Darkwitch Rising (16 page)

Finally what he said sank into my consciousness. “
Loathe
you? Why?” How could he possibly think that? Hadn’t I spent two lifetimes throwing myself at him in one form or another?

“After what I said to you, when last we parted. After what I did.”

“Brutus, I
begged
you to kill me. I thought you loathed me. You said—”

“I said stupid things.” He suddenly reached out a hand and ran it through my hair. I shuddered, and I know he felt it, for his eyes widened in an almost stunned disbelief.

He hadn’t thought I would respond so readily to him. He
had
been scared, and
was
scared. Could it possibly be that he was as apprehensive as I? As terrified of failure as I?

His hand came to a halt at the back of my neck, his fingers so warm and strong.

“I have always said stupid and hateful things to you,” he repeated, “because I was so frightened of you.”

“Frightened of me? Why?” His fingers were now stroking at the back of my neck, and I wished to every god in heaven and hell they would never stop.

“I was frightened of you because I felt too deeply for you. I was scared of loving you. I was terrified of you the moment I first laid eyes on you, I think. You stood there so proud and sure in your father’s megaron—” he half laughed “—having just kicked one of my guards in the shins. I was scared of you, and of your father, and
that
is why I acted as I did. I demanded you as my wife, for I think I knew even then I could not bear to lose you to another.”

I could say nothing. I could hardly believe I was hearing these words.

“I would murder the world, if ever I lost you to another,” he whispered, and I shivered.

He was so close now, and our bodies touched briefly, with this breath and that, at breast and chest. I could feel his heat, see his heart skittering in his rib cage, and without thinking, acting only on instinct, I put out a hand and rested it on his chest.

His skin jumped under my fingers. “I am sick of being scared of loving you,” he said. “Noah, please…”

And then I knew that he truly
was
scared and I could stand it no longer. If he wanted a new beginning, then so be it. I did the one thing I had denied him in this chamber so long ago, the one thing our relationship had foundered on for so many lives.

I leaned against him, pressing my breasts against his chest, ran my hands down to his hips, and raised my face to his.

His hand tightened against the back of my skull, and somehow we were doing so easily what we had never allowed ourselves to do before: kiss.

It began gently and nervously, trembling tentative movements of mouth against mouth, each of us almost too scared to touch the other, but then suddenly he grabbed at me with his hands and body and mouth.

Oh, gods, this was not like the kiss he had given me in the death chamber under Tower Hill.
This
was the kind of kiss that could found empires and tear down skies all at the same time.

I would settle merely for the founding of an empire.

“Do I still taste foul?” I asked eventually, pulling my mouth away from his.

He paused, as if thinking through what he
had
felt.

“I tasted you, and all that you are,” he said, kissing me softly on the top of my nose, and then again behind my left ear.

Ah, I almost melted at those brief caresses.

“I tasted the land and its rivers and the tug of the moon; all this in your mouth.”

Again he kissed me, more deeply this time, and with enough passion that I moaned. Suddenly all this kissing was not quite enough for me.

“And, yes,” he said, pulling away just enough so his words could play across my upturned face. “Yes, I can taste that imp within you, but in you it does not taste foul. What you
are
overcomes all that the imp represents. When I kissed Swanne, then I tasted all that she had become, and it was foul.”

“But you said that I also—”

“I was a
fool
. I tasted only what I wanted. I was so angered, so terrified, and so
lost
when I realised how Asterion had tricked you, that all I could taste was foulness. But that foulness was
my
foulness, not yours.”

“But this imp remains within me, even in this enchanted place. Are you not afraid of it?”

“Oh, gods, Noah. I am afraid for
you
. Long Tom has told me that you are destined to become Asterion’s whore in this life, and—”

“Hush,” I said, laying fingers against his mouth, “do not speak of that now.”

“I cannot allow it.”

“You must, my love.”

“I will save you. Somehow. I
will
.”

His fervour touched me deeply. I knew that he could hate well. I had never realised until now how well also he could love.

“That is far into the future,” I whispered. “Pray, let us not talk of it. But…we do need to speak of the imp. I need to know if you are willing to—”

“I am
not
willing to allow this imp to keep me from you,” he said. “Not ever again. If it snatches, then so be it.”

“That is not the Brutus I knew and loved,” I whispered.

“Then can you know and love this one?”

“Truly,” I said, “I think I might be able to manage.”

And with that, he picked me up, and carried me to the bed. “Cornelia,” he said, naming me by my ancient and first name as he laid me softly down, “will you be my wife?”

“Yes!” I said.

“Cornelia,” he said, “will you love me?”

“Yes!” I said.

“Cornelia—Caela—Noah,” he said, and he was laughing and weeping all at the same moment, “and Eaving too, if she wants to hear it, the depth of love that I feel for you has been exceeded only by the stupidity I have shown in not realising it.”

“You love me?” I wished he’d just say it, three simple words, and not wrap them about with all this elegant court-speak.

“Most exceedingly,” he said.

“Then, dear gods, just say it!”

He laughed, and kissed me, softly. “Aye, I do love you, Noah. I always have.”

“Well, that is good,” I said, and I felt emotion choke my voice as I spoke those practical words, “for I happen to discover that I love you, too.” I paused, then continued in a whisper, “And always have.”

I reached out and undid the knots of his linen waistcloth, then allowed him to divest me of my skirt, and he lay down beside me and cradled me in his arms.

“Asterion be damned,” I whispered, and he laughed, and then kissed me, and all was very well.

When, eventually, he rose above me, and entered me, I ran my hands through his hair and pulled his face back to mine, and let him kiss me all he wanted.

“Shelter me,” he whispered, raising his face slightly, and I did, and so much of my worry and apprehension slid away as, together, in this place that was both Mag’s Pond and the bedchamber where we had originally made so many mistakes, we finally did something right.

J
ane felt it,
knew
it, the instant that Cornelia-reborn and Brutus-reborn met. She stood in the centre of the fish market, staring northwards, and gaped.

And then felt agony as the imp within her womb bit deep.

Come home!
Weyland’s voice seethed through her mind.
Come home! I command it!

Jane dropped the basket she held over one arm, tore her mind free of whatever it was Brutus and Cornelia were doing, and half sank to her knees in pain, her arms wrapped about her belly.

“For Christ’s sake!” she whispered. “Allow me to walk and I
will
return to you!”

The pain abated somewhat, and Jane straightened. A few people had turned to stare at her, but none had moved to aid her. Instead they turned aside, presenting Jane with the cold hardness of their backs.

She was the Harlot of Idol Lane, and if she succumbed to whatever sinful disease beset her then it was no concern of theirs.

Jane took a deep breath and steeled herself against both the pain she suffered now and the pain she expected once she returned to Weyland; she hobbled
as fast as she was able back to the house in Idol Lane.

The instant she was within the door Weyland grabbed her shoulder, spun her about, and slammed her back against the now-closed door.

“There is magic about,” he hissed, “and it involves Brutus!”

Jane’s loathing of Weyland had far outstripped her fear, and she was able to regard him with a modicum of composure. “It is Midsummer, the solstice. There is magic everywhere.”

“Don’t spin me tales about Midsummer. This is something else. It involves Brutus.”

There was fear in his eyes, and Jane almost smiled at it.
You’re still afraid of him, aren’t you
? “Brutus is in Antwerp,” she said. “You would have known if he had returned.”

Weyland’s eyes narrowed. “Have you been in contact with him?”

Now Jane did allow a cold smile to emerge. How, as Swanne, had she ever been fooled into thinking she loved
this
? “In contact? With Brutus? How can that be so? I am your slave, your whore, and I speak to no one without your consent.”

His fingers dug into her, his hazel eyes more intense than she’d ever seen them previously. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously calm. “You stupid bitch, Jane. Speaking to me as if I were a simpleton is no way to bolster your own position.”

“I can sink no further,” Jane snapped. “Threats of degradation have no power over
me
!”

He stared intently at her, then slowly nodded. His face relaxed a little, and he raised a hand to run one finger slowly over the line of her jaw. “You’ll never escape me, Jane. You know that, don’t you?”

All the defiance drained from Jane’s face, and she sagged slightly. “I know that.”

He leaned very close to her so that their mouths were almost touching. “Good,” he said, so softly it was little more than a whisper of breath against her lips.

He stood back, and jerked his head towards the kitchen. Jane straightened, thinking that Weyland had done with her, and walked through the parlour into the kitchen, aware every moment of Weyland following close behind.

As she entered the kitchen, Jane moved towards the hearth, thinking Weyland would want something to eat, but was stopped dead as Weyland seized her arm, spinning her round to face him.

He hadn’t finished with her, after all.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten Brutus,” he said. “I can still smell his stink as though he were standing next to me.” With his other hand Weyland grabbed painfully at Jane’s chin. “You and I are going to make sure that Brutus is still in Antwerp. If he isn’t, then all hell is going to break loose, my dear.”

There was a flash of fear in Jane’s eyes, and Weyland smiled.

“The imp has not harmed you,” Noah said with immeasurable relief as they lay relaxed and entangled amid the sweat-dampened sheets of the bed. Their hands were loosely entwined, their faces very close.

“The imp sleeps,” he said. “Coel’s power has done this.”

She half smiled. “I have felt some of his power in this life. He is greatly blessed, I think.”

“I would have lain with you no matter what. I meant what I said. If the imp snatches, then so be it. I am tied to you…damn it, Noah,
I love you
, and if my death is a result of that…” He shrugged.

“How I have longed for you to say that.”

His only answer was to stroke her face with gentle fingers. “Whatever you need, Noah, I will do it.”

Her eyes became very dark. “And if what I need is for you to hand over your powers as Kingman to the Stag God new-risen, then will you do it?”

“Noah, who
shall
be this stag reborn?”

“It is not for me to say who the Stag God is to be, Brutus.”

“Why not?”

“You must hand your powers as Kingman to whoever the land picks, Brutus. Whoever it is. Can you do this?”

He moved away from her very slightly, little more than a tensing of his body, but it was enough, and she sighed.

Brutus tensed even further. “Is it to be this John Thornton who you have taken as your lover? Is he who you have picked as your Kingman?”

Noah’s eyes widened and he could see he had shocked her with his knowledge. Well, so be it. Let her guilt match the hurt he felt.

“John Thornton is as important to me,” she said, her voice low but forceful, “as Marguerite is to you. How important is that, Brutus?”

“Is Thornton to be your Kingman?”

She sighed. “Brutus—”

But he had rolled away, and was no longer listening.

Weyland’s fingers tightened agonisingly about Jane’s chin. “You’re bound to Brutus,” Weyland said. “You were his Mistress of the Labyrinth and his lover. You can reach him and, by God,
I’m
going to reach out and touch him through you. God help you, Jane, if he isn’t in Antwerp.”

Then power seethed through her, taking control of her, and Jane gasped and sagged to the floor, her eyes rolling back in her head.

Weyland sank to the floor with her until they faced each other on their knees, and took both of her wrists in his hard hands.

“Take me to Brutus, Jane Orr, Mistress of the Labyrinth. Take me to your Kingman!”

Noah sat up, angry. “I cannot always be who you want me to be, Brutus.”

“Most apparently.”

“Brutus—”

He sighed, and rolled back to face her. “Noah, I am sorry. Can we not talk of this? I am more worried about you.”

He sat up as well, and took Noah’s shoulders in gentle hands. “Noah, you cannot go to Asterion.”

“I must.”

“
Why
?”

“If for no other reason than that he has Jane in his thrall, and she is the only one who can teach me the ways of the labyrinth.”

“Then I will snatch Jane, and bring her to you, and—”

“Brutus. Enough.” She laid her hand on her belly. “I have his imp inside me. I cannot escape this. I must live it through, in whatever manner fate dictates.”