Devil's Mistress (28 page)

But when he had loved Brianna, he had loved her fiercely and intensely, with all his heart. Somehow, that hurt him now; and yet, he could not feel guilty for that love. The emotion had been something pure, and very, very beautiful. And so he did not understand what haunted and twisted so in his heart, unless it was simply the sadness of what might have been, had Alwyn found the strength in life that she had found in death.

With her passing, the winter winds seemed to rise with greater vengeance against the castle. January came, and with it ice and snow.

Sloan at last left the darkness of the chapel to come to the sea again. Not the wind nor the ice nor raging gales could keep him from staring out to sea, and at last he knew where his salvation would lie.

He could go to the Colonies. Carry letters, woolens, and goods.

She lived there. With her husband, he reminded himself. And her child. She had a home, and a family. But he longed to see the child he felt was his. What man would not?

With an aggravated and anguished oath he clenched his fists to his sides. He would put to sea again, but he would head for Boston, or New York. He would try with all his strength to stay away from Salem Town. If he went near it at all, he vowed to himself, he would do so in secret. He would allow himself to see the child, and then slip away. And if he saw her … ?

“You will do nothing!” he thundered to himself aloud, and the wind picked up the cry and carried it about, mocking him.

He had to go. The sea beckoned to him, as did the wind. As did his desperate need to see the child.

And Brianna. Even if he did not speak to her; even if he just stood and watched her walk, or whisper to the child. He had to see her, or he would never be free of the memory that haunted him.

“You tax me for a wizard;

might as well tax me for a buzzard!”

George Jacobs, Sr.

Always poor in health, Robert did not fare well during the height of winter. And now that large quantities of snow had alternately melted and frozen to create constant slush, he was doing even worse. When the service had ended on Sunday, Brianna had wanted to do nothing more than get home and set Robert before the fire with a cup of warmed ale.

But now it was Monday morning, no longer the Sabbath, and there was work to be done. Wood had to be chopped for the hearth in order to bake the bread and warm the house. Brianna did not want Robert cutting wood, and so, when he insisted he must go into Ingersoll’s Ordinary to meet Liam Hardy and work out a deal to purchase cattle, she was happy to see him go. It was better than having him working outside, chopping the wood.

As soon as he’d left, Brianna bundled Michael into layers of clothing. She set him in a patch of white snow, and he laughed with pleasure, making snowballs while she split logs. When enough was accomplished, she gave Michael a twig to carry each time she made a trip to the woodshed, then carried what was necessary back to the house. She stoked up the fire, heated the oven, and measured out a portion of their dwindling grain supply to make bread. For a while, Michael played happily with a set of wooden soldiers Robert had carved for him, and when he tired and began to fuss, Brianna brought him into the bedroom and put him down for a nap.

By then her bread was ready for the oven, and when it was in and baking, she boiled water to make herself tea and sat down at the high-backed pew that faced the fire and guarded its warmth from leaking out the rear door.

It was Eleanor knocking at the door, Brianna realized as she rubbed the fog from a windowpane and looked out. With a delighted cry she threw the door open, and quickly pulled the bundled Eleanor inside.

“Eleanor! How wonderful. I must admit, I was just sitting here feeling a little sorry for myself. Robert has gone to town and Michael is sleeping and I was just having tea. You’ll have some, of course? I made a few pastries along with the bread; and we’ve honey, since Robert did so well with his bees last summer!”

“Wonderful,” Eleanor murmured, following Brianna to the fire. She drew off her heavy coat and ran her fingers lightly through her head of tawny curls. “I’m afraid that I was bored with my own company, too, Brianna.” She sighed. “Dear Lord! Will this dreary weather never cease!”

Eleanor sat and Brianna gave her tea. For a while they spoke of all the hardships that winter had brought, but they were both young, and able to laugh at some of their own ridiculous efforts to cut corners on their work. Eleanor then told Brianna happily that she and Philip Smith might be married by April, as he had spent the winter chopping and hauling wood for others, and had put aside the money to buy a house in the Village.

“How is Robert?” Eleanor asked then, and Brianna admitted that she always worried over his health.

“I thought that was why you hurried away yesterday,” Eleanor murmured. “You missed the excitement.”

“The excitement?” Brianna queried, and Eleanor set down her tea to wander about the room. She grimaced at Brianna.

“There’s quite a furor going about—but I supposed you’ve not noticed, for you two do keep to yourselves. A number of girls have taken severely ill, the Reverend Parris’s daughter and niece among them. Seems the doctor can find nothing wrong, but Abigail and young Ann Putnam fell into fits as service ended yesterday that were a true terror to behold.”

“Fits?” Brianna queried.

Eleanor lifted her hands, a little helpless for an explanation. “Fits—convulsions.” She sat again, staring with confusion into the fire. “Mercy Lewis too,” she murmured. “But Ann Putnam was the worst. Her limbs contorted so that when her legs crossed, they were locked like bars of steel. Her tongue was so glued to the top of her mouth that her father was frightened she would swallow upon it, and choke.”

“The poor child!” Brianna exclaimed, then asked, “And the doctor could find nothing wrong?”

“Nothing of the flesh. Dr. Griggs told Reverend Parris that he must look to prayer. The doctor said that the devil had plagued the girls—he suspects that malefic witchcraft is at work.”

“Witchcraft!” Brianna mouthed, stunned and stricken.

And Eleanor’s eyes came to hers, suddenly full of sorrow.

“Oh, Brianna! You must not be concerned. There will be no insanity such as you met with in Britain. We’ve laws here, and wise and learned men who love God with a passion! The matter will be solved, oh, certainly!”

Brianna said nothing. Fear had begun to creep along her spine like the blade of a knife.

“Brianna, Brianna!” Eleanor bent down before her. “Oh, I am sorry! I shouldn’t have spoken, yet you would have heard sooner or later. But truly, we are in the Massachusetts Bay Colony! Men take grave care here.”

It was then that Robert returned, but Brianna could not even rise to greet him. As he removed his coat and hat, he looked at Eleanor with inquiry and reproach, wondering what she had done.

When Eleanor tried to explain, Brianna knew from Robert’s expression that he had already been aware of the events. He moved to the fire, angrily, to warm his hands as he spoke.

“The whole thing,” he said harshly, “has been caused by that Carib slave of Parris’s. Tituba! She spent the winter telling those girls that her ex-mistress in the islands was a witch!” He sighed. “John Proctor has been saying that a good whipping would cure the girls of their fits, and I’ve a mind to believe he might be right.”

“Robert,” Eleanor reproached him, “I—I’ve seen them! They are truly grievously ill!”

“Aye,” Robert murmured, “and encouraged to be so, as it appears!” He paused, then turned to look at Eleanor with his eyes very dark against the gaunt contours of his face. “Four children were taken so in Boston not long before we arrived here.”

“Aye,” Eleanor said unhappily.

“What happened?” Brianna demanded.

“They were—cured. The eldest was taken into the home of Cotton Mather, and eventually, she was cured.”

“And a woman was hanged,” Robert said harshly.

Eleanor threw up her hands in defense. “Robert! She was stealing articles of the children, brewing up potions, making dolls to torture—she admitted to witchcraft!”

Robert laughed dryly. “She was Irish, and spoke far better in Gaelic than in English! Who knows what defense she might have had?” Robert turned from the fire in distraction. “Where is my son?” he demanded of his wife.

“S-s-sleeping,” she replied.

He strode for their bedroom door, but before he entered he turned back suddenly, practically shouting at her. He who never sought to command was suddenly giving out fierce orders. “You will stay away from the Village center!” he told her harshly. “You will not say a word, you will not become involved in this, do you hear me, wife?”

She could not reply.

“Brianna!”

“Aye, Robert, aye!” she replied at last. He went into the bedroom; the door closed like thunder.

“I’m sorry,” Eleanor said bleakly. “Truly sorry.”

Brianna shook her head. “Don’t be. He will not stay angry long. He’s just worried.”

“Brianna, don’t be alarmed. Really, in all the time that we have been here, I believe that there have been but four executions for witchcraft. And they were carefully judged and weighed in courts of law!”

Brianna nodded. Eleanor saw that she was still distressed and longed to ease the torment she had unwittingly caused.

“Ah, Brianna, I forgot to tell you! There is another new excitement for us!”

“There is?” Brianna tried to smile.

“Aye! A ship has come in from England bringing letters and wares! And the most handsome captain—even our most stalwart matrons are talking about him!”

Brianna barely heard her words. She gave Eleanor a wan smile, but she still worried about the things she had learned. Oh, it was true that these people were ardent on justice! But it was true, too, that they believed deeply in damnation, that man was created in God’s image to fight the devil all his days.

“—that he comes to us from King William’s war in Ireland. A fighter, they say, fierce and dangerous, and yet with a stature and cast of the eye that could seduce at will. He’s courteous, yet remote. The girls might well swoon in his path, but he wouldn’t notice, which makes him all the more fascinating.”

“What?” Brianna said at last, brows furrowing, eyes narrowing, and her heart seeming to cease its beat with a single careening thud.

“You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said!” Eleanor laughed, glad to see that she had at last brought her friend’s mind from the scare of witchcraft. “I was telling you about the captain newly in! I’ve heard he’s a duke. ’Tis amazing that he breached the weather to make it here at all! Lord Treveryan is his name. Philip met him—and was most impressed. He was ready to set to sea himself—”

She broke off. Brianna had risen; her cheeks had gone as pale as new-fallen snow.

“Brianna? Are you all right? Oh dear, my Lord, what have I said now? Robert will be ready to take a stick to me!”

“No, no!” Brianna said quickly. She tried to breathe, in and out, in and out. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I was just a little dizzy.”

“Dizzy. Ah, Brianna! Perhaps you and Robert will have another child—a brother or sister for Michael!”

Brianna had no desire to discourage such a belief. “Ah, perhaps, yes, that might be it.” She forced herself to move, to stir the poke at the logs in the fire.

Eleanor went on to chat excitedly about her forthcoming wedding, and then at last she paused, saying that it was time she went home, for her mother would need help with dinner.

Brianna kissed her good-bye, and thanked her for coming.

But she stood in the rear doorway, out in the harsh weather, waving far too long. It was as if she had been frozen there.

He had come! Here. Dear God, why?

He had let her go once. He had watched her at Robert’s side, and he had let her go. Her heart had forever shattered as she’d seen him walk away. But now he was here. Why?

She began to tremble. He could not want her anymore. And she was married; her life was set. He would not think to interfere. At the height of their love he had turned away to give her the peace and honor she could receive from Robert.

Maybe he had come for his son.

She began to shake in earnest then, and it seemed that the blood drained from her body, leaving her incapable of standing on her own, clinging to the open door. He would not could not, take Michael.

No, no, no! She must fight against such thoughts. There was nothing to fear. She would not see him and he would not see her. She would cling to the knowledge that Robert loved her, and that he had given her everything, a home and the honor of being his wife. He had taken on the role of Michael’s father with all goodness and the same loving devotion he had given to her.

But she could not stop trembling.

Brianna had not even known that it was a leap year, but there was to be a February twenty-ninth that year, and no one in Salem Village would ever likely forget it.

She knew the date, and the events of it, because Robert came in late from Ingersoll’s Ordinary—late, and very solemn, and mumbling beneath his breath that it was February twenty-ninth.