Spellbound: The Awakening of Aislin Collins (13 page)

“Stay with me,” I pleaded.

He moved to the edge of the bed and my
mother walked into the room.

“I took all his possessions and I left just
in time. I saw the torches of those searching. I am not sure if
they were looking for Zachariah or the animal, but they are sure to
find him.”

“What did you do with his belongings?” Greer
asked.

“I threw them into the water, but I took out
all the money first,” she said ruefully. She looked down at me and
then back at Greer. “Stay with her as long as you can. Her father
has already left to join a hunting party and I will warn you of
when he returns.”

Greer looked surprised, but my mother
insisted, “I can treat her wounds, but I cannot treat her heart.
She needs you.” My mother left and shut the door behind her,
leaving Greer to tend to me.

He climbed into the bed and sat beside me,
pulling me close as he stroked my hair.

“I am so sorry Aislin. I never would have
asked you to go along with the marriage proposal if I had known how
foul he was.”

I tried to hide my face so he could not see
my pain, but he placed a hand underneath my chin and lifted my face
to the light. “You feel that I rejected you?” he asked sadly.

I could not lie to him so I just looked away
instead.

“I never wanted anyone to be near you
Aislin. It was torturous for me to watch him parading you about
town, as though you were some prize. I wanted nothing more than to
carry you off and never let him gaze upon you again. You do not
know the torment that I have been enduring. But I promise you, it
was only for the sake of your protection.”

I understood and my hurt feelings began to
fade away. I wrapped my arms around him and snuggled into his
side.

“You were watching when Zachariah took me to
buy the thread?” I was surprised and a little embarrassed that
Greer had seen me with Zachariah. Even though we both knew it was
against my will, I still felt as though I was untrue to Greer by
allowing Zachariah to strut about town with me on his arm,
proclaiming me as his own.

“Aye, I was with you. Whenever I am not
following Lamont, I am by your side.” He buried his face in my hair
and sighed deeply as he pulled me closer to him. “Whenever I am
away, your Sneachta is with you. That is how I was able to find you
tonight. She came and got me… yet I am troubled that I was almost
too late,” he trailed off.

His words made my mind wander unwillingly
back to those horrible moments when I was alone with Zachariah in
the woods. My muscles stiffened as the realization of what might
have happened overcame me. “I do not understand something,” I said,
as he kissed my hand.

“What my love?”

“A few nights ago I dreamt that I was able
to fight, to battle like a man… like a soldier would. You and I
fought off a large group of Roman soldiers in one battle… and yet
tonight, I could do nothing. I thought that I could save myself
from him. Yet I could not.”

“Yes, but in your vision weren’t you and I
together?”

“Aye, we were,” I answered, looking up into
his face and touching his cheek with my hand
.

As I gazed into his eyes, I realized how
painful it would be to find myself separated from him once more

“Please stay with me… or take me away with
you. I do not care which, but I do not want to be apart from you
again.”

Greer shook his head. “I cannot promise
that. Right now, it is only safe for you if you are here. If Lamont
saw me, it might trigger a memory of who I am and then I would lose
my edge.”

In all the commotion of the evening, I had
forgotten about the Grey Man.

“Who is he?” I asked.

Greer stiffened and took a deep breath. “He
is a witch hunter and the most evil type of man.”

“Does he know that I’m…”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I do not know Aislin.”

As we lay there, the exhaustion from the day
overtook me, and I drifted to sleep in his arms until the door to
my room opened and my mother stuck her head in. “He is home, but I
can keep him occupied in the front so you can leave.”

Greer stood up and waited for my mother to
walk back downstairs.

“Do not cry Aislin. I love you.” He kissed
me once more and tucked me safely in the bed and a moment later, he
was gone.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Abigail and her mother showed up at our house
before sunrise. They banged on the door and pressed their way in
without invitation. Mrs. Marthaler looked pale. Her hair was barely
pulled back and she had dark circles under her eyes. Abigail’s eyes
were bloodshot and her face was tearstained. My mother tried to
keep them from seeing me, for fear that they would notice the
condition their son had put me in, but they were far too absorbed
in their own problems to notice mine. Abigail barged her way into
my room and shook me until I awoke. I was having a wonderful dream
that she had interrupted.

“Oh Aislin, it was such a horrible night,”
as she spoke, she reached for my hand to comfort me before she gave
me the terrible news. “Zachariah was found by hunters. He was lying
in the woods. His clothes were torn and they thought he was
dead.”

I knew that I had to act surprised and I
knew that I could not smile, but it was difficult not to smirk a
little.

“Is he… dead?” I whispered.

“No, he is alive… but barely. He was robbed
and beaten, and my father says that they left him to die.”

Tears rolled down her freckled cheeks as she
pet my hand—as though I needed comforting. In truth, I was rather
disappointed to hear that he had survived. Although I knew it was a
terrible thing to think in such ways. I had a fleeting hope that
Zachariah would disperse the images of the highwaymen to his father
and then pass away, leaving Greer and I alone, without the need to
carry on with this farce any further.

“Who did it?” I asked, just to be certain
that the spell had worked.

“Highwaymen. He said that they pushed him
into the woods on his way home from escorting you.”

“Did he get a good look at the men… for a
description?” I hoped that Zachariah would not remember Greer.

“Zachariah could not remember. His memory is
cloudy because he was beaten. Father says that Zachariah suffered a
bad blow to the head. All he can remember is that there were four
of them and that they had strange accents. Father has organized a
search party to find the brutes, but it is not going well. Someone
must have left the animals unattended last night because the beast
came and killed my father’s best horses. They are all dead and
there is nothing left to ride.”

“How can that be?”

I answered my own question when I realized
that I had been to their home, and the Puca must have followed me
and found an easy meal in the process. The thought sent a chill
down my spine.

“They do not know,” her voice quaked, “But
it does not matter. It is unimportant. We came to get you so you
can care for Zachariah. We need to leave now.” She pulled at my arm
and tried to coax me from my bed.

I did not want to go back to that house but
I could see no way out of it. I pulled my hair back and went to
grab my cloak. I then realized that Zachariah had torn the clasp
the night before, and I knew that it could not be seen. I would
take my mother’s when I got downstairs.

My mother was arguing with Mrs. Marthaler.
She was in no mood to let me leave the house and Mrs. Marthaler was
insisting that I tend to Zachariah’s needs.

“You tell me that a beast has slaughtered
your stallions and that you have no safe passage back to your home,
and you expect me to give my blessing and send my only child with
you?” she hissed at Mrs. Marthaler.

“It is her duty. She is to be his wife and
this is her load to bear.”

“No. I will not allow this. She is not his
wife yet and this is not her responsibility.”

Abigail and I were standing on the stairs
listening to the argument, when my father walked in and interrupted
them.

“Aislin will go with the Marthalers,” he
said to my mother, as he gestured for her to leave the room. He
used the same gesture that Mrs. Marthaler had used when she wanted
her servant to take away her empty cup of tea.

“Aislin, get your things and go with
them.”

I picked up my mother’s cloak and headed for
the door. I could think of nothing else to bring with me and we
left.

********************

The Marthaler house was quiet. Mr. Marthaler
had left hours ago to hunt down the highwaymen. The slaves were
left to handle the dead livestock and the Marthaler women were to
care for Zachariah.

The drapes were drawn shut. His room was
dark and rank from vomit and blood.

I covered my nose and mouth with my cloak as
I entered the room. I hoped to make my visit brief, but that was
not to be.

“Aislin,” he moaned when he caught sight of
me.

His room was surprisingly smaller than I had
expected it to be. The bed was so large that one was forced to
maneuver around it as they walked about the chamber. On the wall
directly across from the door were two large windows that faced the
back of their estate. In order to reach the windows, where a chair
was placed by his bedside, I had to walk around the bed. He
continued to call for me, and in his frustration at my delay, he
began kicking his heavy blue and white quilt off the bed.

I knew I was being watched by his mother and
sister and that I must put on a good act, but the whole idea of it
was torturous. I had endured and survived this boy’s attempt to
rape me, and possibly kill me, and now I was being forced to tend
to his every need.

I wanted nothing more than to finish the job
that I had hindered Greer from doing. I quickly glanced at the
doorway where his mother stood quite still, surveying my every
move. Perhaps she suspected me or perhaps she was using this whole
situation to test my worthiness.

“I am here Zachariah,” I said softly.

“Get me a drink.”

I looked around the room for a decanter and
a glass but could find none. Then, out of the corner of the room,
hidden behind a dresser, came a servant dressed in the crisp white
uniform that Mrs. Marthaler made all her servants wear.

The girl pulled a bottle of rum out of the
pocket of her apron and pressed it into my right hand and a glass
into my left. It was Becky—she looked ridged and frightened. Our
eyes met briefly, as she handed off the bottle to me and I paused
to question what she was doing at the Marthaler’s, when Zachariah
kicked at me from the bed.

“Drink!” he moaned impatiently.

Becky flinched as we both avoided his blow.
She must have been alone with Zachariah for some time now, and I
could only imagine what type of torture she had endured.

“Thank you,” I whispered, and she stepped
back against the wall as though hoping to disappear.

“Well what’s keeping you?” he spat at
me.

I walked over and poured him a large drink
and he gulped down the strong liquor in one swallow.

“Another,” he said while holding out his
good hand.

I obliged with the sincere hope that he
would render himself unconscious. I poured the glass to the brim
and handed it to him carefully. Once again, he swallowed the liquid
in one gulp, emptying the glass and then he thrust it back into my
hand.

“I am in a horrible way Aislin. The pain is
unimaginable.”

He must have been telling the truth. The
room was freezing. There was no fire burning or coals under his
mattress, but he was sweating as though it was midsummer. His
complexion looked waxen in the dim lighting, though I thought it
safe to believe that he must have been completely grey in
coloration.

“Just rest Zachariah. That is the only way
to heal.”

“Heal? I have a crushed hand that may have
to be amputated you stupid girl! What am I going to heal from?” he
snapped through slurred words, as finally the alcohol was taking
affect.

“Did the doctor say that?”

“No. He has not been here yet. The lazy
jackass will not get here until late afternoon.”

“What can I do to help you until then?” I
asked.

“I need to be washed.” His thin lips spilt
into a sinister, yet pained, grin.

I recoiled at his words but then realized
that I could find some semblance of retaliation through his
request. I turned to find that Becky was standing by my side with a
basin of water, clean rags and soap.

“Thank you for your help,” I said to Becky
quietly.

She gave me a nervous smile but when she
noticed Zachariah’s gaze upon her, she cast her eyes downward.

“Stop talking to the slave and tend to me,”
he complained.

I pushed up the sleeves of his bed-shirt and
washed his arms with the soap, using the cloth as a barrier so I
did not have to feel the texture of his skin upon mine again.

“What are you doing? I cannot bathe in my
clothes. Get them off me!”

“That would be improper Zachariah and you
know that I cannot jeopardize my virtue,” I replied cunningly.

He spat at me and reached in my direction
with his free hand but I jumped back. The only other person present
now was Becky, and I doubted that she would run out and call in his
mother to stop me from defending myself.

I pretended that I was not bothering him and
walked around to the other side of the bed. I then roughly lifted
his broken hand and scrubbed it hard. He let out a cry of pain and
I dropped his hand as though I was startled.

“Zachariah, what is it?” I gasped as though
I did not know his hand was shattered beyond repair.

He did not respond, but instead turned and
vomited on the floor. I pushed Becky back before it splattered all
over her and we left him retching and hanging over the side of the
bed.