9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC (2 page)

Her slippers skidded across the dirt floor as he tugged
her toward the door. Terror jittered down her spine. Her pulse fought against
the thickness of her chilled blood. Gods, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think
with the scent of that other witch all over him. How long had he been involved
with her? Since he hadn’t touched her in months, she suspected his involvement
had been going on for some time. Who was this other witch?

Elsbeth drew a deep, soothing breath, slowly exhaled, and
told herself to remain calm. She mustn’t panic. “Let go of me, John.”

 
“You are guilty of
casting spells,” he replied, a cruelty in his voice she’d never heard before.
“You must be punished for thy crimes.”

“I’ve cast no spells. I’m innocent of witchcraft.” She
clawed at his hands, trying to free her wrists from his painful grip. Her nails
broke with the fullness of his warm flesh. He yelped like the coward she now
considered him to be.

John grabbed her by the upper arms, shaking her. She
winced when his fingers bit into her flesh.

“You conspired with the Devil.
Slut.
Spawn of Satan! You slept with a demon,” he yelled.”

She hung her head in mortal shame. She should never have
confessed her sin to him. “Yes,” she whispered, too ashamed to meet his angry
gaze. “You left me no choice.” Elsbeth drew a shaky breath and lifted her head,
prepared to face his scorn. She refused to sink to his level and voice her own
accusations. “It’s Beltane. My breeding time, but you refused to touch me. You
understand the irresitable pull of my mating season. You wronged me, John, in
every way possible there is to wrong a witch, long before I slept with the
demon. He, at least, knew what I needed. You can’t condemn me for the things
you made happen. Let me go!”

“Cease fighting or I will drag you to the hangman,” he
warned.

She couldn’t bring herself to obey or even to look into
the eyes that had once been clear and brown as a
r
om’s
wing and
filled with love. There was no mistaking it was John’s voice but the icy tone
was unnatural. Once, he would never have hurt her in any way.

He yanked harder on her arms. “Move, Beth. Now,” he
snarled, shoving her toward the door.

Elsbeth cried out as she lost her balance and stumbled
toward him. She bit her lip, dragging her broken nails across his wrist. The
children. She had to get to her children. She wrenched free and put distance
between her and John–what little distance the crowded room allowed.

He moved, sudden and unexpected. John stepped squarely in
front of the ladder that rose to the loft where the children slept the sleep of
the innocent. Consciously or unconsciously, he’d blocked her path, preventing
her from reaching her babies.

Slowly, she slid her hand across her aching breasts, a
useless attempt to soothe the heaviness weighing there. It would not be
soothed, not as long as her babies were in danger.

Elsbeth closed her eyes and focused her mind on the room
in an attempt to quiet the chaos raging through her thoughts. To reach trance
state, she needed to visualize the once peaceful haven of her home–John’s love,
the low fire crackling in the hearth, the kettle hooked on the hob whistling a
merry tune while steam shot from its spout in a vaporous hiss. She imagined the
weak flame of the tallow candle–nearly burned to a stub, merrily flickering on
the long table where they broke their fasts.

“Beth! Stop this witch’s trickery. Thy devil’s games will
not work with me. I have no fear of you. I can take you anytime I please.”

Her eyes snapped open. Uneasy shadows danced on the rough
log walls. Chills snaked up her spine. “Flickering shadows, ‘tis a bad omen,”
she whispered, “a sign of things yet to come.”

She thrust wispy strands of hair under her mobcap and
fought the weariness seeping into her bones. Gingerly, she wiped her sweaty
palms down the sides of her long, white apron.

His face set, John took a step toward her. “’Tis nothing
but foolish gibberish you mutter.”

She heaved a sigh. At last, he’d moved out of her way. Without
pause or consideration of the danger she placed herself in, she scooted around John
and headed to the rickety ladder propped against the wall below the loft. Her
daughters slept up there and she was determined to get them to safety.

Elsbeth muttered a prayer to the gods asking for
forgiveness. She’d thought her girls were safe in the mortal world, safe from
the soul-stealers of her realm, safe from witch assassins. But she was wrong
and her mistake cost the soul of her husband.

Even the villagers were not protected from the vile
accusations of power hungry
illumrofs
or ill-met witches who sold their
souls to gain knowledge of Black Magick. Those who were innocent of practicing
the Black Arts were tried, convicted, and executed alongside the guilty.

Of a sudden, John’s burning anger over her mating with a
demon slammed into her with the driving force of an evil spell. Her bosom
heaved. Elsbeth struggled to keep from revealing her panic. ‘Twas unjustified,
his fury, if anyone had the right to be enraged, ‘twas she. Someone hated her
enough to destroy her marriage by driving this wedge between them. Who? The
accusing girls? She’d done nothing to them. They were not witches, just unwise
girls who’d swept the village into panic with their foolish lies and vile acts
of convulsive seizures.

Elsbeth shivered. It should have been warm and toasty
inside the room but a chill pervaded her bones. Ice settled like a cold lump of
congealed porridge in her belly. She stiffened under the onslaught of an evil
presence that closed around her like a heavy cloak. Dark and venomous, the
putrid Black Magick surged into the room, filling it, surrounding them and
twisting her husband into a stranger.

 
John stared at his
hands as if he didn’t know they belonged to him. He looked up, his expression
dark and thunderous and filled with hatred.

Desperate, she whirled, searching for something,
anything
that’d make a weapon to defend
herself and her children. Her gaze fell upon the ax leaning against the wall by
the ladder. She grabbed it, clenching it between her hands. “Stay back, John,”
she yelled.

He watched her, his stare unflinching and lifeless as a
slab of marble. Spittle flecked his lips. His eyes bulged, wild and horrific.
He charged toward her like a wild bull.

“Stop,” she screamed. She raised the ax in warning. “I
swear I’ll use it.”

He stilled, his big body shaking with convulsive rage.
“You’re evil, witch!”

“I’m evil?” Elsbeth tossed back her head, rage soaring
through her blood. “‘Tis a heinous thing thy people are doing, hanging
innocents and crushing them with stones.” Elsbeth raised the ax higher. “I’m
taking my babies and leaving this wicked realm.”

“Put down the ax, Beth. You’re coming with me.”

She shook her head. “Move to the other side of the table.
Stay there or I’ll turn you into a legless lizard.”

Elsbeth knew she’d stunned him. She’d stunned herself.
Always the obedient wife, he’d cast away his right to give her orders when he’d
taken another witch. Her lips trembled. Dread lurched in her heart. She
couldn’t face this alone. She needed help.

Hesitating but a second, John put the table between them
as she’d ordered. Elsbeth lowered the ax to the floor and raising her arms in a
graceful arc above her head, she swayed from side to side. Outside the wind
rose, howling fiercely through the trees. The window panes rattled. Sparks
crackled and leapt up the chimney.

Drawing a deep breath, Elsbeth chanted to the Coven of the
Sisterhood:

“Come to me,

I summon all.

Come to me,

Heed thy sister’s call.”

Elsbeth had no idea if the sisterhood would answer her
summons, but she knew they’d hear her pleas. This night, the time of Bron
Trogain, the Coven of the Thirteen’s power reached its zenith.

 
“Please. Help me!”
She prayed her words brought them to her. Elsbeth clenched her fists, and
repeated the summons–the wind rose in strength, screeching through the trees,
past the forest, carrying her pleas to the coven.

“Stop it,” John shouted. “You’re mad!”

Elsbeth continued her soft chanting. She refused to look
at him or acknowledge he accused her of madness when he was clearly insane with
the evil magick drowning his mind. She couldn’t risk her children, not when John
had so betrayed her. She pleaded for guidance, begged for help, not for
herself, but for her daughters.

The wind died so abruptly, she knew she’d lost.

I’ve failed! Failed as a wife, failed to protect those
I love.

The coven wasn’t coming.

Maybe she hadn’t expected them to save her, not after
she’d wed a mortal and abandoned the coven, but somehow, she’d thought her
sisterhood would be willing to save her children, even if they were considered
Impures
because of their half human blood.

Elsbeth lifted her head and watched as John withdrew a
paper from his vest pocket and shook it at her. Gloating, he seemed pleased he
had the warrant for her.

“Being wed to you ruined my life,” he said. Accusation
twisted his once handsome face. “You have no ability to produce sons.”

“How would you know?” she snapped. “You haven’t slept with
me in weeks. You refused to give me a child this season. For a witch, that is
the cruelest thing you could possibly do.”

His lips drew together, tight with contempt. “I want no more
children with you,” he said, his voice harsh. He pressed the paper at her. “The
warrant’s for all of you. Awaken thy daughters, witch, so they might hang
beside you.” His face distorted with victory. He was so certain of his success.
“Know this, yes, I bedded another.” He smiled, please. “She carries my son in
her belly,” he announced proudly.

Elsbeth swallowed hard. A child? A
son?
Her soul cried out at the injustice of it. Her heart
splintered and bled. He’d gladly hand her over to the magistrates just to gain
his freedom. That treachery alone was enough to shatter her wounded spirit, but
for him to create a child with another when he’d refused to give her a baby was
degrading, to be willing to watch his daughters hang was unforgivable.

She lifted her chin, furious that he dared gloat his
sinful deeds to her. He’d forced her to commit adultery, one more thing she’d
never forgive him for.

“Turn me over to the magistrates, John, if that is thy
wish,” she said humbly, although subservient was far from what she felt. “I
will not allow you or the magistrates to harm our daughters.”

“Obey me, Elsbeth, or pay the price.”

Once more she heard the utter callousness in his words.
Her heart splintered, leaving behind a bleak, lifeless nothing beating behind
her breasts.

Where had her gentle husband gone to?

When had she lost him?

Had she lost him when he took another witch? Or had she
lost him when she lay in the demon’s arms? Could they save what they once had,
rebuild from there?

“Search thy heart, John,” she pleaded, willing to give him
one last chance for their daughter’s sake. “I know you do not truly feel this
contempt for me. You’ve always been a righteous man. You are compelled. Hexed.
Fight it, John! We can go away. Start over. Remember how happy we were in the
past? ”

For a moment, his eyes, those dark, unfathomable eyes,
sought hers. In that brief connection, she saw a second of lucidity. Deep
grooves bracketed his mouth. Pain twisted his face. Tears spilled down his
cheeks in a pale river.

“Beth,” he choked. “Forgive me.” Then he cast off his
remorse as easily as he’d cast her aside, and once more, the oily spell he was
under blackened his mind. He mopped his tears on the back of his shirt sleeve,
his eyes glittering with renewed venom when he looked up. “I renounce you,” he shouted.
“Thy witch marks shall determine thy guilt.”

Elsbeth closed her eyes. Fool! He could not see the
invisible witch marks any more than she could die from a rope. True, severe
injuries ripped the soul from a witch’s body and it could take centuries before
it found its way back. But fire was the true enemy. Fire could force her spirit
into an eternal black void, but John didn’t know that. No one did, except
another witch.

He
dropped his gaze to her breasts. “Once, long ago, you tempted me with thy lush
body.”

“Do not
tempt
me into turning you into a croaking
toad. Harm me or our daughters and I’ll do exactly that. Now get out of my way,”
she said, her body stiff with determination.

John threw up his hands and retreated. “Take thy
daughters. Do what you will, for they are as evil as you. I never want to see
them again. Get thee hence!”

Elsbeth
flinched at his cruel words.

 
“I watched you in
the woods with them,” he ranted. “Magic flew from their fingertips, while you
danced in circles, chanting. You summoned the Devil. The silver-haired one–”

“Saylym,” Elsbeth interrupted. “Thy daughter’s name is
Saylym. She is but two, John. How can you fear her? We were not summoning Satan
but asking for blessings upon our home. Thy children love you. You’re their
father.”

“Nay,” he denied. “Demon seeds! They are rooted from
Satan’s own seed, not mine.”

The light of fanaticism raged in his eyes. He looked
feverish, his face flushed with madness. Sweat trickled down his cheeks and
throat and dampened the neck of his white shirt despite the coolness of the
evening.

The leaves outside rustled against the bottom of the door.
The wind grew stronger, howling around the cottage.
The coven!
Elsbeth’s
pulses raced with excitement.

“Mama?” The frightened voice came from their eldest, six
year old, Nyra.