Witchrise (33 page)

Do not lower yourself by begging.

But that was precisely what I was doing here in Spain. A country so alien, and yet so beautiful in its harshness and majesty, I did not understand how Alejandro could ever have left it for the plain green fields of England.

‘No, not begging,’ I whispered to myself, then knelt in the warm dirt of the stable floor to make an oath. ‘Even if Alejandro lied to protect me and truly loves me, if he will not allow me to keep my magick after we are wed, then I shall go back to England without him. That is a solemn promise I make to myself.’ I drew the symbol for Saturn in the dirt with my finger, to bind myself to the oath, then stared out into the aching heat of the afternoon and added softly, ‘And to the memory of my mother.’

A moment later there were footsteps on the winding path down to the stable. I jumped up, my dagger at the ready. But it was only Richard.

‘Did you see him?’ I searched Richard’s face as he hurried inside and bent over, hands on knees, breathing hard. ‘Did you find out which room is his?’

‘Incredibly, yes,’ he gasped. ‘That place is vast.’

I waited for him to get his breath back. ‘No one suspected you?’

‘No, your spell worked. I might as well have been a rat scuttling in the shadows for all the notice they took of me. I walked straight through the main gate, expecting at any moment to be stopped and questioned, and into the castle. And when I finally dared open my mouth and try out my magickal Spanish, I was word-perfect. Even Alejandro himself would have sworn I was born and bred half a mile down the road from here. At least you were able to commit a few of your mother’s spells to memory before that devil snatched her book.’

Richard held out his hand for the flask, then drank deep. He was flushed and sweating, for it was a steep walk up to the castle where Alejandro was living.

His father’s castle! No wonder Carlos de Castillo had been willing to go to such trouble to prevent his son and heir from marrying a common English girl. In England, only the Queen or her highest nobles would live in such a fortress. Here, it belonged to Alejandro’s family – and would become his on his father’s death.

‘Your Spaniard’s at the top of the tower,’ Richard said, wiping a hand across his mouth. He nodded towards the formidable castle, which bristled with bone-white turrets and battlements and sinister arrow slits like eye-holes in the stone. ‘The tallest one, there, with the red and gold pennant. That’s the de Castillo flag, by the way. Yes, they have their own flag.’

I stared, not understanding. ‘Why is he in the tower? That doesn’t sound very comfortable.’

‘I think that’s the idea. Apparently Alejandro has refused to go through with the wedding. Sworn off women for life, given up his inheritance to some distant cousin, and is planning to join the local monastery after he’s seen his father tomorrow.’

‘
What?
’

‘I know. Madness.’ Richard looked at me broodingly. ‘And all over you.’

It sounded like something only Alejandro at his most stubborn would do. He had come all the way back to Spain, to his father’s home here in the mountains, to prevent me being arrested by de Pero. Only now he was refusing to marry the girl of their choice.

And he was planning to become a monk.

No, no, no. Alejandro would make the worst monk in the world. He was far too passionate for a life of prayer and silence.

‘But how could they lock him up in a tower?’ I demanded. ‘He’s their only son!’

‘They didn’t. Alejandro took himself up there a few days ago. Won’t speak to anyone except the monks and some old priest. The man who trained him.’

‘Father Vasco?’

Richard shook his head. ‘No, that wasn’t the name. Father Pietro, I think.’

‘Come on, I have to see him,’ I said violently, grabbing up my travelling bag.

‘Wait, not yet. Sundown. That’s when we’ll go.’ Richard shook his head, staring at me. ‘So in love with him, you would rush straight into danger to be with him again. I thought there was hope for me once. But after that letter . . .’

‘I’m sorry, I truly am,’ I whispered. ‘I thought so too. And I do love you, Richard. But as a friend. You know?’

‘I know,’ he said heavily.

I bit my lip. ‘Maybe you and Cecilie . . .’

‘Match-making now? Leave it alone, Meg.’ He shook his head, but I could see that he was not angry. ‘Let’s just get you safely up into that tower, so you can have your argument with Alejandro, the one you’ve been rehearsing in your head ever since you read that letter. The sooner that happens, the sooner we can both go home. It’s a long way back to England, and quite frankly, I’m thirsty and exhausted, and not happy about this heat. Not happy at all.’

I grinned. ‘I would never have made it here without you, Richard. Thank you.’

‘You may be less grateful when you see what I did to your hair.’

I dragged off my Spanish cap, put a hand to my hair, then laughed at his mocking expression. Since my rough and ready ‘disguise’-spell could only keep us inconspicuous for an hour or so at a time, Richard had cut my hair short on the long voyage from England, then dressed me in men’s clothing so we would not draw too much attention to ourselves as we travelled arduously through Spain.

‘I had forgotten that I am a boy now.’ I tugged my doublet down over my tight hose, enjoying the freedom of such clothes after my heavy skirts. Though riding astride had taken some getting used to, and I was still a little saddle-weary after days on a horse. ‘Do you think Alejandro will mind?’

Looking me up and down with a wry smile, Richard murmured, ‘Not if he is anything like me.’

It was almost dusk when we finally crept out of our hiding-place and climbed the steep winding path towards the castle. A bell was tolling somewhere, a deep melancholy sound, and the foregate was crowded with dark-eyed, dark-haired Spaniards gathered for the lord’s wedding – it seemed most were still unsure if it was going ahead or not. The rasp of Spanish could be heard everywhere, making me nervous as we kept our heads down and hoped not to be noticed.

It had been easy enough to blind the guards to our presence, my muttered incantation turning their heads to admire the sunset as we slipped through the drawbridge gate and into the narrow courtyard beyond. But now we were inside the castle, I was growing less confident by the second.

What if Alejandro took one scathing look at me in doublet and hose, and told me to go home again?

He was to join a monastery, Richard had said. What if he had chosen God over women, and no longer cared if I lived or died?

‘This way,’ Richard whispered, and I followed him round towards the tower entrance, keeping to the wall.

There was a guard at the base of the tower, but he was easy to distract with a wave of my hand. I had to admit, I was getting rather good at this. If all else failed, I could always become an English spy . . .

‘How many steps, would you think?’ I asked Richard, peering up dubiously into darkness.

‘Too many,’ he said gloomily, then prodded me in the back. ‘You first. And draw your dagger. We may not meet a merry welcome at the top.’

My heart was beating hard as I climbed, and not merely at the steepness of the winding stair. At each corner I stared out through the arrow slits at an alien landscape, Spain lit by the dying sun, dark mountains and vast sweeping plains below, green and gold stretching towards the black-rimmed haze of the horizon. The bell was still tolling, like a death knell, and my breath sounded impossibly small and human beside all this magnificence, the great fortress built into the living rock of the hillside, an impossibly hot sun beating down on it all day like an anvil, and the milky light of the moon rising to bathe it at night.

Dagger in hand, I reached the top and stared through an open doorway hewn into the stone, at a man on his knees. He was robed like a monk, his head bowed, and was praying in Spanish.

‘Alejandro,’ I said softly, and the word echoed about the stone walls, startling even me.

His head whipped round, then he was on his feet, staring. ‘Who is there?’ he demanded in Spanish, and thanks to the spell Cecilie had shared with me before I left, I was able to understand him. ‘Stand forward and reveal yourself.’

I took a step into the chamber, holding my breath. The place was dark and bare, a monk’s cell already, his bed a heap of straw on the stone floor, a great wooden crucifix on the wall facing the door, a single candle burning on the table.

He did not recognize me at first, striding towards me with a hostile expression. ‘I will not marry her. So you can save your breath, señor. Go back to my father and tell him you failed to persuade me. As they have all failed.’ He saw the dagger then, and his lip curled in contempt. ‘What, you think I would fear death? Get out, I tell you,’ and he grabbed me by the shoulders, no doubt meaning to cast me physically from the room.

My cap tumbled off and I gave a muffled cry, dropping the dagger.

He swore under his breath, then dragged me to the window, staring down into my face by the dying light. He spoke in English now. ‘Meg? I don’t believe it. You, here in Spain? Alone?’ He looked down at my doublet and hose, his expression stunned. ‘Like this?’

‘Not quite alone,’ Richard murmured, and slipped into the room behind me. ‘Greetings, priest. Or should I say, monk? How does one address a friar? Should I call you Brother Alejandro now?’

Alejandro looked at Richard over my head as though he wanted to kill him. ‘You allowed this madness?’

‘I could not stop her, so I thought it best to come along.’

I was staring at Alejandro, entranced by how beautiful he was – even now, dark-eyed with anger, bristling, one hand clenched like a vice on my shoulder.

‘You fool,’ I whispered, and touched his face, still marked by a cruel red scar where Marcus Dent had cut him from his jaw to his forehead.

His eyes closed in pain. ‘Don’t.’

‘You came to Spain to save me from de Pero, didn’t you? Your father threatened me. I saw the letter you left behind.’

‘
Dios!
’ He groaned, then shook his head. ‘But it was in Spanish.’

‘Oh, we speak Spanish now. Like natives.’ Richard folded his arms, leaning against the wall. ‘Magick.’

‘The Lady Elizabeth translated it into English for me,’ I said patiently, then turned my head. ‘Would you wait below for me, Richard? There is something I need to discuss with Alejandro.’

‘I should think so too, after having come all this way, and been as sick as a dog at sea,’ Richard said sharply, but grinned when I glared at him, bowing before disappearing through the darkened doorway again. ‘I will not be far. Call me if you need me.’

There was a brief silence while Alejandro stroked a hand over my shorn locks. ‘Did you have to cut it?’

‘Richard did it. So I could pass for a boy.’

His eyebrows rose as he studied me in the tight-fitting doublet, which strained awkwardly across my chest. I had not realized how much I had grown over the past year, but by the look in his eye my figure was not displeasing to him. ‘You could never pass for a boy,’ he assured me. ‘But you should not have come. Yes, my father threatened your life if I did not come home. But on my return I found him at the Spanish court and made him promise never to pursue you, whatever happened. In return I agreed to come home and at least discuss my marriage with Juana.’ His mouth tightened. ‘My father is a man of power, and like most such men, he can be cruel and harsh in his methods. But he is also a man of honour. He has given me his word not to seek your death, and he will keep it.’

‘Juana?’ I could not keep the note of jealousy out of my voice.

‘We were betrothed from childhood. These arranged marriages are perfectly ordinary here in Spain, and I thought nothing of it for many years. I did not know her well, of course, nor did we meet often. I remembered her as a shy girl, not very pretty. But she has blossomed into the most beautiful creature,’ he said, a wry smile playing on his lips. ‘A bride any man would be proud to have.’

I stared and could not breathe, my heart clenched like a fist. ‘Wh . . . what?’

He looked down at me, then grinned, his smile making it even harder for me to breathe. ‘Oh no, I have no wish to marry her. But she will have no difficulty finding another husband. Though I do not think she liked her side of the bargain. She was ecstatic when she heard I had been removed from the Holy Order of Santiago—’

‘Oh no, I’m so sorry!’ I exclaimed.

‘It was inevitable,
mi alma
. Do not distress yourself. I had gone too far into the darkness to be redeemable in their eyes. But Juana was not pleased when I announced that I still intended to renounce my title and devote my life to God. It seems she has little time for men in robes,’ he said drily, indicating his brown monk’s habit, ‘being a woman of deep passions.’

‘Deep passions?’ Offended, I grabbed the back of his head and dragged him down to meet my mouth. Did he think I lacked passion?

But if he had been fooled by my repeated refusals to marry him into thinking me cold and uninterested in him, he soon realized his mistake. As our mouths met, he gave a protesting groan. Then the groan deepened. His arms came round me, and he pushed me backwards against the stone wall, kissing me as though we were about to be torn apart for ever. Which we would be, I thought grimly, if he insisted on joining a monastery.

‘Meg,’ he gasped, staring down at me with glittering eyes. ‘We cannot . . . I love you. I would marry you tonight if I could. But it is impossible. Even if my father should allow it, there is still the curse. I do not want you to die in childbirth.’

I shook my head, eager to share what I knew with him. ‘That curse has been lifted.’

‘
What?
’

‘Cecilie had a vision of us together in the future,’ I told him briefly, spreading a hand against his warm chest to hear the slightly too-fast beat of his heart. ‘Well, she had several visions before I left. And in one of them, she saw our children.’

He was frowning, his eyes narrowed on my face. ‘The seer?’

‘Yes, we rescued her from Marcus Dent. Did I not say? Well, we can talk later – there is plenty to tell you.’ Laughing, I shook my head when he pressed me. ‘No, let me finish. I told Cecilie it could not be a true vision. I explained about the curse, why we could never be together. But then she reminded me of an old country witch’s spell I already knew. Highly effective against curses. We did it together and lifted the curse. Blood and bladderwrack, that was all it took. Plus three days’ fermenting.’