered. Bitterness and anger could have powerful, negative influences, and she recognized an omen when she saw one.

Turning, she walked out the door of the shop to find that the sky had turned an ominous gray. Above her a flock of ravens circled, disturbed and she reached beneath her cloak to clasp the talisman she wore to ward off the Evil Eye.

Lark walked faster, shifting the basket in the crook of her arm as she sought to envision a ball of protective light surrounding her as she walked. But she felt distracted and unnerved and found her energies scattered. Her heart was beating in her chest, and all she could think of was her cottage, her sanctuary, where she would feel safe. Just outside the village she was walking so fast she was nearly jogging, and with her cloak pulled up around her face did not see the man until she had run into him.

His large hands grabbed her when she nearly fell, and suddenly, in a rare moment of panic she began to struggle, dropping the basket on the ground. The flour sack thudded to the ground, spewing a white wispy cloud through its fibrous surface as the paper-wrapped meat and other purchases landed beside it. But Lark didn't even seem to notice.

"Let me go!" she cried, frantic.

But the man ignored her. "No," he said. "Stop your struggling, Lark Willoughby. Stop your struggling this instance!"

Chapter Two

For the briefest moment, Lark had feared she'd fallen into the clutches of Lester Hatch. She hadn't even looked up, not wanting to stare again into those hate-filled, pig-like eyes. But when she heard the voice she stopped struggling, slightly embarrassed.

"Oh, it's you, Col. By the stars, but you gave me a fright!"

"So it seems." Since he'd migrated to the village with his family as a child, Colin Magregor had grown tall, broad and handsome. But the years had not robbed him of his thick Scottish accent. "What are you so afraid of, lass? You fought me like Old Nick himself were after you!"

Lark scoffed. "Old Nick. Don't tell me they've convinced you that their devil is real, especially since he looks so remarkably like our god."

"Shush, child," snapped Colin, looking down at her. He noted her irritation at being called a child, especially when he was but three years her senior, but ignored it.

"Keep your tongue in check where our allegiances are concerned," he continued. "From what I understand, there are more fervent villages up the coast that would put you in stocks just for not going to the Sunday services."

Lark's green eyes narrowed and she snorted in derision, bending down to collect the things that had fallen from her basket. "What are you jabbering about, Col?"

He leaned down to help. "The old religion. The one you practiced and the one I was raised to practice --"

"--and yet have abandoned," Lark finished for him, the resentment apparent in her voice.

"--not abandoned.Just not followed, Lark. There's a difference. My parents put more stock in being accepted by the flock than your folks did. That's why they joined the church, even if their hearts are not in it. How would it look for me to go dancing about in the moonlight with them studying the Bible?" He looked around. "Besides, as Gran says, it's not the same without the standing stones."

Lark stood, picking her basket up. "You don't need standing stones for the gods to hear you. And what's this you're saying about stocks?"

There's talk afoot of ministers seeking out those who still practice the old way and doing things - terrible things - to make them admit they are still followers of the Lady and Lord. Only now, as you realize, they say the old god is an evil thing and that those call upon him are his consorts in sin."

Lark looked for a moment as if she may laugh. Then her pretty face clouded over in disgust. "Poppycock!" she said. "Tis can't be true. That's the silliest thing I've ever heard of."

"Well, silly it may be, but I've heard it from more than one person. There are special ministers who come to villages for the purposes of holding investigations and trials. That's why I've come. To warn you." He looked down at her, his handsome face etched with concern. "We've been friends for a long time, Lark, since we were children running about among these trees."

Lark smiled for a moment, looking wistfully at he forest around them. "Yes," she said. "They are our friends, so full of spirits, some playful, some protective."

Colin shook his head. "The trees can't protect you, Lark. You must protect yourself, and not just with spells and talismans. You must be prudent and go as the village goes..."

"What are you saying, Col?" Lark asked, her voice barely a whisper. "That I can no longer raise enough energy to protect myself? That the gods won't protect me? That they've turned coward? For shame."

She started to walk away but he stopped her by taking hold of her arm.

"Let me go, Col," she said.

"No," he said. "You will listen to me on this Lark. You will listen or I will take a switch to you as I once did."

She narrowed her eyes at him, her pale skin flushing in embarrassment at the memory. Oh, she remembered the memory.

Colin had always been protective of her, even though she did not feel his protection was needed. But Colin would not be deterred and would scold her for climbing too high in the trees or wandering off in the forest, which is what he caught her planning to do day just before a storm.

She'd been seventeen at the time, and already on her own, and on this particular day was planning to go in search of a particular plant that lay deep in the woods.

Colin had stopped by her cottage to find her on the way out clutching both her small basket and her boline, the ritual knife she used for cutting vegetation she needed for her magical work.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

She ignored the question. "What are you doing here?"

"A wicked storm is blowing up," he said.

"I know," she said. "Isn't it great. This is the perfect opportunity to cut cranesbill. It only blooms after a good rain."

She made to move past him but he took her arm as she did.

"No, Lark," he said. "This is no ordinary rain. This is a storm. A bad one by the looks of it, which is why I've come to fetch you. You'll be safer at my family's house. Come on."

But she held her ground.

"Are you mad? I need to harvest this plant while it blooms! And it only blooms during a good, hard rain. Now get out of my way!"

A streak of Lightning lit up the slate grey sky outside as she spoke.

"No!" he said. "You're coming with me!"

A clap of thunder nearly drowned out his words. Colin still held fast to Lark's arm, and she realized that there was no way of pulling free of him.

"Very well," she said with a sigh. "I'll go with you then."

He smiled is relief and let go of her. "Good, because that storm..."

She did not hear the rest of his sentence. As soon as he dropped his guard Lark was out the door, running like a deer through the trees.

"Damn you minx!" he called, and took off after her. Colin could see her red hair through the trees, see the way she wove in and out of them. But then he saw nothing. The rain was coming down now in sheets. He looked around - where could she be? Colin guessed she'd placed a glamour over herself, a type of magic to mask her appearance and help her blend in. It was a short-lived spell but lasted long enough to help her find one of the many hiding places she had in the forest, which Lark knew like the back of her hand.

A blinding flash accompanied by a deafening crack rent the air in front of him. Colin ducked and looked up to see a tree cleaved nearly into by lightning. It was no use. He would not find her now. But he'd decided even as he chased her that the wild, impetuous Lark needed a good lesson. She did herself no favors, living out in the edge of the village alone by her own dictates. Reason had fled the girl and he decided then and there he was the only one who could get close enough to restore it to her.

So instead of going home, he went back to her cottage. He walked in, leaving the door open so that she would think he had given up and gone home to his own place. His plan worked. An hour later when Lark walked in, set down her basket and removed her cloak, he was waiting.

He stood still in the dark corner, waiting for Lark to remove the cloak and shake the water from it. When she turned to hang it on the hook by the door, he stepped from the shadows and grabbed her.

She cried out. "Unhand me!"

"No, you listen," he said.

"Col?" She turned her head to look up at him, fear replaced by irritation. "What is wrong with you?"

"You could have been killed out there?"

"I wasn't!"

"You could have been. Why is it you never listen?"

"Because," she spat. "I am beholden to no man."

"It's time that changed," he said. "You have no respect for authority, lass, and like it or not, authority always exists."

"You have no authority over me!" she cried, but he was determined to show her he did. Dragging her over to a short stool by the fire, he sat down and pulled the struggling witch over his lap. Lark kicked and cursed, but he had his own tricks and had cast a protection spell over himself before she'd come into the cottage. Her words were useless against him and only served to increase his resolve.

Pulling her simple skirt up, he looked down then at her perfect white bum. He'd long thought of what her skin beneath the skirt was like and fancied it flawless. It was. But this was no time for admiration. He had a lesson to teach.

Raising his hand, he brought it down hard on the white bottom. An imprint of his hand bloomed instantly across the fair skin and she cried out in pain and indignation. Colin ignored her, and began to spank her, each blow reddening the fair skin until her entire bottom was pink from the dimples at the top of her buttocks to the butter-soft crease of skin just above the tops of her thighs.

Lark - her dignity stripped - sobbed against the humiliation and painful burn of the spanking.

When he let her up, she turned and glared at him. Colin could see the curse in her eyes and smiled.

"Save it for someone else," he said.

"Coward," she said, rubbing her bum. "You honor the old ways when it benefits you and yet in public you reject them."

He stood. "Perhaps so, Lark, but all the better if it protects you. With my hand in the old world and my ears in the new I can better look out for you."

"I don't need looking after," she said.

"You say that now, but you may find that my guidance isn't such a bad thing. In the future I trust you'll be more careful when I ask you to be."

He turned to walk to the door.

"This changes everything between us!" she cried, following him to the doorway.

He turned back to her and smiled his handsome, self-assured smile.

"No it won't," he said, chucking her gently under the chin. "You'll forgive me soon enough. We've been friends too long."