Bewitching the Baron (21 page)

“Water. Darkness. The wavering light thrown by flames. You are in the water, wet. Your hair spreading. The baron is there.” Theresa fell silent, and Valerian waited, watching the image of herself and Nathaniel, her own imagination continuing in the scene, Nathaniel leading her naked out of the water, caressing her wet skin, her own hands skimming over the planes of his back . . .

“Candlelight. Crystal,” Theresa said, and the amorous scene was replaced by the images given by her aunt. “Many people. Silks and satins, bright colors, music. I can see no faces. A man approaches. His face, I do see. Blue eyes. He is an older man.” There was a long silence, and then, “He looks almost like—”

Theresa’s foot jerked, kicking the stool where the pan sat. The images rippled violently, fractured. Valerian surfaced from her trance, and saw that Aunt Theresa had done the same. “Who was it?”

Theresa rubbed her eyes. “I am not certain. For a moment I thought . . . but no, it could not have been.”

“Why were you startled so?”

Theresa stared into the darkness for a long moment, as if still caught in her vision, then abruptly came back to the present. “Never mind. No use chasing after phantoms. It is nothing to do with your future, in any case.”

Valerian wisely chose to drop the subject. For whatever reason, Aunt Theresa apparently did not want to talk about it. It was not unusual for faces or occurrences from the past to pop up during a scrying. Not every image was a portent for the future, not even for a talented seer like Aunt Theresa.

“And the image of me in the water, what did that mean?”

“You would know better than I. Not a particularly useful scrying, I am afraid.”

Valerian shrugged, her cheeks slightly pink at the meaning she herself had given to the scene in the water. “At least it gives me something to wonder about.”

A gust of wind blew rain against the windows, and the flames on the hearth danced in a down draught. “It does not look like much of a night for a walk in the woods,” Theresa said.

Valerian shivered. “No. Much as I would like to see Nathaniel tonight, I am not at all certain I have the energy.” That was a portion of the truth. She was exhausted, yes, but she was also aware of the vulnerability Aunt Theresa was showing. Just hints of it, like her upset over the face in her vision, but even that much was unusual. She felt her aunt would prefer to have her close by tonight, even if she never said so outright. “Besides, I would not want him to start taking me for granted, would I?”

“For a woman with no experience, you are certainly quick to catch on to the games men and women play.”

“What can I say? I come from a long line of harlots.”

Chapter Fifteen

Eddie gave the new hinges and hasp on the stocks a final polish with his rag and stood back to admire his work in the dawn light. The twittering birds in the shadowed trees had kept him company as he worked through the early morning, tearing out the old metalwork by the light of the lantern that now sat extinguished at his feet.

He understood that repairing the stocks was a punishment for his own foolishness, and the care he took in his work was a reflection of how richly he felt he deserved the task. It was his own cock that had bewitched him, and the scent of Gwen, not witches or owls. He could see that now. The baron was an educated man, and he trusted that Valerian was nothing but an herbalist and midwife. His lordship probably thought him the dimmest of the dimwitted to have made such claims against her.

Eddie flushed, thinking of the fool he had been these past weeks. It was as if the moment a woman came by, his brain gave over all control to his crotch.

A heavy hand grasped his shoulder, and he turned to look at his father. Eddie watched as the man ran his assessing eyes over his work, then nodded in approval, giving his shoulder a brief squeeze. His father had not once reproached him for his part in this mess, for which Eddie was eternally grateful. He felt a mixture of love and shame well up inside at his father’s calm acceptance of his errors and penance.

He would not fail his father so again. Until he was ready to marry, he would keep a dozen paces between himself and any woman. And as for Gwen—well, she could practice her wiles on some other cock-headed fool. He did not need one such as her controlling his life.

The sun rose above the horizon, accompanied by the beat of a rawhide drum. A procession came around the corner, led in its stately pace by Randolph Miller, Gwen’s ten-year-old brother. His freckled face was grinning, his head bobbing with each beat of the drum that hung from a strap around his neck.

Several paces behind Randolph marched Gwen, eyes red-rimmed and glaring, and behind her her father and mother, looking stiff-necked and more ashamed than their daughter. Baron Ravenall and Paul Carlyle took up the rear, mounted on their fine horses, faces somber.

The drum slowly drew the villagers from their houses and shops, as if they had not been waiting behind the shutters since the crack of dawn for this very sight. The solemnity of the procession was mimicked by the villagers, although one attuned to the moods of the town could sense the pulse of their excitement underneath. Whether Gwen deserved the stocks or not, ’twould make for an entertaining day.

The procession drew to a halt, and the baron rode forward to address Gwen in tones that carried to the gathered crowd.

“Gwendolyn Miller, for the crimes of assaulting an innocent woman, accusing her of witchcraft, and inciting a riot in this peaceful town, you are sentenced to one day in the stocks. Do you accept your sentence and understand the reasons for it?”

Gwen pursed her lips in distaste, but after a glance at the angry eyes of her father responded. “Yes, my lord.”

The baron nodded, then turned his attention to Eddie. “Edward O’Connor, open the stocks.”

Eddie did as directed, and he helped Gwen to lay her neck and wrists into the depressions of the wood, touching her as little as possible, lifting her braid to the side with the tips of two fingers, as if the braid were a snake of the lowest order. He closed the stocks, careful not to pinch her skin where the wood met, then secured the end with a pin.

“She may be released for five minutes at noon, to attend to necessities,” the baron declared, to a general sigh of approval. It took Eddie a moment to realize that without that gesture of mercy, Gwen might have had to wet herself as she stood there. “She shall then be returned to the stocks until sundown, at which time her parents may release her.”

The baron then turned his horse about and set his heels to its side, Mr. Carlyle lingering for several moments more, giving Gwen a long, final look before turning to follow the baron.

Eddie looked at Gwen, her head already sagging under its own weight as she stood bent forward in the stocks, and wondered what he had ever seen in her.

Nathaniel rode at a canter down the path to Valerian’s home. He was pleased with how Gwen’s punishment had been implemented—there had been neither fuss nor protestation, and even Paul had expressed his satisfaction before riding off to Yarborough on an errand. Nathaniel was confident that the townsfolk would not act against either Valerian or her aunt now that he had shown that he strongly disapproved of such actions, and of superstitious beliefs.

Still, he mused, it was well-thought of Valerian to keep the full extent of her healing talents hidden. The villagers would not evaluate such information with a logical mind, and could be tempted to behave even more foolishly than they had already. But as things were, he was certain that the threat of his displeasure would keep them in line.

He emerged from the woods into the meadow and spotted Valerian drawing water from the well. He dismounted, tying Darby to a tree, and proceeded on foot to where she cranked the handle of the winch. She did not hear him approach, his footsteps obscured by the grass and the creak of metal.

Her hair hung over one shoulder, and he could not resist creeping forward and pressing his mouth against the bare skin of her neck, gleaming pale and tender in the soft light of the morning.

His reward was a shriek and an elbow in the jaw, accompanied by the wild ratcheting of winch gears let loose as the bucket dropped back to the bottom of the well.

“Nathaniel! My God, you scared me.”

He rubbed his jaw and grimaced. “That is a sharp elbow you have on your arm, Mademoiselle.”

She briefly touched his chin. “Sorry. I did not know it was you.”

“Were you expecting someone else to come kiss your neck?”

“Of course not. But you should know better than to sneak up on a lone woman, whatever your intentions.”

He doffed his hat and bowed low to her. “You have my apologies. You are correct. My only defense is that I was overwhelmed by the vision of your loveliness, and was unable to control my lascivious tendencies.”

“Satyr.”

“Seductress.”

He saw the smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, and he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Did you come from town?”

He straightened, and after a brief search for the devil bird, put his hat back on his head. “I did. I do not think you have anything further to worry about.”

“Mmm.”

She did not sound convinced, but he would let time prove him right. He put his hand to the crank and began to draw up the bucket. Valerian leant on the edge of the well, watching.

“You did not come to see me the night before last, nor yesterday,” he said as he worked.

“You did not come to see me, either.”

“True. I waited for you, though. Have you changed your mind about this arrangement?”

She cocked her head and looked at him speculatively. “Are you worried that I might have?”

He shrugged. “It would be a disappointment.” It was a gross understatement, and he saw her smile fade. “You were not expecting me to make a grand declaration of love, were you?” he teased.

“Me, expect the great Baron Ravenall to express his undying devotion to a poor country lass? No, of course not.”

He pulled the bucket over the edge of the well and set it down. “Would it please you more if I said I could sleep nary a wink for listening for your tap upon my window glass, and that every footstep in the hall became yours? That I could not eat for thoughts of having you naked in my bed, your skin damp with sweat, your thighs parted in invitation, the folds of your womanhood swollen with desire, your—”

He was cut off by her fingers pressed to his mouth. “Yes, ’twould please me more,” she said in a whisper.

He pulled her hand away and sank his fingers into her hair, holding her steady as his mouth came down on her own. He gently sucked her bottom lip, then traced it with his tongue, the smooth flesh feeling much as he knew those other lips between her thighs would. He pulled her head back, and slid his lips down her neck, nibbling at where it joined her shoulder. He brought one hand up to caress her breast and felt her breath quicken.

He released her, and she took a stumbling step to regain her balance. “You have not answered my question,” he said.

“Question?”

“Our arrangement.” He smothered a smile, watching her try to gather her thoughts. It was gratifying to know he had such an effect on her.

“Oh.” She picked up the bucket of water, then set it down again. “No, I have not changed my mind.”

“Then why is it that I have spent the last two nights alone?”

Her glance flicked to the cottage, then back to him. “It is nothing to do with you. With us. Truly. Things have been a bit chaotic, is all. Aunt Theresa has not been feeling well, and I did not want to leave her alone.”

“I trust it is nothing serious. If there is anyone who could remedy a person’s ills, it would be you.”

“My powers are not so grand as you might think.”

He pulled her back into his arms, gently this time, and kissed her on the forehead. Valerian’s concern for her aunt roused feelings of tenderness in his own breast for this caring young woman. Tenderness, and a faint sense of yearning. He felt her arms reach around his waist and hold him tightly. “I am glad you came by,” she said into his chest.

“As am I, although I do believe I hear a dismissal in that.”

She leaned back until he could see her face. “Only a temporary one. Come back half an hour before sunset. I have something I would like to show you.”

He kissed her again, then let her go with reluctance. “I shall be counting the hours.”
And shall be at a loss for how to fill them,
he silently added as he left her there by the well.

Chapter Sixteen

Valerian scratched at the damp skin under the fake linen bandage she wore over her forehead. She had thought she would have today to spend quietly tending to Theresa, and mixing up sleeping and painkilling draughts that her aunt could use as her illness worsened. There was no reason to have her aunt spend her nights awake and in pain when there were ways to give her rest.

Theresa had pointed out that sleeping draughts of wolfsbane, belladonna, or mandrake could not be much of a danger to one who was facing her end soon anyway, although Valerian still preferred to use the safer herbs like her namesake, Valerian, and wild lettuce, and she planned to make a pillow of hops. Still, she would have the more powerful drugs ready for when her aunt wanted them. It was the least she could do.

Instead of the quiet day at the oak table crushing and mixing and distilling, contemplating her later meeting with Nathaniel, she had been plagued by visits from ill and barely ill people seeking treatment from the local witch. Apparently her newly confirmed status as a sorceress, the baron’s declarations notwithstanding, had roused in the district not only feelings of dread, but utter faith in her powers and an overwhelming curiosity to see for themselves.

She had treated them all: handed out pumpkin seeds for deworming a child; Scotch broom tea to relieve a woman’s water retention; nettle juice for a rash; mullein and wild cherry for a cough and sore throat; and a lotion of rue to cut down on the fleas and lice making one family’s life an itching hell.

The only person she had actually allowed inside the cottage was Sally, who had come to visit her and not to gawk. For Sally she made chamomile tea, and sat with her and Theresa before the fire.