Books by Maggie Shayne (260 page)

I wondered sometimes if he truly believed that. And if he did, how could he love me and still live with himself?

By the heavens… his feelings for me had to be tearing him apart inside. Or were they? I wanted to ask… but I couldn’t very well begin a theological discussion with him and not reveal more than I wished to.

So I put my questions aside and lived in the moment. I was, for the first time in my life, truly happy. Knowing I’d see him each night made my days pass in a glow of pleasure.

Holding him in my arms until the wee hours of dawn made my nights pass even more beautifully.

I suppose I should have known that it was too good to last.

Should have known. But didn’t.

To the Most Esteemed Nathanial Dearborne, Your name is known even here in the Colonies, sir, where tales of your skill and success in exposing the practice of Witchery are passed from one man of God to another in tones of awe and admiration. Such dark practices must be uncovered, wherever they hide, and burned away by the light of righteousness. “Tis for this reason I post you now. The shadow of the Devil has fallen upon my own beloved settlement of Sanctuary in the colony of Massachusetts Bay. A Witch resides amongst us, of this I am certain. Her wiles and spells have placed the souls of the entire population in dire peril. The Witch’s name is Raven St. James, and while I am convinced of her guilt, there remains doubt in the mind of our settlement’s pastor. I fear the Rev. Duncan Wallace has lost the ability to see beyond her charms and sorcery, and has perhaps himself fallen victim to her sinful enchantments.

I have heard, Reverend Dearborne, that you have, at times, traveled far in your quest to rid the God-fearing Christian world of the scourge of Witchcraft, and “tis my fondest hope that you will do so now. I beg of you, sir,

come to Sanctuary. You may well be our town’s only hope. In God’s most holy name, I remain, Elias Stanton, Sanctuary, Massachusetts Bay Colony

Nathanial Dearborne received the letter three months after it was written to him. Amazing, he thought, how his fame had spread even to the New World. Amazing, and ironic. A High Witch, perhaps one of the oldest dark ones in the world, known far and wide as a Witch-hunter of the highest order.

But what better way to take the power of other Witches than to execute them and take their hearts before they revive?

He smiled to himself as he read the distraught words of this Elias Stanton. He’d found her. At last he’d found the young Witch who’d so thoroughly wronged him.

Raven St. James.

With Duncan, still with Duncan. How? Why? Did it matter? She was a powerful Witch, Nathanial had sensed that from the start. More powerful than most so young. ’Twas the power of her ancestors, the power of a long and unbroken line of natural Witches, all of it appearing collectively in the first High Witch ever to be born to her family. Even she hadn’t been aware of the full extent of her powers.

But Nathanial had.

He’d been weakening when he’d come upon the girl in the stocks that snowy morn. Barely functioning, and unsure how much longer he could go on. He’d needed an immortal heart,
any
immortal heart, to revive him, to restore his strength, his vigor. ’Twould give him the power to seek out an older one before he began to decline once more. So he’d touched the accused Witches as they stood imprisoned and bent over in shameful display in the public square. He’d felt nothing when he’d touched the mother.

But a jolt surged through him when his hand brushed over the girl’s. And he’d known, young and inexperienced though she was, he would take her heart, just so that he might live to take others.

And then the rest of the knowledge had come to him, whispering through his sharp mind like a breeze before he took his hand away. She had a strong heart in her, Raven St. James did. A powerful heart. He would not gain longevity by taking it, but instead, power. Magickal power. And he wanted it for his own. He wanted her young, tender heart beating endlessly, imprisoned in a tiny wooden box. With the others.

Now, though, there was more driving him than just that. Events had taken an unexpected twist that day at the gallows. A twist that burned in his gut, and one he would not, could not forgive.

Raven had cost him a young man who’d been… almost… a son to him. She’d turned Duncan Wallace against him, and the hurt he felt was more than he’d allowed himself to feel in centuries. Damn her.
Damn her!

Nathanial had had a son of his own, once, long, long ago. Before he’d known about immortality, before he’d taken his first heart, and thus stolen the gift for himself. So much time had passed that he remembered very little about that life— the life before. But he remembered the boy, and his love for him.

He hadn’t thought it through, this endless life he’d managed to acquire for himself. He hadn’t thought it through!

Nathanial’s son had grown old. Died, eventually. As had his wife, and his friends and everyone and everything he’d ever known. So much pain swamped him then that he cursed his decision to kill his first Witch; to hold her heart entrapped in a small box, sucking the very life from it to extend his own lifetime.

He’d cursed his immortality. Briefly. He got over that in time.

But he’d never gotten over the loss of his son.

Duncan… Duncan had reminded him of the boy in some small way—had, perhaps, come close to filling the void that remained in Nathanial’s heart after all these centuries.

Until Raven St. James had turned Duncan against him.

She’d pay. She’d pay with her very heart. If it took him a thousand lifetimes, Nathanial would make sure of that. He’d get her, take her heart, take her special brand of magick and make it his own. He’d repay her for thwarting him, not once, but twice, for he’d attempted to kill her when she’d returned to her former home after the hanging.

But he’d been weak. And she’d defeated him.

Only once before had he been defeated in battle by a woman. Only once. He hadn’t been weakened, then, but at his strongest. But she had been a woman possessed of a fury beyond anything he’d ever seen. All because he’d murdered her lover. She’d nearly killed him,
would have,
had he not been clever enough to get away. He’d never face
that one
again if he had his way.

But Raven, he
would
face Raven.

And soon, for it seemed her day of reckoning was at hand. He knew where she was hiding. And as if the fates had decided to take his side for a change, he knew where Duncan was, as well. As if he were meant to go there, to dispose of the bitch once and for all, and to make Duncan come back to England with him. And he would. He would win Duncan back again, he would have Raven’s heart. Not because he’d die without it. Not this time. No, this time it was sheer vengeance that drove him. He wanted Raven’s heart… because she had taken his. She’d taken Duncan.

Duncan stood at the pulpit in the log structure that was his church, going over his notes for this morning’s service. His sermons had taken a turn of late. He didn’t preach about hellfire and the damnation of sinners anymore. He couldn’t. To do so made him squirm inside, knowing that according to the beliefs he was supposed to be preaching, he was damned himself. But more and more he questioned those beliefs. More and more he felt with everything in him that loving Raven St. James could be no sin. No more so than breathing… because it came to him just as naturally.

He looked up when the groan of the heavy door announced a visitor, and quickly hid a frown of displeasure when he saw Elias Stanton coming in.

He looked ill, Elias did. Pale, weak somehow. The man came inside and sank onto a wooden bench as if his legs were too tired to carry him any farther.

Duncan set his notes aside and hurried forward. “Elias? Are you ill?”

Shoulders slumped, Elias only shook his head. “Tis no natural illness plaguing me, Duncan. “Tis far darker than that, I fear.” As Duncan frowned, Elias lifted his head, revealing the dark circles beneath his eyes. “But I’ve not come to you for that. You’re no physician. ”Tis my soul needs cleansing, Reverend. I’ve come to confess. Will you hear me?“

Duncan blinked in surprise. “Aye, you know I will. But confession is nay part of our dogma here, Elias.”

“Nonetheless…” He lowered his head once more.

Duncan nodded, clasping Elias’s shoulder briefly. “Go on, then. Tell me what troubles you so. I’ll help you if I can.”

Tiredly Elias nodded. “Tis the woman.“

And Duncan knew without asking what woman he spoke of, but he asked all the same.

“That St. James wench,” Elias spat out. “Who else?”

A tingle of warning whispered through Duncan’s limbs. He took the bench in front of Elias, turned sideways to look back at the bowed man, and warned himself to keep quiet. To give nothing away. To simply… listen.

“I thought myself strong enough in my faith to resist her, you know. Fool that I was. No man could withstand such an onslaught.”

Swallowing the retort that leaped to his lips, Duncan only nodded. “What is it she’s done to upset you so much?”

Elias brought his head up fast, and his eyes lost some of that tired look when they filled instead with anger. Rage.

“What has she done? Have you not seen it yourself, Reverend? The sidelong glances. The way she parades her beauty so proudly about this town. The devil is in her, I vow it!”

“I’ve nay seen anythin’ of the sort,“ he said, too quickly, he knew.

“She’s taken to haunting my dreams,” Elias went on. “She comes to me by night, while I sleep. Tempts me to sin of the most vile sort while I’m helpless to resist. I tell you, only a Witch would be capable of such things!”

Duncan closed his eyes slowly. God, he’d been afraid of this. “Aye, only a Witch,” he said slowly. “Or a man lustin’ after an innocent. Take care, Elias, not to blame your own failin’s on another.“

“Tis Witchery, I tell you! And I’m not alone in my opinion, Reverend!“

Duncan felt his eyes narrow on the man. “Aren’t you, now?”“ And he waited, dreading what he was about to hear.

“I didn’t speak of it to you at the time,” Elias said slowly. “But I wrote to a man in England about her. A famous Witch-hunter. And now, at last, I have his reply.” This as he tugged a folded sheet of vellum from within his coat. “He believes all the signs are there, Duncan. He says she’s dangerous and that we ought to exercise extreme caution, that she could destroy us all! Read it for yourself!” He thrust the letter at Duncan.

Duncan recoiled from the sheet as if its very touch could burn him. “Nay, I’ve no need to read the words of a man like that. How can he judge and condemn a woman from across the sea, Elias? Think on this! He hasna even met her.”

“A man with his experience has no need. Besides, he will. He’s on his way here. Could arrive within a fortnight. Perhaps sooner. Then we’ll see—”

Duncan surged to his feet. “You’re bringin’ a Witch-hunter here? To Sanctuary? Good God, Elias, do you know what you’ve done?“

Elias rose very slowly, staring hard at Duncan from head to toe. “I see. I guessed it long ago, but I doubted my own instincts. Now, though, I see it clear. All those nights you spend out there, on the pretense of spying on those women. She’s got to you, too. Hasn’t she, Reverend? Hasn’t she?”

Duncan averted his eyes. “Dinna be a fool.”

“Have you fallen even further than I? Has she lifted her skirts for you already? Have you been sampling her tender—”

Duncan lashed out, unable and utterly unwilling to restrain himself. His fist connected with Elias’s face, and the man reeled backward, over the bench and onto the floor behind it.

“You dare!” Elias blustered, clutching his nose as blood ran from beneath his hand.

Duncan gripped the front of the man’s shirt and lifted him to his feet. “Raven St. James is a fine and decent woman. I’ll nay have you sullyin’ her name, nor causin‘ her harm on account of your own rampant lust, Elias Stanton. You’re a ruttin“ pig of a man, with a mind so bent on the carnal there isna room for reason nor decency left in you anymore.”

Elias stepped back and Duncan let him go.

“Leave her alone,” he told the bastard. “I’m warnin’ you, Elias,
leave her alone.
‘“

Elias sniffed, rubbed his nose again, and examined the blood on his fingertips. “I’ll forgive you, Reverend. Only because I know the power of her spells on a man. She’s obviously worked them on you as well. But she’ll get what’s coming to her. And I’ve half a mind to set the wheels in motion now, myself, rather than wait for the Witch-hunter’s arrival as he advises in his letter. What more evidence do we need, after all?”

“Do you spread any more of this malicious gossip, Elias, I’ll kill you myself.“

The man’s eyes widened, and he took a hasty step away. “You? A man of God, threatening murder?”

“Murder is what you have in mind for Raven. Dinna try to deny it.”

Elias narrowed his eyes. “Raven, is it? I knew—”

“You know nothing. She’s the innocent here. You’re the sinner, Elias. As the leader of this church ”tis my duty to protect the flock from lechers like you.“

Lowering his head, Elias shook it slowly. “You make me wonder, Reverend, whether she has enchanted you at all… or if perhaps you’ve been in league with her all along. Mayhap you be a Witch as well.“

“Get out!” Duncan lifted a hand that shook with barely contained rage, and pointed toward the door. “Get out of my church. You soil it with your very presence.”

Nodding twice, Elias turned and walked away.

Duncan released all his breath at once and sank onto the bench. Damn! Elias was dangerous, and this Witch-hunter, whoever he was, likely even more so. How many of the women in this town might be falsely accused, even executed, now that Elias had started this disaster? How many? Elias Stanton may well have lit a wildfire in Sanctuary that would spread until it consumed the entire settlement.

But it wouldn’t consume Raven. Nay, not if it cost Duncan’s life to prevent it.

He had to get to Raven, had to speak to her. She must leave this place, now. Right away.

But even now the parishioners were arriving for the service. God, there was no time. Afterward, then. He’d go to her tonight and he would make her understand the danger she faced here. He’d take the lass away from this place if he had to sling her over his shoulder and carry her all the way. Aye, he would!

He closed his eyes slowly and prayed to his God to watch over her in the meantime.

After the Sunday meeting, I lingered. Arianna didn’t. She put on a good show, acting prim and pious in her humble, dark skirts, white cap always in place, hair discreetly tucked beneath it. But she hated the Sunday meetings, the townspeople with their false smiles and friendly words when all the while they were whispering their suspicions to one another in private. And as usual, she left as soon as possible. She always did, even if it meant walking all the way back to the cabin. But I was feeling generous today, so I told her to take the wagon. I’d walk home this time, if she couldn’t wait to leave.